Chapter Twenty-Six
Kyan
THE PHILHARMONIC DINING ROOMS WERE FULL OF SUPERNATURALS.
The historic Victorian pub, often just called The Phil by locals, sat on the edge of Hope Street, one side of which featured the red-brick concert hall, the other the Metropolitan Cathedral that resembled a great, futuristic crown.
The Phil’s sand-coloured stone was adorned with colourful hanging baskets of flowers that fluttered in the hot breeze.
Its later-added Art Nouveau entrance was a great arched iron door of swirling black and gold.
Paired with the charming combination of turrets, architraves, and gables, its quirky but quietly majestic architecture gave the building a subtle, magical air.
The bright midday sun dimmed as Kyan entered, like he’d stepped not only back in time, but into his world.
The hidden and mythological.
The pub’s deep mahogany panelling continued the supernatural imagery.
Sirens sang in stained-glass windows and danced in the copper reliefs above the bar’s banquettes.
All throughout the place was decoration of some sort, from the Victorian-style flower lamps set into the bronze ceiling to the mosaiced floor.
To the right of the entrance were two smaller drinking rooms, made more private by wood-panelled walls and a corridor leading deeper into the pub.
To his left was the iconic circular bar, behind which were more rooms, and directly across from the doors was a fireplace flanked with red leather seating.
The creatures inside ceased their discussions at his arrival, but the humans carried on, oblivious.
Kyan scanned the pub, feeling out the array of supernaturals.
Some were human-looking, others had the lacquered feel of varnish over them.
He kept tabs on them, feeling more wired after a sleepless night planning every step they were going to take.
How he could shadow Nicole, keep her safe and the Wake waiting.
‘Gods,’ one hissed to their companion. ‘It’s an Empyreal—’ A smacking sound interrupted their sentence. ‘Ow!’
‘Don’t look at him!’
‘Do you think that’s the same one that saved your father?’
‘How should I know?’
Most of them forgot he could hear everything, just as he could taste every subtle hormonal spike in their body, his own primed should one of them want to kill.
Many creatures would never dream of hurting another – human or otherwise.
It was why there were rarely definitive ‘good’ or ‘bad’ creatures.
But he’d learned that if pushed, anything and anyone could kill.
And if mutated by the Wake? He thought of Lynch and the curator.
Then, even the mildest of beings could become a monster he’d be forced to hunt.
The person he was meeting, however, sat in view of the entrance. The nook he was in was split by the fireplace and red leather banquettes. Above, mirror and lamps set the bronze reliefs in the dark wood dancing.
He appeared to be in another meeting, his two conversation partners obscured by the wingback armchairs they sat in, so Kyan busied himself ordering a Guinness and drank enough to split the ‘G’ of it.
The bartender’s thick Scouse accent was a distant comfort.
Perhaps because its influences were, among others, Irish, reminding him of the emerald home across the sea that kept calling his name.
He shut it out and scoped out his contact’s acquaintances again. Surprise and interest had him moving closer to the semi-familiar profile. When the girl turned, his suspicions were confirmed.
‘Remi?’
Nicole’s best friend twisted in the armchair, her dark eyes finding his. She blinked in surprise, then turned to the third person – who he realised was her mother.
An older man sat in the booth, dressed impeccably. He dipped his head in a silent hello.
‘Zixuan,’ Kyan greeted.
His contact – the supernatural leader of Liverpool, who also ran its Chinatown – had evidently sent their right-hand man.
Zixuan nodded, the neck of his smart jacket embroidered with gold details. He had a quiet, capable air, and his shoulder-length black hair was tied at the nape of his neck.
‘What are you doing here?’ Remi asked, scanning Kyan and the room and letting him into the near-invisible shimmer around their booth, most likely a soundproofing ward, reminding him her mother was a Hearthea.
‘I could ask you the same question,’ he said, taking the armchair to her left.
‘Zixuan knows the location of the Siren Speakeasy I need to get into. You’ve met my mother, Lawna?’
Kyan nodded.
Lawna sat to Remi’s right, a blouse of white silky material hiding her lithe form, her black hair pulled back. Dark trousers suited for fighting, or running, finished the outfit.
He wondered if this had something to do with the ‘Siren’s Instrument’ Freya’s Dante clue told them of. Along with the three ‘goddess-blessed items’ and the God of Oaths, all of these moving parts were supposed to result in something that could defeat the Wake.
Nicole could have the information from the Muse about the second of the three items before nightfall.
‘Spoken to your best friend recently?’ he asked Remi carefully, wary of mentioning Estwood or Nicole’s name.
