Her eyes opened wider. “What are you?”
Fury of the gods.
“I’m your worst nightmare.” It came out in a voice I didn’t recognize—many voices, in fact; a chorus of them, harmonizing with each other.
She narrowed her eyes at me, then pulled out another cigarette. With what seemed a great deal of effort, she rose to her feet.
Should I let her live?
“You and I are the same, darling,” she said. “We’re monsters. The only difference is that you’re lying to yourself.”
Nope. You don’t get to live.
I lunged for her, slashing with my knife. She darted back, her movements bestial. Her tongue lashed out again, striking me in the side. Pain seared me, but her poisons didn’t seep into me this time. She hit me again with her tongue, but this time, I cut into it with my blade. Dark blood stained the pavement.
Battle fury pulsed through my bones, and I lunged for her, ready to stab, to slice, to carve.
A rattle rose from her throat, and she darted away from me again, landing in a puddle of water with a splash. She was fast.
I lunged for her again, but she disappeared into the puddle. Her body vanished completely.
She left behind only the smell of moss and blood. I looked at the pile of human corpses, my stomach turning. It was only then I realized that my whole body was trembling, that the knife in my hand was shaking. I didn’t feel in control of the death force in me, and I wanted to keep it locked up.
I let out a long, slow breath. I couldn’t let my dark side come out—not completely.
I stared at the puddle of murky water, marshaling a sense of calm. One more night, and I still didn’t have any answers.
I didn’t know if that woman was directly connected to Baleros, but his chaos had allowed her to roam London’s streets, feeding off death. I cocked my head, staring at the still puddle. Maybe now that I’d rid the streets of her death-stench, I could find myself some jackdaws.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and turned to walk back toward The Spread Eagle.
The streets still looked empty, and I attuned my ears to the sound of footsteps. Ruadan had given me a time limit on this particular mission, and I had about a half hour left before I was supposed to report back to him. I was starting to think I’d be late.
It took me another twenty minutes before I found one of them, stalking down Fenchurch Street. The oldest part of the city, where humans had once made sacrifices to the river gods.
My pulse started to race as I turned to follow him, and I sheathed my knife again. He was heading south, toward The Spread Eagle. When he turned his head, I caught a hollow look in his eyes that made my blood run cold. He didn’t seem to be taking things in, didn’t notice me. He was human, but the expression in his eyes made me think he was staring at me from one of the hells itself. What had Baleros done to these men?
I picked up my pace, moving after him to close the gap. I shoved my hand into my pocket, then pulled out a grape lolly to pop in my mouth.
When the jackdaw turned left into a narrow alleyway—not far from the glowing spires of the Institute—I followed him into the passage.
His footsteps echoed off the brick walls. I quickened my pace, drawing my knife as I moved closer. Then, when I was within arm’s reach, I grabbed him. In the next heartbeat, I had him pinned up against the wall, elbow to his chest, knife to his throat.
That wasn’t hard. Not hard at all.
He stared at me, his eyes heavy-lidded. Bizarrely, he didn’t look one bit scared. Beneath his cloak, he had pale skin and a hint of a beard.
“Who are you?” I barked, my lolly sticking out of my mouth.
He blinked down at me. “No one.”
“What’s your name, dimwit?”
His mouth opened and closed mutely. Then he said, “The Great Mortality is coming for us all.”
And that confirmed my hunch. The jackdaws had been Baleros’s work.
I pressed the blade a little harder, drawing a tiny bit of blood. “Let’s just get down to brass tacks, shall we? Where do I find Baleros?”
His eyes widened—just enough to tell me that he recognized the name. Still, he didn’t say anything. Why wasn’t he scared of his clearly impending death?
I grabbed one of his wrists, slamming it against the wall. He grunted. The cloth slipped up his arm, and for a moment, my heart skipped a beat. There—burned into his skin—was a brand. But it wasn’t Baleros’s brand as I’d expected. No, this was the moon rising over a tower.
It was the symbol of the Institute. So it wasn’t just the cloaks. Baleros had gone to serious lengths to frame us.
