The Bloodshade Encounters & The Songspinner (Shadeborn Book 2) (16 page)

Old Friends

Sienna was at her most stunning at twilight, her golden skin growing pale in the fading sunset. They had been sitting on the grass of the park listening to the music for a while, but the band weren’t very good, according to Sienna, so Salem let himself be led to a pavilion where German beers were being served. As the sun dipped below the level of the trees, leaving a pink afterglow in the sky, Sienna gulped at her icy half-pint, a layer of froth settling on her top lip.

“Call me old fashioned,” Salem chuckled, “but I like my ladies with a little less moustache.”

Before Sienna could ask, he put his thumb out and wiped the white, bubbly stuff from her lip. She giggled, her cheeks flushing for a moment before she too checked her lip for more of the stuff.

“Is it gone?” she asked, leaning closer to Salem.

He took in her radiance, overcome by the slender flex of her neck and the slight parting of her pale, peach-coloured lips.

“One bit left to get,” he murmured as he too leaned in.

Had they not been in a public place, Salem would have let her kiss linger not far short of forever. She tasted like the sweetness of her light beer and her hair smelled like fresh blooms emerging on a spring hillside. A little voice in Salem’s mind told him that she was too perfect, far too good for the likes of him, but Sienna was enjoying his kiss and his company, so who was he to judge what was the truth anymore?

They stood beneath the hanging branches of a huge tree once their drinks were finished, and Sienna wrapped her arms around Salem’s torso, leaning into him. She kicked her feet out of her heels and let the shoes sit beside her bare toes as she sank them into the grass. Salem took a deep, satisfied breath, still amazed that the change of pace he’d been craving had simply walked right into his life. He mused that perhaps it was his change of career that had prompted it. Maybe he had started living right for a change, and fate was ready to give him his reward after so many heartbreaks.

“I didn’t think I’d meet someone like you,” Sienna said, close to his ear. “The boys in the clubs are so stupid and childish. They only want a quick fling. They wouldn’t be here with me, with all this music and conversation and life.”

Salem hugged her closer to him, deciding the best way to keep hold of this girl was to
not
invite her to his apartment that night. He kissed the side of her forehead and leaned against it, looking up into the darkening night sky.

“You’re just what I needed, you know,” he admitted, “so maybe we ought to stick together a lot.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sienna replied. She snuggled into his chest for a moment, then pulled away. “Except for right now, because I need to find the portaloos.”

“Good call,” Salem said with a laugh. He pointed out to his right. “Go that way and follow the smell.”

Sienna pulled a face, laughing as she set off to find the facilities. Salem sank down to sit against the trunk of the secluded tree, smiling at the sight of Sienna’s discarded shoes. He hoped that she wouldn’t get any glass underfoot as she made her way across the crowd, surprised by how much he cared about that happening. He was almost ready to follow her and take her the shoes, when a cold shiver passed through him that didn’t sit well against the seasonably warm night.

“Master Cross,” a voice growled. “Well, it’s been a while, has it not?”

Salem didn’t dare look to his left. He didn’t want to confirm that the shadowy figure emerging from the bushes to sit beside him was who he thought it was. From the corner of his vision, he could see that the gentleman in question had aged considerably since they’d last met, but the silver bullet hanging on a chain around his neck made him unmistakable. The shade squirmed, his mouth running dry. He had grown lax since he’d returned to London, and he ought to have known that St James’s was the last place on earth that he should have been frequenting.

“Don’t you remember me, old boy?” the man beside him asked.

“Fen,” Salem said through gritted teeth, “You’re looking ancient.”

“Ha,” the werewolf barked. “I should do. I’ve been king of these parts for about forty years now, since Father passed away.”

Salem was a lot more than relieved to hear that Scholl was no longer in the picture. The werewolves that were born from breeding pairs lived a lot longer than normal humans who had been turned, but Scholl Wohlgamuth’s reign must have come to an end at around the two hundred year mark. Salem wondered how long Fen had left at the helm.

“What is it that you want, Fen?” Salem asked. “You don’t strike me as the type to pop up for a social chat.”

“You’re quite right,” the werewolf replied. “You’re still on my books, Salem. I need you for a job.”

It was then that Salem finally had the courage to look Fen right in his black, soulless eyes. He was still as massive and muscular as he had ever been, though his long hair was now pulled back under a bandana, passing his look off as a biker, or some other such rebel. He had that awful lascivious smirk on his snarling lips, sharp teeth grinning out as he ran his tongue over them thoughtfully.

“It pays well,” he added.

Salem turned his head away, focusing on the crowds nearby.

“I already have a job,” he replied.

