Nightborn

Once she had sated herself on shopping at Harrods and gorged on the best of the city’s fish and chips, he would take her north to Lancashire. They could spend a week soaking up the sea and sun at Blackpool. He could even take her back to his family’s lands, which now belonged to the crown as part of Bowland Fells, and show her the moors he had so loved as a boy.



As Korvel went to the window to look down at the deserted streets, he realized how long it had been since he had seen the place of his childhood. He had never gone back, not once since Richard had offered him sanctuary, but with Simone at his side it would be different.



His eyes drifted down to the storybook she had said belonged to her, an artifact from her childhood. She had never said why her father had come to Marseilles, or why she had been left alone in such a dreadful place for a child. Korvel had confided to her the most painful and intimate details of his mortal life. Not even Richard knew all of it. Yet Simone had told him almost nothing about herself.



Korvel glanced over at the bedroom, and then the digital clock in the kitchen. Twenty minutes had passed—too long for a single phone call.



“Simone?”



When she didn’t reply he went into the bedroom to find it empty, and followed her scent to the open window. Seeing the fresh boot marks in the soil below made his hand clench on the marble sill until the stone cracked in half.



He vaulted through the window and dropped to the ground. The dampness of the frigid air had preserved the scent of her passage, and when he followed it to the front of the town house he found it veered away from the car still sitting in the lot across the street. Wherever she had arranged to meet her contact, she had gone there on foot.



Few mortals understood how the Kyn had become such effective trackers. Unlike humans, with their limited senses, the Kyn could detect even the faintest trace of scent left behind by a living creature. The more moisture the air contained, the greater the concentration of scent it absorbed from anything that passed through it. Simone may have intended to elude him, but here in this city by the sea she had left behind what amounted to a virtual map to her location.



Korvel sensed the first man following him a mile from the town house, and confirmed the existence of his shadow when he diverted into a small park and doubled back. As he came up behind the mortal man following him, he noted the dark clothing as well as the weapons concealed under it. He took cover as a second man converged on the first, and they spoke briefly in hushed voices.



“Where is he?”



“He made you before you entered the park.” The second man nodded in Korvel’s general direction. “I think he went that way.”



“Monsieur?”



Korvel turned around to see a gendarme standing just behind him. “Officer.” He glanced at the younger man’s utility belt. “May I borrow your nightstick?”



“No, you may not.” As Korvel moved closer, the gendarme’s stern features relaxed, and he hefted the baton, waving it with enthusiasm. “You wish me to bash someone over the head for you, monsieur?”



“I thank you, no.” Korvel gently took the nightstick from him. “You should forget about this and return to your rounds, Officer.”



As soon as the smiling gendarme wandered off, Korvel tucked the baton in his sleeve and emerged from behind the tree, pretending to fasten the front of his trousers before he walked with a casual gait toward the two men.



One began to hurry away, at which point Korvel took out the baton and hurled it. It made a loud thunk as it connected with the back of the other man’s head, and he sank to the ground.



His companion’s eyes went wide before he turned and broke into a flat run for the nearest building. He crossed ten yards before Korvel seized his collar and lifted him off the ground, tossing him to land atop his unconscious friend.



Korvel heard the snap of a bone but not the usual accompanying howl. When he moved to stand over the two men, the one who was still conscious flipped over and tried to crawl away.



“Be still.” When the man didn’t obey him, Korvel grabbed the ankle of his functioning leg and dragged him back, taking hold of his head by the hair and jerking it back. Once he removed the clear pronged nose plug from the man’s nostrils, the resistance ceased. “Why were you following me?”



“You were with her at the house.” The man grinned. “He said to kill you if you came after her.”



“Who said this?”



“The guild master.” The man’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he went limp.



A search of both men’s garments produced only pistols fitted with silencers; neither of the assassins carried any form of identification or any clue as to who had sent them. Attempting to rouse either of them for further interrogation would cost too much precious time.



He had to find Simone, now.



Korvel used the men’s belts to bind them to a street sign before he returned to the block where he had last detected Simone’s scent. It led him out of the residential area and into the narrow streets of an industrial section, where prefabricated buildings sat quietly rusting, their windows boarded up or broken. Here and there he saw the faded and battered signs of cargo handlers, importers, and storage facilities, but from the lack of lighting and activity he guessed it had been years since any of them had been in business.



