Blackbird Rising (The Witch King's Crown Book 1)

by Keri Arthur

  I closed the book and continued my inspection, but nothing else caught my eye. As the distant wail of sirens began to intrude on the silence, I headed back to the living area.

  “The ambulance is almost here. How is she now?”

  “Still unconscious but breathing easier.” Mo’s gaze met mine. Lines of tiredness now edged her eyes and cratered her cheeks. “Did you find anything?”

  I showed her the family tree. “Do you think we should warn Gareth and Henry?”

  She hesitated. “I’ll give them a call once Jackie is in hospital and tell them to take extra precautions. And the book?”

  “It’s fables, and I’m not sure why it tugged at my instincts, but—”

  “Your instincts are almost as reliable as my gut, so I daresay something will be found on closer inspection. You want to take them home and look after them until I get back?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You don’t want me to accompany you to the hospital?”

  A smile touched her lips. “We both know how uncomfortable you’d be there.”

  That was something of an understatement. I might have only been three when Mom had fought for her life after the accident that had killed Dad, but the years had not erased the horror of watching her slowly die, no matter what anyone did or tried.

  I swallowed heavily and pushed the memories back into their box. “Yes, but given what’s happened—”

  “This attack is the very reason I don’t want you with us. Whoever is behind this is hunting for something. I wouldn’t be surprised if our shop is the next on their list.”

  “Demons won’t get through your protections—”

  “They got through Jackie’s easily enough, and hers were every bit as strong as mine.”

  Given the brief glimpse I’d gotten of the various spell strings, that wasn’t exactly true. “Keep me updated then.” I glanced around as the siren stopped. “You want me to get the door?”

  She shook her head and climbed to her feet. “You’d best leave, especially given you’re carrying Nex and Vita.”

  I frowned. “I’m legally allowed—”

  “Yes, but country coppers don’t always agree with such rules, and I know Jackie was pulled up the few times she wore her hair-blades.”

  I grunted and, at the sound of slamming doors, headed back through the kitchen and out the back door. I tucked the papers inside the book and then carefully slid it inside my jacket. Once secure, I undid my daggers, looped them together again, and then checked no one in the nearby houses was looking my way. With the coast clear, I shifted to my blackbird shape and flew home.

  By the time I was back in Max’s room, weariness pulsed through me. I changed to human form, stumbled forward before catching my balance, and then stood there, one hand gripping the doorframe as I sucked in desperate breaths. I wasn’t unfit—I flew a couple of times a week to keep in flying trim—but this time I’d been carrying more than double my blackbird body weight. No matter how much I might have built up my muscles, that would always take its toll.

  Once my limbs had stopped trembling and my breathing had calmed to a more normal rate, I unzipped my coat and pulled out the book. Where did I put the thing to keep it safe? I looked toward my bedroom, but if someone were to break in, that would probably be the first place they’d look, especially if they were still hunting me.

  I frowned at the mess surrounding me, but instinct whispered against storing it in Max’s room. Why, I had no idea, but I wasn’t about to gainsay it.

  I picked up my daggers and then clattered down to the living room. After studying the entire area for a few moments, I decided hiding it in plain sight was the best option. I walked over to the coffee table and its multiple number of books, and shoved the fables into the middle of a stack. Once it was covered with the other books, I stood back. The disguise was perfect, thanks to the fact that many of Mo’s books were not only yellowed but also reeked of age. The nearby scented candle only barely covered it up.

  I dumped the daggers on the sofa, made myself a pot of tea, then sat down and flicked on the TV. After surfing through the channels, I settled on a wildlife documentary and turned the sound down to a murmur. Within minutes, I was fast asleep.

  I wasn’t sure what woke me.

  I must have slipped sideways sometime during the afternoon, because Nex’s hilt was digging into my side. The room was dark, and rain beat heavily on the windowpane to my right, a normally soothing sound that somehow scratched at my nerves. The TV had switched to standby mode, and the bright red light gave the immediate area an eerie glow.

  Then, from downstairs, came the soft creak of a floorboard.

  Someone was walking around the shop.

  I slipped a hand underneath my body and pulled the daggers free. The footsteps moved toward the stairs.

  I pushed upright, slipped off my shoes, and then rose, a knife in each hand. No flames ran down their sharp sides, suggesting the intruder was human rather than demon. Which perhaps also explained why the spells hadn’t reacted—they were tuned more to preventing dark intrusions rather than stopping ordinary folk. Even so, anyone intent on mischief—human or not—should have had some trouble getting through the spells, which probably meant the intruder had at least some magical knowledge.

  The stairs creaked as someone climbed. The air fairly crackled with tension, and I had no idea whether it was his or mine.

  I moved around the sofa, carefully avoiding the loose boards as I crossed the room and pressed my back against the wall near the end of the stairs. From this position, I’d see the intruder long before he ever saw me.

  The intruder paused near the top of the stairs. My breath caught in my throat, and my grip tightened on the hilt of my daggers.

  After several minutes, the footsteps continued, and a shadow appeared on the landing. He wore dark clothes and a hood pulled over his head and smelled of wind and rain rather than demon. That didn’t ease my tension any.