“That looks familiar,” I muttered. Thing was, the Institute didn’t brand people. Baleros branded people. I knew, because I’d once cut his brand off my own wrist.
I leaned in, sniffing the faint, electrical scent of magic. Nearly imperceptible, a dark aura glimmered around him. What sort of enchantment was this?
“Where is he?” I hissed. “Where is Baleros?”
The man simply shook his head. “Can’t tell anyone, can I?”
I reared back my arm and slammed my fist into his chin, the bone cracking as I made contact. Now, his shattered jaw hung at an angle, already swelling.
When he met my gaze, I still saw no fear there. He just stared at me, a quiet desperation in his eyes.
“How is Baleros recruiting you people?” I demanded, rage and fear rising in my chest. I could already feel myself losing control. “I need answers. Where did he find you?”
“I used to be alive.” His voice sounded haunted.
I narrowed my eyes at the pulsing vein in his neck. His skin was warm, and I could hear his heart beating from here. If there’s one thing I knew, it was death. And this man was not dead.
“What the hells do you mean?” I shot back. “You’re still alive.”
“Nah, not anymore. My name used to be Alan. I was the manager of a small sales division. An insurance company. Not only was I alive, but I was known as a bit of a party animal, as it were. Organized company footie and barbecues. Fun and games.”
Oh, gods. I wished he’d just talk about torture or something.
“That was me. Right laugh,” he continued in his monotone. “Before I died, I wore a boa for a laugh, made jokes about bumming the other lads. I burned my knob by sticking it in the cheese dip, and—”
I punched him hard again in the jaw. It took me a moment to realize I had no strategic reason for hitting him just then, but I didn’t want to hear anything else about his life.
“You would have been my type,” he said. “Pretty face, completely insane, nice set of baps—”
I hit him again. His head lolled again, and his eyelids fluttered.
“What do you mean you’re dead?” I snarled. “You’re objectively not dead. It’s not up for argument.”
“I’m dead, innit?”
Idiot. At least this explained the jackdaws’ fearlessness. If a man thought he was dead, he had nothing to fear.
He stared at me. “He promised me eternal life.”
“Baleros?”
“I must keep his secrets. That’s the rule.”
“He’s not going to give you eternal life. You’re not dead. You’re a fucking muppet, but you’re not dead. Tell me about this Great Mortality. What’s the plan?”
“The dead cannot die,” he said in a flat voice, blood dripping from his chin, streaming from his broken nose.
It took me a moment to hear the dim beeping noise. Another second to notice his thumb on a button, the blinking lights at his waist. And a fraction of an instant to put together that this man was about to blow himself up, with me standing next to him.
I dove away from him, landing hard on the pavement just as the bomb went off. The explosion seared my back, and shrapnel pierced the skin at my waist. I didn’t want to think too long about what the shrapnel was—probably bits of Alan’s bones. The explosion had temporarily deafened me, and I clamped my han
ds over my ears to dampen the piercing ring.
Smoke billowed around me, and I turned back to look at the man formerly known as Alan. There was hardly anything left of him, just gristle and body parts spattered over the brick and pavement.
I coughed, wincing in pain, and pushed myself up onto my hands and knees. I blocked out the vague sense that I was inhaling Alan dust, and I rubbed the smoke and grit out of my eyes. As I did, something on the pavement caught my eye—a scrap of glittering gold and green.
I crawled over to it, grunting. I picked up the colored remnant, running my fingertips over its surface. It looked like a piece of a matchbox, and the fragment read The Skull and Cr—
The singed edges and heat told me it had come from Alan.
My hands were shaking, and dizziness clouded my mind as I forced myself up. The jackdaw situation was worse than I thought. Somehow, Baleros was convincing people they were already dead, that serving him was the key to their eternal salvation. Not only did he have the mist army, but he’d made himself a legion of fearless human slaves.
Chapter 69
I rose unsteadily, leaning against a brick wall as I tried to stay standing. I’d learned a few things. But not the big question of where I’d find Baleros.
One day till the world ends.
