City of Shadows (7 page)

“Afraid you'll fade away?” He stopped outside a door that someone had helpfully stuck a LOUNGE sign to. He looked down his nose, his smooth expression cutting into a frown. “That fact, Construct, is inevitable. Now remove yourself from these premises,” he gestured farther down the corridor, “before I have my warriors finish you.”

“Do it.” Pushing my wet hair back, I glared up at him. “They could have killed me then, but didn't.”

“You could have killed them.” He crossed his arms and looked deeper into me, perhaps trying to understand the riddle of the construct. “Why didn't you?”

Standing so close, wilting a little beneath his gaze, I fought the urge to shiver. His gray eyes weren't like the other fae's; most were beautiful, his were cruel. “I … I didn't want to.”

He laughed, and the sound of it rolled down the corridor, scattering goose bumps across my damp skin. “A construct that wants. One with a conscience. I don't know if the queen would be proud or disgusted.”

That made two of us. “What have you got to lose?”

His cold eyes narrowed to slits. “Prove to me your worth and I'll recruit you, if you survive among my ranks, that is. I cannot guarantee your protection, nor would I. If you can't survive them, then you're worthless to us—to me.” He turned and pushed through the door into the lounge.

Dripping wet, but with a new fire in my gut, I followed him.

When Reign had first taken me to Under, I'd stumbled into the London fae's underground chamber and found the fae there sprawled over every conceivable surface, like stray cats in a rescue sanctuary. Pedigree cats, of course, but cats all the same. The fae at Holland Park were the same. I found the majority of them in an opulent double-height lounge, bristling with weaponry. They sat at tables, lazed across couches, and perched on chair arms. At least thirty pairs of tricolored eyes fixed on me.

“The construct will be staying with us. Nyx, get her cleaned up.” And with that, Kael left.

The room full of fae looked at me like they'd quite like to sharpen their blades on my insides. Silence snapped through the air. An uneasiness crawled up my spine. The urge to attack coiled in their stillness. My fingers twitched, palms itching for my daggers. A chair scraped, the sound slicing through the quiet. A fae strode from one of the tables and passed by me. Another dropped off the edge of a table and gave me a wide berth as he left the room, his gaze averted. They all moved then, climbing from their relaxed positions, to flow around me and out of the lounge, until only the two who'd chased me down the hallway remained. They didn't look up.

Still dripping water, I pulled in a breath and headed toward their table. I recognized the female who'd helped haul me from the pool. She had her back to me, her laced knee-high boots propped up on the tabletop, while she rocked on the back legs of her chair.

“Hi,” I said. Nobody moved.

The
fae directly across the table read a well-thumbed paperback; something sci-fi gauging from the cover. He licked his finger and turned the page. I rolled my eyes. Nobody licks their finger to turn a paperback page. Not in this century. “I just need to know where I can go to get dry,” I said, agitation building in my voice. The bookworm flicked his eyes over the rim of his book. “Well?” I gave him what I hoped to be an encouraging nod to try and hide my frustration.

“You're the construct,” he said, stating the obvious.

“Yes,” I hissed. “And I'm currently wet, and cold, and pissed off, so can we do the whole she's got the queen's draíocht for blood and is our not-real-enemy-thing later?”

Bookworm fae blinked at me. He closed his book, set it down on the table and tapped thin fingers on the cover. A smile crept across his neutral expression. He held out a hand. “I'm Scaw.”

I eyed his hand suspiciously and then carefully closed my fingers around it and gave it a quick shake. “Alina.” His hand was warm, and soft. Gentle hands, and for once I didn't get any tingling sensations from his touch.

“You stabbed Nyx.” He said, taking his hand back. “Impressive.”

The female—Nyx, I assumed—flipped me her middle finger over her shoulder and rocked back far enough in her chair to peer up at me. “Nice move, by the way. You're quick. Most never get through my defenses. Tighten up those flailing swings, focus some of that strength, maybe we'll find the warrior in you?” She spoke as though we were friends, even plastered a smile on her narrow face, but a glint of mischief sharpened her gaze.

