Sing for the Dead (London Undead) (4 page)

Safe enough to offer their given names. Nowadays, names could be shed as easily as clothing. This fae would need to know at least one, and more likely three, of the full given and surnames any of them had gone by for a significant portion of their lifetimes to bind any of them in a true naming. Funny the way names and numbers held such power over a person.

A sigh broke the momentary silence.

“This
is
a place of healing. It’s also a place of survival.” Maisie echoed the fae woman’s earlier accusation. Oy, she did have a fine way of clearing things up. “And we
are
here to help. The only violence offered is in equal measure to what you give.”

Silence. Again.

“Not many mortals have a gift for the truth.” After another hesitation, the woman sheathed her sword. “I am...anxious.”

And wasn’t that the closest to an apology he’d ever heard of a fae offering?

“From the looks of it, you have every right to be.” Maisie had stowed her handgun as well and bent to retrieve her crutches. Suddenly, she was just a wisp of a woman again.

It was a wonder Seth’s muzzle hadn’t gone grey dealing with such a mercurial mate.

And how in hell was Brian still working away through all of this without a single flinch?

“Your friend is in good hands. Brian has saved many lives, mine included.” Maisie’s voice had softened. “Why don’t we all step out into the hallway before we drive poor Brian to distraction?”

“Please do.” Brian didn’t even look up. “I’ve got a bit more work ahead of me before my patient is in the clear and the two of you are enough to drive a daft man sane.”

Her slender shoulders relaxed, but the fae woman’s face remained a cold mask. “You may call me Sorcha.”

Chapter Two

Kayden followed Sorcha up the stairs to the flats above the clinic. Aye, perhaps a wee close on her heels, but he derived a certain amusement from the way the lass got her back up when she found him inside her personal space.

“We’ll just have a look around while Seth stays downstairs and gathers himself. Maisie’ll have him calmed in a minute.” Kayden needed a moment too. He’d meant to head off the alpha before things escalated into an all-out fight, but he hadn’t anticipated the fierce protectiveness that’d pushed him to the edge of his own control. Two dominants going head to head wouldn’t have ended well, whether they were allies or not. Now, following Sorcha, ushering her to someplace with only her and him, his leopard began to calm. Clear of distraction, he wanted to know more about the fae woman. The urge to learn her scent, feel her skin under his hands, pushed at him.

“Why is this place important?” She took her time on the stairs, peering into the darkness above, every line of her shoulders and back taut with wariness.

The predator part of him approved of her caution.

“This building was attacked by zombies fairly recently.” Kayden watched her for a reaction. She didn’t look back at him or tense further. There was only a sense of stillness, as if she listened and waited. “The former landlord found a way to lure zombies to buildings. His way of getting rid of squatters and difficult tenants to make way for more lucrative clients—like foreigners here to hunt the zombies.”

She nodded, her tilting to one side and the other as she searched through the darkness above them. “Zombies are driven by hunger. They are mindless and slow. How would they be lured?”

Kayden liked her train of thought. He’d gnawed at the same questions when he’d first come back to the city. “Not by blood. None of the shape-shifters scented any sort of bait trail and there were plenty of things along the way to distract the corpses from their course. Still, they came right up here.”

“Past the animals in their kennels downstairs.”

He raised an eyebrow though she wasn’t looking at him. “Observant, aren’t ye lass?”

“It’s an animal clinic. I could hear the barks and calls from the kennels, though they do have good sound buffering in those back rooms.” Her words were dry, but he fancied he heard a hint of humor, there and then gone. “Even if instinct had silenced the kenneled dogs, at least some of the zombies should have wandered into the lower clinic area following the scent of living flesh.”

She didn’t say more, only climbed up the steps humming to herself.

Fair Folk were an odd lot. The stories his grandam told made them out to be either shy or downright reclusive. The former were harmless, the latter...perhaps not so much. White-haired, fiery-eyed Sorcha hadn’t been the least bit timid when he’d come upon her. Left him wondering just what sort of fae she might be.

Not a faery. He allowed himself a grin. The tiny winged folk might be fae, but they were only one kind amongst many. He imagined Sorcha might take offense at being mistaken for a wee bit of a thing with butterfly wings. His grandam’s stories described beings of any number of shapes and sizes with powers ranging across any element of the natural world.

The fae lass remained oblivious to his musing as she reached the landing on the second floor.

“No flats on this level.” He offered what information he knew from previous visits. “The space is taken up as offices for the clinic, walled off from this staircase.”

Silence. She studied him, her face as still as carved marble. Then her lids fell to half-mast, only partially hiding the gleam of amber in her pupil as her magic came to life.

