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

by Keri Arthur

  She remained crouched, her gaze scanning the area and the ground trembling under her touch.

  No more demons appeared. After a moment, she relaxed and climbed a little unsteadily to her feet. I grabbed her elbow again, holding on until she nodded an okay.

  “How many more were there out in the woods?” I asked.

  “Only two, but they were browns and easily destroyed.”

  Especially for someone who had such power at her fingertips … “I don’t suppose you’d care to explain what you just did?”

  She frowned. “You know what I just did—used magic to destroy demons.”

  “That was Chen elemental magic, not ours. Luc’s right, isn’t he? You are a mage.”

  She grimaced. “Some might call me that, but it’s not a title I use or want. It comes with too many connotations.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What sort of connotations?”

  She waved the question away. “Now is not the time to be discussing this. Let’s go save Henry.”

  Exasperation surged, but she was right—Henry had to come before the need for answers. I spun and followed her across to the standing stone.

  Henry’s eyes were now closed, and his face an odd waxy color. Blood matted his dark hair and covered the front of his dress shirt, and his breathing was fast and uneven. His hands were on his stomach; through his spread and bloody fingers I could see not only a torn red cummerbund but also the intestines he was attempting to hold in. How he’d escaped the house, let alone mustered enough energy to smoke two demons, spoke volumes of his determination to survive.

  Now we just had to keep him that way.

  Mo knelt in front of him and clucked her tongue. “You’re a right mess, aren’t you, laddie?”

  Life stirred behind closed eyelids. “Mo?”

  The question was barely audible, but it nevertheless had relief surging. If he was conscious enough to speak, then Mo had a good chance of saving him.

  “Yes, it’s me. Give me the rundown, laddie, and I’ll fix what I can.”

  As Henry obeyed and Mo began the long task of healing the worst of his wounds, I grabbed my phone and used Google Maps to find out exactly where we were, then rang Luc.

  “Is Henry alive?” he immediately said.

  “Yes.” I gave him our location. “Mo’s healing what she can, but he’s still going to need medical attention. And given the number of demons that were chasing him, he’s also going to need one hell of a protection detail.”

  “I can arrange that. Hang on.” He put me on hold for several seconds. “Right, there’s a specialized recovery team on the way. Man in charge is Bishop Lancaster. He’ll get Henry to a private medical facility and arrange twenty-four-hour protection.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ll meet you in Ainslyn tomorrow.”

  Meaning he was heading first to the private facility so he could question Henry. “Don’t forget to bring back my pack. There’s stuff in there I need.”

  “It’s in the storage compartment already.”

  “Thanks. See you in the morning.”

  I hung up, shoved my phone away, then stripped off my jacket and used the inside of it to wipe off the worst of the blood and gore. Which still left the stink, but there wasn’t much I could do about that, given I didn’t have a change of clothes and wasn’t about to run around near naked.

  After another ten minutes or so, Mo’s magic faded and she sat back on her heels with a sigh. Henry’s guts were no longer threatening to spill past his fingers, and his breathing had eased dramatically. He still had deep puncture wounds across his chest, a bloody left arm, and a thick cut that stretched from his left temple to the back of his head, but his skin color was healthier. At the very least, he no longer looked like death warmed up.

  “That’s the best I can do.” The tremor in Mo’s voice indicated just how far she’d pushed her strength. “Now, dear boy, you’d better tell us exactly what happened.”

  Henry didn’t immediately respond, but tears edged past the corners of his eyes and trickled down his cheeks.

  “Gareth—”

  “We know.” Mo shifted position, resting her back against the standing stone and then gently twining her fingers through his. “We were there.”

  “You warned us. We should have—”

  “Regrets won’t change anything, laddie. You need to tell us what happened, starting with how the demon got in.”

  He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Someone unlocked my protective spell, and so damn proficiently I didn’t even sense the breach.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Downstairs waiting for an Uber. By the time I got upstairs—” He stopped, a sob escaping. “Why would anyone do that? To Gareth, of all people?”

