Rogue Hunter: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Immortals of London Book 1) Page 3

  Olivia stands with her arms folded, looking us up and down. Finally, she holds out the bluestone rings that act as our communication devices. “You’ll do. Try not to mess this up, okay?”

  “Yes, Olivia,” I mumble obediently.

  Is it just me, or is Ciaran stifling a grin? Scowling, I turn on my heel and march from the room. I don’t bother to wait for him.

  WHY HAS HE BROUGHT us here?

  I glance at Ciaran as we stride across the courtyard to the main entrance of the British Library. This is the place where some of the country’s oldest manuscripts are kept. It’s popular with tourists and locals alike. And it’s always busy. As we step inside, I’m suddenly on edge. What is he playing at? This is hardly an inconspicuous location. If we get caught here, all hell will break loose.

  I come to a halt in the foyer, making him turn and face me. “Well? Care to explain?”

  Ciaran smiles crookedly. “Like I said: contacts. We’re here to see an old acquaintance of mine.”

  “Here? Are you mad?”

  He shrugs. “My contact works here. Where else would we find him at this time of day?”

  Before I can speak, he stalks off, forcing me to trot at his side. We weave through the public spaces and then up a flight of stairs to a door guarded by a security desk. Ciaran has a quick chat with the guard and we’re let through as easy as anything.

  We enter a long corridor with doors down one side and a glass wall on the other that overlooks the public cafe. Ciaran halts outside a door and raises his hand to knock.

  I’ve had enough of this. I grab Ciaran’s arm. “Wait. Do you expect me to just walk in there on your say-so? Without the slightest bit of explanation?”

  “Don’t you trust me, Marney?” he asks.

  What a ridiculous question. He’s a vampire. Of course I don’t trust him. This whole thing could be a trap. A set up. And yet, as I look into his deep blue eyes I suddenly feel ashamed of my distrust. It’s not an emotion I expected.

  In his soft accent he says, “His name is David Sullivan. He’s something of an expert in our history and he keeps his ear to the ground. If the Church of the Prime is back, he’ll have heard about it.”

  “And what makes you think he’ll talk to us?”

  Ciaran sweeps a stray lock of dark hair from his face. “Because he values his life. He got into some bother a few years ago. The Synod spared his life in return for his help should we need it. Well, now we need it.”

  I don’t like this. I don’t like that I’ve never heard of this ‘informant’. I don’t like the way I’m reliant on Ciaran’s leads. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me now, all intent and serious. I wish he’d look away. I lick my lips. Clear my throat.

  “Fine. Let’s get on with it.” I thump on the door.

  “It’s open!” comes a muffled reply.

  We enter what appears to be a conservation lab. Manuscripts in varying states of preservation lie in glass cases along the wall. In the center, a man sits with his back to us, hunched over a sheet of Egyptian papyrus.

  “Kate, would you take a look at this?” he says without turning. “I’ve never seen this hieroglyph before. I think we might need to rethink the date of this piece. I reckon it’s probably much older than we thought.”

  Ciaran and I don’t answer. After a moment, the man speaks again.

  “Kate? Did you hear what I said? I—”

  He swivels in his chair and his already pale face goes even paler. I can tell from his scent that he’s a vampire. A few work in mundane jobs in the human world but they’re closely monitored. How come I’ve never heard of this one?

  The vampire licks his lips. “Um, hello, Ciaran.”

  Ciaran grabs a chair, then straddles it the wrong way round. He crosses his elbows on the chair’s back and fixes the vampire with his blue gaze. “Hello, David.”

  David’s eyes flick to me and the nervousness in his scent increases. “Who’s your friend?”

  “My name is Marney,” I answer. I’ll be damned if I’ll let Ciaran introduce me like I’m his lackey.

  David swallows thickly, holding up a finger. “You’re an immortal. Now, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I can assure you, I haven’t broken the terms of our agreement. No human has been harmed at my hand.”

  “We know,” Ciaran reassures him. “We’re here about something else.”