  He paused again. I held still, not daring to even breathe. After several tense seconds, he moved.

  So did I.

  In one fluid motion, I grabbed a fistful of hair with one hand and with the other pressed the point of one knife against the base of his neck where it met the spine. “Move, and I’ll push this goddamn blade right through your fucking neck.”

  The figure froze. Then an all too familiar voice said, “What the fuck, Gwen?”

  “Tris?” I didn’t lower my knife. Not immediately. “What the hell do you think you’re up to?”

  “What do you think I’m up to? I came here to see you. Put the knife away before you stab me or something.”

  “Not until you explain why you snuck in rather than simply knock. Or hell, even call first? And how did you get in? I didn’t feel you unlock any of Gran’s spells.”

  While Tris could perform general magic, his true gift was the ability to unpick any sort of lock, be it physical or magical. It had gotten us into—and out of—a whole lot of trouble in the so-called “wilder days” of our youth. Not that any of us had been truly wild—not in comparison to Max, at any rate.

  But he certainly knew better than to use that here.

  “I didn’t need to—you gave me a key, remember?”

  “You gave that key back to me.”

  He cleared his throat. “I may or may not have had a copy made.”

  “Why?”

  “Just in case we ever got back together. Officially, I mean, rather than just for sex.”

  “Sex and friendship is all I want from you. Give me the damn key. Slowly.”

  He reached into his pocket and then held up the deadlock’s key. I plucked it from his fingers and pocketed it. “Now answer the question—why didn’t you ring or knock?”

  “Because I wanted to surprise you. Won’t be fucking doing that again, let me assure you.”

  “Good.” I finally lowered the knife then stepped back and switched on the lights and heating. Maybe it was just the aftereffects of being woken so abrupt
ly, but it felt like a damn freezer in here.

  Tris turned; his face was pale, but fury burned in his eyes. He didn’t like being so completely caught out.

  Too fucking bad.

  “Would you like a coffee or would you rather something stronger?”

  “Whiskey, straight, if you’ve got it.”

  “I do.” I turned and walked back to the sofa, sheathing my daggers and then depositing them both on the kitchen counter, out of his way. Why I felt the need to do that I had no idea; maybe it was just the anger still radiating from him.

  Or maybe it was a rekindling of the feeling that this Tris wasn’t the man who’d left me with a kiss and a happy laugh ten months ago. A feeling that said he’d changed in ways I couldn’t yet imagine.

  I grabbed the Jameson bottle and a couple of glasses out of the booze cupboard and then moved back to the sofa. He sat beside me somewhat warily.

  Once I’d slid a glass across to him, he picked it up and contemplated it for a second. “So what has made you so jumpy?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I was woken from a dead-to-the-world sleep by floorboards creaking. What did you expect me to do?”

  “What about asking who the hell it was before you shoved a knife into the base of their neck?” His voice rumbled with the anger he was barely repressing. “Don’t you know how easy it is to kill someone like that?”

  “Yes, and you will note that I barely even pricked your skin.”

  He snorted. “If I’d retaliated—”

  “You would have come off second best. Your magic washes over me, remember?”

  He grunted, an unhappy sound that matched his expression. “So why not flee like a normal female?”

  I sipped the whiskey. The happy burn did little to erase the doubts and questions still crowding my mind. “Because I’m not a normal female. Besides, Mo would have had serious words with me if I’d flown rather than defended our home.”

  “She’s as goddamn crazy as you are.” He looked around. “Where is she?”

  “Up north, visiting a sick friend.”

  A gleam entered his eyes. One I was all too familiar with, but which lacked its usual power over me tonight.

  “Then we’re all alone here this evening?” he mused. “How fortunate.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “And how do you know Max won’t be back?”

  “He won’t.”

  I frowned. “Well, no, but why are—”

  “Let’s order in some dinner,” he cut in, “then finish that fine bottle of whiskey and go test out the springs on that old bed of yours … or did you finally update the thing?”

  Despite my misgivings, I couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t be mocking the bed. A lot of good times were had there.”

  “So that would be a no, you haven’t replaced it.”

  “I might have if I’d been heartbroken about you leaving, but I wasn’t, so—” I shrugged.

  “Ouch.” He slapped a hand against his chest. “Wounded to the core.”

  “Yeah, right.” I rolled the amber liquid around in my glass for several seconds. “I’m not up to it tonight, Tris. I have to run the shop myself tomorrow, and I need to sleep.”

  “We can do the sleep thing—”

  “No.”

  “Huh.” He contemplated me for a second, and then knocked back his drink. “Then I guess I’ll go and leave you to it. Dinner tomorrow night instead?”

  “Sure.” I hesitated. “Do you mind if I invite Ginny and Mia? You do owe them a meal, remember.”

  Something flickered through his eyes. Annoyance at being called on his offer, perhaps. “Sure, but it’ll have to be a pub meal. Those two can eat, and the new job isn’t paying that well.”

  “What is your job? You’ve never really said.”

