He hated the Fae.
There. She’d veered away from the loose grouping of guards near the gate and circled around, slipping through behind them even as Christophe watched. That easily, and she was gone.
He wondered if it was always that simple for her. Decided it must be. After all, she was the Scarlet Ninja, celebrated throughout the United Kingdom. People in every pub he’d entered during the past few days had happily and drunkenly embellished rumors about this phantom who’d stolen millions of euros’ worth of jewelry and art, but never been caught or so much as seen. People were speculating that he—and wouldn’t they be surprised to see just how much the Scarlet Ninja was not a man—was a descendant of the legendary Robin Hood. He gave an amount worth exactly half of every take to various charities and causes, accompanied only by his calling card: a shiny silver card embossed with the scarlet silhouette of a ninja.
Distraction. If he kept thinking about her, he might forget to realize how much he was hurting. Exhaustion took on the form of physical pain, even for an Atlantean warrior, when he’d been living on pints and very little else, not even sleep, for days, and then overused his magic in pursuit of a phantom. Alaric would be furious. The thought cheered him up enough to keep him going for a little farther, just a bit . . . there.
He’d caught her. The long, dark car pulled smoothly away from London’s hideous traffic and up to the curb just long enough for the back door to be opened ever so briefly, seemingly by whoever sat inside behind those dark-tinted windows. And if Christophe hadn’t been watching very, very closely, he never would have seen the flash of scarlet silk materialize before the door slammed shut and the car pulled back out into traffic. Not a chance the traffic cameras had caught a bit of her, either. Just another anonymous dark car in a city filled with them. Even the license plates were mud-splashed and unreadable.
As he soared down toward the car and its mysterious passenger, Christophe spared a flash of grim amusement at the thought of how very surprised his Scottish ninja was going to be when she reached her destination.
Chapter 6
Waterloo Barracks
Telios returned to his perch near the gargoyle and puzzled over what he’d seen. A flash of a man who could turn into water? It wasn’t a Fae talent he’d ever heard of, but the Fae kept their secrets close and their enemies closer. He’d be a fool to believe that Prince Gideon na Feransel truly wanted him as an ally. More likely the Fae planned to use him and discard him. Or kill him. Until he knew the truth, he couldn’t trust any of the new members of his vampire coalition. They’d watch for which way the wind shifted and be as likely to try to kill Telios themselves as to assist him.
Telios’s fangs extended and he danced a little capering jig. Far more powerful beings than a minor Unseelie prince had tried to kill him before. None of them still walked the earth in their precious Summer Lands. Or anywhere else, for that matter.
The water man was no concern of Telios’s, anyway. If he’d been carrying the sword, Telios would have seen it when the man had lurched off the roof. Time to move on to part two of the plan and go inside, find out what the uproar his vampire hearing had detected was about, and get a little help from one of the dogs. He so loved making shifters obey.
Telios flew down to the front of the building, timing it perfectly for the guards’ circuit. He focused every ounce of his power and stared them down, enthralling the human first and then the shifter before either could so much as draw a weapon.
“We need to go see the Jewel House,” he said.
“We need to go see the Jewel House,” the human responded, eyes glazed over and blank.
“Make sure Vanquish is safe,” Telios prompted.
“We must make sure Vanquish is safe,” the shifter said. His face was a blank mask like the human’s, but a tiny bit of twitching ran through his muscles. Shifters were always harder to completely enthrall, and he’d never yet managed to put more than one of them under at a time.
He shrugged. He’d make do with what he had, as usual. He’d been doing just that since 1888. “You’ll kill anyone who tries to stop us.”
“We’ll kill anyone who tries to stop us,” they both repeated.
He stood aside and pointed. “Lead the way.”
Telios had expected the guards to discover him every step of the way: through the employee entrance, down the twisting corridors, and even while they stood, exposed, as the shifter punched in the code that opened the security door to the Jewel House. Naturally, since he was prepared for every contingency of attack, none happened. Now they stood guard, his two minions, as he admired the lovely jewels on display.
Not as many as he’d expected, to be sure. Perhaps the queen and her offspring were prancing around somewhere at some state dinner, all bejeweled and crowned. Did they even do that anymore? It was so hard to keep track of current traditions as the decades passed, faster and faster. The closest he’d come to a spark of interest in years had been when that American author came to London to try to discover his real identity. She’d failed, of course—they all failed. But then again, that had been before they knew vampires existed. Perhaps now was the time to unleash his alter ego again.
Whitechapel and its residents had missed him for far too long.
A sound from the hallway interrupted his reveries of flesh and blood and death, and he crossed to the case that held his prize. Vanquish, sparkling like a whore who’d robbed a jeweler. Gaudy and over adorned. The question crossed his mind yet again—why did the Fae want this particular sword so very, very much?
Voices in the hallway sounded, closer, and he had no time for questions. He pulled on his favorite leather gloves, punched a hole in the glass, and removed the sword with both hands. Even through the gloves, a tingle of power zapped him with an almost electrical shock, but it wasn’t his left hand that felt the jolt. It was his right—the hand that held Vanquish’s hilt.
The jewel on that hilt glowed with the fierce blue of the ocean dazzled by sunlight. He’d never seen a more beautiful gem, but it wasn’t only the beauty that captured his interest. This aquamarine was magical, somehow. No wonder the Fae wanted it. Perhaps Telios would keep it for himself for a while and try to discover its secrets. Always better to know the things that others tried to hide. Especially the nasty secrets of Unseelie Fae.
The voices changed, from conversational to aggressive, and he realized his presence had been discovered. By the time he whirled around to face them, his two enthralled guards were fighting like madmen to keep their colleagues from entering the room. Three lay dead or dying on the floor already. Telios knew he could take on the remaining five by himself if he had to do so, but there was no need.
“Guard me as I leave,” he commanded, and his two guards immediately fell back to protect him.
But they were protecting him from no one. The other guards weren’t attacking. They weren’t rushing his two guards or even trying to attack Telios. Every single one of them had turned, backs to Telios, weapons held in the air at a readiness position.
Telios tried to understand this new trick. How was this strategy supposed to work? Before he could puzzle out even a possible answer, all seven guards—the two he’d enthralled and the five others—spoke as one.
“We guard you as you leave, Master.”
Telios’s mouth fell open and his fangs retracted involuntarily from pure shock. He stared around the room at the guards. Each face held the same expressionless blankness. The same readiness to serve him. The gem in the hilt of the sword pulsed once in his hand, flaring a brighter blue than before, and he slowly bent his head to look at it.