Dangerous Creatures (Book 3, Pure Series) (24 page)

              "So?" Anton said.

              "So, the museum is closed to the public today," I said. "It was one of the places I wanted to go."

              Anton shrugged. "I'm sure it's no great loss. There are plenty of other places to visit in London."

              "I take it you aren't interested in the British Museum," I said.

              "Not really, no."

              "You might find this interesting," I said. "The items that were stolen were part of a new exhibit of Russian artifacts—they were part of a recent acquisition."

              "I see Russian artifacts all the time," Anton said. "I don't really need to see any more of them."

              "But the thieves didn't take anything else," I said. "There are a lot of priceless items in that museum. And they only took a few Russian things. Don't you think that's odd?"

              "No," Anton said. "I'll bet half the things in that museum are thousand-year-old statues that weigh a ton. Nobody could steal that stuff anyway."

              Anton picked up his phone and glanced at the time. "Are we almost done here?"

              "I've only just started on my breakfast," I said.

              "Well, try to pick up the pace a little."

              "What happened to 'we're in no hurry today'?" I asked.

              "I'd just like to get moving," Anton said.

              I finished up breakfast, and as we left the café, Anton turned suddenly and walked swiftly down the street.

              I ran after him. "Anton, where are we going?"

              "We're going to take a cab," he said.

              I glanced around, but there was no traffic at all on the little side street that housed the café.

              "We've got to get to a main road," Anton said. "Come on."

              He began to walk even faster.

              I hurried after him. "Okay. Let me rephrase my earlier question. Where are we going? And by that I mean what place are we taking a cab to?"

              "Well, you said the British Museum was closed today, right?"

              "Yes," I said.

              "Since the museum is closed," Anton said, "I thought we'd go to the Tower of London this morning."

              "Okay," I said. "But I don't think it's open yet. Is there any reason we need to rush?"

              "The website said to get there early," Anton replied. "Otherwise, the lines can be quite long."

              He stopped. "There's a Tube stop. That'll have to do."

              Anton took off again, and I ran after him.

              We took the Underground to the Tower Hill stop, and as Anton and I emerged from the station, I could see the gray-walled fortress of the Tower up ahead of us. I wanted to stop and take in the scene, but Anton was already hurrying off toward the ancient castle.

              But once we reached the main entrance, it appeared that all of Anton's haste had been in vain. The sturdy gate at the entrance was quite clearly closed, and there was no one else in sight.

              "I guess we get to be first in line," I said. I glanced at my phone. "We've got a little while to wait."

              "Don't be ridiculous," Anton said, grabbing my hand. "We're going in now."

              "How?" I said.

              "We're going over the wall."

              The next thing I knew, the world around me blurred, and I felt myself rising into the air at impossible speed. Bare seconds later, I began to fall, and for just a moment, my feet touched the ground. Then I felt myself soaring into the air once again.

              I came to a stop with a sudden jolt, and as I looked around, I found that I was standing on a stone floor in a narrow stone room.

              Anton was standing next to me. "Are you all right? You look a little dizzy."

              "I'm all right," I said. "Where are we?"

              "We're in some tower," Anton said, crossing to a nearby window. "From here we can see the Jewel House, which is—naturally enough—where the Crown Jewels are kept. And more importantly, I can hear what's going on in there. There are two maintenance guys in the Jewel House right now, but it sounds like they're just about to leave."

              "And I gather that you want to go into the Jewel House as soon as they're gone?" I said.

              "Exactly."

              "What's the hurry?" I asked. "What's so important in there that you have to see it now?"

              "I just don't like crowds," Anton said. "The website did say to get here early to avoid them."

              "But—"

              Anton held up a hand. "Wait—I spoke too soon. It sounds now like they're going to be in there for a little while. Do you want to see what's downstairs? Let's see what's downstairs."

              Anton grabbed my hand, and the world around me blurred briefly once again. When we came to a stop, we were standing in a large, stone room full of glass cases that housed armor and weapons. Anton dropped my hand and began to wander in amongst the cases.

              "I don't think we should be in here," I said. "This is one of the official exhibits—the Royal Armouries. It's not open to the public yet."

              "Relax," Anton said, his voice echoing a little in the big stone chamber.

              "But what if someone—"

              "I can hear them coming, remember? Relax. Have a look around. Enjoy the exhibit with no people in the way."

              I followed Anton's example, and I began to walk past row after row of weapons—axes, pikes, lances, swords—even some firearms. As I wandered, I was struck by the sight of a particularly large sword that had a case all to itself. I couldn't imagine anyone being able to lift such a thing, let alone wield it in battle.

              As I moved closer to examine it, Anton came up to stand behind me.

