Chapter Five
F IVE
“Oh!” I say as the huge stranger blocks me. “Thank you, sir. Someone’s broken into my friend’s house, and I don’t know what’s happening. She’s locked herself in that room over there.”
I point at the locked room, but the man charges again, making me pirouette out of his way. He still reaches for me. When I dodge, white-hot fingers grab my shoulder.
Fire half-demon.
I cast an energy bolt. With my lowered reserves, it’s a trifling thing that only makes him grunt, but he does loosen his grip, and I wrench out of it and back away toward the ladder.
He charges at me again. Really, his repertoire seems somewhat limited. I spin aside again, and I ready a knockback for when he comes at me, but instead he smashes one massive fist into the ladder, splintering it.
From below comes another scream. Neither of us breaks eye contact to look. The fire half-demon advances on me, his eyes blazing red.
“Come quietly, little witch,” he rumbles, “and I won’t tell anyone what you’ve done.”
I take a slow step back, thinking fast.
“You murdered your cousin,” he says. “What do you think they’ll do to you?”
Cousin? Oh. He’s misunderstood Henrietta’s ruse and thinks she was posing as my cousin.
I don’t reply, blocking his words so I can think. I don’t dare run downstairs, in case those screams are caused by someone other than my aunt. The splintered ladder means I can’t flee onto the roof.
The locked room. That’s my only hope. Get inside and wait for my aunt.
But first I need to deal with this behemoth.
I can deal with him. I must believe that or I’ll lose before I even begin.
I race for the stairs and start down them, only to cast a cover spell as soon as I’m on the first landing.
He comes galloping down, not seeing me hidden under that spell.
He brushes against my skirt, which makes him twist toward me in confusion.
I hit him with a knockback. He only stumbles down a step, but that was intentional, my knockback controlled, far lighter than the one I struck Henrietta with. I won’t do that again.
Unless I need to.
Could I kill him if I needed to?
I shove the thought aside and hit the half-demon with another light knockback, enough for him to stumble again as I lift my skirts and race up the stairs.
I reach the top. The locked room is right there. I just need to get to it. As I run, I say the spell to unlock the door.
The half-demon’s boots thunder behind me. Then another sound, almost like the scrabbling of… nails?
An oomph, and those thundering steps end in a crash and a bellow of pain and… snarling?
I start to turn and then stop myself. Whatever is happening, I didn’t do it. I need to keep moving. Get to the locked room, open the door—
A tremendous crack, and then a thump-thump-thump, as if the half-demon has crashed down the stairs. I keep running, focused on—
A growl reverberates right behind me, so sudden and loud that I forget myself and wheel. There stands a massive black wolf with bloody fangs.
I take a backward step. “If that’s you, Bishop Daniels, I know who you are, and I believe I know who my father is. If you’re responsible for those screams below—”
I stumble back as he advances on me, head lowered, a growl rippling through his flanks.
I swallow and try again. “I appreciate the help, but if you’re trying to prove yourself an ally, this isn’t the way to do it.”
He keeps coming, and dismay whips through me. I don’t want my father to be evil. I don’t—gods help me—want Bishop Daniels to be evil. Maybe that makes me a silly girl who wants her papa to be a good man, who wants a fascinating stranger to be on her side.
Unless this wolf isn’t Bishop Daniels.
I breathe deeply, inhaling vanilla and anise, and that hope evaporates.
Silly girl.
I swallow and inject a quaver into my voice. “Please, sir. Whatever you’ve done to the others, I won’t tell anyone. Just don’t hurt me—”
I hurl the biggest fireball I can muster. He ducks deftly, the fire singing over his back. Then he leaps straight at me. I launch a knockback, but his massive body crashes into me and sends me to the floor.
I don’t have any spell power left. I have nothing—
Henrietta’s knife.
I yank it from my pocket. My finger finds the button, and the blade springs open. I jab it into his ribs and—
The blade deflects off bone and slices downward instead of sinking in. He still recoils in shock, though, letting me roll to the side and vault to my feet.
I run for the locked room. One problem with silk slippers is the “slip” part, and I do exactly that, but fortune smiles on me, and instead of falling on my arse, I fall into the door.
I hit the switch. The door pops open. I swing through and slam it shut. Then I lock it with another quick incantation just as Bishop Daniels slams into the other side.
The door shudders but stays closed.
I back up, catching my breath.