“I'm, er … I'm sorry about the stabbing. You were trying to kill me at the time.”

She
shrugged. “General's orders. Nothing personal.” Nyx rolled her lips together, but her laugh crept through. She dropped her chair forward, planted her boots, and rose to her feet. She moved like fluid, like someone perfectly comfortable in their own skin and her place in the world around her. I had to look up slightly; like all fae, she looked down on me. “You put Samuel in the pool. Now that was either pretty damn brave, or exceptionally stupid.”

Scaw chuckled and shook his head. “He doesn't like to lose.”

“He had me,” I said, and chanced a small smile, “until he fell for the crying.”

Nyx's smile was a broad slash, bright and sharp, like her eyes. I didn't sense any malice about her, or her book-reading companion. Just a little curiosity.

“Use everything in your arsenal as a weapon.” She nodded appreciatively. “A girl after my own heart.” Moving out from behind the table, she tucked a hand into her jacket pocket. “Samuel will want to repay you for the spontaneous dip.”

“Figured as much.” I'd made one enemy in the space of half an hour. But maybe a few friends too?

“C'mon, I'll show you around.” She reached inside her jacket and held out my throwing knives. “You'll need these back, because trust me—” She threw an arm around my shoulders, despite my wet clothes. “The way into
Samuel's
heart is by the point of a blade.”

Nyx escorted me around the building, pointing out where the fae ate, trained, and slept. The general was noticeably absent. When I asked Nyx about him, she shrugged, popped some gum into her mouth, and chewed, and that was the end of the conversation.

If I was staying, I'd have to bunk with the rest of the fae. She must have seen the doubt on my face, because she explained it was natural for the fae to sleep in
close
quarters, and then told me not to worry, it wouldn't be for long. Somehow her words didn't put my mind at ease.

Left alone to change into a rather unflattering set of sweats, I ditched my wet clothes and tucked my throwing knives into my boots then set out to roam the halls. I eventually stopped inside the training hall I'd seen the fae sparring in earlier. Samuel was down there, training five others. They hung on his every word. He spoke of technique, of counterstrikes, and where to aim.

As he paced in front of his line, it took me a few moments to realize what was different about him; his braid had gone. Cut off, I guessed. He wore a hooded top, the hood resting on his shoulders, and sweats like mine. I doubted he'd look drab in anything. The fae could wear trash bags and they'd still ooze predatory sex appeal. You'd think I'd be immune to that too, but apparently not. I watched Samuel and his team for almost an hour. If they knew I observed them, they didn't show any signs of it. They didn't argue, but they did discuss various strategies. Not a joke, not a leer. Professionals, each and every one of them. Concern chipped away at my bravery. I was out of my depth. They'd see through my act, and then what?

Just before dawn, with the sounds of blades ringing in my ears, I left the hall and found my way up a narrow staircase to a rooftop fire escape. The flat roof was small, but someone had placed a few chairs up here. I stood by the parapet and admired the leafy Holland Park view, grateful to be away from the fae warriors, their singing blades, and silent observations.

London's cityscape hummed with life. A cool morning breeze swept away the mist and carried with it the sounds of traffic and distant sirens.

I
soaked London into my skin, my thoughts. The fae inside the house were quite capable of killing me, all they needed was an excuse or Kael's order. Maybe not even that. Should one of his warriors accidentally-on-purpose slip a dagger between my ribs, I doubted anyone would miss me. I was capable of killing them; I'd proven it, but that didn't mean it was guaranteed. I'd messed up in the alleyway trying to save that girl. Reign was right; I was afraid of myself. But I had a purpose now. Something to focus on. Find Becky. Before whatever magic I was made with unraveled at the seams.

“What are you doing here, American Girl?” The breeze teased Reign's words along the rooftop. I didn't turn; didn't need to. I knew where he stood, as though something in me had attuned itself to him. Besides, if I turned, I'd see his face, his delicious smile, and it would hurt all over again.