I gripped my side, using breathing to manage the pain. The explosion had burned some of my skin, and had lacerated my back and waist.
The mournful sound of church bells knelled over the city.
I hobbled to the mouth of the alley, staring out onto the empty, darkened street.
What was he doing with the jackdaws? If there was a single piece of philosophy that guided Baleros’s actions, it was the idea that chaos was the opportunity to remake the world the way he wanted it. And he was doing a bang-up job of it so far.
Amidst the city’s panic, only the Institute felt calm, our walls protected by a magical moat and a river.
I touched the lumen stone at my neck, working on summoning its shadow magic. Cold power flooded my limbs, igniting my muscles. Then, I shadow-leapt down the dark street. With the tower in view, I leapt again, landing hard just before the moat of light.
A shock of pain shot up my body as I touched down before the light. I’d mistimed it a bit, landed too hard, and I was sure at least some of my limbs had been bruised in the blast.
Catching my breath, I stepped onto the bridge that spanned the magical moat. Instantly, warmth flooded me, washing over my skin. It almost felt like the light was healing me.
As I crossed the stone bridge, hunger rose in my gut. In fact, the feeling of starvation overwhelmed me so much, it eclipsed the pain of my injuries. What the hells? I’d killed the hunger gorta that once guarded the Institute. Why was I feeling this famine now?
I could think only of filling my belly, and of gnawing on the sweet, sweet grass that grew below the moat.
Furious, I jammed my hand into my bug-out bag, and I pulled out a chocolate bar and my headlamp. I flicked my headlamp on, then unwrapped the chocolate, taking a huge bite.
A cloaked fae approached me, and I just caught a glimpse of his gaunt features under his hood.
“Who are you?” I barked, furious in my hunger.
“I’m the new gorta. They’re paying me double the last fella. Just doing my bit.”
My stomach rumbled wildly. I clutched it, nearly doubling over. I thought Aengus had said it was nearly impossible to get a gorta.
“How’s it going, then?” He pointed at my stomach. “Does the ol’ belly feel a bit hollow?”
“You’re not supposed to strike me,” I yelled, clutching my stomach. “I’m one of the Shadow Fae. I belong here.”
Ah. Right. It was hard to get a good gorta.
“Just want to make sure the Grand Master feels he’s getting his money’s worth,” he said. “I’ve got a family to feed. Not many of you going in and out. Not many of you here, in fact. Everyone’s out looking for this bogeyman. Baleros, innit. Whole place is empty.”
I straightened, looking him right in the eye. “I’m here, and I’m a knight. I belong here. Let me through.” I pointed out beyond the moat of magic. “I’m bleeding all over the bridge right now, having done a night’s work for the Institute, and the Grand Master wants to see me.”
He shrugged. “Go on, then.” He jumped off the bridge to the grassy moat below.
As soon as he did, the gnawing hunger disappeared from my ribs.
I wrapped up the rest of my chocolate bar and dropped it in my bag. Then, I flicked off my headlamp, passing through the gate into the old Tower itself. My body ached in places I didn’t even want to think about, and fragments of bone were embedded deep within my flesh. I winced as I walked; blood poured from my sides.
We had one day left, and only a tiny scrap of paper to go on.
As I crossed into the great hall, my body hummed at the sight of Ruadan on his rocky throne. Somehow, he looked like he’d always belonged there, as if his prior absence from its jagged contours had been a terrible error. A silver crown gleamed on his head, and the wavering torchlight gilded his perfect features—the dark eyebrows, the aggressively beautiful planes of his face.
I was so intently focused on Ruadan, I nearly missed the king standing on the flagstones before him—and the woman by his side.
The same woman, in fact, who’d tried to kill me just a half hour ago. It was the serpent fae, smiling smugly in her red leather dress, long black hair tumbling gracefully over her shoulders. The only sign that she’d just been on a murdering binge was the glow of her body from feeding on their pain.
I limped into the room, my lip curling. “What’s she doing here?”
