Shadowdance (20 page)

“Your body is safe for now,” Daisy murmured, but her gaze stayed resolutely away from it.

Mary knew why Daisy hesitated. The process of becoming a GIM was not pretty, or clean. And meeting their maker was always disconcerting. On a variety of levels.

With a sigh, Daisy pressed her hand against her clockwork heart and murmured the words that would call Adam forth. Instantly the air about them grew hot and florid with the smoky scent of myrrh and something darkly cloying. The effect of that fragrance upon Mary was instantaneous. Heat washed over her, tightening her nipples and making her sex throb. It was most unfortunate, and not a sensation she enjoyed, given what caused it. By the look of Daisy’s pinched lips, she too was affected and not happy either. Then again, their creator’s scent had that effect on men as well as women, so they could hardly be shamed.

On the heels of the scent came the darkness, black and
endless as it coalesced on a spot just next to them until it formed the shape of a doorway.

The spirit at Mary’s side fluttered, her eyes wide. “What is it?”

“Hush.”

The echoing of footsteps, as if coming from far off, sounded. And the scent grew thicker, richer, making sweat bloom upon Mary’s skin and her clockwork heart go just a bit faster. She took a steadying breath and tried to ignore the shiver working through her body.

Through the darkness he came, his step jaunty and arrogant. Mary swallowed. Gracious, but the demon was sin incarnate. Tall and lean, black hair tousled about without care, and light-amber eyes beneath thick, stern brows. His aquiline nose would be considered too big on a lesser face, his mouth an angry slash, yet somehow plump and inviting. Such intense masculine beauty was dizzying.

Oftentimes Mary wondered if Adam was an incubus. Especially when he smiled as if he knew exactly how he stirred their emotions, and his deep, rich voice rumbled over them like heated cream.

“My delicious daughters,” he said fondly. “My most lovely creations. How may I be of service?”

Daisy cleared her throat, a high blush warring with eyes flashing in annoyance. “My lord Adam, we have one who desires to join.”

His gaze was a palpable caress. It slid warm and sticky over Mary to rest on the silent spirit. Adam’s nostrils flared as he drew in a deep, sharp breath. Odd, as he was never anything other than nonchalant or flirty.

“Your name?” His lazy tone had gone clipped. The loose-limbed way in which he normally carried himself tensed.

The spirit narrowed her eyes, her gaze sliding up and down Adam’s form as though inspecting something distasteful. “Eliza May.”

“Mmm.” It came out as a dubious rumble. Adam flicked his attention to Mary. “I’ll have a word with you, sweet Mary Chase—”

“And you are?” Eliza May cut in, her translucent hands upon her hips.

“Not to be interrupted, treats.” Adam’s expression was hard and cold.

Eliza lifted her chin. “I’ve a right to know your name, sir.”

With a smile that chilled the bone, Adam sauntered over to the hovering spirit. When he reached out to trace the line of her cheek, his finger did not drift through her, but made contact, as though she were flesh still. “My Lord and Master, My Irresistible Liege,” he murmured in his rich purr. “Pick whichever one you want. Then shut up. I am speaking, and not to you.”

His gaze moved to Mary but stopped as he spied Eliza’s body lying bloodied and battered upon the cobbles, her skirts still rucked up, a pool of blackening blood widening about her head like a macabre halo. His lips flattened as his eyes glowed so brightly that the area about them was illuminated with golden light. Mary had seen the reaction before, and it never failed to unnerve. But she understood. Violence against women was something he could not abide.

Eliza, seeing the direction of the demon’s gaze, swished over her body as though she might hide it. “Don’t look at me, it.” Her teeth bared in a snarl. “At my body.”

“Why?” he asked, mildly. “It’s dead. And if you want to keep it, it’s also mine.”

Eliza flinched, her mouth gaping before snapping shut. “I thought… they said that you wouldn’t want…”

The glow in Adam’s eyes returned, not as bright, but quite fierce. “Devil take it. I quite literally have beings knocking against each other for the opportunity to have me.” Indeed, ghosts stuck between worlds had gathered, bumping against the periphery of the alleyway as though held back by an invisible wall. The silent, wraiths twisted and undulated in unmistakable entreaty. “I’ve no interest in unwilling, prissy misses.”

Eliza’s mouth curled in distaste. “Oh, how the other ghouls must envy you.”

The air about them trembled and heated. Adam took a step in Eliza’s direction. “Let us get this over with. Will you swear fealty to me?”

“What would I have to—”

“Yes or no. Right now, Miss May.”

