City of Demons (Chronicles of Arcana Book 1) Page 2

  Adam was staring at the window now, his eyes narrowed. The tickle of magic scratched at the back of my nose. He was trying to force Gilbert to appear. The air beside me shifted and Gilbert’s ghostly breath tickled my ear. “Make him stop.”

  I cleared my throat. “If the Draconi have the kids, then they may be taken to the equinox ceremony as an offering.” The words stuck in my throat as the implications sank in. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

  His shoulders sagged. “Yes. If they are offered, it will be as a private tribute. There is nothing I can do, which is why I’m here asking you for help.”

  “Let me get this straight. I need to say it out loud to get the full impact of exactly what you’re expecting from me.”

  His lips tightened, but he didn’t speak.

  “You want me to somehow get over the border without a pass, infiltrate the Central Keep, scope it out, and find the kids?”

  “Yes, Miss Bastion. That is exactly what I’m asking.” He pushed his shoulders back. “Can you do it?”

  “Wila ...” Trevor’s voice was saturated with warning, but this wasn’t a job I could turn down, not now that I had all the information.

  “You got a map of the layout of the place?”

  “No.”

  “Ridiculous!” Trevor barked.

  I patted him to sooth his hackles. “I’ll do it. I’ll find them. But getting them out may be a problem.”

  Adam Noir blinked and refocused on me. “I’ve thought about that. You can use this to get them out.” He walked forward and placed something on the desk with a soft chink.

  I stared at the transponder. A flat, blue disc used by Arcana for fast travel around the city, impossible to get hold of, even on the arcane black market, and extremely powerful.

  “As long as you’re all touching, it will shift you all to a set of pre-inputted coordinates.”

  “And where is that?”

  “The Gables. It will take you to The Gables.”

  The disc was cool and smooth in my hand. “And how does this thing work?”

  “There’s a button in the center. You hit it three times in quick succession.”

  Sure enough, there was a slight indent that could be a button. The urge to press it, to check, was almost too much.

  “Don’t.” He laid a hand over mine, sending electricity zinging up my arm.

  I yanked my hand away. “Whoa. No touchy.”

  His baby blues sparked again, as if set off by the physical contact. He blinked, killing the sparks. “I apologize. But you mustn’t press the button until you’re ready for transport.”

  A quick glance out the window showed a mid-afternoon sun. “Go home, Mr. Noir. And let me do my job.”

  “Thank you, Miss Bastion.” Adam vanished in a puff of smoke, and I slumped in my seat, heart pounding way too hard in my chest, because this whole encounter and the punch-in-the-gut details were playing havoc with my tea-deprived nerves, but that was something you didn’t show a client. Ever. Not if you wanted to instill confidence and build reputation. But if any investigator claimed they were fearless, then they were either missing the primal part of their brain responsible for keeping them alive, or they were lying.

  “Gilbert, can you check the archives for any information on the Central Keep?”

  “Of course, Wila.”

  It was a long shot because the Draconi were private creatures, and the territory was officially unmapped, with tales passed down orally. But our archives consisted of some of the oldest texts, another gift from my elusive benefactor. If that failed, Gilbert would ghost into the Northside Infoweb and see what he could dig up. Still. Long shot.

  A steaming cup of tea appeared in front of me courtesy of Gilbert. I picked it up and drained it. The heat didn’t burn my tongue or throat, part of my neph constitution, whatever that was, because who the fuck knew what I was. The caffeine would hit en route to my next stop. But now, it was time to gear up.

  “This is a death mission,” Trevor said, following me up the steps as I jogged up to the third floor of our quaint and sometimes creepy residence.

