8. Kim

Chapter 8

Kim

T he first time I came to Lucien's mansion, I could barely bring myself to step over the threshold. The place is so thick with dark supernatural energy that I almost choked on it.

When I first started hunting demons, and became aware of my powers, I would have run screaming from a place like this. But these days, things are different. I'm starting to embrace who I am, and instead of repelling me or congealing like toxic waste in my veins, the darkness calls to me.

Pulls me closer.

Like it is trying to seduce me but doesn't realize I'm tricking it into a false sense of security. Allowing it to envelop me tighter and tighter until… SNAP.

I destroy it.

This mainly applies to demons, not vampires.

Part of my deal with Lucien is that the vamps are left largely alone. Not just because there's debate about whether or not they are demons, but because he claims to have them under control.

I am not so sure. Especially lately. The past few months, it hasn't been the demons causing havoc in the city; it has been rogue vampires. And his usual methods of keeping them on their best behavior don't seem to be working.

I press the buzzer next to the large, wrought iron gates. Trent answers. He's a slimy bastard. A werewolf, which surprises me because historically Thornfield hasn't been able to abide werewolves.

Apparently, though, Trent is different. He rescued him as a pup. Indoctrinated him into the Firm.

Honestly, I still don't really understand all this stuff.

"What do you want?" Trent barks down the speaker.

"Thornfield sent for me."

"He didn't tell me."

"He doesn't tell you everything." I roll my eyes, stifling a yawn. It's too early and I'm too grouchy for this sort of back and forth. Trent hates that Lucien has brought me into his inner circle when we've only known each other a short while. I hate that Trent exists.

It is a mutually egregious relationship.

Huffing at me, Trent unlocks the gates. They swing open, exposing a long straight driveway lined by silver birch trees. A strange mist lingers between them. Above, the sun is starting to rise. It is going to be the kind of cold, crisp winter's day that makes England look peaceful and majestic.

I get back into the car and drive through slowly.

Up ahead, the mansion looms into view. Thornfield tells me it has been in his family for centuries. Perhaps there was a time when a larger nest of vampires lived here, but now it is just him. His staff don't even live here. He has a few security guys, and girls, and a gardener. That's it. Apart from me, I suppose.

None of us live on site. He calls us if he needs us, and we come running.

That's the deal with Thornfield.

I pass the expansive lawn. A fountain, big box hedges, landscaped flower beds. Jogging up the stone steps to the front door, I shiver. There is something different in the air today.

The mansion's energy is usually thick and black and toxic – the remnants of centuries of dark, shady shit that has gone down here. Evil. If ‘evil' is a real thing.

Today, something else shimmers beneath it. I close my eyes and try to latch onto the sensation. It is not demonic energy. Not vampire either.

It has no color.

It just feels like… power.

It hits me in the chest and knocks the breath from my lungs. I stumble backward, and I'm steadying myself on a nearby concrete pillar when the door swings open. Trent greets me with his arms folded in front of his skinny chest. He's wearing a jet-black suit, as if he is auditioning for the role of ‘mafia henchman' in a movie, and he stinks of dog.

He curls his lip at me in a wolfish grin.

Clearly, he's not long returned from a shift. I almost wish he'd stayed that way; he's more palatable when he looks cute.

"He's in his office." Trent deliberately blocks the doorway for a moment longer than necessary. I don't push past him, just wait casually for him to move. All the while, still feeling the throb of whatever new energy has settled in this place.

"What's been happening?" I ask as Trent follows me down the corridor.

He frowns.

"Sounded urgent."

Trent shrugs. Clearly, he has no idea what's been going on, but wants to pretend he does. "I'm sure he'll explain when he sees you," is the best response he can manage.

Poor, stupid bastard.

When I knock on the door to Thornfield's study, he answers immediately, and I find him with his hands braced on the windowsill. Shutters closed. Fire blaring. His shoulders are hunched and he's breathing heavily. He doesn't turn around to face me but growls, "Trent, this doesn't concern you."

"But—"

"Leave," he commands.

I try not to smirk. Instead, I offer Trent an exaggerated look of sorry, mate , and watch him stalk off down the hallway.

When he's out of sight, I close the door and walk over to the window. Lucien remains stock still, staring down at his knuckles, which are white with pressure. There is blood on his chin. I glance at the desk and notice the flask of blood. Good news because it means he hasn't fed on an actual human.