Beneath the stringent odor of cleaners and fresh paint, the air freshened as if someone had opened up a window nearby. Only there were no windows in the stairwell. Fae magic.

He waited a step or two down off the landing. Figured it best to give her space to do her work. After a moment, her eyes flashed open. “Nothing on this level.”

“And what is it you’re looking for?” He kept his tone relaxed, but he’d stop her from causing mischief if necessary. Seth and Maisie, aye and Brian too, were still down below.

“Something out of place.” When he didn’t respond, she waved her hand in the air as if searching for words. “I am looking for a missing puzzle piece, but I do not know what shape it is. I need to know more about what is happening in this city.”

Fair enough. He’d wanted to know more when he’d come back to find London overrun with hungry corpses too. “I believe Maisie’s old flat was one more level up.”

“And that is where we are going?” A tiny wrinkle marred the pale cream of her forehead. Not sure when she’d choose to use her power again, Kayden gave her a bit more space as she continued across the next flight of stairs.

“It’s as good a place as any for a talk.” He grinned as she narrowed her eyes even as she moved away from him. Wary, but not running.

Whatever image she was trying to project, it wasn’t working. Maybe a human would see her as calm, cool, all business. But no, her scent filled the air with a spicy edge, sharp and fierce. She searched every shadow, nook and cranny as tensed as a cat ready to pounce. If there was anything to find, she’d be on it faster than he could blink.

Interesting, interesting woman.

A hallway extended from the landing of the third floor. The renovations had ended with the stairwell, apparently, because a good portion of the walls and floors were in ruin. Dirt lay in piles all along their path to the first doorway, remnants of dead zombies.

“This is ankle-deep.” Sorcha scuffed her foot until the floorboards were revealed.

“Aye and I’m certain everyone in this building is glad they turn to compost after you take out their brain. Otherwise, this would have been hell to clean up.” He wrinkled his nose. He didn’t fancy breathing in the dirt, harmless or not.

“Most I’ve seen take a few hours to disintegrate at least. It’s not instantaneous like staked vampires. There must have been dozens of zombies crowded into this hallway. Why were they here?”

The suspicion in her voice was impossible to miss.

“Well, and that’s part of why it’d be good to have a talk considering you’ve proved handy with those blades of yours. As you might have noticed, we’ve a bit of a zombie problem in the city.”

* * *

Sorcha stared hard at the man. He gave her a slow, lazy grin. Fighting not to let the corners of her own mouth turn up in response, she crouched down and took up a pinch of the stuff. “It’s not powder or ashes either. It’s a bit more like fine silt. If it is returned to the land, I wonder if it would help soil or hurt it.”

A question for another day. Perhaps the brownie, with an affinity for hearth and home, could tell her. While the parks remained overrun and tainted, she’d not seen or sensed any of the smaller faery folk who had an affinity for plants and growing things.

“Maisie’s flat is at the end of the hallway. I’m told a lot of the burning and damage here was her doing.”

Sorcha turned her face up to him and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s my understanding she did a lot of damage.” He grinned. “And she was human when she did it, too.”

“Werewolf or human, I imagine there is more to her than most would give her credit for on first meeting.” Sorcha rose and brushed her hand off on her pants leg. “It is good she has survived.”

Kayden opened his mouth to comment, but Sorcha halted, fingers raised to her lips. Something was there that shouldn’t be. A flicker of magic, calling out. She stepped across the hall and placed her hand flat on the wall, then began walking farther toward the end.

Yes, summoning. Not of her, no. But it resonated inside her chest, like calling to like. Why? She did not know yet. But she would find out.

Coming to a stop just inside Maisie’s door, Sorcha drew the knife from her shoulder harness and used the edge to scrape at the wall. “Well placed. This spot is likely hidden in shadows at any time of day.”

The wall crumbled to reveal a small hole, barley large enough for a man to squeeze his hand inside. Sorcha reached in, her slender arm fitting and allowing her to search inside the wall.

“Ah.” She breathed out the word. When she withdrew her arm, she held a bit of cloth sewn together at the edges to make a crude pillow.

“And what is that?” He peered at the dusty thing.

Sorcha handed it over and began brushing the plaster dust from her arm and hand. “A faery charm, I think you’d call it. What it actually is doesn’t matter so much as the power placed in the object. This was the lure, placed to call the walking dead to the building. Once they got here, they must have targeted the nearest living beings.”

“A fae made this?” Kayden sniffed it and sneezed.

