by Alexis Hall
“Shit.” I rubbed my wrists. “Not you guys as well. This is already a giant clusterfuck. Do us all a favour and stay out of it.”
Tara leapt across the room and pinned me to the ground. She crouched over me, the ends of her hair and the loose silk of her dressing gown brushing lightly against my body. Putting her lips to my ear, her breath a rush of heat, she whispered: “I’ve told you before not to tell me my business. You will come before the pack, and you will tell us what you know.”
I had three choices. Talk my way out, fight my way out, or sex my way out. Last time, sexing my way out hadn’t gone so well. “If that’s what you want, fine.”
She sprang to her feet and, after a moment, I risked sitting up. Reaching out she pulled on the bell rope, and a couple of minutes later, there was a knock on the door and a servant entered.
“Take this woman to the large dining room. And if she tries to run, give the call and we will hunt her down.”
“Very good, my lady.”
I’d already crossed Tara enough for one lifetime, so I went quietly. Not that I was exactly thrilled about being taken to the dining room. It was a bit too all the better to eat you with.
Chapter Eighteen
Wolves & Lambs
I was shown into a vast chamber, all hardwood and chandeliers. The walls were lined with family portraits, most of them showing intense, athletic-looking women with wolves at their feet. I spotted Tara’s picture straightaway because it was closest to the door. She was standing in full hunting pinks, incredibly tight trousers, and incredibly shiny boots, an arm resting against the neck of one of those impossibly white horses you only get in paintings. A vast golden wolf sprawled at her feet. I was pretty sure that was her as well. The next one along showed a dazzling young woman in a sea-green ballgown framed against the open windows to a formal garden. A silver-grey wolf sat primly by her side, staring out of the portrait with a cold ferocity. I was just thinking how much I’d like to hit that—the girl, I mean, not the wolf—when I realised they were both probably the Dowager, the terrifying old woman who had been a total dick to me every time we’d met.
“Ah, Miss Kane,” came a plummy voice from the bottom end of the table. “Do come in. The others will be along presently.”
I hadn’t seen Jumbo, the Vane-Tempest PR man, since he’d helpfully pointed me in the direction of a soul-sucking stag monster at his cousin’s funeral. “Hi.”
“How nice to see you again,” he purred. “I’m so glad you weren’t devoured.”
“That makes two of us.”
I walked the mile and a half down the dining table to take the chair next to him. Jumbo was a fat, balding man, currently clutching a cocktail in one hand and a cigar in the other. He was one of those harmless-looking people who totally aren’t.
“If you’d care for a snifter, I believe they’re still serving drinks in the library.”
It was a nice idea, but there was no way I was going against Tara’s orders, especially if it meant walking into a room full of werewolves who weren’t expecting me. There are some things even I won’t do for a free drink. “I’m good.”
“I must say,” he went on, “Tara brought you in at rather short notice.”
“Really short.”
“You have an air of displeasure, Miss Kane. I hope you are not here under duress.”
I sighed. “It’s a long story.”
“The best ones always are. I presume you have something to tell us about the situation in London.”
I might have known Jumbo had his finger in that pie as well. “Looks like.”
“I would not wish to partner you at bridge, Miss Kane.”
“It’d be a good call. I’ve never played.”
“That much is obvious. You have no talent for communication.”
“Ooh, burn.”
He popped the olive out of his drink and into his mouth. “Now, now, Miss Kane, it was an observation, not an insult. I understand that you are a woman of action.”
“Damn straight. But, since you’re not, do you want to tell me what’s going on here and how you know about the Morrígan? Did Corin say something?”
“Please, Miss Kane, credit us with some ability to discharge our sacred birthright. There has been, shall we say, an explosion of vampire activity in the capital, but I suspect, given your associations, you know at least as much about that as we do. We’ve been investigating the matter for some time. And, remember, start from the outside and work in.”
I was about to ask what the hell he meant when the doors opened and a throng of chattering toffs spilled into the room. All of them were dressed up to the nines and most of them were carrying martini glasses. I’d first run into the Vane-Tempests during all the crap three months ago and I recognised a few of them from the funeral. There was the Dowager Marchioness of Safernoc, a bundle of octogenarian hostility in a green velvet evening dress. When we last met, she’d made it pretty clear she hated me and possibly all humans. She was escorted her by grandson, Henry, who seemed to be the only one of the family who wasn’t a complete arsehole. I vaguely remembered two of the others from when I’d gatecrashed a polo game. Tara had called them Tuffie and Smudge, but I wasn’t sure which was which.
“You’re probably in somebody’s chair,” said Jumbo, and I jumped up quickly. We’d had a dog when I was growing up, and it used to get pretty shirty when the cat tried to sit in its basket.
I stood there like a lemon waiting for everyone to take their place. Eventually there were only two seats left, the big one at the head of the table and one to the left of it, opposite Henry and next to either Tuffie or Smudge.
The last time I tried to sit in a vacant seat, it’d been part of a mystical circle and it hadn’t gone well.
“Is this me?” I asked Tuffie or Smudge.
“Yah.”
