Shadowdance(46)

Then he let himself go. The man had pulled ahead, weaving through the light pedestrian traffic as if it weren’t even there. Jack cursed as a strolling couple got in his way; a shoulder bump and spin around a rotund matron slowed him down further. Jack leapt over an apple cart and almost missed the man darting across Grosvenor Place. Jack kicked an overturned basket to the side, lest Chase run into it, and the peddler shouted at him.

Jack focused on the man running away. Whoever he was, he carried the scent of something acrid like ozone or burning chemicals and the sickly taint of rot, not a recognizable scent for a supernatural, but he was certainly not human. Not with that speed or agility. He was a black blur as he headed for Victoria Station. Jack dug in and, with a burst of will, drew nearly close enough to reach the man’s coattails. But the fiend jerked right, crossing into the rail yard.

Both men leapt over one set of tracks and then another. Devil take it if a foot got stuck between the ties. The man glanced back again and grinned. “Come on, then,” he shouted.

The strange friendliness of it, as if they were playing a game, had Jack seeing red. And when the little bastard vaulted a parked strand of freight cars, Jack did too. And then skidded to a halt when he came face-to-face with his quarry. For a moment they simply faced off, each lightly panting from the chase. Tendrils of smoky fog snaked over the gravelly ground, coiling as if searching for prey. The cold air permeated Jack’s clothes and snapped him to attention.

The man before him was of a similar height and build. A long, fitted black topcoat covered his body, and was a bit too similar to Jack’s regulator coat for comfort. His features were indistinct, plain and forgettable. The strands of hair that peeked from beneath a black bowler were a watery color between brown and blond, his eyes an even brown. Whether it was his true appearance or not, Jack could not tell.

“Who are you?” Jack asked.

The man’s smile was a slow curl. “A friend.”

A cold, ill feeling crept down Jack’s spine. The man was unbalanced. Surely. “Friends don’t usually run away,” he said, as if any of this behavior were normal.

“You were the one chasing me,” the man pointed out idly.

“True. What is your name? What were you doing at Lord Darby’s home?”

“Looking for you.”

In the distance a set of light footsteps grew closer. Chase. With all his being, Jack didn’t want her anywhere near this man. “What do you want?”

The man’s eyes darted toward the sound of Chase coming close. “A bit of privacy is in order.”

As if doing his bidding, the fog about them grew. Colder, thicker, smelling of gravestones, the preternatural mist swarmed in, obscuring the yard. A low growl rumbled in the back of Jack’s throat, and a set of razor-sharp claws tore from the tips of his fingers. The man before him drifted in and out of view—a pair of glittering dark eyes and a smiling mouth.

“I want to help.” It appeared as if his irises flickered silver like a shaft of sunlight hitting a mirror just before the curtains are drawn. Or perhaps it was an effect of the fog, for he moved his head slightly and the irises were simply brown. “Vengeance.”

Jack’s heart gave a leap as he slowly circled the man, keeping him in his sight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Yes you do.” The man glanced toward the car, barely visible in the consuming grey, and his grin grew off-center. “Discuss it with Miss Chase as well, shall we?”

No. “I don’t need your help,” Jack snapped. His heart raced now. Who the hell was this devil?

“Oh, I think you do. When you let yourself relax, it all comes back, doesn’t it? Hanging helpless as the blood is sucked from your body—”

“Shut up,” Jack snarled, his skin crawling with revulsion and shame.

But the man paid no heed. “You feel their touch every night, don’t you?”

“Shut your fucking mouth!”

“I have the list. You want vengeance.”

Jack balked. He had the names? Temptation, cold and clammy, coiled around his heart, “Why would you want to help me?” His words bounced around in the air, brittle and thin.

“We live by the blood. We die by the blood.” It was the Nex motto. But it also was one of the things they’d said when they had stolen Jack’s blood.

A shiver of disgust lit through him. “You’re Nex?” Shit and piss but he hated their fucking round-robin ways. None of them ever followed a straight thought.

“Didn’t say that.” The man’s eyes grew cold and opaque.

“And if I did want this list?” The Nex had strung him along far enough. If this was the only way, then so be it. He would finish this, and perhaps, just perhaps, he’d feel some sense of peace.