              "It's ceremonial," he said, as if he could read my thoughts. "It was meant to be carried in front of a procession to look impressive. No one actually used it."

              "How do you know that?" I asked.

              Anton pointed to a card on the wall on the far side of the case. "I read it over there."

              I squinted at the tiny print. "How could you possibly read that from—"

              I stopped.

              "Yeah," Anton said. "I can do that."

              I moved next to a case full of armor that had been decorated with bright red paint, and Anton followed.

              "Speaking of knights," he said.

              "We weren't speaking of knights," I replied.

              "I know. But the topic was implied. So, as I said, speaking of knights, did you know that centuries ago, there was an order of knighthood centered here in Britain that was specifically tasked with eradicating vampires?"

              I looked at Anton in surprise. "They knew about vampires?"

              "Vampires have been around for a very long time, my dear Katie. And if knights can battle dragons, why can't they battle vampires, too? A knight could go after any fantastical monster he chose."

              "I guess that's true," I said. "But it's strange to think of someone being an official vampire fighter."

              "Well, it was a secret organization, of course," Anton said. "You couldn't let the public get a hold of an idea like that—especially not back then. But it was an actual order of knighthood—officially sanctioned by the king—and a very prestigious one at that. It was known as the Order of the Hawthorne."

              "Which king?" I asked.

              "What was that?" Anton said.

              "Which king was it who sanctioned the order?"

              Anton shrugged. "I don't know. I don't remember. Maybe I never knew. But, as I was saying, it was very prestigious, and eventually, it spread across Europe. There was a chapter of it in Russia, too."

              I glanced around at the cases. "Is any of their stuff in here?"

              Anton shook his head. "I really don't know. I do know that the order had a crest of blue and black. And I believe they sometimes wore armor that was painted with those colors." He gestured to the armor in front of us. "It was seeing this painted stuff that made me think of it."

              "That's actually very interesting," I said. "I had no idea Britain had a history with vampires."

              "And that's not all," Anton said. "You know how there are stone circles all over the place here?"

              "Stone circles?" I said. "You mean like Stonehenge?"

              "Exactly. As it turns out, they have a special property that no one knows about—no one human, that is."

              "Which is?"

              "That vampires can't enter them," Anton said. "If a human goes into a stone circle, any vampire that's pursuing him will be unable to go in after him."

              "For real?" I said.

              "For real."

              "Is that something the knights did?" I asked.

              "I actually don't know," Anton said. "The stone circles predate the Order, of course, but I suppose they could've—"

              He stopped suddenly and turned around. "It sounds like the maintenance guys are leaving the Jewel House. Come on. Now's our chance."

              Anton grabbed my hand then, and the two of us slipped out of the Armouries exhibit and into the Jewel House. In a moment, I found myself standing in a dark room on a moving walkway that wound in amongst the Crown Jewels. The jewels themselves were lit so they sparkled, and I saw crowns, scepters, swords—diamonds, rubies, sapphires. The sight was genuinely breathtaking.

              But all of the splendor on display didn't seem to impress Anton. As we moved through the exhibit, he grew increasingly impatient, and he quickly hurried back through it again—and then again. After his fourth time through, I put out a hand to stop him.

              "Is something wrong, Anton?"

              "It's not here," he said. "It was supposed to be here."

              "What was?"

              Anton shook his head. "Nothing. It's nothing."

              "Anton, it's pretty obvious that you came here for a specific reason. You might as well tell me what it is."

              "I'm not—"

              He stopped.

              "You're not what?" I asked. "Supposed to tell me?"

              "Yes."

              "There's no point in keeping it a secret now," I said. "If it's missing, maybe I can help you find it."

              "Remember how I told you that there were five of those emerald necklaces—one for each member of the Werdulac's family?"

              "Yes," I said.

              "Well, one of them was here."

Chapter 18.

Anton could hear that someone was coming, so he whisked me out of the Jewel House and up into another tall, narrow tower.

              "This room doesn't look like it's been used in a while," Anton said once we had come to a stop. "And there's no one else in this tower at all. So I think we should be safe in here from the crowds—it sounds like this place is about to open up."

              I looked around the room. It was dark and dusty and piled with boxes—the only light came from a narrow slit of a window high up on a wall.

              I selected a box to sit on. "So, let me get this straight. We came to the Tower today to find one of the Werdulac's necklaces. In fact, that's really the whole purpose of our trip to London—throwing Emmanuel off our trail actually had nothing to do with it."

              "Yep."

              "Why didn't you just tell me?" I asked. "It's not like I would have objected. It sounds like those necklaces are actually pretty useful."

              "They didn't want me to tell you," Anton replied.

              "By 'they' you mean the Russian court?"