  “Answers are the one thing we’re short on at the moment,” Mo said. “But trust me, that will change.”

  “Good.” He swiped at the tears with a bloody left hand. “If you do catch the bitch who held the demon’s leash, I want—”

  “You saw her?” I cut in.

  He looked up. His blue eyes were so bloodshot there was very little white left—a result of having been pushed to his utter limits, both magically and physically.

  “I’m not entirely sure whether it was a him or a her; could have been either, in truth. I’m just saying ‘her’ for expediency.”

  “Can you describe her then?”

  He hesitated. “Her facial features were Okoro, but her skin had a grayish tint, her long hair was white, and her ears had an odd point to them.”

  So I hadn’t been imagining it. We were dealing with some sort of crossbreed.

  “How did you escape?” Mo asked.

  “They’d left the en suite window open. I was out the damn thing and thought I was safe when the demon lunged at me.” He grimaced. “That’s how I ended up gutted.”

  And why there was no blood inside the bathroom or on the window frame. It didn’t explain why the window was shut when we’d found it, however.

  “It’s a miracle you even could fly in that state, laddie.”

  “It wasn’t a miracle—it was simply luck. The demon’s claws somehow went under the cummerbund rather than slicing right through it. As you can see, it did eventually fray open, but it kept things intact long enough for me to shift shape and fly away.”

  “Do you know how they found you here?” I asked.

  “Tracking spell,” Mo said. “I destroyed its remnants before I did the healing thing.”

  “I have no idea when it was attached,” Henry commented. “I didn’t feel anything hit when I was flying away.”

  “That is not surprising, given the situation.”

  “No.” Another tear tracked down his cheek. “What happens now?”

  I squatted down in front of him so he didn’t have to keep looking up. The slash across his head might not be pouring blood, but he had to have one hell of a headache. “You’re going into protective custody.”

  He frowned. “I’m thinking the police won’t be able to stop this bitch if she uncovers my location.”

  “The police won’t, but the Preternatural Division—who are a part of the NCA—will.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “They have some of the strongest witches on their books,” Mo said. “You’ll be safe with them.”

  “What about Ada?” he suddenly asked. “Is she okay? Is she in any danger?”

  “We don’t believe so, but I’ve already spoken to her,” Mo said. “She’s quietly disappearing for a few days, just to be on the safe side.”

  “But if she stays with friends or family, she risks being tracked down.”

  “Which is why we’ve booked her a little place up north under an alias. She’ll keep to herself and not contact anyone. I’ve a friend who’ll keep an eye on her and act as an intermediary for any phone calls that need to be made.”

  His expression was a mix of pain and resignation. “I know it’s better if I don’t see or talk to her but s
he’s the only sibling I’ve got left—”

  “And we need to keep it that way,” Mo said firmly. “You need to remain out of contact. It’s very possible that if they found her, they’d use her as bait to force you out of hiding.”

  “But why?” The edge in his voice spoke of both anger and confusion. “Why would anyone want me? Why did they want Gareth? Christ, he was practically a saint compared—”

  He cut the rest of that sentence off, but it was pretty obvious where he’d been heading—compared to Max. And he was right. But that didn’t mean my brother was any safer from death—in fact, Gareth’s death now doubled the danger to Max. Whether or not Jackie was right in thinking my mother’s branch of the Okoro line ran with the blood of Luis Valeriun, the gray-skinned bitch was going after them … what few of them there were left, anyway.

  Henry sucked in a somewhat shaky breath, then blew it out slowly. “Just keep her safe, Mo. Promise me.”

  “I’ll do my best, Henry. That’s all I can promise.”

  “I guess that’ll have to do.”

  He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the stone. Mo glanced at me. “How soon is help getting here?”

  I glanced at my watch. “Probably another ten minutes.”

