All That Glows (21 page)

The evening is pleasantly warm and the sidewalks swarm with people. Some are hooked together at the elbow, the girls resting their heads on their partners’ shoulders as they saunter down the path. I stay still by the river’s edge, watching them pass. It’s too early. I must wait a while before I have a chance of snaring what I’m looking for.

Despite the bustle and life of the city—the street musician’s cheery steel drums and the gold-brown scent of sautéed onions over hot dogs accenting the roar of red double-deck buses—all I feel is the shadow of what will come. There’s no stopping it. The Old One has moved south—her fingers of assassins stretching into every corner of the city. Reaching always for Richard.

The possibility of losing him is thick, swallowing me whole with its terror. I can’t let it happen. Not because of failing Mab or doing my duty. Not because it would put a black mark on my career as a Frithemaeg. I can’t lose Richard for a single, undeniable reason.

I love him.

The truth is clear now. As clear as the evening sun spreading across the river waters. I love Richard. I always have. It’s only now that the thought has been so sure, so utterly cemented in my mind.

“Love,” I make myself say the word. Test it on the tip of my tongue. It tastes strange, but good. It makes the hole inside me shrink, the emptiness lessen.

But with it comes a fear that has nothing to do with the Old One or her minions. I’ve watched so many versions of the fairy tale. So much is uncertain, unmapped. Richard likes me . . . yes . . . but that means nothing when the stakes are this large. When immortality and death are tossed about like poker chips to the highest hand.

Is Richard willing to pay the price? Even if he does love me, if he says so, he’s still so young. Seventeen years. The blink of an eye. How can he know, truly know, if he wants to spend the rest of his days with me?

And me—could I die for him?

In dusk’s illuminating glow, the surface of the Thames looks less full of sewage and debris and more like the mighty brown god it once was. I stare down into the water, tracing all of its swirls and eddies as the current rips past. I let these thoughts drift off with it. I need all of my concentration set on the hunt.

The sky fades rapidly, its flashy neons diving into the melancholy blues of night. The city becomes an island of electric light; the rays of the streetlamps create a world of bone-white shapes and shadows. The places soul feeders, especially Black Dogs, love to skulk. It’s in these dark nooks and crannies that I must start searching if I want to find any answers.

I don’t expect to find anything so early, but when I approach the bridge I feel it. My fists curl into themselves as I edge closer to the beginnings of a tunnel under the bridge. Mortals avoid the dark underpass, choosing to hike up the steps and cross the street instead. That’s wise, considering what’s waiting there for them.

I duck into the walkway’s shadows and pause, glancing up nervously as the roof rattles and shakes beneath every passing vehicle. Something in the far corner springs to life. The sharp
tap tap
of animal nails fills the tunnel.

“Cyspe!” My binding spell shoots out, wraps around the beast’s char-black, barrel chest.

The Black Dog howls as the spell seizes its limbs, collapses it to the floor. Under the light of my magic I see just how large this scavenger has become. It’s almost the size of a small pony, engorged on all of the innocent lives it sucked away.

I bend down and grab the beast by its haunches. It snarls and thrashes as I drag it closer to the white-tiled walls.

I look around to the dim entrances of the underpass and whisper a blocking spell. Any mortal with courage enough to enter the poorly lit tunnel won’t be able to resist my repelling magic.

I kneel back down in front of the dog, far from its snapping teeth. I can’t bind its mouth. To answer my questions, the Black Dog needs to be able to speak.

“What’s your name?” I ask the spirit.

The dog growls, its custard-yellow canines glow beneath the scant light.

“Blæc.” The name blends in perfectly with the rest of its rumbles, caught only by my sharp hearing.

“I won’t hurt you, Blæc, unless you give me a reason,” I add. “I just want to talk.”

The snarls die. Poison-bright eyes roll back to look at me.

“You’re a London soul feeder. You must be aware of what’s going on at Buckingham. Tell me, who’s doing all of this? Who has your kind allied with?”

The Black Dog shakes its head; a high keen of a whine leaves its muzzle. “I don’t know. I don’t bother with events beyond my territory.”

I twitch my finger. The binds on the animal’s legs clench tight, drawing out a yelp.