Eliza May glanced between Mary and Daisy, her expression unsure and pained. They could not speak now, nor assuage her. It was forbidden. But Mary tried to convey that it would be all right with a soft look.

“Tick-tock, Eliza.”

“All right.” She drew herself up. “I swear it.”

The triumph in Adam’s expression was absolute, and not what Mary was accustomed to seeing. “Excellent.” With a flick of his wrist he conjured a thin golden chain. Lightning-fast, it coiled around Eliza’s spirit and her body. Adam gave the chain a lazy tug, and Eliza flew into her body. A great gasp broke from her lips as her body arched off the ground, then flopped back, struggling against the golden bonds like a fish in a net.

Mary and Daisy looked on in horror. This was nothing like their times. Nor were the ones taken bound in gold.
Before they could say a word, Eliza May disappeared, and they were left alone with Adam.

“Good Lord, Adam,” Daisy said, her eyes beginning to glow. “What have you done to her?”

He waved an idle hand. “Nothing you need worry over.” His expression brooked no argument. “Now, then, doves, as neither of you is indebted to me for souls, I consider this a personal boon.” Something wicked and altogether unsettling flickered in his gaze. “Therefore”—he reached out, and the hot, dry tips of his fingers touched their foreheads—“a gift.” An electric buzz shimmered through Mary, delicious and heady before ending in a warm glow.

“What was that?” she asked.

His smile was brief. “Motherhood.”

As if she had been pinched, Daisy let out a garbled squawk. “Did you…” She colored furiously. “Did you just impregnate us?”

Adam’s full-throated laughter echoed along the brick walls. “Hell’s bells, no.” His eyes watered as he tried to calm himself, and Daisy huffed. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “You do not need me for that, sweets. Unless you’d like to?” He waggled his dark brows, and Daisy huffed again.

“But we are…” Daisy waved a helpless arm. “You know…” She stopped there, her face flaming, which Mary had to admit was rather amusing, seeing as Daisy could wax lyrical about sexual topics without care.

Adam eyed her with a mixture of wry caution and good humor. “If I may be so bold, darling, but do you experience your courses?” His mouth twitched. “I shall take the shade of crimson on your cheeks as a yes. Which means there is nothing stopping you.”

His gaze slid over both of them. “You aren’t corpses,
for pity’s sake. You are life anew, better and more precious because you asked for it with eyes wide open.” He sniffed in annoyance. “I swear, do none of my flock pay attention when I tell you the rules upon creation?”

Mary was rather glad to hear she was not expecting and had to smile at his chastisement. She’d known, but hadn’t realized Daisy was ignorant of that particular part of her nature. “My lord, would you explain what you meant by ‘motherhood’?”

His smile was beatific. “Simply that you may choose to create another. Only one, mind. No need for us to get carried away.”

Mary and Daisy blinked. Shock coursed through Mary’s bones. She could create a GIM? The notion was at once horrid and fascinating. “I…” Mary took a breath and curtsied. “You honor us, my lord.”

“I know. Choose wisely, my doves. Creation is the most intimate act one can do. That soul will be bound to you, helpless as a babe until you choose to set it free. Even after, you will always feel a connection.”

“But how do we—” Daisy’s question was cut off with a wave of Adam’s hand.

“I cannot dally all night. Do as I do, and the rest will follow.” His attention turned to Mary. “Miss Chase. As I was trying to say before, I suggest you keep an eye on that man of yours.”

“Why?” Mary would not contradict the demon by protesting that Jack was not
hers
, but his words left her tight and cold.

Adam’s mouth curled, revealing small but sharp fangs. “I do not take threats against my children lightly. I do believe that Jack Talent will soon find himself in the thick of a great one. Some beings were never meant to be GIM.”

“You mean the shadow crawlers.”

His expression grew pained. “Mix any sort of demon flesh with metal, and you will find yourself with a disaster on your hands.” His gaze leveled on her, and she felt the immense power he held within him. “Do not let it happen, Miss Chase.”

Dawn was slow in coming for Mary. She was being watched. She knew it with the same certainty with which she knew her name was Mary Chase. The sensation whispered over her skin like spider silk and crept along her spine to nip at her neck. An unnerving distraction that robbed her of peace and kept her awake.

It was not a new sensation. It had come and gone for some time. Too long. So long that she was almost used to the feeling. Almost, but not quite. Had she not the ability to see spirits, Mary would have wondered if her house was haunted, for the sensation of eyes upon her nearly always occurred when she was in her home.