  “You want to head up to the road and wait for them? I’ll keep guard here.”

  “You don’t think there’ll be more attacks, do you?”

  “Hard to say—especially given the overkill of sending nine demons after one man.”

  “Then perhaps—”

  “Gwen, I’m fine. It’ll take more than the magic I’ve expended here to fully erase my energy stores.”

  She still looked rather drawn, but I knew better than to say anything. I handed her my daggers, then took to the wing, heading first to the clearing where we’d initially landed to collect the knife sheaths before flying over to the road. Two black vans rolled up about eight minutes later. I somewhat warily stepped back into the trees as they came to a halt a few yards away. The man who jumped out of the first van was a short, somewhat rotund figure with thick ginger hair and merry blue eyes. He wasn’t a witch but there was odd energy about him that suggested he wasn’t without power, either. What that power was, I couldn’t say.

  He strode toward me and held out his hand. My skin prickled at the contact, and though the sensation wasn’t unpleasant, I had a vague feeling it was connected to the energy I couldn’t place. “I’m guessing you’re Gwen De Montfort. I’m Bishop Lancaster. We’re here to pick up your cousin.”

  “Excellent,” I said. “But I’d like to see some form of identification before I take you anywhere near him.”

  He chuckled softly. “Lucas said you’d probably say that.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. His credentials looked legit, even though I’d never actually viewed a Preternatural Division badge before.

  “Why the black vans? And where’s the ambulance?”

  “The second van is fully equipped,” he said. “No matter what state he’s in, we can cope.”

  Relief swept me. Mo might have healed the worst of his wounds, but it was good to know that if he did take a bad turn, they could keep him alive. “He’s located in the forest—we’ll have to walk there.”

  He nodded and motioned to the second van. Three men got out and approached with a stretcher and a full medical kit. All three flashed their IDs, which made me think Luc had been quite clear about reassuring me they were the real deal.

  I led the way back to Henry. Mo’s gaze scanned the four men and then she nodded, as if in satisfaction. “Thank you for your prompt arrival, gentlemen.”

  Bishop held out his hand and introduced himself. Mo’s energy output flickered when she clasped his hand, though whether it was in response to that strange tingling I’d felt or something else, I wasn’t sure. She ran through Henry’s injuries and then told them what she’d healed.

  Bishop’s gaze widened. “It’s a wonder he survived all that.”

  “He’s a De Montfort. We’re built tough.”

  “Obviously.” Bishop motioned his medics to proceed. “I’m afraid that until you’re given clearance, we can’t divulge the location of our hospital unit. But Lucas will be sent updates, and we’ll get you in there as soon as possible.”

  “At this point in time,” Mo said. “It’s probably safer for all involved if we remain away. Updates will be fine.”

  Bishop nodded, then turned and followed his men from the clearing. I glanced at Mo. “What was his power?”

  “He’s a reader.”

  “Meaning a telepath?”

  She shook her head. “Telepaths read direct thoughts. Readers get the measure of a person via skin-to-skin contact.”

  Suggesting that’s what he’d been doing when we’d clasped hands. “Then why does his energy feel oddly dangerous?”

  “Because most readers can also project their own energy into another person. It can have catastrophic results.”

  “Remind me never to get on his bad side, then.” I studied her for a minute. “There was a quaint-looking tavern not far from here—why don’t we go grab something to eat and drink before we fly home?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Are you cossetting me?”

  “Possibly. But it’s been one hell of a day and I think we both need to replenish before we do anything else.”

  She patted my arm. “A sensible reply, but you forgot one major problem.”

  I frowned. “What’s that?”

  “You stink worse than a demon’s armpit.”

  I closed my eyes and swore. She chuckled softly. “Home it is.”

  “Just take it slow—”

  “I’m fine, Gwen.”

  “Yeah, but I’ll be carrying the damn daggers and it’s been one hell of a long day.”

