Undeniable (The Druids Book 1) (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

One of Bain’s guards did the honors, teleporting London back to the neighborhood where she had left her car. “Thanks for the lift,” she said.

He gave her a smirk in reply. “Any time.” And before she could comment on his cheekiness, he was gone again. She guessed he figured this was close enough, without waiting for her to verify that she was ok. The fey were a special breed, and you couldn’t lump them all together, or even really predict their attitudes or behavior just based on their race or court affiliation. These things helped, but it was far from definitive.

London jammed her hands into her jacket pockets, double checking that she still carried the compass, and started the trek down the side street where her Honda was waiting for her. But it wasn’t the only thing waiting on her.

She slowed as she spotted Derek lingering in the alcove of a doorway. As his red-rimmed eyes settled onto her, his wicked smile grew. There was still blood painted on his lips. The way the streetlight hit his irises they almost seemed to glow blue. His skin had that translucent look that vampires acquired, offset by the dark stubble that matched his raven hair. Slowly, and to dramatic effect, he sucked on the tips of his fingers, like he’d just eaten something that left some spice upon his fingertips. “Interesting, this fey blood.”

“My blood isn’t fey,” London’s hands slipped from her pockets, as she moved out into the street, as if just to head towards the driver’s side door, when in actuality, she was trying to get the car between them. Her left hand worked the car keys, while her right settled onto the handle of the pistol.

“It is laced with fey magic, though.” Derek straightened and approached the opposite side of the vehicle. His hands folded together and rested across the roof. The sharp, talon-like nails were honed to a point, and blood was still lining the nail bed.

She stared at it for a moment. She couldn’t have said how long she was unconscious, but it must not have been too long, if Derek still had her blood on his fingers. “You can just back off right now, Derek. Call your ‘client’. Our business is concluded, so your contract is over.”

“Yes, I know. He sent me a text.” The smile gracing the vampire’s lips was anything but conceding.

Meaning that now he wasn’t obligated not to do anything he wished. London lifted her chin. “Between you and Bain, I am all tapped out tonight. Hardly worth the effort.”

“Oh, I am not talking about your blood at the moment.” It sent chills through London, as she watched him slowly glide his tongue along his lips, stealing away the last glistens of it. “And I am not interested in drinking more from you this evening. I’ve had my fill. For now.”

London released her gun, and drew out her phone instead. It was late. Past the midnight hour. And it had only been around sunset when she’d been leaving the dwarf’s workshop. Staring up at Derek in the horror of realization, his wicked smirk all but confirmed her suspicions. “You didn’t…” She left her dread unspoken, but rushed back towards the dwarf’s workshop.

The door was hanging off the hinges. The Glamour was in tatters, like torn and weathered sheets. The light from within was flickering and weak.

The dwarf was on the floor, eyes open and staring at nothing. His throat was torn out, but only a small amount splattered here and there. Most was unaccounted for.

Only she knew what had happened to it.

Derek’s voice had that deep purr of a well-fed vampire. “Now that I’ve had a taste, I think I’ve found my new obsession.” His fingers curled into the hair at the back of her head, like a lover’s caress.

London spun around, pulling her gun as she did so.

The vampire was gone. Only his wicked laughter remained.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

With the ricocheting of the bullets, Peyton did curse now.

Patterson shouted, “I knew I should have called out sick today!”

“And miss all the fun?” Granger’s sarcastic reply tossed back. He pulled out some handheld device that burned like a flare at the tip. “You ready for this?”

“No!” Patterson shot back, but drew out the same thing. They both tossed the flares out into the cavern, sending blue streaks of lightning shooting around.

The demon stomped, shaking the ground. His black wings rose from his back, big enough to slam into the roof and sides of the cavern. The quake that shook the ground wasn’t natural. And it only got worse with the reverberation of the growl. The hellish power of its fury flung out in a wave that crashed over them.

Peyton leaned his back to the stalagmite behind him, gritting his teeth against the dread that raked over his nerves like claws. Then, he winced as the crumbling bits of the cavern started falling around them.

“Probably didn’t think this one through.” Patterson jumped up, and grabbed Granger by the back of his flak jacket. “Move it!”

The other team members were already scrambling up the ropes. Granger’s wrist computer was alive with the other team captains demanding to know what the crap was happening. Granger only shouted back. “Move! Move! Move! Clear the building! Clear the grounds!”

Eldridge just kept laughing at them, even as the demon slammed his tail around, damaging the supports. Granger, Patterson, and Peyton all hit the ropes at the same time, and raced each other up them. The building above shifted, dropping them down a quarter of the ways that they’d climbed, but that was okay. The floor above had come down that far, too. They scrambled up, and Peyton gave a backward glance just as he was reaching the bottom of the broken staircase.

The demon stood behind Eldridge, his massive arm around the man’s waist and pulling him back to him. His wings cloaked around him, protecting him from the debris spilling down from above.

