Wolf in Shadow-eARC (10 page)

“Don’t threaten me,” said Rhian, meeting his eyes, wondering why the wolf was so unnaturally calm. “I’m not frightened of you.”

She remembered Max’s teeth tearing at the elegant woman’s throat. She searched within herself and found a watchful, powerful presence. No, she really wasn’t frightened, as long as the shadow of the wolf was with her.

“You’re a game little thing but you must face reality, Snow White. You are all out of spells, little witch. Oh, you’ve some pretty party tricks—turning into a wolf was particularly good. The wolf-brooch I suppose. Your healing spell is unparalleled, but you’ve absolutely nothing left about your person to make more magic. I established that, personally.”

Rhian blushed, eliciting that infuriating smile again.

“I might be a werewolf,” said Rhian, defiantly.

“You might be but you’re not. You had a professional-grade witch charm on your coat, and you don’t smell anything like a shapeshifter.”

He looked down and stroked her hair. “You’re human through and through, my little Snow White.” He let his gaze run down her body hidden under the blankets. “I checked, remember?”

“I’m not a witch and I don’t know anything,” Rhian said, a little desperately. “Let me go.”

She was human, but was he?

He leaned back watching her, like a cat watches a mouse between its paws. He rose and moved to the dresser so fast that Rhian barely saw him cross the space in between.

“I had a look through the pockets before disposing of your coat,” he said, abruptly. “You had a purse with exactly seven pounds, thirty-five pence in loose change, a door key and a mobile phone. I am afraid the mobile hit the ground too hard.”

He held up shattered plastic.

Rhian bit her lip, trying not to cry. Her work clothes were destroyed. She had lost her coat, and her phone was smashed. She had only seven pounds to last until payday, and she had turned into a wolf again. She lost the unequal struggle and tears rolled down her cheeks. He walked slowly back to the bed and took her chin in his hand, lifting her head so that she could see his face clearly.

“It won’t do, Snow White. Crying won’t help you. Now tell me your name, who you work for, and how you turned up in that subway at just the right time armed with powerful defensive and offensive spells.”

He kept talking to her, stroking her hair and gazing into her eyes. His voice came from further and further away. She was very tired and her head felt so heavy. She could hear her own voice answering him, but she was not sure what she said. Eventually, she slipped back into sleep.

Jameson drove quickly but inconspicuously, the way he had been taught by the Northern Irish Special Branch. The powerful sports car ate the miles, slicing through the heavy London traffic. Karla prodded the control of the digital music system, and the device selected a New Age instrumental. It filled the car with soft acoustic guitars that barely rose above the deep growl of the supercharged four-point-two-liter eight.

After only a few minutes, Jameson turned off into the side roads.

“Our friend retired from the service, so technically she’s a civilian now.”

“Retired?” asked Karla, vaguely.

“Still aren’t entirely tuned into the modern world, are you, Karla? Retiring is when someone leaves the job while still alive. Doesn’t happen so often in our line of work. Of course, no one ever really retires from The Commission. They just go off the payroll.”

Jameson parked the Jag and they climbed out. Karla touched the roof and the locks clicked, the anti-theft switching on with a friendly chirrup and a flash of orange lights. Jameson had never been able to work out how Karla did that. She and the car had some sort of strange affinity. Generally she was uninterested in technology.

Jameson found the right flat and rang the bell. After a few moments, a woman in a long, loose-fitting, flowery dress opened the door. Her face registered shock, and she tried to close it again. Jameson stuck his foot in the gap.

“Gods, it’s you two. What do you want?” the woman asked. “And what the hell is
she
doing out in daylight?”

Jameson pushed the door fully open.

“Hello, Frankie, long time no see, can we come in?” he asked, entering before Frankie could reply.

When Karla tried to follow, the knocker glowed with a golden light that forced her back. Brass eyelids slid apart, revealing green eyes with vertical cat-like pupils.

“Daemon,” the knocker hissed, opening its brass mouth to force the word out.

“Frankie,” Jameson said, pleasantly.

The woman stood for a moment, indecision flitting across her face. Taking hold of Karla’s wrist, she led her through the door. The knocker went back to sleep and all three walked into the lounge. Jameson made himself at home on the leather chair.