  The building had come into my possession five years ago, around the same time that my official stay at The Gables was coming to an end. I’d been a doorstep baby, left in a basket in the dead of winter. Fucking miracle I survived overnight until matron found me in the morning. Most children in the orphanage made up stories about their parents, about the reasons why they’d been abandoned, and fantasized about how their parents would return one day to reclaim them. Me? I just plotted ways of making mine pay for abandoning me. For not having the common decency to hand me over to Matron personally, for being careless enough to have a child they didn’t want. At eighteen, when it had been time to move out and give my room to another kid in need, the documents had landed on our doorstep like a godsend—some inheritance from a relative who hadn’t wanted anything to do with me while they’d been alive. The law firm had been unable to provide any details about my benefactor due to a privacy clause in the will. My benefactor left me a house, but it would have been nice if he’d left me a family name, a legacy, some idea of who the fuck I was. Not knowing was like a thorn in my side.

  So, here I was—owner of four stories of mostly empty, dusty rooms. The ground floor was office space, a waiting room, and a tiny kitchenette. The second story was Gilbert’s domain, a library, and a study where Trevor chose to lay his canine head. Third floor was mine, and the fourth we’d left unused. Decorating wasn’t my forte, and the place was all burgundy rugs, old antique furniture, and creepy paintings of dead people. We stopped outside the room I called home.

  “Wila, stop ignoring me,” Trevor whined. “Did you hear me? Death. Mission.”

  “I heard you, Puppy, but hunting a five-foot hound in a cemetery isn’t exactly a walk in the park either.”

  “Don’t call me Puppy, and you know that infiltrating Draconi territory without an invite is like waving your bloody knickers in the air for them to scent.”

  “You’re gross, you know that?”

  He snorted. “You know it’s true.”

  Hand on doorknob, I looked down on him with a smirk. “You want to come in?”

  He took a hasty step back. “I’ll wait here.” He let out a very human-sounding sniff.

  “Are you sure?” I sing-songed.

  His eyes narrowed to slits. “Shove it, Bastion. You know I can’t stand it in there. You’re a sick dame, you know that. Real sick.” He looked me up and down. “To look at you, you would never think ...”

  Rolling my eyes, I shouldered open the door and stepped into an explosion of pink and white. Okay, so the black leather jacket and biker boots and shit were great for on-the-job. They blended into the night and hid blood stains and gore, but this was my princess haven, my detox from the shit that crawled through the streets. Two wardrobes stood flush against the wall. The first was for clothes—everyday outfits and several leather and padded trousers. But it was the second one that held the prize. Yanking it open, I pulled out Killion, my trusty crossbow. Heat shot up my arm. Ooo, he was pissed. It had been a while since I’d busted him out for a job, and the runes etched into his perfect frame flared to life in admonishment. He wasn’t sentient, of course, not really, but damn if he didn’t always have my back.

  “Sorry about shelving you, dude. It’s been a quiet couple of weeks. You up for a little excursion? Some hound spearing and then possibly some dragon piercing?”

  The runes pulsed.

  “Oh, goody. Cos that’s exactly where we’re gonna be headed.” Popping several armor-piercing arrows into my bolt bag, I slipped it on then flicked the switch to fold K into a pocket-sized piece. Yeah, Killion was state-of-the-fucking-art, cost-an-arm-and-a-leg weaponry, and he never ever missed. Pulling my long, dark hair into a low ponytail, I shrugged my jacket on to cover the bolt bag and headed back out to where Trevor waited. His tiny body vibrated with agitation.

  “This is a suicide mission,” he pointed out
for the third time.

  “Maybe, but it’s not one I can turn down.”

  “Dammit, Bastion, be smart. I get it, you have a thing for saving kids, but this is dragon territory—too many unknown variables, too much that could go wrong. Stick to the hound job and come home for supper.” He cocked his head. “Gilbert’s making jam roly-poly.”

  My stomach grumbled. “God, you’re evil, you know that.”

  His eyes lit up in triumph, but he didn’t know the truth, because it wasn’t something that we’d ever talked about in detail.

  “Those kids have no one else to look out for them, Trev, No one is going to go looking for a bunch of orphans. I’m all they’ve got. But this isn’t just about the kids, it’s about The Gables. It’s about the only home I ever knew. It’s about the woman who was like a mother to me.”

  Trevor’s nose twitched. “That’s the orphanage you grew up in?”

  “Yeah, and there is no way I’m letting those scaly fuckers get their teeth into my matron.”