“You’re lying,” I say. “I know the howls that travel at night bring news between your kind. You
must
have picked up some tidbits from those.”

Sounds of begging and pain become a mumble of gravelly words. “She doesn’t come here, doesn’t speak to us. We do not know her name!”

“Then how do you receive orders?” I feel the anger, my own monster, stirring. My teeth grit against it. I need to keep the dog alive if I want answers.

“There are those she speaks with: messengers, leaders,” Blæc pants. He’s twitching, squirming under every cruel, white lash of my spell.

“Who? What are their names?” Now I’m getting somewhere.

But the Black Dog’s muzzle snaps shut—a row of zipper-tight teeth and twisted black lips. Its eyes paint over with a familiar sheen. Blæc is afraid.

The savageness inside me wants to pull, winch his bonds tighter and pour more pain into his haunches, but something else in the creature’s eyes stops me.

“I’ll erase your memory,” I promise. “No one will find out what you’ve told me. You’ll be safe.”

Blæc whimpers, unsure of my proposal. The dog is walking a dangerous line, caught between immediate pain or the possibility of another spirit’s wrath.

“I swear it,” I hiss into his cathedral-arched ear. “I swear it by the Greater Spirit.”

His uncertainty wavers, mists apart like windswept smoke. “There are two the Old One speaks with. Two that I know of—Jaida, a Green Woman, and Cari. She’s a Banshee. All of the orders go through them.”

I lean back on my heels, eyeing the animal as I commit the names to memory. A Banshee and a Green Woman. Together. Though it’s something unheard of, I know the dog’s telling the truth. There’s no deception curled around its grooved, tire-black lips.

“And where might I find them? Jaida and Cari?”

Blæc’s head shakes, causing the rest of its body to shudder. “I don’t know.”

Another truth. This creature doesn’t know much. It lies at the bottom of the totem pole, a hulking scavenger of souls in the lamp-flecked London night.

“Very well. That’s all I need to know.” My finger sinks deep into the clumped, matted fur of the creature’s forehead. “Forgiete.”

While the spell permeates layer after bewildered layer of the beast’s mind, I sever its bonds and all but run for the closest entrance. Once the memory spell settles, the Black Dog will become its old, snarling self, ready to tear into any creature that steps foot in its territory. Sure enough, when I reach the end of the tunnel, the creature is howling. The sound curls the end of every hair, tugs at my heels. I drag through it, step decidedly through my blocking spells. If the dog wants food, it’ll have to venture out of its miserable underpass, into the tangled city streets.

My mind races, but I keep walking down the riverfront at a steady pace. Jaida and Cari. A Banshee and a Green Woman. Defending Richard against their powers is one thing, but being an aggressor is another thing entirely. It’ll be much harder to wring information out of those two soul feeders than it was to subdue Blæc—a lone wolf of a spirit. I’ll need help in my hunt. I’ll need Breena.

Mab’s warning forks like lightning through my thoughts: trust no one. Including Breena. I pick up my pace, nearly barreling through a slow couple in front of me. Breena isn’t the traitor. I have to trust her. If I can’t, then there’s no one else for me to depend on to keep Richard safe.

And if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that I can’t do this alone.

Twenty

M
y search for Breena doesn’t take long. I feel her familiar aura even through the city’s electrical haze. Anabelle’s in a tiny, upscale restaurant: the type that needs a reservation months in advance. The type with polished hardwood, pure silver utensils, and antique furniture so aged it looks like it might fall apart under the slightest weight.

Being invisible in a restaurant is an interesting challenge. Servers and hosts zip past, balancing trays of well-dressed plates and cocktails. I cling close to the wall, following Breena’s aura like a bat tracing echoes: up the crimped, narrow stairway and behind a door of lushly cobalt curtains. I find her in the princess’s private dining room. The table is ringed with Anabelle’s school friends: blondes, brunettes, diamonds, and pearls. I look down the row, remember the loneliness in Richard’s voice as he spoke of friendship. It’s rarity. How many of these girls would stand by Anabelle if they knew what was coming?

Breena stands by the window, taking in the same scene, face half masked by a potted-palm frond. “Emrys! What are you doing here? Where’s Richard?”