I sat down.
There were more knives on the table in front of me than I had taped to the bottom of my desk. Not to mention the weird bits of silverware that looked like they’d come from an operating theatre.
I was just getting settled when everybody stood up again and Tara swept into the room. She was wearing another one of her impossible dresses. This one was basically a gold sheath, split to the hip. Well, at least she’d dressed for dinner.
She lowered herself into her chair, which meant the rest of us could sit down as well. Conversation resumed. And just like that, I was stuck at another dinner party. If anything, it was worse than the last. Tara was pointedly ignoring me. Note to self: never cockblock demons or werewolves.
Henry made a few attempts to speak to me, but Tara cut him off every time. And Tuffie or Smudge was too busy talking werewolf shop with whoever was sitting on her other side. Thankfully, the Dowager was at the other end of the table, but I could feel her glare from here.
I had to sit through six courses of this. When the starter or the entrée or appetiser or whatever you call it was served, Jumbo’s weird comment suddenly made sense, and I think I used all the right cutlery. The food was probably really nice but I wasn’t in the mood to appreciate it. I tried to pick up on the conversation around me so I’d have some idea what the hell was going on, but there were too many people talking at once, and I couldn’t filter out all the polo and fashion show stuff from the hard-core wolf politics.
Finally, they brought the coffee round, and Tara got to her feet. I was all set to jump up as well, but nobody else moved so I stayed put.
“Brothers, sisters, friends,” she announced. “Tonight we are fortunate that Miss Katharine Kane has come to bring us news from London.”
Everybody stared at me, and I stared at Tara with my best what the fuck face on.
“Stand up,” she whispered.
I stood up. I hate public speaking. You’re usually told that if you’re nervous you should imagine the audience naked, but I’d already seen Ta
ra naked and she was no less intimidating. Also, she was clearly doing this to freak me out, and I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction.
“Look,” I said, “it’d be really helpful if you told me what you want to get out of this.”
There was no way I was spilling my guts to a bunch of strangers. I didn’t know what they already knew, and I had no idea what they’d do with what I told them.
“Tell us what the vampires are doing.”
“You know the Council’s in town?”
From halfway up the table, a dark-haired woman in her early forties leaned forwards.
Tara glanced her way. “Jocasta?”
“Which members?” she asked.
This was the kind of information that could get people killed, but I figured they were old enough to take care of themselves, and I gambled on the idea that a half-dozen powerful vampires might encourage the werewolves to back off. I listed the names of the Council in rough order of scariness. Jocasta retrieved from beside her chair a book so hefty it was probably a tome and started leafing through it.
“So”—she paused about a third of the way in—“that’s the Emperor, the High Priestess, Justice, Death, Temperance.”
Tara braced herself with both hands on the table. The whole conquering general vibe nearly stopped me noticing her breasts. “Where does that leave us?”
“Justice will represent the greatest threat. The records date her back to the first dynasty. If she comes into direct conflict with the Morrígan, there could be disastrous consequences.”
I thought back to Aeglica’s garden. If that was what happened when Kemsit and the Morrígan squared off for two seconds, I didn’t like to think where it would end if they really got into it.
Tara’s attention flicked back to me. “Why has this happened now?”
Well, Tara. The murderous con woman you’re currently fucking woke her up.
“I don’t know all the details,” I hedged, “but I’m pretty sure someone woke her up. I’m pretty sure it was Corin Black. And I’m pretty sure someone busted her out of jail so she could do it. But I don’t know who or why or what the hell they hoped to get out of it.”
Tara’s eyes flashed. “If you’re playing me, Kate Kane.”
“Did I hear that correctly?” came the Dowager’s diamond-sharp tones from the other end of the table. “Are you currently bedding the mortal who woke the vampire queen?”
Tara’s lips curled back and she snarled.
The Dowager just smiled.
“May I ask,” enquired Jumbo, easing himself into the conversation and nodding in my direction, “if you know what the Morrígan’s plans might be?”
Again, I was pretty sure that information wouldn’t get anyone killed. Tara might have been a dick, but there was a part of me that weirdly respected her. Or wanted to do her. One of the two. “She’s looking for something, and she’s building an army to get it.”
“This is not to be borne,” snapped the Dowager. “The vampires have been flouting the Compact for five years, and we have done nothing about it. And see where it has led.”
“The Compact was with the Council, not the Morrígan,” said Jocasta softly.
“They must know what she is doing, and if they do not, they are weak and must be replaced. If they fail to keep their house in order, we shall do it for them.”
Tara came to her full height, which was pretty damn full, especially in those heels. “It is no longer your place to say what this pack does or does not do.” For a moment, things seemed to be going my way. “But I cannot let the vampires spawn unchecked.”
Or maybe not.
Jumbo looked up lazily from his coffee. “It would be inadvisable to antagonise the Council.”
“Does the Council rule here, or do you?” demanded the Dowager, glaring at Tara.