‘I was able to leave a message,’ Remi said, cagey. ‘Have you?’
His head dipped slightly in a ‘yes’, and Remi sat up straighter. ‘Wait, does that mean—’
‘I’ll take you to her after.’
Pure joy sparked through Remi’s eyes and Kyan allowed himself a small smile.
‘Why are you here?’ Lawna asked him, cool and assessing.
‘I need to speak with the Muse.’
Zixuan reached into his pocket for an old, ornamented key. ‘You know the rules.’
Kyan nodded, going to take it, but the supernatural paused.
‘That’s not the only reason I agreed to meet,’ Zixuan said. ‘Creatures are going missing. We think they’re being taken.’
Kyan frowned as a whisper of unease slid down his spine. ‘Taken?’
‘Snatched. Kidnapped in the night. No leads, no scents; whatever is doing it, they’re good at covering their tracks.’
‘Dangerous creatures?’ Kyan asked, close to digging out his mission notepad. But he couldn’t risk writing this down, not when it was likely that the Wake were behind it. More creatures to turn darker and draw the Hunt …
‘Some, not all,’ Zixuan said. ‘The majority have been Sirens.’
Kyan looked at the Siren beside him, whose lips had pressed together in concern.
‘You think the kidnappings are being done by Empyreals?’ Kyan asked, grateful he’d earned enough trust that Zixuan was coming to him with this.
‘I don’t know, but my Lady says she can trust you with this, and she wants you to know that she’s liable to step in if they keep this up.’
She had been the same way when he’d first met her, over a hundred years ago. ‘If it’s linked to what I think, then I’m already on it.’
Zixuan looked mildly appeased.
‘Have you heard anything about a Druid?’ Kyan asked.
He didn’t realise he was so keen for an answer until Zixuan said, ‘No.’
‘Will you let me know if one boards a flight to Ireland?’
He didn’t expect the Druid would. If anything they’d go from Anglesey and use a false supernatural ID. Not many creatures could identify a Druid in this day and age, but it was worth asking, especially if they were as unpredictable as the Wake claimed.
Zixuan nodded again as Kyan’s senses prickled with warning.
His eyes darted to the mirror above the fireplace, finding the silhouettes of three Empyreals stalking inside behind them. All men. All dangerous.
And one of them, Logan.
Kyan smothered a snarl of annoyance. What were the chances this bastard was here?
The Empyreals’ attention on him told him they’d come here for a reason. If Callum had been with him, he’d be grinning at their idiocy.
Remi schooled her features into a semblance of unbothered cool.
Go, he mouthed and she got up languidly, as if to go to the bathroom and not get as far away from here as possible. Her mother activated a deflection shield which cinched tight around them both, bending light enough that the eye glanced right off them.
Kyan nodded to Zixuan and got up, shaking his head softly to stop him intervening.
If Zixuan tried to defend him, other supernaturals would back him up.
There was no way he was letting blood spill on his behalf, so Kyan rose to drink more at the bar instead.
He barely had a few seconds before Logan came to lean lazily beside him.
‘I’m curious,’ the Empyreal said, ‘just what are you doing here?’
Kyan could feel Logan’s aggression: the barely leashed, sarcastic malice.
It seemed he wasn’t going to forget that punch any time soon.
Kyan kept his eyes forward as the other two Empyreals ambled closer, forming a half circle around him.
He took another drink, appearing bored. ‘Logan. Come to preen and piss about the place? Why don’t you let these creatures enjoy themselves in peace?’
A pair of River Nymphs that sat around the curve of the bar kept their heads down, their varnished skin helping hide the slim, iridescent mother-of-pearl of the thin scales at their necks.
Usually Kyan wouldn’t even make a comment, but he was trying to keep Logan’s attention on him, and not on where Remi and her mother were slipping out the back.
The added benefit was how riling up Logan seemed to feed, or exorcise, that gnarled ball of worry and tension that had been calcifying in his gut for months.
It had only worsened knowing Nicole was in the same city as one of the Wake’s headquarters.
‘I’m on a hunt,’ Logan said.
‘Doesn’t look like it.’
Looks like you came in for a fight.
‘Maybe I wanted a nice cold drink before I went to finish off what the Romans started.’
Ash coated Kyan’s mouth.
Don’t react, he ordered himself, despite the fact Logan could eviscerate the unexpected hope that someone was left of his long-lost people. Not only a link to his mother, but a way to keep the Druids alive.
He took another sip, forcing himself to relish the cool, peaty flavour; the creamy foam at his lip.