Peyton crawled up onto the remnants of the wooden steps, but they broke away under him. Before he could drop, he made a lunge and caught the bottom of the doorway, where the others dragged him up.

A crack shattered from the basement doorway in a jagged line all the way up the hall, with the floor beneath falling away in chunks.

“Move it! Move it! Move it!” Granger shouted, shoving people ahead of him until he reached Peyton, the last of their group. The two of them raced after the others. Drywall and plaster rained down upon them, bouncing off of them and coating the floor with the slick dust and debris. The crack spread wider, until Peyton was running close to one wall, with Granger along the other, and the space between them ever growing into a widening gap.

Out of the hallway, and into the main entrance, the team ahead of them cleared the main floor and was close to the outer doors when the floor caved in completely. Peyton and Granger skidded to a stop before their momentum sent them tumbling into the gaping hole. Flames shot up before them, as if the debris splashed down into the lava pool and exploded the fire back up at them.

Peyton swung around to call to Granger, but the sound of the roof above them collapsing stole any words he tried to speak. It crashed down in a section that still was connected to the outside wall where the floor above now reached down into the space before them. The floorboards had twisted askew and Granger had the same thought as Peyton. They both took a wild leap out onto that broken section.

The broken floor shifted again, tilting down towards the flames still burning below. Peyton scrambled hand over hand, grabbing bits of broken floorboard like handholds on the side of a cliff as he scrambled up, with Granger doing the same close by. They managed to get up to the section of floor that was stabilized above them for the moment and scrambled on the deeply pitched floor towards an upper balcony. They could hear the rumble of the building going down behind them, and the whole thing shook with the violence of collapse. They gripped the stone railing of the balcony above the pavilion where they had entered, and looked up at the chopper that was hovering close by. It lowered as far as it could, getting the skids as near to them as possible. Patterson leaned out of one of the open doors and shouted, “You’re going to have to jump!”

Peyton climbed up onto the stone railing and flung himself towards one of the skids as Granger did the same on the other side. He hugged to the skid as the chopper banked and angled with the sudden shift of weight that could have driven it down into the collapsing structure. The chopper flew over the building as it finally sank into the ground and a fresh explosion of flame shot up straight into the air. Peyton could feel the heat of it searing against his SWAT uniform, even as the chopper banked to get away. He hung on as tight as he could, as they flew out over the manicured lawn and above the treetops. He could feel the grip of his arms beginning to slip, even as somebody stepped out onto the skid above him. They grabbed the back of his flak jacket and started hauling him up. The grounds below them continued to crumble and give way until it left a sink hole twice as wide as the original footprint of the building. Peyton climbed inside the chopper as Granger was pulled in on the other side. They banked and circled, the other choppers doing the same, keeping their distance from the flames even as the storm above them continued to rage and poured down. But the water from the skies could do nothing to put out the flame within the earth. It was only when the collapse stopped that it finally flickered and vanished.

Granger was on his wrist computer, checking in with the other teams. It sounded as if there had been a few casualties during the initial assault, but they were only wounded, not killed, and everyone had made it out before the building had come down.

Patterson leaned across Peyton as he watched the aftermath of the collapse. “Well, you don’t see that every day.”

“That’s a relief. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a fey that attacked the building this time.” Peyton said, removing his helmet and tossing it on the floor between his feet. His gloved hands dragged through his hair. That had been too close.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Peyton couldn’t sit, too keyed up from the raid to relax even that much. He wasn’t the only one in the operations hub leaning against a wall and crossing his arms tight enough across his chest to fake calm. His hands weren’t trembling from residual fear, but from the adrenaline that hadn’t burnt off yet, and the muscles that still twitched from overuse. Tomorrow he was going to feel every bit as if that mansion had crushed down on him, but right now, he just wanted this debriefing over with. Focusing on this job, which wasn’t even his, and his mission, that he didn’t even want, required a herculean effort, when all he wanted to do right now was smoke the magic-laced joint waiting for him in the glove box of his car, and maybe hit up a few shots of nectar when he got back to the flat. If Deacon wasn’t all up his butt too much for him to get away for a few seconds.

The team was quiet, as most of them tended to glance off into their own thoughts, rather than take notice of Fletcher coming to stand in their midst. Peyton forced himself to look up, more out of self-preservation than anything else.

Fletcher glanced around at the agents, as if doing a silent head count to reassure himself that they’d all returned and unpossessed. Then, he started, “The wizards have historically only focused on the fey for their magic. So what’s changed?”

“Besides the fact that there is a fey vigilante hunting them?” Granger scrubbed his face with his hands, and then looked up at his chief. “Turning to the demonic for protection and a power boost?”

“Perhaps without Reginald to keep them in line they are going haywire?” Patterson offered an alternative theory.

“Speculation, all of it.” Peyton grumbled, too tired to care how he came across. Which, likely enough, would be exactly how an MI-6 agent would probably sound right about now. He’d been looking for his opening since he walked through that door, and now he made his move. “We could just ask them.” All eyes turned to him. “My cover is still intact. I could go back and see what is going on.”