  “Oh. And that is?”

  Ciaran glances at me. “Marney?”

  I dig into my pocket and pull out Hugh’s medallion. I place it on the table in front of David, who pushes his glasses further up his nose then picks up the medallion, holding it close to his face as he examines it.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “You recognize it?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s one of the Riduchi amulets. Sabian ordered them made back in the dark times when the Church of the Prime was at the height of its power.”

  Ciaran and I share a glance.

  “This was found on a rogue,” Ciaran says. “What do you suppose he was doing with it?”

  David’s bushy eyebrows shoot up. “A rogue? With this? Surely he must have stolen it. The Riduchi are rare and priceless. How else would he have got it?”

  “We were hoping you could tell us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ciaran frowns as though debating how much to tell him. “We know you keep your ear to the ground, David. We know you’re still in touch with some of your former.... associates. If the Church of the Prime was recruiting again, you’d have heard, right?”

  “I study the old ways,” David says, spreading his hands wide. “For academic purposes only, you understand. I don’t have any first-hand knowledge, only what I read. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  Ciaran moves so fast, he’s a blur. His chair clatters to the floor and then he’s got his hand round David’s throat. What’s so unnerving is that his voice is still friendly, pleasant, as he says, “I don’t like liars, David. They get on my nerves. There’s no telling how I might react when people lie to me. So, I’ll give you another chance. What do you know about the Church of the Prime?”

  He lets David go and returns to his seat. It all happened in an instant.

  I have to admit, I’m impressed. You hear stories about vampire rogue hunters but I always thought the stories were exaggerated. Perhaps I was wrong. Could I fight someone who moved that fast? Probably, but it would be a close thing.

  David massages his neck and gives Ciaran a look that suggests he is most offended. “There’s no need to threaten me,” he says with an air of dignified injury. “Haven’t I always been helpful to the Synod?”

  He gets up and shuffles over to a cupboard. Taking a key from his breast pocket, he unlocks the door and pulls out a thick leather-bound book which he places on the desk next to the Egyptian papyrus.

  The book looks old and gives off a damp smell. The glyphs on the front are written in a spiky script that I’ve not seen in a long time. With a gasp, I realize it’s Baltair, the language of the ancient vampires.

  David glances at Ciaran then over at me. “I would be most grateful if word of my owning this book did not reach the ears of my employers.”

  “That depends on what it is,” I reply.

  “An account of my people, nothing more. It is very old. Very precious. I have spent much time conserving it for future generations.”

  Ciaran waves a hand and I can tell he has no interest in history. “Fine. Whatever. What can you tell us about the Church?”

  David carefully opens the book and turns to a page somewhere near the middle. He taps the page. “Most think the Church of the Prime was wiped out. This passage here says otherwise. It claims they went into hiding, forming a secret society that not even the highest ranking vampires, immortals or humans knew about. It reads like a prophecy and says that during their time in isolation they will gather their strength, ready for their re-emergence into the world.”

  “And when will that be?” Ciaran asks.

  David shrugs. “I’ve no idea. It’s just a story.”

  Ciaran leans forward. His voice is as soft as silk as he says. “And what is your involvement in the Church, David?”

  “I just keep the old manuscripts!” David squeals. “History, that’s all! I’m not involved, I swear.”

  Ciaran narrows his eyes at the vampire. “If I find you’ve been lying to me...”

  A sickly smile flickers across David’s face. He licks his lips. “You won’t. I’m loyal to the Synod. I accept their will.” He bows as though Ciaran is some sort of dignitary.

  My lip curls in disdain. Vampires are nothing if not adaptable. Cunning, powerful when the situation calls for it. Subservient creeps when required. David strikes me as the worst kind of vampire. Slippery as an eel. I know he’s lying. I’m pretty sure Ciaran knows he’s lying too. But for whatever reason, Ciaran seems willing to accept this. What’s he up to? Surely he’s not going to let David go?

  Ciaran cocks his head at me. “Ready?”

  I nod, following his lead.