He doesn’t bash into it again. I should be relieved. Instead, disappointment twangs through me, the very silly girl who hoped that, in beast form, Bishop Daniels couldn’t think clearly and had attacked me by accident.
He can think just fine. After one strike, he realized the door opens outward… and that it has a steel core, making it impossible to break through.
I look around. There are two comfortable chairs, in case of a long wait. There are also food, water, and books.
What there isn’t? A gun with silver bullets.
Do the bullets need to be silver? The knife wasn’t. Logically, simple lead bullets should work. A hole in the heart is a hole in the heart, regardless of the material used to inflict it.
It doesn’t matter, because there’s no gun. We don’t own one, a serious oversight as I realize now, with this bloody knife clutched in my hand. I wipe it off, close it up, and tuck it away. Useful thing. I’ll keep it.
As for Bishop Daniels blocking my escape…
No, it’ll be fine. My aunt will return soon. She’ll see the carnage before she’s in danger and then she’ll retreat to gather allies.
I just need to wait.
Ten minutes pass. Even when I put my ear to the door, I hear nothing.
I don’t fool myself into thinking he’s gone.
He’s waiting me out. My aunt said Bishop Daniels has a reputation for intelligence, belying the stereotype of the werewolf.
He’s gone silent, presuming I’ll eventually poke my head out.
Well, sir, I may be a silly girl, but I’m silly in very specific ways, which don’t include—
“Cordelia.”
I inwardly curse.
He wasn’t waiting me out. He was transforming back to human shape.
“Miss Carter to you,” I say.
A noise. Is that a laugh? If so, it’s a dry snort of one.
“You nearly put a blade between my ribs,” he says, his voice muffled by the thick door. “I think we’re past formalities. Since you know who I am, you can call me Bishop.”
“Oh, I have far less polite names to call you.”
“I’m sure you do. However, I also believe that, considering what just happened, you know you should have listened to me earlier.”
I scowl. “I know little of werewolves, but I understand that the blood is passed through the male line only, which means you probably don’t have much experience with women and are under the mistaken impression that we’re foolish chits who can be ordered about as children.”
“You’re correct.”
I huff.
“You’re correct that I treated you differently because of your sex. Were you a man, I’d have hauled you off bodily. That’s impossible to do with a young lady in a public place, so it has come to this. I need you…”
I strain to hear the rest. His voice isn’t just muffled—it rasps, as if from exhaustion. Physically changing forms would do that.
I start to say I need him to speak up. Then I realize I don’t actually want to hear what he’s saying, as it seems like some variation on the usual.
Come to your senses, girl, and obey me.
“I know who you are,” I say. “My aunt says you work for my father.”
“Yes.”
“Who is a werewolf.”
“Your aunt said that?”
“No. I possess a brain and a capacity for basic logic. I can smell you. Vanilla and anise and musk. My mother explained my acute sense of smell by claiming my father was a perfumer. As for my appetite and my restlessness and my night vision, that has never been explained… until now.”
Silence. Then: “So you have secondary traits? That’s unusual among daughters. Very unusual.”
“My father is unusual, too, right? Alpha of the Albion Pack.”
“Your father…”
I don’t catch the rest, but it must conclude with a question, because after a moment, he says, with impatience, “Cordelia?”
“Enhanced hearing is one werewolf trait I apparently didn’t inherit. I couldn’t make out what you said.”
“Because the door is…” The next few words vanish. “Your auditory senses must be somewhat enhanced if you can hear me at all, but…” More missing words.
After a moment. “Fine, I’m…” Muffled words. “… middle of the attic.”
A moment later, his voice comes again, louder but more distant.
“I’m now twenty feet away, which you can tell by my voice,” he calls. “You can safely crack open the door. You could shut it again before I can get to you.”
I hesitate. This conversation would be easier if I could hear him. He’s right that he couldn’t get to me before I shut the door. He isn’t a teleporting half-demon.
Unless he’s also a teleporting half-demon.
No, that wouldn’t work. The blood of a werewolf is passed from father to son. Half-demons are created when human females are impregnated by demons. A werewolf could be any mix of supernaturals except two: half-demons and sorcerers, those powers being passed through the male line.
I open the door the barest crack. “Speak again.”
“I’m over here.”
I push until I can peek out, and when I do, I give a start. As promised, he’s in the middle of the attic. But he’s also naked, save for an old table runner wrapped around his hips.
Oh my.