Ruadan took in my injuries, and he tensed in his throne. His dark magic whooshed over the hall, suffocating some of the flames at the ends of the torches. For just a moment, shadows pooled in his eyes. “Are you okay?” His voice was quiet, but somehow seemed to fill the hall.
All eyes were on me, and I held my side as I walked, feeling as if I was trying to hold my body together. I’d gone a bit dizzy from the blood loss.
“I’m alive. I had some altercations.” I nodded at the serpent woman. “If fact, I believe I met your friend here, earlier.”
I wasn’t going to mention the jackdaws in front of these strangers I didn’t trust.
“How fascinating.” The auburn-haired king failed to hide his irritation.
And who was he? Red magic glimmered and crackled around his body—not just a king, but a powerful magician.
The king turned back to Ruadan. “I don’t care if you’ve taken him out of the dungeon. I want my son back. I am King Locrinus of Elfame, Carver of Enemies, House of the Golden Sickle, and I demand that you return Maddan to me.”
Oh. Of course. He was the father of the Institute’s least competent recruit, Maddan. And I suppose he wanted his son back.
Ruadan ignored the king, his eyes locked on me. He rose from his throne. “We need to speak. Privately.”
The king huffed. “Honestly, what in the gods’ names is this creature?”
“I’m Arianna, daughter of…. You know what? Let’s not get into who sired whom. I already met Serpent Lady when she was crushing some humans to death, anyway.”
As Ruadan crossed to me, he shot the serpent woman a look of such venom that I had to wonder if they had a history.
Ruadan stood over me, tugging up the edge of my shirt to inspect the damage. “How injured are you?”
“I might have bits of an insurance salesman lodged within my spleen.”
“You’re coming with me now.”
Then, he scooped me up as if I didn’t weigh a thing. His magic began snaking over my body, numbing the sharp pain and the burns. I rested my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Once we were through the archway, he whispered, “What happened?”
“First, I saw that serpent lady. The fomoire. She’s vile.”
Ruadan carried me up the stairs.
�
�Then, I found one of the jackdaws. They’re definitely human, but they’ve been hit with a magical spell. Alan believed he was already dead. Hence, he didn’t mind blowing himself up. I mean, what’s the harm in blowing up when you’re dead, right?”
I had a vague sense that I wasn’t explaining this well, but the blood loss was starting to get to me. Leaning into Ruadan’s chest, I closed my eyes.
“Everything is confusing right now, but Baleros has built himself a fearless army of humans. He’s got himself a mist army, and now, an army of human suicide bombers.”
At the top of the stairs, Ruadan crossed into a drafty hallway. Then, he kicked through a door. In the small, stone room, Aengus sat behind a desk, a spell book spread out in front of him.
The door slammed shut behind us.
“What’s going on?” asked Aengus.
“Jackdaw bomb,” I said. “They’re working for Baleros, and they’re now blowing themselves up.”
Ruadan laid me on the desk, still cradling me against his chest.
“You’re not giving that king Maddan, are you?” I asked. “Maddan’s an enemy of the Institute. He’s also a leaf-wearing, small-footed, dead-eyed mistake of a man.”
“Quiet.” Ruadan examined my waist.
“It’s like the gods scrambled a person when they tried to make him.”
“Quiet.”
Ruadan’s healing magic skimmed my skin. As the pain began to seep out of my body, pleasure washed over me. Closing my eyes, I sank further against Ruadan’s muscled chest, before I remembered that Aengus was watching.
I shifted on the desk, dangling my legs over the side. “Am I healed now?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “I took the pain away and stopped the bleeding, but we’ve still got shrapnel to deal with.”
I lifted a finger. “Wait. I forgot a key part of this whole situation. The jackdaws have been branded, like I was.” I pointed to my wrist, where I’d cut off Baleros’s brand. “But Baleros didn’t brand them with his symbol. He’s branded them with our symbol. He has convinced them that he will grant them eternal life as long as they do whatever he wants. I think he’s going to let the Institute take the fall for his whole Great Mortality plan. He’s turning the city against us.”
Institute of the Shadow Fae Box Set Page 40