“Nonsense,” she muttered, and tossed back her bedcovers. The white light of morning was shining through her curtains as she crossed the cool floors and headed for her front room. Still she could not shake the sticky feeling. For someone accustomed to doing the watching, it was not only unnerving but an affront.

Two tall windows dominated her parlor. Framed by cream velvet curtains, the windows gleamed like a pair of bright eyes, watching. The desire to draw the curtains fully closed prompted Mary to do the opposite. She stalked right up to them, yanked them wide, and pressed her nose to the icy glass.

She spotted him immediately, the sight giving her a start. Crouched on the corner of the opposite roof like
some gargoyle of old, his black-cloaked shape formed a hulking silhouette against the lemon-yellow sky.

The gears in her heart nearly stopped, then sped up. But she knew that body, and the distinct shape of that head. Jack Talent.

Her palm spread wide upon the window, the heat of her body emitting waves of condensation along the glass. The light was in her eyes, and he merely a black outline. But then a cloud scuttled over the sun, and his eyes gleamed, looking straight at her. And she felt that gaze as if it were a living, breathing beast upon her. Slowly he stood, his tall form perfectly balanced upon the jutting roof edge. And simply watched her.

Her body tightened. Had he always watched her? It couldn’t be so. But for a moment, she felt certain that he had.

As if he’d been waiting to see her reaction, he raised his arm then and gave her a graceful salute. The next moment he was gone, leaving with inhuman speed.

Mary stared at the spot where he had stood. The salute ought to have been a mockery. Only it felt like an acknowledgement, and a message. Stranger still, his actions did not feel like revenge. Nor did it feel as if she were being watched, as much as watched over. As she put the kettle on and prepared for the day ahead, she realized that the idea of Talent doing the watching made her feel safe. And wasn’t that the most unnerving sensation of all?

T
oday would be a late day. Because the Bishop of Charing Cross appeared to do his work at night, so must they. Which was fine by Mary. She needed a bit of space between her and Talent and was happy to wait until luncheon to meet him. Then again, dining with Talent had its own pitfalls.

“Do you ever stop eating, Mr. Talent?” Mary pursed her lips at the spectacle that was Jack Talent gorging on his fifth meat pie.

He paused as though surprised she was speaking to him, then his dark eyes looked at her sidelong. “Stay with me long enough, and you might find out.” He popped the last golden bite into his mouth, then licked his lips with a flick of his pink tongue. Somehow he managed to grin while chewing. His throat worked on a swallow, and that grin grew teeth. “Besides, I told you I like eating.”

How he was able to make the statement both carnal and irritating, she’d never know. Mary set her attention on the report spread open on the table in front of her. Talent,
adamantly eschewing the quiet containment of headquarters, had dragged them out to yet another tavern, this one being loud, smoky, and crowded. It did, however, serve an excellent supper, as Talent was quick to point out when she’d voiced her annoyance.

Unfortunately she had to admit to herself that the tavern afforded a level of anonymity they would not receive at headquarters. Too many regulators took it upon themselves to make a study of Talent and Mary. She feared there might even be a betting pool going on about just when and how they’d kill each other.

Lousy, busybody rotters. True, tempers between her and Talent were strained. But they were partners, like it or not, and she intended to behave in a sensible manner from here on out. She would not think of breathless, voyeuristic pleasures, or near kisses, or nighttime vigils.

It did not help matters when Talent suddenly gave her a slow perusal, lingering along the length of her bodice where the satin lay smooth and tight over her torso. Heat prickled along her skin, and she bristled. He could not look at her in this manner. Not if she wanted to get through the day.

As if he was annoyed, his mouth turned down at one corner. “You’re looking rather turned out today, Mistress Chase.” His low voice turned into a drawl. “Why do I suspect I will not like the reason?”

“I could not fathom.” Mary ordered her papers into a neat stack and was quite proud that her hands did not shake.

“Do not tell me you’re dressing to impress that popinjay Darby.” Talent’s scowl grew sour, his nostrils flaring.

They were slated to watch Darby later this evening. A
prospect Mary did not find remotely appealing. Even so, she could only shake her head slightly at Talent’s absurd accusation. “Perhaps I dressed for you.”

She said it to unnerve, and his open mouth and flushed cheeks had her fighting a grin, but she hid it and stuck to the business at hand. “I took a look at Mr. Pierce’s financial situation—”

Her plate of barely touched fish pie was pushed in front of her. “Eat,” said Talent, who had clearly recovered from her parry.

“I’m not hungry. Now about Pierce—”

“I’ll be damned if I have to hold back because you’ve made yourself weak due to stubbornness.” His blunt chin lifted. “You eat. I’ll read.” Taking the report from her, he gave the plate an encouraging nudge farther in her direction.

