Black Fallen (3 page)

Part Three

SKILLS DAY

In London there is a man who screams when the church bells ring.

—H. P. Lovecraft, “The Descendant”

I already ca
n see a sisterhood forming with Riley, and I’m glad. Grateful. I’ve been feeling so
alone in all this, like the only female thrown into a world of evil chaotic males.
Well, Darius and Gabriel are far from evil, but you get my drift. It’s nice to have
another female in the mix. Ginger, too, although she’s relatively new to the team.
I’m not sure they’re entirely aware of what’s coming, the black storm of evil that’s
descending upon Edinburgh. But they will. And I can tell we are all better off having
Riley on our team.

—Sydney Maspeth

B
ene’s proves to be a potential favorite place to eat in Edinburgh. Just enough room
in the small take-out spot to step inside, drool over the selection of foods (excluding
haggis—um, no, thank you), give your order, and either step back outside or hug the
wall and wait. The guys behind the counter were superfriendly and fast. Both only
briefly glimpsed at my inked wings and then continued on with their cheerful, brogue-tinged
conversation. I like that, and it makes me think Edinburgh is as diverse as any other
city; even the folks at Bene’s aren’t surprised by a girl with tattooed black wings
on her face. I haven’t explored other eateries yet, but, man—Bene’s big batter-fried
slabs of haddock, and mountain of chips dowsed in malt vinegar and some weird-looking
but delicious brown sauce? Let’s just say the voracious appetite that is now part
of my Frankenstein-like genetic makeup overdid itself. I ate like a freaking hog.
And I’m feeling it. I almost want to let out the top two buttons on my jeans.

It was
so
good.

We’re getting ready to start training with the swords, and I don’t want to be impaled
because I can’t breathe from too much Bene’s. I leave Eli, who is talking to Jake
about the layout of Edinburgh, in the kitchen and hurry through the front sitting
room, where Lucian and Ginger are talking to Victorian, and bound up the steps to
the second floor. Jogging to the end of the corridor, I slip into my and Eli’s room,
cross over to my duffel on the floor where I dropped it earlier, throw it onto the
bed, and start rifling through it. I find a tie for my hair and pull it back into
a ponytail. Next, a pair of black Lycra pants. I toe off my boots, unbutton my jeans,
and slide them over my hips. Kicking them into a pile, I pull on the Lycra and fish
in my duffel for a shirt. Finding a black tank top, I grab the hem of my sweater and
pull it over my head.

“How long did it take to ink that dragon onto your back?”

I don’t jump in surprise, nor do I snap around and cover myself. My modesty went out
the window years ago. “I heard you cracking your knuckles as you left your room, Noah
Miles,” I say. I pull the tank over my head and turn around. “You don’t think you
can possibly sneak up on me. Do you, bro?”

“Maybe. But I don’t see how you can sneak up on anyone, woman. I can hear the fish
and chips sloshing around in your gut,” Noah says. He’s leaning against the doorframe
of my room, arms crossed over his chest, grinning. Clad in a pair of black running
pants and a plain white T-shirt, he looks about as average as any guy in a gym. Well,
except for his extraordinary good looks. Painfully good, even.

He grins. “So. How long?”

I ignore the fact that he randomly reads my thoughts any time he wants. “It took several
sittings, maybe four to five hours each,” I answer. “You outline first, then once
it heals, maybe in three to four weeks, the color is added.”

“You miss it?” Noah adds. He walks over, lifts one of my bare arms, and studies the
intricate dragon’s tail winding from shoulder to fingertip.

“Yeah,” I say. “Why—you want one?” I grin at him.

Noah’s head is bent over my forearm. “Maybe,” he says, lowers my arm, and looks at
me. “You’re going to have to keep covered while we’re here,” he says. “You know that,
right?”

Grabbing my black Nikes from my bag, I pull them on. “What do you mean?”

“Like Andorra says, you need to draw as little attention to yourself as possible,”
Noah says. “This isn’t Savannah, babe. Your ink sticks out. Draws unwanted attention
you don’t want to have to deal with. Locals.” With a knuckle, he grazes the wings
at my eye. “And, yeah, I know you can handle yourself.”

He does, too. I like that about Noah. He has my back if I need it, but I seriously
have to need it before he jumps in to cover me. He respects my abilities. Gotta love
that about a three-hundred-year-old vampire. With dreads. And, maybe he’s right. Although
the guys at Bene’s accept my body art, I definitely don’t want to stick out.