              "Yes. And who knows? Maybe they were right to insist on its being a secret—maybe it genuinely did help. If you don't know about the necklace, it doesn't become part of your pattern—and then Emmanuel can't see it on you. I become the only one in that pattern."

              "Maybe," I said. "Anyway, what makes you think one of those necklaces was here?"

              "It's jewelry, right?" Anton said. "And this place is where they keep their most valuable jewels."

              "But the Crown Jewels are really famous," I said. "Everybody knows all about them. If one of those necklaces was in the collection, you would've known about it a long time ago."

              "It was new," Anton said. "They'd just found it. The necklace was being sent to London to be part of a new display."

              "That doesn't sound very likely," I said.

              "No?"

              "No. The Crown Jewels don't change. It's a collection of objects that the king or queen uses during the coronation ceremony or on other state occasions. The items were all used by monarchs of the past. They wouldn't add new objects—especially not foreign ones."

              "Maybe not," Anton said. "But the necklace was on its way to this city. I'm not wrong about that. I was specifically told that the necklace was coming to London."

              "Were you told it was coming to the Tower?" I asked.

              "I'm a little hazy on the details. Maybe I wasn't listening as closely as I might have been. But this is where they keep the jewelry."

              "It was going to the British Museum," I said suddenly.

              "What?"

              "The Crown Jewels are always the same," I said. "But the British Museum acquires new things all the time. And they have a large collection of jewelry from all over the world."

              "How do you know that?"

              "I've always wanted to go to the British Museum," I said. "So I already knew a little bit about their collection. And the same information was in the guidebook you gave me."

              "Okay," Anton said. "I guess we're going to the British Museum, then."

              "Unfortunately, the necklace is already gone," I said.

              "But didn't you just say that that's where they were sending it?"

              "Yes, but there was a break-in last night—remember? I told you about it—it was on the front page of the newspaper I bought."

              Anton waved a hand. "Yeah, I kind of remember something like that."

              "The newspaper also said that only Russian artifacts were taken—and they were part of a new acquisition. Someone else got to that necklace first."

              Anton was silent for a moment.

              "This is bad," he said eventually. "This is very bad. We'd better go to the British Museum just to double-check—cops or no cops."

              Anton grabbed me suddenly by the hand, and before I knew it, we were speeding out of our hiding spot and out of the Tower completely.

              When we came to a stop, we were standing in front of the Tower Hill Tube station once again.

              "I don't think we have time to look for a cab," Anton said. "And I don't want to have to fight traffic. What's the nearest stop to the museum?"

              "Tottenham Court Road," I said.

              "Then that's where we're going."

              Anton gave me another moment to catch my breath, and then he grabbed my hand once more, and we streaked into the station, by-passing the gates entirely, and whirling right onto a boarding train.

              We came to an abrupt stop in the center of a fairly crowded car, and a great gust of wind came with us, rustling clothes and newspapers, and startling the other passengers.

              All eyes turned to Anton and me.

              Anton winked at the crowd. "Just wait till I do that again."

              We ended up transferring once and then emerging from the station at Tottenham Court Road in another scarcely visible blur.

              We came to an abrupt halt, and Anton guided me over to a wall right next to the station entrance.

              "Stay right here," he said. "Don't even walk to the end of the block. This is a busy street, and you'll be safe with all these eyes on you."

              "But—"

              "I know you want to go with me," Anton said. "But I can search the place faster on my own. And it's entirely possible that whoever took the necklace is still hanging around—it's better for you not to be involved."

              With that, Anton disappeared.

              The street was indeed busy, and I stood by the wall, watching people and cars going by, and trying to look casual. Time passed, and I began to wonder if maybe Anton had been gone for too long. Just as I had decided that I ought to go over to the museum myself, Anton reappeared.

              "You were right," he said. "The necklace was there, and now it's gone—I heard some of the cops talking about it."

              "Do they know who took it?" I asked.

              "No."

              "Do you?"

              "No," Anton replied ruefully. "I searched the whole place. There's no sign of anyone lingering, and there's no trace of who was there. But I have a bad feeling about who it might have been."

              "Oh," I said. "Emmanuel?"

              "It could have been him," Anton said. "I almost hope it was him. But whoever it was is undetectable now."

              "So where do we go from here?" I said.

              "We should go straight to the airport," Anton replied. "I know we've got hours before our flight leaves, but you'll be safe there. No vampire would dare attack at an airport. All we have to do is wait this out."

              Anton and I took the Tube to Heathrow, and we were silent for most of the trip—Anton spent most of his time checking his phone.

              We reached the airport and checked in early, and this time, Anton was able to smooth over my visa issues quickly. Then we settled in to wait.

