Chapter 8

The sun was staining the sky with streaks of pumpkin and violet. She’d tucked her mother’s blouse, still wrapped in the plastic bag, under her arm.

Here in this kitchen was where it had all begun months ago—where Kester had first arrived and broken the news that she was a hellhound. Back then, her life had been a disaster—but a mundane disaster. No job, no education, no money for rent. Dumped and fired by Rufus in the same week.

Now she had money, but also a whole lot more trouble. She had an army of dragons after her, and the past that she’d tried to escape from was coming back to haunt her. Her mum was dead. She’d tried to murder her own father. What terrible secret would she uncover next?

Ursula glanced at the note she’d left for Katie—just a heartfelt thank you, and an explanation that she’d be in touch when she could. It was vague on the details, though Katie might wonder what had happened to her kitchen.

In any case, Ursula needed her sword back from the vamps, and she was pretty sure she knew where to find it. She grabbed Katie’s vodka off the counter, pouring it around herself in the shape of a fire sigil. When she’d finished, she picked up Katie’s lighter and ignited the sigil, chanting the spell for Kester’s apartment. Flames seared the air around her in a rush of fiery power, and her body crumbled to ash.

In the next moment, she found herself standing in Kester’s sigil room, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Just as she’d thought, the vamps had taken cover from the sunlight, probably in the basement. As quietly as she could, she crept through the hall, frowning at the crescent moons painted over the walls. There on the rich leather of one of the living room sofas was her rucksack. Even better, the katana lay underneath it, resting in its scabbard.

She opened the rucksack up and shoved her mother’s blouse inside, then took the opportunity to change into some fresh clothes—black leggings and a matching shirt. Then, she grabbed the bag from the sofa, slung her sword and scabbard around her waist, and crossed to an oak desk that stood in the corner.

She pulled open the little drawers until she found what she was looking for. Cash. Just as she’d expected, Kester’s desk was crammed with gold pieces and pound notes. For someone with that much money, he didn’t even bother safeguarding it. This was chump change to him. Still, she’d pay him back. She stuffed a few hundred in her rucksack—along with the money from Rufus, this might come in handy if she needed to stay in hotels while in London.

Fully stocked with money, her sword, and her rucksack, she crept down the stairs to the front door. She pulled it open onto the milky morning light, squinting in the sun’s rays. She hadn’t slept nearly enough last night, but at least she’d gotten a few hours’ rest.

Walking around in London with a sword had to be completely illegal. She didn’t know of a specific law against sword carrying, since it didn’t tend to happen often these days, but you weren’t allowed to carry knives, and a sword was a step up from that. Not to mention the fact that she had a kaiken dagger and a reaping pen hidden in her rucksack. Still, she’d just have to count on the fact that Londoners saw enough weird shit around Brick Lane to not blink an eye.

Her stomach rumbling, she crossed toward Brick Lane. At this hour, hardly anyone was out and about on Fournier Street, but she should be able to find an open coffee shop within a few blocks. Her mouth watered at the thought of breakfast.

On the narrow, winding street that was Brick Lane—a relic of an ancient brewery—Ursula picked up her pace, a coffee shop in her sights. On the pavement outside a café—charmingly named Wankoffee—she stepped over a sleeping man in a suit who’d obviously had a bit too much fun last night. Gods, it felt good to be back in London, even if she was in the most ridiculous part of the city.

Inside Wankoffee, a young man with muttonchops, a mesh baseball cap, and an olive green cravat leaned on the countertop, glaring at her from between expensive chrome coffee equipment. Around the room, drawings decorated the walls, along with neon lights and large mirrors.

Ursula eyed the food in the glass countertop, her stomach rumbling. “Can I please have two bagels with cream cheese, a milky coffee, and an orange juice?” She pulled out a twenty-pound note, plopping it on the bar.

The barista glared at her for another, long moment. Then, wordlessly, he began fixing her order. While he did, her gaze flicked to the TV, and her stomach clenched. There on the screen was Ursula, kneeling on the floor of District 5, covered in iron dust, dressed in the turquoise halter. Her heart thrummed in her chest. Apparently, the barista hadn’t noticed yet, but he had been awfully busy glaring sullenly.

“I’m getting it to take away, please,” she said, her cheeks reddening.

He grunted, snatching a paper cup, and Ursula stared as the news got worse. Already, a dragon had attacked tourists outside of the Tower of London. A helmet-haired news anchor breathlessly reported the international plans to increase the reward for her capture to one hundred million dollars.