  He snapped his jaws shut and twitched his nose.

  “I’ll bag the hound first, okay. Look, tell Gilbert I’ll call in a bit to see if he found anything on the Keep. If he does, he can scan it and upload it to the catseye.”

  “Be careful, Wila.”

  Yeah, it was dangerous, like certain-death dangerous, because if I was discovered, they’d be within their rights to skin me alive and serve me up as an aperitif. What I needed was a dose of luck, and lucky for me, I knew just where to get one.

  2

  Lower Eastside Arcana City was the place to go if looking to trade goods or pick up a black market magical item. It was also the home of my longtime associate Barnaby Winkle, an empath with a strong affinity for the magic that surrounded us, not Arcana level but still pretty impressive. Killion was one of his finest creations, and the runes had been his little piece de résistance. They’d personalized my weapon, making it work only for me, turning it into an extension of me.

  Yeah, Barnaby was my go-to guy for magical defense, but his client list was small and intimate, consisting of people like me who worked outside of the Arcana Institute influence—freelance investigators looking to load up before a job. For everyone else, Barnaby was just an old dude running an antique store. Except this antique store was tucked away down a narrow alley where only those who knew where to look would find it.

  Navigating the heaving, rain-slicked streets was always an exercise in vigilance. Lower Eastside was a den of pickpockets and slitters—neph who’d cut your throat and grab your goods before you could blink—a far cry from the Northern part of the city, home to the pure blood Arcana, where tall glass buildings and neatly trimmed gardens were the norm.

  Hood up to protect from the worst of the downpour, I dodged and sidestepped, maintaining my personal space to avoid any deliberate bumps and brushes with other bodies. My senses were on high alert, on the lookout for any Others that may have found their way into Arcana City. There was a small bounty for every one brought in to the Other Immigration Office, and once they were at the OIO, they’d be processed, quarantined, and then integrated into society. So far, I’d only come up against the kill-on-sight Others, the monsters that couldn’t be reasoned with. Gilbert had spent the last four years cataloguing my finds, making notes and sketches of the creatures that had spilled out of the supernatural prison realm where the Draconi and Shedim had been held until something had ripped a hole in reality and allowed them into our world.

  The alley was up ahead, just after the Chinese food place and before the boot repair shop. The spicy smell of black bean sauce tickled my nostrils, and then a sharp left placed me between the walls of the alley. My pace quickened, eating up the distance between me and the entrance to the store before my claustrophobia could get the jump on me. The doorbell jingled, announcing my arrival. The smell of freshly baked scones filled the air, but there was no baking being done here; this was the smell of Barnaby’s magic, his signature scent that those of us who knew him for what he was had come to recognize.

  Shelves of books and ornaments and strange objects lined the store. I’d spent ages in this very room. It’s where I’d found my very own special teacup. But tonight wasn’t about browsing.

  “Yo, Barnaby!”

  “Hello, Wila,” a voice said directly into my ear.

  I jumped, hand on heart. “Fucking hell, walk into a room, why don’t you? Do you need to do the whole teleporting thing?”

  “Only for you, my dear. It does tickle me so to see you flustered.”

  He smiled, showcasing even, white teeth. He’d been handsome once, was still handsome in a regal, old way.

  I snorted. “Yeah, well, I guess you need to get your kicks somehow when you’re over halfway to the grave.” Okay, so he wasn’t that old, but still.

  He laughed, his eyes crinkling warmly. “Ah, an ageist comeback, how perfectly trite.” He walked away and then jerked his head in a come-along gesture. “Let’s talk out back, shall we?”

  The back of the store was a wall with an archway design built into it, visible only if you really looked for it. Barnaby glanced over his shoulder with a wicked gleam in his eye that lifted the veil of age and gave him an air of mischievous youth, and then he stepped through the wall.

  God, I hated this part. Yeah, it was magic, my brain knew that, but my body rebelled every fucking time. Deep breath, Bastion, and go. Three quick steps, a tingle that teased gooseflesh across my skin, and it was over.