              Eventually, I went to get lunch—a sandwich and a drink—and then I returned to wait with Anton. As I sat down, I glanced over at him. Once again he was checking his phone.

              "Are you worried about Emmanuel?" I asked.

              "I'd feel better if we had some news about him," Anton said. "No one seems to be able to find him. I'm not worried while we're here, but I don't want to find out that he's waiting for us in Moscow when we land."

              "Do you have people on the lookout in Moscow?" I asked.

              "Yes, we do—and that's what's so worrying. No one has seen him back in Elspeth's Grove, or here in London, or in Moscow. But he's got to be somewhere."

              "Maybe someone will spot him before we get on the plane," I said.

              "Maybe."

              "What happens if Emmanuel does attack us when we land?"

              "He's a powerful vampire," Anton said. "But he's not unbeatable—he's not like the Hunter. All the same, I'd rather not have to take him on alone. I'd feel much better if we got you to the house first. Then he can show up if he likes—at that point, he'll have a whole pack of us to deal with. I like to have the odds in my favor as much as possible."

              The afternoon wore on slowly, and Anton continued to check his phone. But the hours did move eventually, and soon we were within forty-five minutes of our flight time. I glanced up at the monitor overhead, wondering when boarding would begin. But as I watched, our status changed from 'on time' to 'delayed.'

              I nudged Anton. "Anton, look."

              He'd been staring out the window into the darkness, and he seemed pleased as he looked over at me.

              "That's our plane over there," he said, pointing. "I've been watching the ground crew for a little while now. Looks like everything's good."

              "Anton, our flight status has changed."

              He looked up at the monitor and frowned. "Maybe it's something minor. I'll see what I can find out."

              Anton left his seat and came back a few minutes later. "Okay. Well, I guess this isn't so dire. According to the airline rep there's a colossal thunderstorm."

              "A storm?" I said, glancing out the window.

              "Not here. In Moscow—all three major airports are closed to flights right now. With any luck it should blow over soon."

              "Can't we get started anyway?" I asked. "Surely the storm will be gone by the time we get to Moscow."

              "I don't know about that," Anton replied. "The storm does seem to be moving east, but Moscow's only about three and a half hours from here. We'd be cutting it pretty close if we tried to fly in behind it. I have to say I'm with the airports on this one. I'd really rather not get smashed into the ground while traveling in a great big metal cylinder—especially not since it's very likely to catch on fire afterward."

              "How long is the delay going to last?" I asked.

              "Maybe two hours. Maybe even a little more," Anton said. "It's just a guess."

              "Two hours?" I said.

              "Don't worry," Anton said. "They know what they're doing. In the meantime, you could try to take a nap. You can rest your head on my shoulder again, if you like."

              "No, thanks," I said.

              "But I got a smile, though, didn't I?" Anton said.

              He had indeed made me smile. "You're horrible," I said.

              "Horrible and handsome. You should count your lucky stars."

              A loudspeaker crackled to life then, and an airline official made an announcement that confirmed much of what Anton had said—our flight was going to be delayed several hours until the storm in Moscow moved to a safe distance.

              A collective groan arose from our fellow travelers.

              "Am I good, or am I good?" Anton said.

              I settled back in my chair to wait once again.

              I was just starting to drift into a light sleep, when a sudden chill ran through me, and I sat up quickly.

              "Everything all right?" Anton asked, looking up from his phone.

              "Yes," I said, running my hands over my arms. "I'm just a little cold."

              "Airports aren't exactly ideal places for sleeping," Anton said.

              I stood up. "I think I'm going to get some coffee."

              "Coffee?" Anton said. "I wouldn't have pegged you as a coffee drinker somehow."

              "I was speaking kind of generally," I said. "Coffee, tea—just something hot. I really need to warm up."

              "Do you want me to come with you?"

              "No," I said. "That's okay. I'll be fine."

              I walked away from our little waiting area. Though I knew it was late, I was also sure that some of the shops and kiosks would be open—it seemed like someone was always selling coffee in an airport.

              But as I walked, I began to get colder and colder, and I looked down at my hands—my fingers were beginning to turn white. I decided that I really needed to warm up before I went any further, and I turned to look for the ladies' room—I would warm up my hands under the hot water tap. I just hoped that the hot water would actually be hot. Public restrooms could be notoriously unreliable.

              But as I walked, I found myself wandering—and somehow unable to locate a ladies' room. Past experience had taught me that large airports had restrooms around just about every corner. But no matter how I looked, I couldn't find a restroom—or even a sign for one. As I continued on, the sound of people and conversation grew distant, and I found myself wandering down a deserted hall—all the businesses in this part of the airport were closed and shuttered for the night. But I did spot a sign for the ladies' room, and I hurried toward it.