  “I work for a specialist locksmith company.” He shrugged. “It’s nothing fancy but it suits my skills, the pay is good, and if I play my cards right, I’ll be helping to run things within the year.”

  “How long are you in Ainslyn?”

  “Uncertain at this point. It depends on how the current job plays out.” He pushed to his feet. “I’ll let myself out.”

  “I’ll come down with you, just to make sure the door is locked.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You don’t trust me?”

  “It’s not that.” Though it was. Partially. “There’ve been some odd things happening—”

  “What sort of things?” he cut in, frowning.

  “A couple of demon attacks.” I shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Gwen, if demons have the scent of your blood in their nostrils, they won’t stop until you’re dead. It might be better if you weren’t here alone.”

  I hesitated, half tempted. I’d already been caught literally napping once; I really didn’t need it to happen again. And yet … I just couldn’t shake the vague sense of unease. I shook my head. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

  “I get you need to sleep alone, but I could stay in Max’s room, if you’d like.”

  I touched his arm lightly. “Thank you. Really. But this place is ringed with protections, and no mere demon will get past them.”

  A dark elf, however, might be another matter entirely.

  His frown deepened. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” I squeezed his arm. “But thank you for the offer. I appreciate it.”

  “No problems. But once I leave, I suggest you close and lock Max’s window.”

  I blinked. “How—”

  “There’s a stream of cold air sweeping down the stairs, Gwen.” His voice was dry. “And Max’s room sits almost directly opposite them. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

  A logical, practical answer. So why wasn’t I believing it? What was wrong with me that I was suddenly distrusting a man I’d known all my life?

  “Thanks for the reminder.”

  He swung around and headed for the stairs. “Do you want me to pick you up tomorrow night, or shall we meet somewhere?”

  I hesitated again. “Probably best to meet, given I’m not entirely sure yet what’s happening with Mo.”

  “What about the Red Gryphon? They do decent meals, and at least Mia isn’t stuck with her parents staring at her all night.”

  “They stopped worrying about her ages ago,” I said, smiling. “But the Gryphon would be good. Shall we say seven?”

  He nodded. “I’ll book a table when I get home.”

  I followed him across to the front door but found my gaze sweeping the shadows, looking for who knows what. I caught the edge of the door to stop it crashing back, but the wind howled in, chilling me to the core. I shivered. “It’s pretty nasty out there—did you drive or walk?”

  “Walk. My timing, as usual, leaves a lot to be desired.”

  I half smiled. “Do you want to borrow an umbrella? Or a coat?”

  He shook his head. “I might head to the pub down the road and wait out the storm. Or grab an Uber from there.”

  “Don’t get too wet. Wouldn’t want you catching a cold before tomorrow night.”

  A smile teased his lips. “I’m not going to back out of our date a second time. Even I’m not that much of a bastard.”

  I snorted and pushed him out the door. “Go, because that wind is fucking cold and I need to shut the door.”

  He swooped in for a quick kiss, then flashed me a cheeky grin, doffed an imaginary hat, and headed out into the storm. Just like old times, I thought, and wondered again if it was simply the events of the last twenty-four hours making me jumpy.

  I closed and locked the door but didn’t immediately head upstairs. Instead, I walked through the store, trying to figure out why my instincts were itching. There was nothing out of place, nothing that had been touched or moved. And yet … what? It was damnably annoying that instinct wasn’t giving even the slightest clue.

  I swore and swung around … only to see a pale figure looming in the doorway. Recognition hit a second after the squeak of fright es
caped.

  Lucas.

  It was Lucas.

  I took a deep, somewhat shuddery breath, and said, “You’re quite a few hours early, Blackbird.”

  “Yes, but I have to talk to you.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure talking was something I’d be capable of in his presence—not in the close confines of our store, anyway.

  “About what?”

  “Are you seriously going to make me stand out here in the wind and the rain, and talk to you through the door?”

  It would be better for my hormones if you did … I walked over, unlocked the door, and then motioned him inside. Though he was wearing a coat, it obviously wasn’t waterproof, because the bits of shirt visible around the collar and chest were sodden. Water dripped steadily from the ends of his dark hair, and his nose practically glowed red.

  Sadly, it in no way detracted from his gorgeousness.

  “Don’t they provide you lot with wet weather gear?”

  “Yes, but I forgot how swiftly the weather can change and was caught out.”

  “We live in England. Quick weather changes aren’t exactly unknown.”

  “Perhaps, but I was stationed overseas for the last few years and simply forgot.” He stripped off his coat and then looked around. The wet white shirt, I couldn’t help but notice, clung to his skin, highlighting a muscular chest and washboard abs. And the wet jeans … I mentally smacked myself, plucked the jacket from his fingers, and then walked across to the coat hook. “What were you doing overseas?”

  “Protecting assets.”

  I risked a look over my shoulder. He still looked like wet perfection. “What sort of assets?”

  A smile touched his lips, and my pulse did its crazy little dance again. Mo might have stated the Blackbirds weren’t sexually magnetic, but this man was making a total liar out of her.

  “I can’t say—and for their safety as much as anything else.”

  Meaning the asset was a person. Which made sense, given they were in the business of protecting kings.