“It pays in
magic
,” Fen urged.

The shade couldn’t help the way his ears pricked up at the words.

“What kind of magic?” he asked.

“All kinds,” Fen growled gleefully. “Bottled-up stores from every supernatural creature on the planet. Magic to do anything and everything that you could ever want, all at the tips of your fingers.”

Salem swallowed, his greedy streak emerging in full force.

“What would I have to do?” he murmured.

Fen put a rough, strong hand on his shoulder, turning the shade’s torso to face him by force. The werewolf monarch had a powerful presence and a convincing sincerity to his solemn expression.

“That girl you’re with tonight,” Fen rasped, “she’s a Pritchard.”

Jane’s face flashed before Salem’s eyes. His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the wolf’s words.

“As in, the Pritchard Potioneers? The magic-makers of London?” he urged.

Fen simply nodded. “And the sworn enemies to the Wohlgamuth clan,” he confirmed. “Sworn enemies to all non-humans, in fact, including yourself.”

Salem shook his head.

“Sienna’s from Australia,” he explained. “She’s just staying with relatives here.”

“
Pritchard
relatives,” Fen barked back. “Blood is blood. The girl is a direct descendant.”

Salem stood up, taking Sienna’s shoes with him as he made to shift away from the werewolf and back into the crowd, who were now eagerly awaiting the fireworks display. Fen grabbed him hard, claws digging into his elbow as the ragged old wolf put his snarling lips to Salem’s ear.

“I’m not asking you to hurt her,” he reasoned. “We want her for ransom. We’ll keep her at our hideout, the Pritchards pay us with their magic, and then we let her go.”

Salem struggled to get loose, but Fen held him fast.

“She doesn’t even have to know that you’re involved,” he crooned, his low timbre vibrating on the night air. “Just bring her to the south gate at midnight. Lead her somewhere that the crowds aren’t flocking to. We’ll do the rest.”

The pressure at his elbow was lifted. When Salem turned to look at Fen, the gargantuan beast was already slipping back into the shadows beyond the trees. A pair of hands touched his chest and Salem bolted, terrified eyes landing on Sienna as she attempted to hug him.

“Sorry!” she said with a flap of her hands, “Didn’t mean to startle you. Oh, you brought my shoes, you’re such a sweetie!”

She took her heels from Salem’s absent hands. He barely felt her body beside him as a new wave of guilt detached him from the present moment. Fireworks began to erupt in the night sky, a spectrum of vivid colour filling the shade’s cobalt-blue eyes. He saw them. He felt their noise attack his ears. But Salem Cross was numb to the world as his new decision consumed his mind.

It was the old quandary that had always plagued him: the quest for power versus the allure of a beautiful woman. With Evangeline, Salem had been able to experience both, for a time at least. Sienna’s kidnap would be an ordeal for her, but Fen had promised that she would be returned safely once the potioneers’ magic was delivered. Salem weighed up his conscience, wondering if he could have both of the things he desired, if he played the game correctly this time.

The Kidnap

After the fireworks had ceased, Sienna was keen to leave the park and go to Soho for drinks. At half-past eleven, Salem found himself standing at the south gate of St James’s, too early for Fen and too late to stop Sienna from scanning the road for a taxi. The first three that had gone by were, mercifully, full of drunken tourists and Salem managed to turn her once or twice in the wrong direction when an empty cab was passing behind her back. Salem checked his watch after what he thought was a masterful display of misdirection. Just three minutes had gone by.

“It’s no use,” he said with a shrug, “how about we go back to the pavilion and get another beer? We could try for a cab again in, half an hour, say?”

Sienna’s young face crumbled. “No,” she stammered, a nervous curl in her lip, “I don’t like to be out on the streets at twelve.”

“What’s so different about now and twelve?” Salem asked, certain that he was the only one who should know the answer to that question.

Sienna curled her body against his in the darkness, looking up into his face with a bashful sort of shrug. He held her close, watchful of the empty taxis passing by behind her once again.

“You’re going to think it’s silly,” she mused aloud.

“No, no,” Salem said, half-distracted. “You can tell me. Tell me what’s so bad about midnight.”

“Well…” Sienna mumbled. “It’s the start of the Witching Hour, isn’t it?”

Which was the precise reason that Fen had chosen such a time. He liked to do things by the book. Salem quirked a brow at the girl in his arms, feeling the prickle on his skin that made him suspicious of her for the very first time.

“Do you believe in all that stuff?” he asked her.

“Do you?” she replied.