Mary narrowed her eyes but he merely stared back. Unmovable. Grumbling, she picked up her spoon. Warm, creamy sauce and tender morsels of fish filled her mouth. Immediately she wanted another bite.

Talent gave a grunt of satisfaction, then ignored her as he read over her notes. “This is new information on Pierce.” When he glanced up again, creases deepened around his mouth. “You do not sleep enough.”

Well, he ought to know, since he’d been watching her house all night. She refrained from saying so, only because bringing the fact out in the open would lead to questions she wasn’t sure she wanted answers to. “I don’t need much sleep, and the report needed to be done.”

“You’ll be no good without sleep either,” he snapped before his gaze dropped once more. “Keep eating.”

Glaring, she took an exaggerated bite, which was lost
on him, as he did not look up. Worse, a sense of well-being filled her with each blasted bite. Blasted Talent. “Did you know Mr. Pierce was a clockmaker?”

“No.” Talent scanned the pages. “I assume it’s important.”

“Well, it’s rather odd, when one considers his main employer.”

His brow furrowed as his big body hunched over the papers. Talent’s reading expression, it seemed. So very serious. Mary could not fathom why it made her want to smile.

“Worked for the Archbishop of Canterbury, did he?” Talent’s head lifted so quickly he almost caught her smile. He, however, was far from amused. His golden complexion ebbed to pasty white. “Can’t imagine why the archbishop would need a clockmaker in his employ.”

“Do you…” Mary was about ask if he knew the archbishop, but that would be a stretch. The clergyman took tea with the Queen. “As you can see,” she said instead, “Pierce received regular payments from Lambeth Palace. I believe it would do us well to speak to the archbishop. In that vein—”

“We don’t need to question him.” Talent’s big hands crumpled the pages.

“Of course we do.” Mary pried the papers from his clenched hands and smoothed them out before organizing them into a neat stack. “I’ve already made the arrangements.”

“What?” His chair screeched as he lurched to his feet. “When?”

Mary stood as well. “We had a bit of luck there. I sent a note of inquiry to the palace—”

“You contacted Lambeth Palace?” Ire snapped in his
eyes, his lips forming a flat line as though he was trying not to shout.

Mary tucked the report into her working bag. “If you’d let me finish—”

“There isn’t anything to finish, Chase.” Talent’s hard, masculine jaw clenched. “You do not decide who we interview. I do. This is my case. You are assisting me.”

Was there any answer for that nonsense? Mary rather thought not. “Calm yourself. You’re drawing unwanted attention.”

Conversation had petered out, with more than a few patrons giving them a speculative glance. Talent only had eyes for her. His shoulders bunched beneath his dingy coat.

“Look here, Chase.” He pointed a finger in her general direction. “You do not manage me.” He took a step closer, looming, his breath sawing. “Am I understood?”

Yes. At the very least, this Talent she understood well. She had to tilt her neck to meet his eyes. “Are you under some misapprehension that I do not speak English, Master Talent?”

The broad planes of his cheeks colored as his eyes narrowed. She did not give him a chance to respond. “I understood every word you’ve stated thus far, ridiculous drivel that it was.” Her skirts brushed the tips of his battered boots as their glares clashed and warred. “As you stated, we are partners. Which means equals. And if you want me to cease ‘managing you,’ as you call it, then I suggest you learn to keep your temper under control. Now would be a fine time to start, thank you.”

His mouth opened, the glitter in his eyes growing dangerous, but she held up a hand. “Save yourself the trouble of shouting again. I am through speaking with you.”
She gathered her skirts and turned toward the exit. But she paused and looked over her shoulder at him. “Unless you’d like to tell me what has you so upset over the idea of interviewing the archbishop?”

For she had to wonder if this little outburst was his attempt at diversion. As if he read her suspicion, his jaw snapped shut with an audible click. Oh, but his nostrils flared, his close-cropped hair sticking out wildly.

“No?” she said when he merely stood there, baring his teeth at her like a madman. She shrugged. “Then we shall be conducting that interview.”

She took one step farther, when his terse response lashed out. “We are
not
.”

“We
are
.”

Jack would have liked to say that his instinct for trouble had always been well honed. Unfortunately, his education in that arena had been painful and hard-earned. But earn it he had, and thus he knew he ought to have listened to his instinct and stayed away this day. Pierce worked for the bloody Archbishop of Canterbury? Jesus, this was a cock-up. This doppelgänger killer knew too much. Jack’s underbelly was exposed, revealing a wound that had never truly stopped bleeding.