“I left him with Ferrin and Helene. Listen, I need to talk to you.” I edge close to the windowsill. Outside in the darkness someone passes on the far sidewalk. For the faintest second, I imagine it’s a Banshee.

“I haven’t told anyone, if that’s what you’re asking,” Breena chips in. There’s a new edge to her voice; it makes me uneasy.

“That’s not it,” I reply. “Not at all, actually.”

I take a deep breath. Including Breena in my plans is risky. I have no guarantee she won’t report back to Mab or try to use her age to order me into submission. But without Breena, the plan is even riskier. I could end up dead. Trusting our friendship is my only choice.

“I need your help.”

She brushes the palm frond away, caressing its fan with her fingers. “With what?”

“I think I know how we can end this—get to the bottom of the threat. I tracked down a Black Dog. It gave me the names of soul feeders who are in contact with the Old One. We can hunt them down for information.”

Breena’s hand freezes, splayed in the exact silhouette of the plant she’s touching. “You went hunting? On whose orders?”

“It was my decision,” I tell her. “I’m sick of waiting on Mab’s scouts. The trail to the Old One is here, in the city. You know that.”

“Does Mab know what you’ve done?” The dining room’s light is warm, reflecting off rich wood and gold-threaded wallpaper. It falls on Breena’s face, calls her out from the darkness like a Rembrandt painting.

“She encouraged me to investigate.” My stomach twists under the half-truth. Mab would be appalled at my proactive methods: hunting down the enemy instead of waiting patiently for the evidence to surface on its own. So many weeks ago, when I was wholly hers, I would never have considered this.

“And what are their names? The ones you want to hunt?”

“Jaida and Cari. One is a Green Woman and the other a Banshee. That’s all I know. Apparently they relay the Old One’s instructions to the other soul feeders here in the city. They’re the link, Bree. They can lead us to her.” My speech gains speed. The thought of exposing the Old One is enough to make me giddy.

Across the room the princess laughs. The sound jolts, cuts through the air like a battle-worn bagpipe. For the briefest second, I have the sensation that everyone in the room can see me. I glance over my shoulder, but none of the diners even look up from their watercress salads.

“I don’t know. . . .” Breena begins. “It sounds awfully risky, not to mention impossible. Who knows how many Banshees and Green Women are crawling through this city? And if we do find them and manage to make them talk, then what? Do we kill them?”

“We’ll figure something out. . . . Wipe their memories or gag them.” I shrug, trying to dismiss these problems I hadn’t thought all the way through.

“And if their magic is too strong for that?” Worry grays Breena’s face. “We could both end up dead, Emrys. Then where would Richard be? I know you’re eager to protect him, but we have to think of all the ramifications, all of the consequences. You haven’t been thinking clearly—you’re riding on your emotions.”

I don’t try to argue. I know better than anyone that emotion . . . love . . . is pushing me into this hunt. “We have the element of surprise. That gives us something.”

“And I suppose if I say no, you’re going to go off and do it yourself anyway?” Breena says with a roll of her eyes.

I nod.

“Of course,” she mutters.

“Please, Bree. I need this.”

“Well, it
has
been a while since I’ve gotten into a brawl. . . . Fine.” She sighs, as if some heavy weight is sliding off her back. “I’ll go with you. But only because I don’t want you getting yourself unmade in some filthy, rat-strung alley.”

“Oh! Thank you!” I throw my arms around her, an action she clearly isn’t expecting. She stands awkward in my embrace, her own arms dangling at her side like limp fish.

“We should do some reconnaissance first. I don’t want to go plunging into a situation,” Breena says once I let go. The stiffness of her voice reminds me of just how human my embrace was. “And we’re out when I say so. Understand?”

I let the last statement glide over, try not to think about what could happen. “We’ll go the night after Richard’s birthday. That’ll give you time to order a replacement Guard for Anabelle.”

She nods, but I see the apprehension behind her tundra-washed eyes.

“We’ll be careful,” I tell her. “I promise.”

Twenty-One

A
chance. A chance. A chance.
This is what the silence whispers when I return to Buckingham. I sit on the edge of Richard’s bed, watching him swim deep through dreams. The music we danced to after Anabelle’s birthday party is long gone, pushed back into its cardboard sleeve and shelved with all the other records.