  “Neither of us believe that to be anything more than a lie to protect my ego, but we’ll run with it. Go.”

  Once I’d sheathed my daggers and loosely tied them, I shifted shape and swept skyward. It took far too many hours to get home, and by the time we did, I was exhausted. Despite her protests that she was fine, I helped Mo upstairs, ran her a bath, and then made her a hot toddy before taking care of my needs.

  With my leathers in the old boiler and the stench of demon washed from my skin, I picked up my phone and tried to ring my brother. As per usual, the call went to voicemail, so I left a message stating I had urgent news about Gareth and Henry and that he needed to ring me as soon as he could.

  With that done, I made myself a whiskey-laced hot chocolate and returned to Mo’s room. It was very much a reflection of the woman herself—a riot of bohemian-inspired color and textiles. The large, rather ornate bath took pride of place underneath the window, while the toilet and basin sat behind a half wall in the corner. I plonked down on her bed and sipped my drink. I’d overdone the whiskey and it burned all the way down but had little effect on the ice that had settled in my stomach.

  “Did you and Barney manage to talk to the brunette Tris met with at the hotel?”

  “No—her room was cleaned out by the time we got there.”

  “When did she check out?”

  “She didn’t—she skipped out without paying the bill.”

  “The hotel would have taken an impression of her credit card, though, so were you able to at least get her name?”

  “Jane Smith.”

  “If that’s her real name, I’ll give up whiskey.”

  Mo chuckled. “There’s no danger in that—the payment was rejected. Apparently, the card had been canceled.”

  “Did they get an address or phone number when she checked in?”

  “Yes; the phone rings out and the address is a false one—a young family lives there and have never seen or heard of the woman.”

  “And you believe that?”

  “Yes. There was no lie in her words or fear in her eyes.”

  While that was good, it nevertheless left us with another dead end. “I wonder how s
he knew you were coming to see her? Do you think someone tipped her off?”

  “Possibly.” Mo shrugged. “Barney talked to his daughter over the phone, so it’s possible someone overheard and passed it on.”

  Possible, but unlikely, her tone implied. “What about Lance Okoro? Did you contact him about the family bible? It might be the only way we’re going to get to the truth of Gareth’s murder.”

  She nodded. “He sent a courier across to get it immediately, but the bible wasn’t where it was supposed to be.”

  “Meaning we’re too late.”

  “Possibly.” She grimaced and raised her foot, using her toes to flick on the hot water tap. “Although he’s of the opinion it’s merely been misplaced, given there’s been no indication of a breach.”

  “There wouldn’t be if Tris was responsible.”

  “He only returned to London today—or yesterday, as it now is. I doubt, however, the Okoro bible is the reason behind this particular attack.”

  “Then what the hell is?”

  “It might just be a precautionary measure, especially given they’re also looking for the Valeriun bible.”

  “But why are they even searching for them? Why are they killing indirect heirs when direct descents of the Aquitaine kings remain alive?”

  “That is a jolly good question.” She held out her now empty mug. “Another wouldn’t go astray.”

  I put my drink on the nearby bedside table and then grabbed her cup and headed out. “What did you think of Henry’s description of the woman who attacked him?”

  I raised my voice slightly, even though Mo’s hearing was probably better than mine.

  “I’m thinking your thoughts are probably more interesting.”

  I doubted that. I poured hot water into her glass, then added the whiskey and honey and quickly stirred. Once the honey was fully dissolved, I picked the glass up and returned to the bedroom. “The fragment of tell snagged on the window catch suggested she was either part demon or dark elf. Luc said crossbreeds couldn’t exist, but Henry’s description suggests otherwise.”

  She accepted the toddy with a nod of thanks. “There’s a long history of dark elves stealing human women to refresh their own bloodlines. And while it’s normally rare to find crossbreeds—or halflings as they’re more commonly known—outside the darkness in which they’re born, they do exist. They’re also hermaphrodites and able to function as either male or female as they desire.”