The last thing we needed was a pack of werewolves rampaging around London. It’d be just about okay in a mass murdering sort of way if they stuck to the Morrígan’s minions, but I was pretty sure their intel wasn’t that good. I’ve seen werewolves on a cull before. They think they’ve got a sacred right to control the populations of other supernatural species, and they don’t really discriminate. If they hit London, they’d probably kill anything that smelled like a corpse.
“Tara,” I tried. “Think about this.”
I realised too late it was the last thing I should have said. Tara hates taking orders, especially from me, especially in front of her family. She gave me a furious look. Some days you just shouldn’t get out of bed. Then she turned back to her family. “We hunt at dawn.”
Well, fuck.
I had to warn Julian.
The party broke up for brandy and cigars, and I took the opportunity to slip away. I ducked into one of Safernoc’s endless supply of posh person rooms and pulled out my phone. The reception was terrible so I stood by the window and hoped. Since I knew dialling Julian’s personal number would be a waste of time, I decided to ring the Velvet. I’d barely opened my contacts list when Tara’s hand closed hard over my wrist, and she yanked away my phone. She dropped it onto the floor and drove one of her six-inch heels through the screen. I lose more handsets that way. Okay, not that way exactly.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that.”
I scowled at her. “You could have just said.”
“I’m still very angry with you, Kate Kane.”
I couldn’t tell if that was a threat or a come-on. “Look”—I held my hands up in that surrendery gesture she seemed to like—“it’s not too late. You can stop this.”
“We have a duty.”
“What, to ride into London and slaughter everyone?”
“To protect the land and its people. I will not stop this, and neither will you.”
I didn’t like where this was going. I didn’t have my silver dagger on me, and I couldn’t have taken Tara even if I had.
Here lies Kate Kane. Eaten by a lingerie model and not in a good way. Beloved daughter. Sorely missed.
But all Tara did was drag me off. When people are manhandling you, you’ve basically got two choices: fight them or go with it, otherwise you just look like an idiot. I’d already ruled out fighting, so I went with it.
She whisked me through the corridors of Safernoc, down a flight of honest-to-God stone steps, and into an actual motherfucking dungeon.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
She gazed at me with a mixture of frustration and affection. “I don’t trust you.”
She had a point.
She pulled me into a cell and snapped a pair of manacles onto my wrists. And we weren’t talking Ann Summers fluffy handcuffs here. We were talking good old-fashioned cold iron as thick as your thumb.
“Can’t we talk about this?” I asked.
“I’ll be back for you, Kate Kane, when it’s done.”
“Just so you know, I’ll be pretty bloody angry.”
She leaned in close, her hair tickling my neck. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“You really fucking won’t.” I twisted away from her, and she backed off.
“Well, what am I supposed to think? You don’t answer my calls, you return all my gifts, and then you walk into my bedroom when I’m fucking another woman.”
“And you took that as an invitation to lock me up in your authentic medieval dungeon and then do me?”
“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Kate Kane.”
I tried to fold my arms and realised I couldn’t. “And how’s that?”
“Like you’re not sure if you want to stab me or fuck me.”
“Right now, I’m leaning towards stab.”
Tara laughed.
I didn’t. “You don’t get to laugh. You’re locking me up.”
“All’s fair in love and war, Kate Kane.”
W
ith that, she left in a swirl of gold and locked the door behind her. I gave my bonds an experimental yank, hoping they’d be old and rusted through. They weren’t. Clearly, the Vane-Tempests were the hot pick for this year’s Ideal Dungeon exhibition. I tried to call on my mother’s strength, but I got nothing. I knew iron chains could hold faeries, and it looked like they could hold me too. Since I couldn’t brute force my way out, I gave the setup a once-over in case there was an obvious weakness or a convenient spare key. I was manacled on a long chain that ran through a thick iron ring bolted to the floor. I was basically fucked.
The last time I’d been in a mess like this, Elise had bailed me out, but there was no way she’d be able to track me through a faery realm to Oxfordshire. She was good, but she wasn’t that good. I should have texted her, but I’d forgotten what it was like to work with a partner, and once again, Corin had put me off my game.
I sighed and plonked myself down on the floor. They’d have to feed me eventually. Maybe I could knock someone out and steal their uniform or whatever. Of course, I’d still be chained up.
There was nothing for it but to wait. Being imprisoned is a real bummer, and since Tara had smashed my phone, I couldn’t even play Angry Birds.
Time passed. Then some more time passed. Then some more time passed.
Her lies Kate Kane. Died of boredom. Beloved daughter. Sorely missed.
I lay down on the floor and closed my eyes. Sleeping would pass a good few hours, and if I was really lucky I’d be able to get through to Nim in my dreams.
“Kate?”
Wow, that’d worked quicker than I expected. Then I realised it wasn’t in my head, it was outside the door.
“Kate?”
Now I was paying attention, I recognised Corin. She was the only person I’ve met in real life with a transatlantic accent, and I’d know that breathless, broken voice anywhere. She always sounded like she was either terrified or having an orgasm. No wonder she and Tara got on so well. Talking to Corin is like that movie that Eve made me watch where the guy stops the computer blowing up the world by playing noughts and crosses with it. The only winning move is not to play.