Chapter 1 #4
Who, though? I doubted it was her fiancé, given they weren’t a love match.
Underage marriages might be banned these days, but arranged marriages remained common between all the royal houses.
The only difference now was the fact that, by law, both participants had to be at least twenty-one, in full agreement on all contract terms, and there had to be absolutely no magical coercion used on either the prospective bride or groom.
I wasn’t sure why the latter had become the key ruling in the law, given I hadn’t thought magical enforcement was a common problem when it came to arranged marriages; it certainly hadn’t been a factor in mine, even if the inner dark magic had been the reason for it.
But according to Samuel—who’d been involved in the events that had led to the ruling, and had refused to say much about any of it—I was very wrong.
I stepped outside and caught the door’s edge with my fingers to prevent it from slamming.
High above, a hawk squawked; I glanced up, briefly catching sight of a golden-brown form softly silvered in the moonlight.
Ginny. She squawked again and swooped lower, fixing me with a harsh look before moving on.
Which in Ginny hawk talk meant, “Get your ass into gear.”
With a smile tugging my lips, I let the door fully close and walked over to the small gate. Someone had very recently cut the chain and let the two pieces dangle. The same someone who’d been waiting for her, no doubt.
I warily pushed the gate open and stepped through.
The lane wasn’t a particularly long one and ran from McLachlan Street on the right down to what appeared to be a loading bay dead end.
I hesitated, then went left, not only because that was the way Ginny had flown but because the slightest caress of darkish energy dancing on the warm breeze also came from that direction.
The loading bay was empty aside from a few trash bins, and the pile of drink cups and other associated bits of rubbish clustered around it suggested the entrance into the building from the dock hadn’t been opened for a while.
I half turned, spotted the very narrow walkway between the rave warehouse and the bay’s building, and walked over.
It was damnably narrow, and I had to wonder how Monica had gotten through here unscathed, given I had to squeeze through sideways and, even then, my leather corset top was being scraped to hell.
Monica’s breasts were double the size of mine, and her white dress nowhere near as robust as my top.
Thankfully, the walkway wasn’t very long and opened out into another lane.
I continued on, my gaze scanning the surrounding buildings, looking for any indication that Monica and whoever she’d met might have gone into them.
Though, to be honest, given the planning that had obviously gone into this whole escapade, it was more than likely there’d been a car waiting for them at the end of this lane.
If there was one thing I’d learned about Monica from reading her file and the few brief interactions I’d had with her, it was that she was something of a princess, and one who did not walk anywhere.
Another motivating squawk came from above.
I sent a rather impolite gesture her way but kicked off my low heels, scooped them up, and ran barefoot down the rest of the lane, doing my best to avoid the broken glass and other sharpish bits of rubbish that littered the asphalt.
At the lane’s end, I swung right and chased after Ginny, who was flying low enough to guide me.
Ann Street was surprisingly busy, given the late hour, forcing me to pause for too many seconds.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other somewhat impatiently, then, when there was a long enough gap between the cars, darted across the road into Duncan Street, which had been converted into a walkway mall at some point in its past. I’d barely gone three steps when energy—the same type of dark energy I’d felt in the lane only minutes earlier—surged.
I instinctively flung up a hand, ready to deflect or even absorb it, though the latter was not something I ever wanted to do when it felt so foul. But its force wasn’t directed at me.
High above, Ginny squawked again, a harsh sound of surprise and perhaps pain. I glanced up sharply and saw her tumbling uncontrollably across several rooftops before disappearing from sight.
I swore, hit the earwig twice to contact Jack, and said, “Code two, help required, agent down, likely location two blocks down from me.”
“Got her, ambulance being allocated as we speak. Target?”
“Not in sight currently, but I am following.”
“Don’t lose her.”
“That’s the goal.”
Whether I achieved it or not was another matter entirely—and highly dependent on who and what waited ahead.
Because something—someone—obviously was, even if I couldn’t currently see anything thanks to the cluster of shadows that haunted the midway point of the mall.
Those shadows were not natural, of that I was sure, though I had no idea if they were connected to the surge that had sent Ginny tumbling or something else.
I continued on cautiously. As I neared the midway point of the street, the shadows began to stir, even though there was no wind.
Trepidation tripped across my skin, but I forced my feet into the swirling, black fog.
Its touch was foul and unnatural, and my skin itched in repulsion.
I dragged my phone from my handbag and flicked on the flashlight.
It had about as much effect as high beams did on fog.
I turned it off, shoved it away, and continued on warily.
Another surge of power, this time clean rather than foul.
Monica, perhaps spelling against whoever was behind this curtain.
So why wasn’t she calling for help? Granted, she was magically more than capable of looking after herself, but everything I’d read about the woman suggested her method of operations was to let other people—usually her father or his minions—deal with whatever situation she’d gotten herself into.
Why would she change the habit of a lifetime tonight when she obviously knew we were tailing her? She was certainly smart enough—not to mention familiar with all the security measures used to protect her father—to know losing a tracker wouldn’t throw us off her scent.
It wasn’t making any sense. Nothing about this situation was making any sense.
Ribbons of deeper darkness now ran through the foul black curtain, clinging to my arms and legs, as if desperate to stop me.
I cursed it fluently and quickly cast a light spell, one of the few regular spells I was proficient at.
It burned to life several feet ahead of me, and the shadows crawled away from it, giving me room to move forward at a faster pace.
But just beyond the light’s circle to my right and my left, the shadows formed thin, sharp whips that struck at my calves and bare back.
They didn’t touch me, but if my light failed they would.
And they’d do more than try to restrain….
Trepidation sharpened, and I had to fight the growing urge to turn and walk away. Aside from the fact this was my job, it wasn’t the first time I’d faced evil, even if on previous occasions it had had a human face.
Why I was so sure whatever lay behind this dangerous curtain of darkness wasn’t human, I couldn’t have said.
An acidic scent began to fill the air, and another surge of witch power rose from beyond the dark blanket. Then Monica said, in a voice that was a mix of anger and fear, “No! Get away. Don’t you dare—”
The rest of her sentence was cut off abruptly.
Against all common sense and training, I darted forward.
The darkness stirred in frantic response, and power surged yet again.
My light blinked out, and the foul curtain swamped me, lashing out at clothes and skin with vicious shadowy whips.
But before I could react in any way, someone hit me from behind, pushing me down while somehow twisting in midair to take the brunt of our fall before rolling on top of me.
Then a deep, velvety, and very male voice whispered, “Make no move or sound, or you will die.”