There was no mirth to her tone. They had reached an awkward impasse, both looking at one another with deadly serious expressions. Sienna’s sea-green eyes searched Salem’s face, and he could see her mind operating beyond them. Was this Jane all over again? Was Sienna a true Pritchard, the kind who would want him dead if she knew what he was and what he could really do? Did she already know what he was, and was he to become the bait in some human’s plan once again? It occurred to Salem sadly that perhaps Sienna was not as instantly and powerfully attracted to him as he had thought.

His instincts were right. She was too perfect, and this moment was proof enough of that as she continued to wait for his answer. Salem mused that there were very few women he’d encountered in his many years who had been truthful with him, not since Charlotte had he found a woman who truly loved him, and he had ruined that long before Gifter’s silver present had ever gotten in the way. Sienna was just another trickster to add to the pile.

Salem’s eyes widened at the sight of the road, where an empty taxi was pulling in of its own free will, as though it had seen the couple standing there and assumed they needed a ride. Sienna turned with joy, pointing at it.

“What luck, eh?” she supposed.

Pop its tyres
. Could he concentrate hard enough to create the air pressure he would need to blow one of them into a flat? Salem was willing to try, feeling the faint tingle of the blood in his veins as the black cab came nearer still.

The driver shook his head at him. Salem paused, focusing in on the shadowy driver’s seat, his meagre magic fading back to nothingness. Sienna was already approaching the back of the taxi, shunting open one of its doors with a swing to climb inside. When Salem saw the black, soulless eyes of its driver, he did not stop her. Had Fen sent someone along early just for this purpose? Perhaps it was just as well that he didn’t trust Salem the way he used to.

“Come on!” Sienna urged brightly. The door to the cab was still open.

Salem looked at the driver. He had what he wanted, so why wasn’t he leaving? The wolf crony could have driven off with Sienna and delivered her straight to Fen to play prisoner, for Salem had already done his part by bringing her to the right place. Yet the driver was watching him expectantly. He had very little choice but to join her in the back of the vehicle.

“Where to, mate?” the driver asked. His accent was foreign, without the growl that Salem was expecting.

“Soho Square,” Sienna told him.

The cab moved off in the right direction. Salem felt a squirming in his stomach. Had he mistaken a particularly dark-eyed driver for wolfkind? Perhaps he had just inadvertently saved Sienna from her ordeal by his own stupidity. Salem craned, trying to see the driver’s eyes again, but his rear-view mirror was positioned badly, keeping him out of sight. Sienna shifted uncomfortably beside Salem as the cab rolled into traffic.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked. “You’ve gone all weird since I said that thing about the Witching Hour. I’m not a psycho, you know, I do know that magic doesn’t really exist.”

“You do?” Salem asked, quickly studying her faces for lies.

“Duh,” she replied, looked even more disturbed than before. “I just meant it’s a high crime rate time. It creeps me out being on the street so late. Too many weirdos.”

“Right,” the shade replied, his face falling.

Perhaps she wasn’t a true Pritchard after all. She could still be what he’d thought originally: a travelling relative who knew nothing of her family’s other life in London’s supernatural underworld. A quiver of relief sank into Salem’s chest as he realised that he had indeed let Sienna rescue herself from the proposed meeting with Fen. The werewolf might be angry, but Salem had never definitely promised to deliver the girl, and, if there was one thing that his silver tongue was good for, it was talking his way out of those kinds of situations.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shifting to offer his arm around her shoulders. “You know what it’s like when you’ve met someone cool, then suddenly-”

“They turn out to be a new age Wiccan, or a religious fanatic,” Sienna continued with a knowing nod, “Yeah, I can see how that must have freaked you out. Sorry.”

She snuggled into the crook where his arm met his chest and Salem held her close.

“No problem,” he crooned. “Let’s go find a trendy bar and get you one of those cocktails with a tiny piece of fruit on a stick in it.”

“And an umbrella?” Sienna asked.

“Naturally,” Salem replied.

“And a sparkler in it?”

“Do they do those now?” the shade asked. Sienna nodded against him. “Well, the world really has changed.”

In the time that had passed between them, Salem had been too preoccupied jibing with the woman in his arms to notice that the driver had taken them off the usual route. When he looked back up again, expecting to see the busy junctions of Regent Street ahead, he found that the taxi was pulling into some sort of enclosed yard, about half the size of a football field. Sienna had not looked up, she was busy pulling at one of her pink fingernails where it had broken a little. But Salem’s eyes were wide open to the scene unfolding outside the cab’s windows. He took in the dozens of shadowed figures that were making their approach.

“Sweetie,” he began, “You know how you don’t believe in the supernatural?”

“Yeah?” Sienna replied with an oblivious giggle.

“Well, this might be a good time to start.”