  Without speaking to David, we leave the room and close the door behind us. We walk in silence down the corridor and past the security desk, but once outside in the courtyard, I catch Ciaran’s elbow.

  “What was all that about?” I demand. “Why just leave like that? He was clearly hiding something.”

  “Of course he was lying. But what would you have done? Beaten him to a pulp? Wrecked his office? No surer way to get arrested. The Council want this kept quiet, remember?”

  I grind my teeth. He’s right, curse him. “So what now?”

  He suddenly glances at something beyond my shoulder. Then, without warning, he pushes me against the wall, and kisses me. His mouth is hot and moist against
my own, his lips soft as they caress mine.

  I’m outraged. What the hell does he think he’s doing? Yet, inexplicably I find myself returning the kiss, moving my lips insistently against his. His hand reaches round the back of my neck, the other around my waist as he pulls me against his hard body. Fire lights in my abdomen, sending ripples of arousal flashing through my system.

  It’s like I’ve lost control. My thoughts fragment and I crumble under the onslaught of this sudden, unexpected passion. I should push him away. Hell, I should slap his handsome face for him. But I don’t. I haven’t been kissed like this since...

  Ciaran suddenly steps back, leaving me gasping. I shake my head, trying to gather my whirling thoughts and regain control.

  “What the hell was...”

  My words trail off as I see the way he’s looking at me. His eyes have gone dark with something. I’m not sure what it is. Lust? For a second there is a deep, heavy silence between us. Then he blinks, scrubbing a hand through his dark hair as though waking from a dream.

  “How dare you—” I begin but he suddenly presses a finger against my lips and jerks his head at something behind us.

  Peering over Ciaran’s shoulder, I see David hurrying away. He glances right and left to check nobody’s watching. A sudden anger clenches my stomach. Yes, the lying bastard is definitely up to something.

  “That’s why you kissed me?” I ask Ciaran. “To stop him from noticing us?”

  He nods. “It’s the last thing he’d expect to see.”

  “Of course. Makes sense.”

  I should feel relieved. It was a trick. Nothing more. So why do I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach? I stride away, my boots clicking on the damp concrete.

  “Come on. We can’t let him get away.”

  We follow David onto the busy London streets, tailing him from a distance. At every intersection he pauses to look around. Finally, he darts into a cafe.

  “How will we get in without him seeing us?” I ask as we halt a few meters away. The day has turned blustery and a cold wind swirls Ciaran’s hair around his head. I can’t help noticing the color it puts in his cheeks or the way it tousles his dark hair.

  “Stay here,” he says. He dashes off and returns a moment later carrying two copies of the Financial Times. He hands one to me.

  We take seats on the small terrace outside, pretending to read the newspapers so David won’t spot us. But from through the window, we have a great view of David and also have a clear line of sight to the cafe door.

  David seems nervous. He keeps biting his nails and I can see that his left foot is jiggling under the table. What is he up to? The place is packed with humans. If this goes wrong, things could get very ugly, very quickly. Ciaran seems to share my apprehension. Over the top of his newspaper, his blue eyes are fixed on David, assessing.

  A man suddenly approaches the door. He’s tall and gaunt. I straighten, peering over my newspaper. Although the aroma of coffee and frying food hides his scent, something about him tells me he’s a vampire. He pushes through the door, approaches David’s table, scrapes back the chair, and takes a seat.

  A series of exchanges follow in which David seems to become more agitated. He gestures frantically and holds out a piece of paper which the second man tucks into his pocket.

  After a few minutes, David pushes back his seat and then hurriedly makes for the exit. As he leaves, Ciaran and I duck behind our newspapers to stop him spotting us, then Ciaran begins pushing his chair back to follow. I reach out to stop him.

  “We need to know what he passed to his associate.”

  Ciaran pauses, then nods. The second vampire waits exactly five minutes, enough time to allow David to get away, then he leaves. Without a word, Ciaran and I follow.

