Shadowdance(29)
Her small frame vibrated with fury as she led Jack farther into the house. Once in the library, she went to a set of tall bookshelves and yanked out a frayed copy of Pride and Prejudice. With a creaking groan, the floorboards just before the shelves lowered, revealing a set of stairs descending into darkness. Jack had to laugh. “Doesn’t someone always want to read that book?”
She practically snarled at him, her eyes now full-on yellow. “Not in this house.”
They spoke no more as they went down the stairs, but Jack was at the ready should the crone decide to attack.
“They will kill you for this,” she said.
At times, he’d rather they did. But now was not one of them. Not until he got his pound of flesh. Jack said nothing, but followed her deeper through the maze of small tunnels, lit here and there by hissing lamps. The weak light sent his shadow dancing against the rough stone walls, and the foul scent of kerosene and mildew filled his lungs.
She stopped at a wood door riveted with golden bolts and, after knocking once, punched a key code into the lock—one quite similar to those the SOS employed—and opened the door to reveal a cheery, bright room. Peach silk damask lined the walls, and heavy mahogany furniture supported the weight of three females and one male sitting around a dining table, illuminated by a brace of candles. The scent of cigar mingled with peat smoke. All eyes turned to Jack.
“Mr. Jack Talent to see you, sir,” Cavendish all but snapped. She turned to go, long nose in the air and prim lips pressed, when Jack caught her by the throat and hauled her close. She gaped at him, her fingers clawing at his hand as he pressed against her windpipe.
“You were there.” He never forgot their eyes, not a one. Or their stench.
Wrinkled flesh mottled, showing patches of grey against pasty white. “I never touched you.”
She hadn’t. They hadn’t let her because she was just a servant, the one who collected the pans before they overflowed with his blood. Jack’s sight went red, and he slammed her against the iron doorframe. Her head connected with a thwack before she went limp. He let her fall, a crumple of rose silk skirts and sprawled demon limbs. Rendered senseless, the form of Mrs. Cavendish disappeared and, in its place, a raptor demon lay. Jack stepped past it and into the room.
“You certainly make an entrance,” said Will Thorne, his arm draped across the back of his chair, his fanged smile curling in slight mockery.
Jack paused long enough to look the bastard in the eye, then let his knife fly. It embedded itself in Thorne’s shoulder with a thud, and the man flinched.
“Fuck all, Jack,” Thorne hissed as he wrenched the knife free. “You’re in a pisser of a mood.”
His playmates hadn’t moved, but the three women eyed Jack appreciatively. Will glanced at them. “Leave us.”
They obeyed without hesitation, walking past Jack as if he weren’t there. Their scent was pure human. Collecting the fallen demon as they went, the women quietly closed the door behind them.
Once they were gone, Jack rounded on Will. “You were to stay far away from me. Not stroll out and make a bloody introduction to my partner.”
“Your partner?” The evil little smile of his grew. “Come now, we both know she’s much more than that.” A speculative look gleamed in Thorne’s eyes. “I thought you vowed to keep away from Miss Chase. Make it your life’s work to antagonize her, whatnot.” He waved a hand for emphasis.
Jack tamped down a growl. “I’ve been forced to work with her. You, on the other hand, have no excuse.”
“What can I say?” Thorne shrugged, halting the movement with a wince as if he’d forgotten his injured shoulder. “I wanted to meet her. She appears in good health. For now.”
Hell. “She’s of no importance.”
“I cannot even begin to measure the magnitude of that lie, my brother.”
“I’m not your brother.”
“We were once as close as.” Will’s pale fists pressed into the arms of his chair as his icy eyes grew pure black. “And don’t you forget it.”
“How could I?” Even in the unlikely event that Jack managed to forget his past, William Thorne would be there to remind him.
“What do you want, Jack? You’ve interrupted my breakfast. And after the greeting I’ve just received, I’m not keen on inviting you to join me.”
Jack didn’t want to spend another moment in this place, or with Will. He could barely stand to look at the man, not after he’d seen the bruising along the necks of the women who’d been sitting there. Blood partners: willing donors who enjoyed being fed upon. Jack’s throat convulsed. The day he sat idle as another demon feasted on his blood fresh from the flesh was the day he severed his own spine.