As soon as the barista had her order ready, Ursula snatched it up and hurried outside, keeping her face covered by her hair. If only she had a bit of Zee’s glamouring ability, she’d be in much better shape. She turned into a narrow alley and pulled her mobile phone from her rucksack. Maybe Zee could help. She flicked open the screen, finding about 3423 missed calls from Zee. She pushed return call.

After a few rings, Zee picked up, her voice rough. “What the hell’s going on? I’ve been up all night. Have you seen the news? I’ve been ringing you and you haven’t picked up.”

“Sorry. I just got my phone back.”

“What the hell did you do, Ursula? You weren’t supposed to bring the dragons to London. You were simply supposed to find Kester, and to find out what he knows about the dragons.”

“Well, I didn’t find Kester. I found a hive of vampires in his flat, who abducted me. I went to a friend for a place to stay, and I got caught on video.”

Zee paused. “You were abducted by vampires?”

“Yes, they were waiting in the apartment. They’re also searching for Kester. Mordred said?—”

“Mordred? Like from the Arthurian legends?”

“Yes, apparently he is an ancient vampire.”

“Shit,” said Zee. “Do you think this has anything to do with the books Kester had hidden on his table? The ones about ancient Britain?”

“Seems that way. Mordred and his sons are looking for the path to Avalon. They believe Kester may have found it. I’m not yet sure if this is connected to the dragons, but apparently that’s where Kester went.” Ursula sucked in a deep breath. “What happened to Bael?”

“Cera still hasn’t returned with him, so I honestly have no idea. I’m going to start searching soon, but I’ve been preoccupied with your latest chaos.”

A tendril of dread curled through Ursula. She could only hope Bael wasn’t out there slaughtering people. “Okay. Let me know if you hear anything. But until then, do you know why Kester would be interested in Avalon?”

“No idea,” said Zee. “All I know is that it’s associated with the sea god Dagon, but I’ll poke around in the library and see if I can come up with anything.”

“That would be fantastic.”

“So what’s your plan?” Zee asked. “When are you coming back to New York?”

She bit her lip. “If I want to find out how to defeat the dragons, I think it means a trip to Avalon, if I can get there. The river hag said there’s an entrance in St. Michael’s Mount in Cornwall.”

“How are you getting there without being spotted?” Zee asked.

“I haven’t exactly figured that out yet.”

“Do you know how to drive?”

“Rufus tried to teach me, but no, not really. Or at all. I could watch a YouTube video.”

“You’ll be fine. It’s easy. Look, Kester parks his cars in a private garage on Cheshire Street, not far from his flat. He keeps a set of keys in a magnetic box under the front right wheel, which I know because he had me glamour it for him. It’s invisible, but you can feel it. Take the Lotus.”

Ursula swallowed hard. “I’m worried people will recognize my hair. It’s long, and rather bright.”

“Can you get a pair of scissors and a hat?”

With a shower capover her new bob (it was the best she’d been able to do), Ursula whipped down the A30 to the throaty hum of the Lotus’s engine. Getting out of London hadn’t been too difficult. She’d only stalled the Lotus twice, both times at stoplights. Once she’d merged onto the motorway, the verdant hills of the British countryside had flown past. After an hour of driving, she’d pulled over at a roadside stop to catch a few more hours of sleep before rolling out again. The engine churned as she pressed her foot to the accelerator. Right now, the traffic wasn’t too bad.

Her katana lay under her rucksack, next to her on the passenger seat. It felt good to have a proper blade with her, on top of her dagger and her reaping pen.

Out here on the open road, she pulled off her shower cap, grinning at her chic bob. She actually hadn’t done a bad job with it, and the red hair framed her face beautifully.

In Cornwall, she pulled off the A30 and into a roundabout. The gray water of the Atlantic glimmered on the horizon, and she caught her first glimpse of St. Michael’s Mount. Situated in the center of the bay, a conical island rose majestically from the water, shrouded in mists. At its peak, the St. Aubyn Castle glinted in the afternoon sun. Out here, lush greenery covered the island and the roadsides.

She drove along the winding coastline until she passed a blue sign reading Marazion—Ancient Market Town and St. Michael’s Mount. Here, the meandering road took her into a town center, the streets lined with shops—squat stone or white-walled buildings. After parking the Lotus outside the tiny, stone house she’d arranged to rent on her way here, she stepped out of her car.

The air smelled of the sea, and for just a moment, she thought of Bael, wanting to smell him, to touch his golden skin. The amber sunlight gave Marazion’s rough stone walls a warm, almost Mediterranean appearance.

