by Alexis Hall
There was a moment of silence. Kemsit stared at me, black eyes unblinking.
“If it please the Council.” Mercy turned to me. “It seems to me that you knowingly sacrificed the Prince of Swords to save Julian Saint-Germain.”
And I was pretty sure he told me to wasn’t going to cut it either. It had sounded bad enough when I’d said it to Julian. “Aeglica knew what he was doing. None of us would have escaped if it hadn’t been for him.”
There was another silence. I could feel a prickle of sweat on the back of my neck.
To my surprise, the Prince of Wands spoke up. “It seems to me,” he murmured, “that it is manifestly implausible for Miss Kane to have overpowered Aeglica Thrice-Risen. That she was able to hurt him at all is surely evidence that the situation was as hopeless as she claims.”
I hadn’t expected anybody to be on my side. This was either really good or really bad in ways I couldn’t work out yet.
Diego de Flores leaned forwards, with his chin on his hand. “You forget there was witchcraft involved.”
“We have already spoken to the Witch Queen and the Priestess,” said Kemsit. “I am satisfied they were not part of this.”
“I am not satisfied.” Diego again.
Kemsit stared at him. It was kind of like watching tectonic plates push against each other. “That is your right.”
“What of her sword?” asked Halfdan, so casually it had to be a big deal. I just had no idea how.
I squirmed a bit. “It’s enchanted. Nim—I mean, the Witch Queen told me there was nothing it couldn’t kill. It was the only thing that could stop the King of the Court of Love.”
Al-Rashid cast an incredulous glance in the direction of the London vampires. “Is this correct? Have you permitted the sorcerers to unleash a weapon that could kill all of you?”
“Only one at a time,” I offered. And immediately regretted it.
Until about twenty seconds ago, they’d all been looking at me like I was some kind of bluebottle, mildly irritating but probably too much effort to swat. And now they were looking at me like I was a deadly Australian spider that had been smuggled in on a pot plant. Potentially highly dangerous and best crushed quickly.
Well, fuck.
Caradoc shot to his feet. “We do not tell you how to run Constantinople. Do not tell us how to run London.”
Wow, this guy was worse at politics than I was. Maybe I was imagining it, but I was pretty sure Mercy was smirking behind her veil.
“Forgive me,” said al-Rashid calmly, “but I was not aware that you did, in fact, run London. Nor will you, unless the Council recognises your petition.”
Thomas Pryce looked up sharply. “Sit down, Caradoc. You’re making us appear foolish.” Caradoc took his seat, glowering, and the Prince of Coins continued. “While this blade does, indeed, sound dangerous, I would remind the Council that we are long past the age in which the sword is the pinnacle of military technology. We will, of course, keep Miss Kane and her mortal instrument under observation, but there are other weapons in this world that pose a far more significant threat to our interests.”
“This is a distraction,” interrupted Kemsit. “Katharine Kane, if you have anything more to set before us, do so now.”
I couldn’t think of anything, and it was probably best to stay silent, so I shook my head.
“You may return to your cell. The Council will disperse while its members deliberate your fate.”
Knowing vampires, that could mean two hours or two years. I had a case to solve and a client potentially in danger. I couldn’t afford to sit on my arse in a cellar until a bunch of glorified cadavers decided whether or not to execute me. I needed a Plan B, and I needed one now.
Julian stepped forwards. “With the Council’s permission, I would ask that Miss Kane be released into my custody. She has proven useful to our interests in the past.”
The Prince of Coins raised a polite hand. “With the Council’s permission, the extent to which Miss Kane’s behaviour supports the interests of this body is exactly the matter under consideration. And, even if she is to be given the benefit of the doubt, to release her into the custody of someone known to be her lover is—if you will pardon my bluntness—laughable.”
Typical. You kill a guy’s progeny and you get him thrown out of a window, and he goes and holds it against you.
“Agreed.”
I was getting the feeling Diego didn’t like me.
“It does seem inappropriate.”
And neither did al-Rashid.
Acton Knight coughed gently. “While I share the Council’s concerns, I have known Miss Kane for many years. I can certainly vouch for her. If the Council feels the Prince of Cups is not a suitable guardian, then I will gladly offer myself.”
They took a vote, and to my surprise, twenty minutes later I’d been given my shit back and released into Acton’s care. I just had time to say a brief good-bye to Julian and call Elise to tell her I was still alive, and then I was being whisked through London in Acton’s Mercedes S55 AMG.
Well, this was weird.
“So, um, how’ve you been?”
He smiled. “Very well, thank you, Katharine.”
“How’s the family?”
“Thierry’s just back from Paris. He’s been designing a new park. Shelley and Heather are in New York for the magazine launch. Endymion is still trying to find his path, poor lamb. And Thom has a show opening at the Saatchi Gallery.” He paused for a moment. “Oh, and Patrick, of course, is still working for Sebastian. He’s undercover in a school in Finchley. I think he’s met someone.”
“When you say met someone...she’s not seventeen again, is she?”
“Patrick’s young.”
“He’s a hundred and fifty.”
“As I said, he’s still young. It’s different for our kind.”