“And my alluring silver eyes, don’t forget,” he adds, batting his long lashes. Infiltrating
my thoughts. Again.

“You’re ridiculous, Noah,” I say, and I can’t help but smiling at him. He’s such a
freaking kid. Yet . . . to see him change, to see his fangs drop, and to see him fight?
Breathtakingly beautiful. I know that makes me sound a little sick, and I guess I
am. I punch his arm. “Let’s go.”

Noah and I walk out of the room together and head down the corridor.

“This place is a little creepy. Don’t you think?” he says as we near the steps. “There’s
something, I don’t know, weird about the idea of little unruly schoolkids that freaks
me out.”

I shake my head as we jog up the steps to the third-floor training area. “Yeah, I
agree. Little pale-skinned Victorian-era kids, wearing black dresses and stockings
and button-up boots, is definitely creepy,” I say.

“Slipping around corners, talking in hushed whispers, and just being . . . weird,”
Noah adds. “Kids,” he says with a shudder.

We both chuckle as we hit the third-floor landing. Halfway down the corridor is an
open set of dark double doors. We step through, and Jake, who is standing close by,
gives me a grin.

“You’ve reason to suspect the children once housed here were creepy,” he says. “They
were”—he strokes his chin—“extraordinary, one might say.”

“Extraordinary?” I ask. The others in the room—Ginger, Lucian, Victorian, Noah, and
Eli—all turn to listen.

“Aye,” he continues. “All had exceptional gifts. Levitation. Mind reading. Transversing
space. Just to name a few. Unfortunately, though, their families and the general public
of Edinburgh thought they were mad,” he says, and looks at me. “Insane.”

“We’re staying in an old Victorian-era children’s insane asylum?” Noah asks. He looks
at me. “I knew it.”

“The chamber you’re residing in, Noah, once belonged to one Professor Gallagher,”
Jake says.

Noah nods. “And?”

“He was found dead, huddled against the wall near your bed,” Jake adds. “An expression
of terror frozen onto his weathered face and one hand held up in defense.”

“The other hand?” Noah prods, clearly enjoying Jake’s tale.

Jake’s gaze narrows. “Clutching his rosary.”

Noah nods. “I’ve caused a similar response in folks myself a time or two, Andorra.”
He eyes me and winks. “Before I became a guardian, darlin’.”

I just look at him sideways. “Hmm.”

“The professor was literally frightened to death,” Jake continues. “By one of his
pupils.” He smiles. “Little Lily Johnson.”

“Och, Lily,” Gabriel says as he enters the dojo. He’s wearing black martial arts pants
and tunic tied with a black belt. The man is huge—nearly larger than Eli. And all
that long, straight black hair clasped at the nape and hanging down his back. Impressive,
to say the very least.

“What about Lily?” Noah asks.

Gabriel almost smiles. “Let’s just say if you encounter her, dunna look her in the
eye.”

I stare at Gabriel, and he lifts one brow. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. At
this point I’ll believe anything. Freaky little Victorian Lily equals no eye contact.
Besides. Anyone who bears the name Little Lily Johnson? Shudder.

Now we’re all gathered in the dojo. A large, spread-out room the size of at least
four bedchambers with windows lining the wall and facing the courtyard. Outside it’s
gray, dreary, and bleak. It
looks
cold. Fortunately, I don’t feel temperature the way I used to, so I’m rarely either
hot or cold. The floor is covered with a dark gray padded mat, pretty much like the
one in the Duprés dojo. Along one wall there’s a wooden stand containing a myriad
of swords. Big ones. Sharp ones.

Silver ones.

“We’re going to break off into groups,” Jake says. He looks at Gabriel, then at Darius,
who’s just entered the dojo. “But before we start with the blades,” he scans us all
with an inspective gaze, “we’re going to see what other skills we all have combined.”

“You want us to show off our tricks?” Victorian asks sarcastically.

“We’re all going to show off our tricks,” Jake replies. “Two at a time. Let’s start
with . . .” He studies each of us. “The wolves.”

Without a word, all of us except Gabriel back against the wall as Lucian and Ginger
take the center of the room. Lucian looks at Gabriel. “Human or lupine?” he asks.

I find that very interesting.

“One at a time,” Gabriel instructs, his face expressionless. In his hands is a pair
of long, wooden training sticks, probably four feet in length. He tosses one to Ginger
and she catches it. “Ms. Slater first. Human.”