She didn’t blame him. It smelled of old sweat, must and mildew. Based on the rough stitches and ragged edges, maybe the landlord himself had sewn the thing together. “The fae behind this is strong. It is a difficult thing to summon so many of any being with just a charm. The stronger fae do not trouble themselves with the making of bits of hearth craft like this. No, the human servant would have fashioned the lures first and the fae would have poured a drop of power into each of them.”

Kayden tossed it up and caught it again. “This is something we’ll be wanting to share with Seth, then.”

“Why?” She wanted to snatch it out of his hand.

His gaze locked on hers and despite his easygoing nature, the force of his will slammed into her own. “This is an important puzzle piece to what’s going on here. The London pack should be informed.” His voice softened. “It is your find, and you’ll have it back. My word on it. But we are allies here in a common goal, I think.”

Perhaps. At the very least, she did owe him a debt for his aid earlier in the evening. “I will cooperate for the time being. However, my main interest is in the fae behind that charm and not the human servant, this landlord.”

“You can use the charm to track this mystery fae?” Only a question because of his tone. Still, it demanded an answer.

Her temper sparked.

“Yes.” A hunt would begin. Not the Wild Hunt nor anything like the glory of legend when the fae rode out across the skies in relentless pursuit of their quarry. But a solo mission all her own gave her almost as much satisfaction. She hungered for the kill at the end of the trail.

Kayden studied her, still in the way only another predator could stand. “Just what kind of fae folk are you?”

Sorcha hesitated in giving him the answer. But the answer to his question was the part of herself she should be proud of, the part she cherished. “I am half Baen Sidhe. Humans nowadays call us ‘banshees.’”

Eyebrows lifted. “I’d not have thought it. The old stories paint the Baen Sidhe as harmless—bringers of bad tidings, but not the cause of death. You did a fair bit of fighting earlier tonight, and mind you, I’ve not seen many take out so many zombies on their own. I’ve been wondering if you have any guns squirreled away somewhere.”

“I prefer to deal my damage more directly.” Oh and she wished she could call the words back the moment she’d snapped them out. How could she be so careless as to let the admission slip? She shouldn’t be so ready to share how much she enjoyed what she did.

And that was her shame, wasn’t it? Violence sang through her blood—the mortal part of her heritage surging to the fore at the mere memory of the earlier fight. More. She needed more.

Kayden watched her, still and yet poised on the balls of his feet. “The Baen Sidhe are peaceful fae.”

At any moment, he’d be moving and she’d be countering the motion. She craved the action, the potential.

“Yes.” She grit her teeth, struggled to focus on choosing her words with care. “We watch over the old families, Sing for those who will be lost. The Sight comes to us and we know their fate. It is not within our power to change it, only give warning. Sometimes, we Sing the pain away so the dying find peace sooner. It is our gift.”

A step closer, another, until he was close enough to heat the air whispering across her skin. “And does your Sight show you many more deaths here, in London? Do you feel like Singing?”

“There are so many.” Her whisper came out harsh, bitter. London had become a killing zone and the deaths crowded her vision until she had to stare into his eyes to find an anchor. “And the Song won’t come for those who walk after death.”

“Why?”

“Their peace was stolen from them, taken beyond my power to Sing them to their rest. Zombies have no soul.” Beyond the horror of what they were was the sadness of what they’d lost. Her mother would have shed tears for them.

His eyes shown golden; what did he see when he stared at her?

“You don’t want to bring peace though. Not now.” He drew in a long breath through his nose, let it out his mouth. “Anger, rage, your scent is hot with need.”

Her heart thumped hard, things tightened low in her abdomen. “Yes.”

His hand rose, hovered for a moment a millimeter from her cheek, then lowered to her shoulder. He barely brushed her shoulder yet her skin burned where he’d touched her.

“When I found you earlier tonight, a dozen zombies littered that park.” He bent close, his words tickling her ear. “No peaceful fae sliced them to pieces.”

No. Red crept along the edge of her vision—the color of her madness.

“I need to go.” It came out harsh, guttural.

Kayden stilled, his hand hovering at her elbow. “Where?”

Where she wouldn’t be a danger to those around her. “Back to the gardens.”

“There’s no peace there.” He watched her, his gaze burning into her.

She wanted to grab his shirt, rip it to shreds. Her fingers curled into talons in response. “There is something else I need.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No.” Oh, but he was strong. She hadn’t seen him fight yet, but she knew. Shape-shifters were a magnificent breed, physically hardier than the fae who could take animal form. Kayden’s energy beat against her skin until she could scarce stand the heat of it, and the idea of pitting her strength against his?

Yes, oh yes.

“What do you want?” His voice had deepened; the timbre of it sent shivers down her spine.