I let it go. Nothing good could have come out of telling Acton his son was a dickhead. And maybe this would get Patrick off my back.
“Thanks for letting me crash.”
“It’s a pleasure to have you, Katharine. You’re still family, after all.” Oh God. “I’ll try to persuade the Council to relax the terms of your release. But I’m afraid until I can, you’ll be confined to the house.” Oh God. “Of course, you must make yourself at home.” Oh God. “Thierry and I are having a small dinner party tomorrow. I hope you’ll attend.” Oh fuck.
“That’d be great.” I gave a rictus grin.
The Knights lived in a converted church hall in the fashionable part of Hackney. It was way less spooky than it sounds. It was all Dutch oak flooring and marble. It had decor. When I was seventeen, it was the kind of place I’d only seen in movies. Nowadays it was the kind of place I only saw if I’d been placed under house arrest by a cabal of ancient, amoral fiends. I guess that’s what you call progress. Patrick had the attic room, which he’d decorated in shades of granite, wrought iron, and self-loathing. At the time, I’d thought it was unbelievably cool and edgy.
Endymion was tinkling apathetically on the white grand piano in the open-plan living room, looking bored and beautiful. Thierry was sitting by the fireplace, wearing a turtleneck sweater and reading the sort of book which had a cover that looked like flock wallpaper. As I stomped inside, he looked up with an expression that suggested he was genuinely pleased to me.
“Katharine, chérie,” he exclaimed. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
His accent was much less outrageous than I remembered it being.
“On trial for my life,” I said cheerfully. “Long story.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Acton, my love, what is this?”
Dr. Knight had come in behind me. “Council business. It seems that Katharine killed Aeglica Thrice-Risen.”
Thierry glanced from Acton to me and back again. “I’m sure you had a very good reason. N
ow, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll make up the guest room. Perhaps you would like a bath? It must have been a long day.”
“Thank you, my love.” Acton went over and kissed him lightly on the lips.
The Knights had always walked a fine line between heartwarming and nauseating. Right now they were getting a pass on account of saving me from a cellar.
Endymion had started picking out the Danse Macabre on the piano. It was the closest he came to acknowledging my presence.
I followed Thierry upstairs, drew myself a bath in their second bathroom, which was just as vast and marble as the first, and then crawled into an oversized but perfectly made bed and passed out.
Chapter Four
Exes & Apple Juice
I opened my eyes in the unfamiliar Dream of an unfamiliar room. I rose and took up my sword. An unexpected heaviness dragged at my limbs as I stumbled through a greyscale echo of the Knight family home. I could feel them nearby: one a presence like a sea without waves, another twisted round the house like ivy, the third something hard and cold, like a jewel without warmth or light.
Nimue waited for me downstairs in a dress of mist and silver. She held out her hand.
“Come.”
I reached out to her and we were standing in a glass-and-steel chamber high above the city. It was like looking down on a map. No, it was like looking at a hundred maps, pressed one on top of the other. I could see streets and houses, the grey serpent of the Thames, but also the multicoloured ribbons of Tube lines spiralling out from King’s Cross, the glittering fragile spiderwebs of wireless networks, the shadowy imprints of the sewer system with its lost rivers, and eight million points of pulsing light, each one a heartbeat and each one tied to countless others by threads of love and hate and loyalty.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yes,” said Nimue, her hand resting lightly against the small of my back.
I realised the heaviness had gone.
“I felt strange.”
“Vampires. They draw strength from the Dream, though only the most dangerous realise it.”
“Why have you brought me here?”
“To show you. This is my kingdom. War is coming.”
“What about that green chick I’m normally fighting?”
Nimue was silent a moment. “She is something else.” The glass around us shattered and she swept her hand over the cityscape below. The mists swirled into new configurations. “Look.”
I saw a shadow fall over London like black wings.
Nimue turned her hand palm upwards.
And I saw streets with darkness flooding them like ink.
“What is that?” I asked.
“I do not know. It clouds my vision. It challenges my sovereignty.” Nimue turned to face me, and everything fell away into a silver mist. Snow began to fall in soft, thick flakes. It glistened on the edge of my sword and dusted the dark coils of her unbound hair. “Find it.”
* * *
“How?” I asked the ceiling in Acton Knight’s spare room.
It did not answer.
I scrabbled for my mobile. I’d slept ’til nearly noon. Turns out that the threat of execution really wears you out. I rang Elise, explained the situation, and asked her to drop off a change of clothes, the charger for my phone, and my work laptop.
I lay around on the ridiculously comfortable mattress enjoying the ridiculously soft sheets and then went for a ridiculously lavish shower in the ridiculously lovely bathroom.
It would have been a great place to stay if I’d actually been allowed to leave.
I pulled on the clothes I’d been wearing yesterday and went downstairs to see if there was any hope of coffee in a house whose occupants never drank...coffee.
Endymion was lounging on a sofa, one arm draped over his brow. And Thierry was bouncing around the pristine kitchen doing terrifying things to food. Clearly when you’re immortal, life is no longer too short to stuff a mushroom.
“What’s going on?”