Ginger, wearing a pair of navy blue training pants with double white stripes up the
sides and a gray V-neck T-shirt tightens her grip on the stick and moves toward Gabriel.
Her face is drawn, intense, and she is concentrating heavily. Her focus is solely
on Gabriel. Eyes frozen to his. Without hesitation, she moves in.

Ginger Slater is all of five feet, three inches. Maybe 115 pounds soaking wet, with
all of her clothes on. She looks like a porcelain doll; her features are so sweet,
skin blemish free. Even her voice is soft. Confident, yet soft. She reminds me of
the sweet-spoken female cop in that old comedy
Police Academy
. Seemingly so . . . innocent. Possibly even a pushover. Easy to overtake, especially
by a big man—or a big otherbeing, without a doubt. Gabriel is both and he towers over
her, by more than a foot, and outweighs her by God knows what.

She moves like lightning.

It proves to be one of many advantages.

Showing no fear and a face lined with determination, Ginger strikes Gabriel first.
Their training sticks collide with repetitive, echoing clacking as they pose offense
and defense. I study Gabriel’s movements hard, watching everything closely. I’m having
a difficult time deciding whether he’s working to keep Ginger’s stick from knocking
him in the head or if he’s simply toying with her. As usual, his features are stoic
and stony.

Ginger’s expression is . . . mean. I can’t think of another adjective for it. She
looks mean as Hell. But even mean can’t fend off a six-foot-three-inch, two-hundred-plus-pound
immortal from charging you and throwing you against the wall. I continue to watch
her. Ginger’s hands grip the stick tightly, and the little muscles in her biceps tighten
with each strike she makes on Gabriel. She reflects each of his strikes, too. I glance
at Lucian, and a satisfied smile pulls at his lips. He looks at me and nods proudly.

“Lupine,” Gabriel simply says.

My eyes are glued to Ginger, because even with all the extraordinary things I’ve seen
in the past several months with vampires, I’m anxious to see another otherbeing. My
mind now logically accepts things like vampires, werewolves, immortals, humans with
tendencies. I know them to exist. Yet there’s a morbid part of me that has to see
it in action first. Wants to see it. My insides tighten with anticipation.

The fighting stick drops from Ginger’s hands. Before it even hits the mat, it’s happened.
Her human form blurs, movement shifts like a breeze wisping through a gauze curtain,
and she drops to all fours. When my vision focuses, she is a reddish-colored wolf.
She launches at Gabriel, paws to chest, jaws wide open and angled over his throat,
and has him pinned to the mat in mere seconds.

“Damn,” Noah says, admiration clearly in his voice. “That is sick, my friends.”

“
Oui,
” agrees Eli. Whenever he slips into French, I know he’s in deep with whatever he’s
concentrating on. Our gazes meet, and he grins at me. I return it. Ginger will be
a total asset to the team.

Gabriel’s expression remains remarkably unreadable. “Well done,” he says, looking
Ginger the wolf directly in the eye. She sort of bows her scruffy head and backs off
of him. Turning her head toward Lucian, he smiles and nods toward the doorway. Ginger
takes off at a trot.

“Where’s she going?” Noah asks.

Lucian glances over at Noah. “Do you see that pile of clothes on the mat?”

We all glance down. Damn. Even I hadn’t noticed. Sure enough, there lay the Nikes,
navy blue training pants, and Ginger’s T-shirt. Along with a bra and undies.

Lucian smiles. “She’s modest.” He walks over and scoops them up. “Be right back.”
He jogs out of the dojo.

Gabriel is up now and scanning the room. “Quite an advantage, those two,” he says,
his gaze landing on Jake’s. “She could have snapped my head off with those jaws.”

Jake looks at Gabriel and grins. “I know.”

In my head, I’m wondering why, if they have so much vampire power and wolf power,
WUP needs my help. The vampires can read minds, and so can the immortals. They can
all fight like insane ultimate fighters, and the wolves can bite off heads. Why do
they need me?

“Because,” Darius says, reading my mind and pinning me with a pointed look. “You are
more than just a fighting human, Riley. Your mind control alone is a challenge any
otherbeing will have difficulty warding off.”

“Victorian has it,” I say, glancing at Vic.

“Not to your extent,” Eli adds. “We all saw what you did to his brother, Valerian.
Don’t forget that.”

I glance at Jake. His chiseled jaw tightens as he returns my stare. “We did,” he answers.
“Invaluable.”

Oh, great.
My mind powers of coercion make me a high commodity in the otherbeing world. Fantastic.
Always knew I’d be good for something.