"Well?" I ask, folding my arms. "You got me out of bed at the crack of dawn. What's happening? Has the Covenant surfaced?"

There is a quivering pause and then Thornfield turns around. His eyes are almost pitch black and small crimson flecks dance on their surface.

"Not the Covenant, no. Something much bigger than that…"

"All right, do you want to stop talking like a cryptic crime lord in a superhero movie and just tell me what's happening? Or are we going to do ominous soundbites all morning? Because, honestly, Thornfield, I'm knackered. I was out tracking a Marling demon until two a.m. and…"

"Do you remember me telling you about Luna?"

I stifle a laugh. Of course, I remember. He doesn't fucking shut up about her. And when he decided to off her boyfriend, who got called for cleanup duty?

That one pissed me off; I've never cleaned up after a human kill before. When Thornfield explained what the guy had done, what kind of man he was, I saw why he'd done it. But I still wasn't happy he'd gotten me involved in something that could have resulted in actual jail time.

"She's here." Thornfield folds his arms and leans back on the windowsill, facing the room but looking at me.

"Here?" I glance around his study, half expecting her to jump out from under the desk.

Thornfield nods. "There was an incident at the bookshop last night." He paces over to the desk and turns the computer screen toward me, then presses play on a video. For a moment, my breath hitches. My skin starts to tingle.

I look away, but Thornfield growls at me to watch, so I force my gaze back to the screen.

Fuck.

She looks like Sarah.

If I didn't know my wife was dead, I'd think I was watching her. Living, breathing, moving.

I peer at the screen, moving closer.

She has Sarah's eyes, her curls, her curves. She moves differently though. As I watch, I understand that. The way her hips sway, the shape of her ass, the clothes she's wearing.

She is not Sarah.

But she could be.

Thornfield is staring at me. "What's wrong with you? You look pale?"

I shake my head and point at the screen. "You have access to the security cameras where she works?"

"Clearly," Thornfield replies dryly.

"Okay, so what am I looking at?"

"Just watch."

He points again at the screen.

Luna — that's her name, I remind myself — is opening a package. Her movements are careful, almost reverent. As she lifts out a wooden box, I notice something odd. The shadows in the bookshop seem to shift, moving in ways that don't align with the light sources I can see.

My skin prickles. This is more than just poor video quality or tricks of the light.

Luna opens the box, and I brace myself because it is clear that whatever is inside is significant. She dips in her hand then pulls it out again. This time, it's covered in blood.

"What's in the box, Lucien?"

Thornfield arches a thick dark eyebrow at me. "Remember Steven?"

"The boyfriend…" I trail off. "He's…?"

"Parts of him." Thornfield's lip twitches into a satisfied smile.

Sick mother fucker. He mailed her the ex-boyfriend's body parts?

"Keep watching." Thornfield taps the screen.

Luna is staring into the box. But instead of recoiling in horror, she seems fascinated. Empowered, even. And around her, the shadows in the room grow darker, swirling, moving.

"Is she…?"

I watch as Luna examines the contents of the box. Her hands should be shaking - anyone's would be — but they're steady. Strong. There's a moment where she laughs, and the sound seems to make the very air around her vibrate.

The shadows are still moving. They pulse and writhe, responding to her emotions. It's subtle, but unmistakable to someone who's seen as much supernatural shit as I have.

"She's controlling them," I mutter, more to myself than to Thornfield. "The shadows. She's not even aware she's doing it, is she?"

Thornfield doesn't answer, but his silence is confirmation enough.

He stops the clip and I step back from the screen, running a hand through my hair. "Okay, so she's got some kind of power. Shadow magick? But she's human?"

I turn to face Thornfield, my mind racing. This woman, whoever she is, is clearly more than just some human Thornfield's obsessed with. She's powerful, potentially dangerous, and completely unaware of what she can do.

"Precisely."

"You don't think…?"

Thornfield meets my eyes. "I need you to go to the bookshop. Clean up. Retrieve the box and tell me what you sense while you're there. You saw what I saw… you saw the shadows moving. If she has shadow magick…"

"That's a bit of a stretch, Lucien. I know you're convinced the Covenant is real but?—"

"It is real." Thornfield bares his fangs. Once upon a time, that would have intimidated me. But not now.

I raise my palms and speak slowly. "Alright. I'll go."