Endymion turned his head almost imperceptibly in my direction. “Father is cooking for mortals,” he drawled, “and he’s fearfully excited about it.”
“Don’t be like that, Dimmy,” trilled Thierry. “We have this enormous beautiful kitchen, and we never use it.”
“Yes, it’s amazing how little use you get out of a lemon zester on an all-blood diet.”
“Is there any chance of any coffee?” I asked.
“Absolutely, chérie.” Thierry busied himself with a French press, and soon the smell of cooking was overlaid by the—frankly superior—smell of coffee.
There seemed to be a lot of food happening. Thierry had already prepared three plates of canapés.
“Uh, how many people are you expecting tonight?”
“Seven.”
“And how many of them actually eat?”
“Two, but it’s all about the presentation.”
“Right. Hang on, who’s the other one?”
“Patrick’s new girlfriend. We’re all really looking forward to meeting her.”
Well, fuck. I hated big social gatherings, I hated seeing Patrick, and I was about a decade too old to be hanging around with teenagers. I had no idea what seventeen-year-olds were into these days but, unfortunately, in this girl’s case, the answer seemed to be Patrick, which would make for some awkward conversations.
Hi, so, One Direction, eh? They’re a popular beat combo. Has he started watching you sleep, yet?
If they were at the meeting-the-family stage, that meant they’d probably had about a month of him pretending to hate her, another month of no, no, stay away from me, and a month of I cannot exist without you. If they kept to schedule, people would be trying to murder her by Christmas.
I drank my coffee and made small talk until the doorbell rang.
“That’ll be for me. Do you mind if we use the study?”
“Oh, make yourself at home,” said Thierry, with an extravagant gesture. “You’re still family as far as we’re concerned.”
Oh God.
I went and let Elise in. She looked worried.
“Are you well, Miss Kane?”
“I’m fine. Obviously I won’t be so great if they execute me, but so far, so good.”
“What can be done?”
“Nothing really. Anyway, we’re on a case.”
“Indeed. I brought the files.”
I led her into the study and sat down on Acton’s huge leather swivel chair. I’d seen these things in catalogues, but they cost more than my car. Though, to be fair, that wasn’t difficult. I’ve probably had takeaways that cost more than my car.
Elise stood like always and de-bagged my laptop. I booted it up and plugged my phone in to charge. That was one crisis avoided, at least.
“I’ve located the girlfriend, Miss Sarah Katz. She works as a new media consultant and owns a small flat in Highgate.”
“Good work. She’s not a vampire or anything, is she?”
“Not that I could ascertain, Miss Kane.”
“What about his friends?” I couldn’t help myself. I started spinning round on the chair.
“My investigations revealed that Mr. Shawcross was not an especially sociable young man. He has a small, closely knit circle of friends with whom he had a weekly Vampire: The Requiem game.”
I stopped spinning. “What: the What?”
“I spoke to a particularly helpful young gentleman who went by the name of Warlock. He informed me that it was a form of interactive collective storytelling in a modern gothic milieu. He invited me to join their group.” Elise paused a moment. “He seemed most insistent that I would find it pleasurable.”
I’ll bet he did. “I take it this has nothing to do with actual vampires?”
“No, Miss Kane. When I enquired, Mr. Warlock was very keen to explain t
o me that they understood the game to be a work of fiction, and they would under no account become lost in the steam tunnels under the university, nor would they ritually sacrifice anyone in an attempt to, and I quote, ‘take the game to the next level.’ I confess, Miss Kane, at this stage I had rather lost track of the conversation.”
“No shit.” I found the tilt lever on the side of the chair and put it all the way back. A little footstool unfolded underneath. “Is there anything else about Mr. Shawcross?”
“I ran thorough background checks. Student loans aside, he was financially solvent. He was living on campus at Brunel, where he was pursuing a master’s degree in computer game design. I believe he was particularly interested in motion capture. I found no evidence of any serious personal problems and nothing that would have brought him into contact with vampires.”
I was really comfortable, but I try to avoid talking business when I’m horizontal. I propped myself on my elbows. “What about this internship? It seems like a lot of supernatural power players have Locke Enterprises on their radar. Maybe someone’s using him to get to Eve.”
“All I know is that the internship itself was entirely above board. I believe he was part of a research group specialising in image analysis.” She paused. “You seem disappointed, Miss Kane. Have I done something wrong?”
This was turning into a big pile of dead ends, and I guess my frustration was showing. “You’ve done fine, Elise. It’s just that we’re still looking in the wrong places. If Mr. Shawcross has become a vampire, and I’m pretty sure he has, then we probably won’t find him, unless we find out who made him one. And how. And why. And we’re no closer to that than we were yesterday.”
The door opened and Thierry stuck his head round. “Sorry to interrupt. I just wondered if I could get you anything?”
“No, thank you, Thierry.”
“I’ve got that cloudy apple juice you like.”
I dimly remembered that when I’d come here fifteen years ago, I’d said that I liked the cloudy apple juice they had in their fridge at the time, and Thierry had dutifully provided it for me at our every meeting since. I gave up. “That would be lovely.”