“I will reset the exclusion spell as soon as she leaves,” said Frankie, taking a seat on the sofa.

Karla stood on the edge of the room. A fly circled lazily across the room. Her eyes moved to track it like a Patriot missile’s search radar.

“If we really wanted to get in then I doubt you could stop us,” Jameson said, gently. “You of all people know what we can do.”

Frankie pushed her glasses back up her nose.

“I remember that gesture,” Jameson said, smiling. “It’s got to be a habit. You’re looking well, Frankie.”

He was not just being polite; she really did look well. In her last months at the office she had become thin and strained, fading gently away like a Victorian heiress with consumption. Since her retirement she had filled out, becoming the pleasantly plump Frankie that he recalled.

She shrugged. “I get by. Is that why you came, to see how I was?”

“No,” he replied. “But seeing you again is a pleasure.”

“Careful, Jameson,” Frankie said, glancing at Karla. “I wouldn’t want to make her jealous.”

Jameson looked at Karla, really looked at her. She returned his look, parting her lips. He remembered when they had first left him alone with her in the cell. She bared her teeth and claws, terrifying him. “
I feel your fear,
” she said, backing away in confusion. “
I don’t like it
.” She had curled up in a foetal ball on the floor, unable to cope with emotions foreign to her nature.

He remembered her on the roof of his building, calmly waiting for the rising Sun. She had worked out that they would kill her when the experiment terminated, so she decided to suicide. He carried her back into his flat before the ultraviolet could burn out her eyes. She was so light, no heavier than a human. That was the night he decided The Commission would have to go through him to get to her. It was not like he was happy with his life. There were worse ways to die than keeping faith with a comrade.

“She doesn’t quite think like us,” Jameson said. “She tends to react to actions rather than words.”

“I shall resist the urge to throw myself into your arms, then,” said Frankie, sarcastically.

“Probably best,” said Jameson politely, not wanting to get into old history, but Frankie would not leave it alone.

Frankie said, “I’ve given up charity work.”

“Yes, I recall Pete left you,” said Jameson nastily, the jibe slipping out before he could intercept it.

Frankie tried to mask her feelings, but Jameson saw the hurt in her eyes and was ashamed. She did not deserve a crack like that. Even if she did, a gentleman would not have made it.

“I’m sorry, Frankie,” Jameson said. “That remark was not cricket.”

“No,” Frankie said. “But it’s true enough.”

“Pete was a civilian. You know how rarely they can cope with our world,” Jameson said.

“I suppose that I thought my love would overcome all obstacles. It’s a common enough female delusion,” said Frankie. “How are Mary and your kids?”

“Well enough as far as I know,” Jameson replied. “I get a card at Christmas.”

He shrugged. “You know how it is?”

“Yes,” Frankie replied. “I know how it is. You dodged my question. Karla’s a sucker. Ultraviolet breaks down her cellular structure in seconds. How is it that she’s out in daylight without being fried?”

“
N
-acetyl-5-methoxytryptamine,” Jameson replied with the air of someone who had done something clever.

“What?” Frankie asked.

“Melatonin, a photosensitive chemical controlling circadian rhythms and with powerful antioxidant properties.”

“I know what melatonin is,” Frankie said between gritted teeth. “But what has that got to do with . . .”

She paused and looked at Karla with utter horror.

“Oh gods, sunburn tablets, you’ve been feeding her sunburn tablets.”

“Rather clever, don’t you think?” Jameson asked smugly.

“Clever, you bloody fool,” Frankie replied. “You’ve just handed suckers the key to daylight.”

“Daemons don’t do technology. You know that?” Jameson said, scornfully. “And Karla is hardly likely to chat about it. Besides, melatonin doesn’t give total protection to suckers any more than, well, people. She is weakened by daylight and would be ill advised to try sunbathing.”

Frankie looked thoughtful. “But it shouldn’t work. It’s not just a matter of a photo-chemical reaction. Something else in sunlight damages daemons like Karla.”

“Whatever,” Jameson said, shrugging.

“Now I come to think about it, ultraviolet is the least of their problems with the Sun. Our UV guns only weaken them, not kill. It’s the spiritual dimension in sunlight that really matters,” Frankie said, warming to her theme.