  Barnaby stood in the center of his chamber of secrets, arms out in a welcome gesture. “So, what can I do for you this fine evening, Miss Bastion?”

  Of course, it was Miss Bastion now that we were about to do business. In this room, we were no longer friends, we were customer and seller. In this room, filled with bottles and vials, books and trinkets that could make you grow or shrink or dance the bloody fandango like a pro, there was only Mr. Winkle and Miss Bastion. Yeah, I’d play along, because he had the goods I needed, and damn he was good at what he did.

  “Luck, Mr. Winkle. I need a dose of luck.”

  He made an ‘o’ with his mouth. “Well now, Miss Bastion, you know that particular potion takes time to brew. Three days, to be precise, and some very expensive ingredients to boot. You know the risks ...”

  I grinned. “Yeah, I know. And I also know you keep a stockpile of it, so let’s cut to the chase and do some business.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Yes. Yes, I do, but the Bastion I know has never needed luck. She makes her own, always has done.”

  My scalp prickled, because he was right. Luck had never been an issue for me before, but then I’d never planned to infiltrate the most dangerous place in Arcana City. “Let’s just say this time a little assurance would be nice.”

  He sighed and tucked in his chin. “I can sense your fear.”

  Ah, shit. “Hey. We discussed this. You don’t use your empath ability on me and there’s no need for me to use my fist on your face.”

  “I’m not trying to read you, but your fear and your doubt are too strong to ignore.”

  Oh, great. I smelled of wuss. “Ignore it. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

  “What’s the case you’re working on, Wila?”

  He’d taken us straight back to friends-mode by using my first name. It was a cheap shot but a welcome one, because damn, did I need to talk about this. “I’m headed into Draconi territory to find a bunch of missing orphans.”

  His eyes widened. “I knew it!”

  “What? How?”

  “The Gables, isn’t it? The Ivy has been buzzing with talk. They went into Draconi territory two days ago and never returned. An acquaintance of mine even went so far as to go up to border control and check with them only to be told no bus had come through. There’s no record of the trip. None.”

  The Ivy had hold of this? The underground newspaper reserved for the plebs had been running for over a decade now despite the Arcana Institute’s strenuous attempts to root out the nephs r
esponsible for it and put an end to the publication. The Ivy told the truth stripped bare of propaganda and false assurances, and in a climate where compliance was everything, the Arcana couldn’t afford to lose control of the information that was cascaded down to the public. The media was their weapon, and the Ivy was a thorn in their side. But if the Ivy was reporting this, then Adam Noir’s theory that the children had been taken by a black-market organization to be sold off as food was no longer a theory, which meant time was running out for the children and Miss Hamilton.

  “You can’t be serious about going after them?” Barnaby said.

  “I’m not afraid of the Draconi.” I could do confident with the best of them.

  He exhaled through his nose. “It’s not the Draconi you need to worry about. They’ll stay in their Keeps. It’s the Shedim that you need to watch for.”

  “The Draconi’s watchdogs?”

  “Oh, they’re more than that,” Barnaby said. “The Shedim are powerful, strong, and their appetites for the flesh are of a different kind.”

  Wait. Was he talking about ... “Sex? They like to have sex?”

  He cleared his throat. “Or so I’ve heard. But it’s complicated. They have their own rituals and rules and goodness knows what. What I do know is that if they find you, they may decide to keep hold of you, and I don’t know what would be worse, death by Draconi or death by Shedim.” His eyes flared and then he strode toward the back of the room and returned with a tiny notebook. He flipped through it and then pressed his lips together. “It’s the equinox.” He looked up, locking gazes with me. “Wila, the Shedim will be out in force tonight. The streets will be crawling with them as they patrol to ensure order. All the Others will be crawling out of the woodwork to pay fealty to the Dragon liege. The Central Keep will be a hub of activity.”

  “Well, thanks for that. I feel much less nervous now.”

  His brows snapped down. “This is no joke, Wila. Do you have a plan?”

  “The plan is to get into the Central Keep, find the kids—who will probably be gifted to the liege—and get the fuck out. Simple.” Then why the heck were my knees quivering?