He was aware he’d been an ass of the first order to Chase. He had not been able to control it. Bloody, bloody arch-bloody-bishop. An old rage boiled to the surface, one that cried out for release, to tear into something. Jack gritted his teeth as he walked alongside her. She was too quick by half. Something, in normal circumstances, he’d appreciate. Save he had little recourse when she dug her heels in, nor did he know how he was to conceal certain facts without getting caught.

They had walked halfway down the road when a runner caught up with them and ordered their immediate return to headquarters. Wilde wanted to meet with them.

Thankfully, Wilde cut straight to business as soon as they arrived in his dark and dreary office.

“Lord Darby called on me this morning.”

“Really,” Jack drawled, “I’m surprised. I’d have thought him fast asleep given his proclivities.” He’d had to watch the bloody bastard go at it for hours the other night. Shifter stamina was an impressive thing. Regretfully so, at times.

He could all but feel Chase squirm beside him. Good. He was in a foul mood. And she made up the greater half of it.

Wilde’s mouth pitched to the side, an odd half-twitch. Sitting calm and tall in his chair at the head of the table, he merely rested his hands upon the glossy surface and continued. “He appears to find Mistress Honeychurch and Master Evans preferable escorts and has requested that you, Master Talent and Mistress Chase, be taken off guard duty rotation. In short”—Wilde’s cool, black gaze bore into them—“he wants nothing further to do with you.”

“I suggest you tell him to piss off.” Frankly, Jack was glad to be rid of Darby. He knew that path led to a dead end and had not been looking forward to tonight’s guard. But the request was a slight against him, and Chase. God knew Chase didn’t deserve it.

Wilde’s brows rose. “Oh, certainly. I shall ignore the fact that he donates hundreds of thousands of pounds to SOS operations and tell the earl to ‘piss off’ because his reasonable demand has sent my regulator into a fit of pique.”

Chase’s skirts rustled. Jack caught a flash of wine satin before jerking his attention back to Wilde. Jack crossed one leg over the other. “I was under the impression that our organization looked beyond money and title.”

“Are you also under the impression that our employees work for free?” Wilde inquired smoothly. “For that can be arranged.”

He was about to retort, but Chase’s smooth voice cut in. “I agree with my partner. Kowtowing to a man solely because he pays the bills is folly.”

Damn, but Jack liked her too well. Just as he’d feared he would. Lust was one thing. It burned off quickly. “Like” was decidedly dicey. “Like” could grow, lead to other unfortunate “L”-words that did not bear thinking of. Of course there were words to offer a fine distraction, such as “lick,” “linger,” “luxuriate,” or the more-obscure-but-rife-with-possibilities “lingua.”

Jack ran his lingua along the backs of his teeth, then promptly bit down on it to focus. “Lummox” was another word he would do well to remember. “It is badly done of the SOS,” he added, just to dig in, because there was something fun about joining with Chase.

Wilde’s pale skin grew ruddy, the pinch about his mouth more pronounced, but it all eased in a blink. “Lord Darby will still be watched. Just not by the two of you.” Wilde shook his head, looking weary and slightly bemused. “I don’t know what you did to annoy him, Master Talent—”

“I merely talked to him.”

“Apparently,” Wilde murmured, “that is enough to annoy anyone.”

A gurgling sound came from somewhere in Chase’s vicinity. Jack refused to look.

Wilde stood, meeting over, discussion done. “Do not pin your focus on something you cannot change.” He smiled briefly. “Pieces shift on the board. It is the end game that counts.”

As though she’d been waiting for it, Chase took the moment to speak up. “I’ve heard from the Archbishop of Canterbury’s staff.”

Jack went utterly cold. Slowly he turned toward her. Chase’s cameo-smooth skin glowed in the dingy office light as she looked up at Wilde. Perfectly composed. As though she weren’t driving a stake under his chin. Traitor! Outmaneuvering miss. Through a hollow tunnel of sound he heard her. “The Archbishop of Canterbury has agreed to meet with us. This afternoon, in fact.”

Bloody fucking hell.

He might have cursed out loud, for Wilde and Chase both turned with twin expressions of surprise mixed with censure. Jack cleared his throat. “Do either of you honestly believe that the Archbishop of Canterbury is murdering shifters?”

He was surprised he could speak at all, given that his heart was thundering in his throat and his insides had turned watery. He could not go back there. He could not. The ringing in his ears grew louder. “He is one of the most powerful men in the realm. Nor is he likely to even believe in supernaturals, much less know of their existence.”