Her brow furrowed. “Oh!”

“What?” Jameson asked. A smug, knowing smile hovered on Frankie’s lips. Jameson knew that smile. It was her “I know something you don’t and I’m not going to enlighten you” smile. It had always irritated the hell out of him.

“Never mind, you didn’t come here to reminisce about old times, Jameson. What do you want with me? I am not coming back. I work for myself now, casting harmless spells to help people.”

“You may be harmless, Frankie, but something else around here is bloody dangerous. What do you know about it?” Jameson asked.

“Nothing,” Frankie replied, shrugging.

“Come off it,” Jameson said, raising his voice threateningly. “People disappearing, bodies turning up without a mark on them to show how they died, not to mention bursts of magical energy. Don’t tell me that you haven’t noticed? I can always take you back to the office for a little chat if you won’t talk to me here.”

“All I know is what I read in the papers,” Frankie said. “Although it’s true that magic seems to be getting easier in East London.”

“Like strange energy was leaking into the world?” Jameson said.

Frankie nodded.

“Some of those bodies you mentioned were drained of blood.” She looked at Karla meaningfully.

The fly made the terminal mistake of wobbling past Karla in uncertain flight. She casually plucked it from the air, holding it delicately between her thumb and forefinger. The fly waggled its legs and wings.

“I remember you,” Karla said to Frankie. “You were the witch who enchanted me. I can smell the magic in you.”

She opened her mouth to show long fangs. She made no overtly hostile move, but Frankie looked away first. Karla lowered her head and studied the fly intently as if she had never seen one before.

“I’m sorry, Jameson,” Frankie said. “I wish I had never bound her to you.”

“Don’t knock yourself out, Frankie. I volunteered for the experiment. It’s not like anyone was the love of my life or anything. I was never much use at the relationship thing, as you may recall.”

He grinned to show there were no hard feelings. Jameson had long ago retreated into a world of control, placing adamantine barriers between his inner self and the outside world. He attracted women easily and lost them just as easily when they realized that he would never let them in.

He sighed. “I did one too many tours in the army.”

His mind drifted back to Iraq. The American A10 flew down the line of British Scimitars spraying thirty millimeter shells. Cavalry men bailed out, to be chopped down with shrapnel. Screams sounded from a burning tank. The sweet smell of roasting human flesh contrasted with the acrid taste of burning fuel and plastic.

“Snap out of it, Jameson,” Frankie said, abruptly. “Are you still getting flashbacks about that burning pig in Belfast? I will never know why you will not take the CB treatment.”

Jameson was jolted back to find Karla staring at him with uncharacteristic anxiety. She could feel his moods. A “pig” was an obsolete lightly armoured wheeled carrier that the government had insisted the army use in Northern Ireland. Heavy tracked vehicles with decent armor were deemed too aggressive and bad PR. Pigs were horribly vulnerable to fertilizer bombs.

He forced himself to smile before changing the subject. “You could not know that the love geas you placed on Karla would be reciprocal, binding me to her as much as her to me. Besides, you were just obeying orders when you cast the spell.”

“Only obeying orders, now there’s a phrase that echoes hollowly down the ages. I think I got tired of obeying orders,” said Frankie.

She looked Jameson in the face. “I hated you at the time and I wanted you to suffer. Goddess help me, but I am not sure that did not leak into the spell.”

“We’ll never know, as The Commission have never repeated the experiment.”

Frankie did not reply.

“Frankie?” Jameson asked.

“There were two more attempts. I did the magic both times,” she said.

“I never knew that. Why was it kept so quiet?”

“Because they were bloody disasters, with the emphasis on bloody!” Frankie burst out. “That’s what sent me over the edge, the cause of my breakdown. The connection between you and Karla is unique, and we have no idea why.”

Karla squashed the fly.

“Snow White, wake for me, Snow White.”

Something touched Rhian’s lips, and she opened her eyes with a jerk. Max stood over her with that irritatingly superior smile.

“This time you got your kiss,” he said.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I entranced you, Snow White, just like the Sith did in the subway, but this time you didn’t have your protective herbs.”