Simone’s scent ended in front of the unmarked bay of an enormous warehouse. Korvel didn’t detect any light or sound coming from within, but he could smell a large group of mortals—at least twenty. He walked around to the side door of the building, which stood ajar. Through the gap he saw the outlines of crates and shelving filled with plastic-wrapped pallets of goods.



He avoided the door, going to the service ladder at the back of the building to climb to the roof. A clouded skylight afford him a better view of the interior, and when he lifted one of the fiberglass panels out, he spotted a man standing just inside the side door. The mortal held daggers in both hands and appeared poised to attack anyone who came through the door.



Korvel jumped down through the skylight, landing lightly behind the man, whom he knocked out with a blow to the back of the head. As he stepped back, he heard the clink of metal and a rushing sound, and looked up to see a wide net falling atop him. He lunged, but not soon enough to avoid the heavy net. As he struggled to free himself, his skin began to burn wherever the net touched him.



“Bring him to me,” an amused voice said, the words echoing in the stillness.



Two more men came, one kicking Korvel off his feet before they both gathered up the ends of the net and dragged him across the concrete floor. Overhead lights flickered on, and more mortals came into sight. Only when Korvel saw Simone’s pale, taut features and the gun being held to her head did he stop clawing at the net.



“Have they hurt you?” Korvel demanded. When she shook her head, he scanned the faces around her. “You have me now. Let the girl go.”



An older man approached the net. “Why do you think we want you, vampire?”



Chapter 13



N



ick eyed a bunch of mixed-race kids hanging out in front of one of the countless anonymous concrete apartment buildings they had passed since leaving the motorway. “What do they call this part of Marseilles? Les projects?”“This is Noailles,” Gabriel said. “The banlieues here were built to accommodate those who fled Algeria after the war.” He glanced at her. “I thought you had seen all of my country.”



“Nothing ever brought me this far south.” She thought for a moment. “Well, not counting that time I did the Riviera.”



He frowned. “What did you do to the Riviera?”



“Nothing. It’s still there.” She avoided talking about the years she had spent stealing back Kyn treasures from France’s wealthiest collectors, many of whom had lived in the disgustingly celebrity- and McMansion-riddled Cap Ferrat and other private gold-pot communities along the Riviera. “Once we reach this safe house and unload, I’d like to hit the street.” She watched a string of soccer flags flutter as the wind swept in from the harbor, and felt a funny pang in her chest. “He’s here.”



“The thief?”



“No, Korvel.” She rolled down the window, breathing in the air, but smelled only car exhaust and fish. “Where is this safe house, anyway?”



“A few miles to the south.” Gabriel gestured ahead toward a white church standing atop a hill.



Nick’s radar told her they were heading in the right direction, but without a scent to track she couldn’t assume the Kyn whose presence she felt was Korvel. “Are there any other fangsters living here?”



“Richard ordered all Kyn to leave France months ago,” he said. “There is always the possibility someone has defied him or gone rogue, but it is unlikely.”



“Okay.” She settled against the seat, forcing back the anxiety that always accompanied the triggering of her talent. “We should split up. I’ll go after Korvel, and you can chase down the vampire king’s priceless scroll.”



“We track together, Nicola.”



He sounded hurt, and he probably was, but for once she didn’t feel like catering to their bond. “I know you have to follow Richard’s orders and go after the scroll. Fortunately, I don’t. We can cover more ground this way.”



Gabriel didn’t say anything else until they reached the safe house. “Nicola, please wait,” he said as she reached for the door handle. “You have not been yourself since we searched the château.”



She closed her eyes. “Can we not talk about that and just say we did?”



“Helada is not the cruel, conniving wife of a completely clueless king,” he said, deliberately using one of her many sarcastic references for Elizabeth Tremayne. “That girl in the video is not you.”



He knew her better than anyone, and for a moment she hated him for it. “Baby, everything is not about me and that sadistic fucking evil bitch. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m still here; she’s not, end of story.”