  The vampire hurries down the street, looking neither right nor left, obviously with a destination in mind. We follow at a distance and I keep one hand on my sword where it’s tucked into my pocket. There might be more of them. Vampires often work in triads, one to do the task, two others to keep watch for trouble. But this one seems to be alone.

  Ahead, the vampire disappears into an alley. As we turn the corner, I pull out a knife. The sound alerts him. He spins, a snarl on his lips.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m Marney. I thought we might have a little chat.”

  He tips his head back and inhales through his nostrils. An expression of distaste crosses his pale face. “Immortal! I’d recognize your stink anywhere. What do you want with me?”

  The alleyway is dank and dim. A fire escape lazily zigzags up one side and large rubbish bins are arrayed against the other. Except for myself, Ciaran, and the vampire, it’s empty. Even so, there are lots of people passing by the alley’s mouth. If just one glances in this direction then all hell will break loose.

  I keep my voice deliberately neutral. “You have a piece of paper in your pocket. Hand it over and you can walk out of here in one piece. Can’t say fairer than that.”

  He cocks his head as though considering my offer. Then he addresses Ciaran. “What are you doing with an immortal, brother?”

  Ciaran shrugs. “What can I say? I’m helpless when it comes to beautiful women.”

  “You’re a rogue hunter?”

  “Is it that obvious? I must be losing my touch.”

  The vampire snarls and I see that his fangs have dropped. Not a good sign. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, he launches himself at me. He’s not as fast as Hugh, but even so I only just duck in time. The swipe of his clawed hand goes through the air where my face was half a second ago.

  Okay, looks like he wants to do it the hard way. So much for keeping this quiet.

  I spin and sweep his legs out from under him. With a bellow, he crashes onto his back on the muddy paving stones and I follow with a swift downward stab of my knife. He rolls away and I strike the concrete instead.

  I turn to see Ciaran and the vampire engaged in furious combat. They fight like brawlers: swinging punches, blocking, kicking. Except this brawl is at whirlwind pace. I can barely keep track of them. Ciaran seems to have the upper hand, slowly backing the vampire towards the end of the alleyway. But then the vampire suddenly springs into the air, grabs at the railing of the fire escape, and swings himself onto it. He scuttles up it like a spider.

  “Shit! Don’t let him get away!”

  Tucking my knife away, I haul myself onto the fire escape and fly up the steps two at a time. Adrenaline surges in my veins. The thrill of the chase.

  Something clangs against the metal railing, missing my head by a whisker. A knife. So. He’s armed. Above me, the vampire reaches the top of the fire escape which ends at a door. He yanks on the handle a few times but to no avail. It must be locked from the inside. He leaps onto the railing and from there onto the roof.

  I follow him, landing on the tiles. A blade flashes towards my face and I duck, roll, and land a side kick on his forearm that sends the knife skittering out of his grasp. Footsteps hammer on the metal steps then Ciaran grunts as he climbs onto the roof. I don’t spare him a glance. My attention is fixed on my prey.

  The vampire crouches ten paces away. His eyes are narrowed in hatred. I can almost see the thoughts turning behind his eyes. He’s weighing his options. He’s bigger and stronger than I am. Should he try to take me down? Or merely try to run?

  That second of indecision gives me all the time I need. I launch at him, delivering a series of lightning hits that strike his chest, his head, his neck. He’s fast, very fast, but not fast enough to stop all of them. He staggers, in a daze, throwing out one hand to brace himself on the roof’s edge. I take my chance. Whipping out a knife, I raise it high then crack the handle against the vampire’s right temple. He crumples without a sound.

  Ciaran moves to my side, glancing down at the fallen vampire. He whistles under his breath. “Nice work. Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you, Marney.”

  “He shouldn’t have run.”

  “I’m sure he’ll regret that decision when he comes around.”

  I snort and begin rifling through the man’s pockets. I pull out David’s piece of paper. It’s a small envelope sealed with wax. A name is written on it. Portia. I hook my fingernail underneath the seal and break it with a little ‘click’. Shaking out the paper inside, I read the words.