I cross to the door. I need to clear my head. If she's here, and she really can do shadow magick, she could be the reason the energy around the mansion has shifted. She could be the power I'm feeling. But if Thornfield knows that, I'm not sure whether he'll want to protect her or own her.

As soon as I unlock the door to the bookshop, the unmistakable stench of rapidly rotting vampire corpses hits me smack bang in the face. My stomach turns, and I slam my hand over my nose and mouth, but I force myself to step inside.

Since the Queen died, and I somehow got hooked up with Lucien Thornfield — Cambridge Mafia Supremo — I've spent more time cleaning up after him than I have hunting demons. Which is supposed to be my job.

Thornfield argues that they are the same thing.

I've seen this stuff before, but this particular scene is even more grim than I anticipated.

Putrid flesh sloughs off the vampires' bones, leaving slimy piles on the hardwood floor. Dark blood oozes and congeals into tacky pools. I've seen a lot of disturbing things since becoming a demon hunter, but this is next level disgusting.

I retrieve cleaning supplies from the back room, holding my breath against the overpowering reek of decay. As I mop and disinfect, nausea ripples through me.

Is that a fucking tongue on the floor?

I pick it up with my thumb and forefinger and drop it into the bucket.

I can't believe Lucien is making me do this solo. He could have at least made Trent tag along.

But maybe he doesn't want Trent to know about Luna.

Maybe, somehow, I have become Thornfield's most trusted person.

As I clean, my mind wanders to Luna. Poor girl. I can't imagine the trauma she's endured — losing her boyfriend, only to have his dismembered corpse delivered to her work. And now she's trapped in Lucien's mansion, at the mercy of an obsessive vampire who claims he wants to protect her.

Right now, I think I believe him.

If it turns out he's right and Luna has something to do with the Covenant... well, who the hell knows whether he'll stay chivalrous.

I stop and look around for the box. It was on the countertop, but now all that remains is a stack of blood-stained papers. No box.

I check under the counter, all the dark corners of the room.

It is not here.

Which means Thornfield will be extra pissed.

I glance up in the direction of the hidden security camera in case he's watching and offer an exaggerated shrug. Then I return to scooping up bits of dead vampire.

I'm scrubbing coagulated blood off the skirting boards when the hairs on my arms and neck start to prickle.

I whirl around, reaching for the blade I keep on my belt, but see nothing. There is a shift in energy, but it is not the energy I felt at the mansion.

Something evil was here... or still is.

Heart pounding, I extend my senses, trying to pinpoint the source of the malevolent aura. As I reach further into the ether, it becomes thick and cloying, seeping from the very walls.

I've never encountered anything this potent.

I start to cough, choking on the acrid taste of it.

Whatever this is, it's ancient... and hungry.

It presses down on me, announcing its presence. Imprinting itself on my skin.

I close my eyes and the mop clatters from my hand. Pain throbs in my temples.

And then it is gone.

Just like that.

I open my eyes again, panting, struggling for breath.

Unnerved, I continue cleaning with renewed urgency.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

Every creak and groan of the old building sets my nerves on edge, and I can't shake the sensation of being watched, stalked by an unseen predator. But not via the security cameras.

I feel as though something is here .

As I tie off another trash bag bulging with putrid remains, a floorboard behind me creaks. I spin around, blade drawn, only to find myself face to face with my own reflection in an antique mirror. Jesus. Get it together, Kim.

But then, in the mirror's tarnished surface, I glimpse a flicker of movement. A shadow where there shouldn't be one.

Ice floods my veins as I stare into the glass. But the harder I focus, the more distorted my reflection becomes, warping into a nightmarish caricature with hollow, bottomless eyes and a leering gash of a mouth.

Fuck this.

I lunge for the mirror, intent on smashing it to pieces. But before my hand makes contact, an invisible force slams into my chest, hurling me backwards. I hit the floor hard, breath knocked from my lungs. The demonic aura intensifies, pressing down on me like a physical weight, drowning me in darkness.

Gasping, I claw my way upright, gripping my blade in sweat-slick hands. But the oppressive energy dissipates as quickly as it appeared, leaving me alone and shaking amid the gore-streaked shelves.

What the actual fuck just happened?

I look back in the direction of the hidden camera, praying Thornfield hasn't been watching. Because whatever just happened, I need to figure out whether he can be trusted with it before I tell him.

I need to know what he'll do to the girl. What she means to him.

I need to know if Luna is safe with Lucien Thornfield.