Perhaps it was time she invested in a proper hat of some kind, but for now, a hoodie would have to do, and she rifled around in her bag until she found one. She zipped it up, pulling up the hood, then grabbed her things, heading for the flat. Just as she’d been told, the key lay tucked under the mat.

The apartment she’d booked online was smaller than it had looked in the pictures, but cozy. The living room walls were painted a clean white, and windows looked out onto the ocean. She dropped her bag on a brown leather sofa, then hid her sword under it.

She plopped onto the sofa and pulled out her mobile phone, hoping for an update about Bael, but there was nothing. She texted Zee.

Any news about Bael?

A minute later, a blue text appeared on her screen. Nope. Cera fell asleep. I’m out hunting for the bastard.

Ursula let out a long breath, half-wondering if she should be out hunting for Bael. If he didn’t show up soon, she’d return to New York to help find him. Maybe the river hag had been right. Maybe he needed her.

Exhausted, Ursula let her eyes drift closed. She hardly felt herself falling into a deep sleep, dreaming of pale blue eyes, of fields dappled with yellow wildflowers, and the smell of sandalwood.

Her rumbling stomach woke her with a start, just as the setting sun began staining the room crimson. It had been hours since she’d eaten, and she needed to fill her belly.

First food—then Avalon. Except she had no idea how to get there. An entrance, through St. Michael’s Mount. And how, exactly, was she supposed to operate that? She didn’t suppose the vampires would allow her to tag along.

In the King’s Arms, Ursula sat at the bar over a plate of fish and chips and a pint, still keeping the hood up. In the halter top and leopard print leggings, she’d looked like a crazy stripper in the videos—plus the clips had been dark and fuzzy. The other photo circulating of her was several years old. People didn’t have a lot to go on. And yet, with millions of dollars on the line, any ginger chick would be suspect.

Ursula took a bite of her fried fish, savoring the rich, salty taste. She glanced at the TV, the news still dominated by the story about dragons attacking London. And by the time she was halfway through her meal, bloody Rufus was on the telly, trying to look sympathetic and aggrieved.

“I always knew she was barmy,” he said into a microphone. “If it hadn’t been for Madeleine…” He let his voice break, feigning emotion. “I might no longer be here.”

Ursula wanted to reach through the telly and smack him.

“Everything all right, miss?” asked the bartender.

“Everything’s great,” said Ursula. “Just finishing up.”

Grabbing a handful of chips, she hurried out the door into the evening air. Outside, sea air kissed her skin and pale moonlight washed the road in pearly light. At night, she wouldn’t have to worry quite so much about being recognized.

Keeping her hood pulled up, she began walking toward the sea. She licked her lips, tasting the faint hint of salt. As she walked along the cobbled sidewalk, the distant lapping of waves filled the air.

Ursula pulled out her phone again to text Zee. This time, she simply wrote, Anything?

The reply came a few moments later. Nope.

Worry tightened her stomach. What the hell happened to him? After she scoped out Avalon, she was heading back to help find him.

At last, at the end of a row of white cottages, St. Michael’s Mount came into view, and she sucked in a long breath. It towered over the water like a primordial god of rock and sea. Illuminated by spotlights, its peak glowed amber.

As she breathed in the fresh sea air, the hair on her arms stood on end. The air smelled faintly of shadow magic, and she glanced back down the road behind her, catching a glimpse of three figures. They walked with the unnerving grace of vampires, and the tall one in the center had the long, white-blond hair of Mordred.

Ursula turned, keeping her head down as she walked, skulking through the shadows. She stole a quick glance behind her. Not far behind, practically following in her footsteps, were the three vamps. She pulled her kaiken dagger from the sheath under her sweatshirt, and when she got to a narrow alley between cottages, she slipped into the shadows.

The vampires passed her without so much as a glance in her direction. A few houses down, the vampires cut to the right, moving out of sight. Ursula followed them, keeping to the shadows. When she got to where they had turned, she peered around the edge of the building. They’d taken a path that led down to the water. She couldn’t see them on the darkened beach, among the sea grass. Quietly, she snuck down, startling at the sound of an engine starting. As she moved along the sand in the dim light, she spotted a small boat motoring into the bay, heading straight for St. Michael’s Mount. Would they know how to get into Avalon, how to find the entrance?

Her heart racing, she ran down to the beach toward the calm sea, but it was at least a quarter mile to the island. Even if she swam, the vamps would be long gone by the time she reached to the rocky shore. Scowling, she turned back to the town. Her trip to the island would have to wait until morning.