Fletcher fixed his attention on Peyton and it wasn’t without a palpable weight. “You are just going to show up? You don’t think they will wonder where you’ve been?”

“Let me talk to Sophia King.” Peyton’s attitude was tough enough to handle anything Fletcher could toss his way. Especially after staring down that demon less than an hour earlier. “I’ll take some magical item from the wreckage with me. That should be interesting enough to distract her. I could say I was busy trying to reclaim some of their loot. She would buy that, I am certain.”

Fletcher glanced around the agents slumped in chairs or propping up the walls. “Any other ideas?”

From his chair in the center, the weight of his upper body propped on his forearms where they braced against his thighs, Granger lifted his head like it took an extra effort, but his sharp gaze fixed right on Fletcher. “I want to question London again. This quantum surge in threat that the wizards represent could be what pushed them into these vigilante attacks.”

Fletcher countered, “The blood in Bristol was clearly male and clearly fey. London Eyer’s blood is neither.”

“But two recent vigilante killing of wizards have to be related. Both times fey captives were freed in the process. There has to be a connection.”

“Two completely different MOs, though.”

“Bringing down a three bedroom house in a quiet middle-class neighborhood to kill two people might have been a bit of overkill. But a building full of wizards and security is a whole different scenario.” Granger straightened. “I’m betting this fey male was the one slicing Reginald Brightner’s throat while his gal-pal was leading the attack on the corporate headquarters.”

Fletcher hadn’t rejected Peyton’s suggestion, but he was getting sidetracked from it. Slicing back into the conversation, Peyton pressed, “Let me talk with her.” When the others glanced back at him, Peyton continued, “She won’t know I don’t still work for them and she’ll assume I don’t know about her fey associations. If I can offer to bring her back into the fold, working under Sophia King, she might jump on it, assuming she is working with this vigilante like Granger suspects.”

Fletcher cut off Granger before he could voice whatever he meant to say. “We’ll do that. Everyone get some rest. We’ll hit this again tomorrow. Price, you come with me.”

Peyton watched as the others mumbled and staggered off. Granger was the last to give it up, taking one hard-edged look from Fletcher to convince him to fight this battle another day. Snatching his jacket from the back of his chair, Granger pushed past Peyton without a backward glance or a murmur of excuse.

Once the others were gone, Peyton followed Fletcher with a tired stride, comfortable in his skin and in his persona, even if his weariness was catching up on him. Credne couldn’t have known that his assignment would almost plunge Peyton into the fires of whatever hell that demon came from, but Peyton couldn’t imagine that it would have mattered. Not to a Sidhe. Not after all Peyton had done. And if Peyton got killed in the ‘line of duty’ for the fey, not a single one of them would mourn him. That was the suck-level his life had plunged to.

Peyton’s glance followed as Fletcher passed his badge in front of the magnetic reader outside a thick security door with a single port window, and then Fletcher punched in the code 747. Peyton looked away quickly, as Fletcher turned his head back up towards him. “We’ve only just begun to catalog the evidence from the Brightner building. There were quite a few objects that possessed magical signatures.”

Once inside, they paused in front of a wide light table strewn with bits and bobs and assorted junk. Peyton scowled. None of it was even remotely on the level of the cauldron he sought. Turning from the table, he started lifting the lids from the totes, and rummaging around inside. No cauldron.

“Something wrong?” Fletcher asked, something more than casual curiosity in his voice at Peyton’s irreverent handling of his evidence.

Peyton returned the lid to the tub. “There is nothing truly of value here. Not a thing that will interest Sophia in the least.”

With a wave, Fletcher encouraged Peyton to follow him. Behind banks of computers and testing equipment, a lit glass cabinet lined the entirety of one wall. The cauldron was there, among a plethora of other beautifully crafted objects, including the knife Peyton had planted. Fletcher clarified, “These were the items taken from the vault.”

The light glinting off the golden filigree seemed to flicker just for him. Peyton stared at the finely crafted cauldron. If not for the glass parting him from it, he could reach out a hand and cradle it in his palm. This treasure of the Sidhe. This proof to Credne that Peyton was worth keeping around. At least until Peyton could figure his own way out of this bloody curse. “If I am going to demonstrate my usefulness to Sophia, then I need something significant to offer.” Peyton tapped the glass. “Something like this cauldron would be perfect. That item in particular. I recall her inquiring about it, but Reginald wouldn’t part with it.” It was a spur of the moment lie, but it sounded plausible enough. Whatever it took to get the cauldron into his possession.

Fletcher nodded, serious but agreeing. “Then that’ll be the plan.” His hand clamped down on Peyton’s shoulder. “You go get some rest. We’ll hit up Sophia tomorrow and see what we can find out from her.”

Hard as it was, Peyton turned his back on the cauldron and left it behind. So close. But tomorrow, he’d have it in his hands. Getting away with it would be another thing entirely.