He ambled around me and blocked my view of the sun-draped park, throwing himself into silhouette. Even as I shielded my eyes and squinted into the light, I couldn't make out his expression. “I was watching the sunrise, until you got in the way.”

“Is that a metaphor?”

Everything had to be about him. “What are you doing here, Reign?”

“Didn't I just ask you the same thing?”

I dropped my hand and squinted into the light. “You've been hunting. I can smell the bears on you.” He didn't move and didn't deny it, so I had my answer. He'd broken the curfew, ventured outside of Under. I suppose that he needed to feed, and he needed freedom the same as I needed to feel the sun on my face to know it was real.

“Have you been hunting?” He'd measured his voice, deliberately keeping it flat.

“
No, and I'm fine.”

“I thought I'd check-in and make sure of that.”

“You know stalking is creepy, right?” I asked. He definitely smiled, but inside the sun's glare I couldn't see if it reached his eyes. How did you even know this was where I'd be?”

He backed up a few steps, taking him dangerously close to the edge of the roof. “Because, American Girl, you go looking for trouble, and this is the last place in London you should be.”

“You're still London's Most Wanted,” I said. “If the FA catch you …” London's burnt-orange sky glowed behind him, as if he were standing on top of the world. I smiled and shook my head at his flair for the dramatic.

“They won't kill me, but they will attack you—a construct.”

“I can look after myself. I don't need you, Reign.”

He held my stare for a few moments and then turned away. He started to pace along the edge of the roof, hands wavering at his sides to balance himself. There had to be a four- or five-story drop below, and yet he balanced himself with feline grace. “What are you trying to prove?” he asked. “Kael isn't someone you should toy with. He'll cut through you to get what he wants.”

“I'm not trying to prove anything.”
Except maybe Kael's guilt
, I thought.

I tracked Reign as he turned and paced back along the edge. He wouldn't fall; the fae thought in three dimensions. The buildings, the rooftops, they were just another thoroughfare to get to where they wanted to go. Ironic, considering I was scared of heights. “What difference does it make? I need to do something.” I sighed. “Do anything. You don't understand. Nobody does. You'll probably live another hundred years. I might not have a hundred hours.”

He
stopped to my left. The sun bathed us both in bright morning light. The touch of it played in his dark hair and across the proud lines of his face, warming his pale skin. When did he get so pale?

“You'd rather burn out than fade away, is that it?” he asked. “Go out in a blaze of glory?”

Two hundred years old. How could he know what it was like to feel time slipping through your fingers? “Yeah, actually. What's so wrong with that?”

“What's wrong with it, is that I can help you learn how to feed, to control it. Give you more time.” He could, but what would it buy me? Another few days? Weeks? I wasn't designed to live a long life. And besides, he'd have to teach me to take “life” from a human being, and the thought of spending any time with him after what I'd seen; why torture myself with something I couldn't have? Whatever way you slice it, it felt wrong.

“You should go,” I sighed, “before Kael finds you.”

“I understand you're afraid.”

He did. I knew that. His hound and my … whatever I was inside. We were linked, and he knew well what that felt like. We were both monsters. Which was why it was better if I stayed away from him.

“You understand what you want to and nothing else.” I pushed to my feet, brushed my sweats down, and turned toward the fire exit door. “Just go. You shouldn't have come here.”

“Alina, you're not like them.” His voice carried across the rooftop before the sounds of London swallowed it up.

“
You're worse
.” I winced at the memory.

“Don't trust them,” Reign said.

I
glanced over my shoulder into the sun, but he'd gone. An empty ache bloomed through my chest.

I couldn't let Reign distract me. If I was going to get close to the general to find Becky, I had to prove I had what he wanted.

All I had to do was remember …
her.
The spider-queen. The monster. My mother. Me.

Chapter Seven

After much of the day exploring the FA's glorious period house, trying to sneak into nooks and through locked doors without much success, I'd yet to find evidence that the fae were anything other than what they appeared to be—a well-oiled machine charged with keeping the peace between human and fae. But what about the general? I'd tried striking up conversations with the warriors, eager to learn more about Kael, but they'd quickly made their excuses or avoided me altogether.