Kyan prayed for patience. For calm. There was more to the hunt than the kill. You had to stalk, to learn. To watch and wait. He knew patience. Sometimes felt like all he was was teeth and patience.
Then Nicole had shown him there could be more.
Since then, his patience for this bullshit had reduced to zero.
‘I’m sorry you lost a friend,’ Kyan said. It wasn’t just a last attempt at defusion; he meant it. He was ashamed of that kill and of having been such a blind follower.
Logan’s sarcastic expression flittered with real surprise, before his eyes narrowed to near slits, jaw working.
The apology was a test. An offering to end this cycle before it properly began.
But any chance of that was torn to shreds with Logan’s next words.
‘Friend? Alexander was a guide. He betrayed the Wake by refusing their oath and was killed for it. I know how to rise in these ranks, and you’re the only one left that poses a real problem.
Callum doesn’t threaten me; he doesn’t care enough about involving himself in anything.
’ He shook his head, satisfaction gleaming in the back of his eyes.
‘I’ll be their best hunter. They’ve chosen me, and all I need to do is prove I can get them what they want.
I think it’s time someone else had the Wake’s acclaim, don’t you?
‘Or maybe,’ Logan continued, ‘I won’t just take in the Druid.
Maybe I’ll jump onto your mission, too. You seem real interested in this “daughter” the Wake want found.
Why is that?’ He threw a handful of nuts into his mouth, cracked down on them, hard.
‘Could be fun to find her first. Introduce myself.’ His slow grin sparked in Kyan’s periphery like the cape of a bullfighter.
And Kyan’s millennia of killing expertise reared its head slowly.
Not only had the Wake kept him from Nicole, but if he hadn’t been bound by them, and they hadn’t put him in this impossible situation, he could be with her right now.
He could be learning all the things he wanted to know: if she had a middle name, and where she wanted to live.
How she liked her coffee; if she preferred to sleep on her back or side or stomach.
What she wanted most deeply, beyond protecting her family and the answers to this artistic hunt. If he was allowed to be with her while they figured that out.
Then this?
Add a threat to his mate?
For a moment, he nearly laughed, because it triggered something so primal inside that he felt something snap.
Logan didn’t get a chance to move as Kyan’s body twisted. His head snapped forward into Logan’s so hard the other Empyreal’s neck jerked backwards as his nose crunched. He staggered several paces, blood rushing down his face.
Maybe, if Kyan beat some sense into him, he’d back the fuck off.
But it was like blood in the water.
So he let out a little of the mated hunter.
Kyan threw his drink at the Empyreal to his left, who’d been standing behind Logan as back-up. The dark ale arced into their eyes, blocking their view momentarily so Kyan could throw the glass at the third Empyreal behind him.
It shattered across their face as Kyan’s fist found its mark against the first lackey’s Guinness-smeared expression. He went for bone; used the heavy power of his weight.
One clean hit and the Empyreal’s jaw was dislocated, and the fire of a fight burned with the alcohol in Kyan’s stomach like the pagan bonfires of his youth.
It was rare that he had a real fight on his hands.
Empyreals didn’t get as much fight training in the Wake as he had with Scáthach, because they relied so much on their ability to transform. It was sloppy.
Logan recovered long enough for Kyan to glimpse the Empyreal’s wild, furious gaze as he dived.
Kyan’s right arm was still extended from the last punch, so he drew back enough to slam his elbow into Logan’s temple, knocking him into the bar. Kyan grabbed his shirt and dragged Logan along the wood, throwing him in an arc so he lined up with the thinner wall of the other drinking rooms.
Then Kyan ran, tackling Logan at the waist with a force that splintered the rich, dark panelling and had them crashing into the next room, glass shattering, paintings cracking.
As they slammed to the ground Kyan distantly realised how horrified Nicole would be at the destruction of historic property. Dust and adrenaline swirled in the room like a drug as he pinned Logan and drove his fist into his face.
Brutally, thoroughly.
Once.
Twice.
A third time, until the bone was little but splinters. Until the spray of blood could only eke out past the matted wreck.
Until he was dragged off by the other two Empyreals.
Kyan looked up to see the arched stained-glass window where Saint Cecilia, patron saint of musicians, held a citole. Either side of her were two items: a scroll and a harp, with the inscription: MUSIC IS THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE OF ALL MANKIND.
He thought of everything at stake, everything Nicole and her family, Remi and the Druids had fought for.
So, he launched into the other Empyreals.
They hadn’t learned not to rile up a hound?
They’d learn today.