Thorne’s gaze focused on their hands when he answered. “The very one. But we are not at odds here.” His jaw clenched. “Someone has killed our own.”
Mary let her hand fall away from Talent’s. “The shifters?”
“No. The demons.” Thorne’s gaze moved from Mary to Talent. “They were slaughtered first, were they not? Or has the SOS chosen to forget about them?”
Talent hadn’t spoken in so long that his sharp reply made Mary’s skin twitch. “The SOS forgets little,” he said. “Nor do I.”
“What do you propose, Mr. Thorne?” Mary asked.
“It does not matter,” said Talent, his ire gathering like a storm. “We have nothing to say to the Nex.”
“Call me Will, Miss Chase,” Thorne offered as though Talent hadn’t spoken. “And I merely suggest a mutual exchange of information.”
“No.” Talent was more emphatic now. He grabbed Mary’s elbow as if to pull her away. “We do not work with the Nex.” When Mary hesitated, he turned his wrath on her, leaning down so that they were nose to nose. “Ever.”
It was in her to protest and raise a holy ruckus against his high-handedness. Save for one thing—he was in the right. It was an implacable SOS rule. Wrenching her gaze away from Talent’s, she addressed Thorne, not missing that he’d followed their exchange with ill-concealed delight. “My partner is correct, Mr. Thorne. We do not negotiate with the Nex.”
Thorne did not appear crestfallen. He merely smiled and tipped his hat to her. “Should you change your mind, I will find you.”
Chapter Seven
Talent insisted on walking Mary back home. Unnecessary, but the stubborn man would not be dissuaded. And so they traversed the lonely streets in a strained silence.
“You and Mr. Thorne appeared quite familiar with one another,” Mary said after a time.
“I don’t care to discuss Thorne.”
What a shock. Mary decided to refrain from speaking at all.
The sound of their footsteps echoed off the cobbles and the brick buildings leaning in on them. A vortex of yellow-green fog obscured their surroundings, and the hissing gas lamps did little more than brighten the fog and make it appear thicker. Talent’s gaze roamed and remained vigilant. Mary knew his eyesight was better than hers, but the fog was hindering him too, for he edged closer to her side and tensed as if preparing to spring into action.
“Something smells off,” he murmured.
“Could you be more specific, Mr. Talent? Everything smells off in London.”
He glanced at her, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Don’t be daft, Mistress Chase.” Reminding her yet again that she ought to be calling him Master. “There are familiar foul scents, and there are odd ones.”
“Well then, let us say that my sense of smell is not as developed as yours. Fortunately.” He snorted wryly, and she went on. “What is it that you smell?”
His nose lifted slightly, and his mouth opened to the night. “Don’t precisely know. It smells a bit like oil. Not lamp oil, but the sort you scent down by the factories. Sharp, sulfuric.”
His description tickled the edges of her memory, but she couldn’t catch a hold of the proper recollection. They were silent. Both of them searching the night. Click, click went Mary’s heels. Her breath sounded over-loud in her ears. And then she realized. There were no other sounds. No city sounds, no scurrying of little rodent feet.
Convulsively, she clutched Talent’s arm. “Oil.” A discordant grating sounded in the night.
Talent stopped short. “What the bleeding hell?” Around them shadows darkened, becoming thicker, taking on shapes.
Mary backed up, and her shoulder met his. “It can’t be…” But she rather feared it might. “Shadow crawlers,” Mary whispered, her hand slipping underneath her cloak to her hip, where her weapons belt lay. She grabbed the small bullwhip.
“What?” Talent glanced wildly around. He could see the shadows, that was certain. He just didn’t know what they were.
The grinding of gears, a hiss of steam, and a clank, clank, clank rang out.
Bother. “Mechanical men.” She braced her feet as the shadows surrounded them. “They live in the shadows and draw power from them. I’ve never seen one, but have heard stories. They’re called Adam’s first experiment. A nightmare version of the GIM.”
“Hell.”
Precisely. And then they appeared. Two lurching, hulking men making their way down the street. Vile experiments, partially flesh, mostly metal. Red eyes gleamed in the dark as one of them advanced, a blackened thing oozing oil, with steam billowing from the open iron rib cage in which its black heart pumped. The other crawler was more gold than flesh and appeared vaguely familiar.
“Piss and shit,” Talent uttered with wide eyes.
“Be creative in your shifting, Master Talent!”
Mary leapt back as one lunged, and then let her whip fly. It snapped around the thing’s massive iron leg, and she pulled hard. Gods, but it was heavy. The crawler wobbled. A hard kick to its chest had it toppling. It crashed to the ground. But before she could free herself, it caught hold of the whip and tugged. Mary went flying into it, stopped only by a metal fist smashing into her face. White spots exploded before her eyes as her cheekbone cracked and blood poured into her mouth.
Dimly she heard a roar of fury and saw the blur of Talent launching into the golden crawler. His claws swiped, and sparks flew as he connected with raw metal. But then another hard tug dragged her roughly over the cobbles. The whip had become tangled about her wrist, and the crawler was hauling her back to him. Hands shaking from pain, she got her knife out, sliced through the whip, and fell back. A second later, fire burst hot and bright from the crawler’s mouth. Mary flung her arm up against the blistering heat, but something fell upon her, trapping her against a brick wall. Through a haze, Jack Talent’s eyes, gleaming in fury, stared down at her as flames roared behind him.
He hissed, and she saw them—thick, leathery wings of onyx arched over his head, forming a barrier between them and the crawler’s fire. Before she could say a word, the fire died, and he reared around, his fist smashing into a crawler’s jaw. It barely made an impact, and the crawler lunged forward, punching a hole through one of the strange wings that had sprouted from Talent’s back.
Talent snarled. With whippet-fast speed, he caught hold of the crawler’s arm and simply ripped it off. Metal gears and springs pinged to the ground, and fresh, hot oil splattered. It did little good. The crawlers advanced, pinning her and Talent against the wall.
Another blast of fire hit, leaving Talent barely enough time to cover Mary with his enormous wings. But it wasn’t enough to protect her from the heat and pain of fire nipping through the hole in his wing. She ground her teeth against it as she clutched Talent’s massive shoulders.
Above her he panted, sweat dripping down from his temples.
“Talent.” Blood bubbled through her lips, and agony burst through her shattered cheek. He winced as he looked over her face. With effort she kept speaking. “When I fade, rip out the hearts.” The crawlers would guard them with their lives, but if Mary was successful, they wouldn’t have a chance to. “Watch their eyes. Attack when they dim.”
Talent’s brows snapped together. “Fade?” His voice was a rasp of pain, and he appeared on the cusp of protesting.
They didn’t have time to waste. Surprising herself, she touched his cheek. The contact made them both flinch.
“Do it,” she said. Then left her body.
It was fast. And more forceful than she’d ever attempted. Mary’s spirit shot straight through Talent, and she felt the warm glow of his soul and his lurch of shock as she passed. Then she slammed straight into the golden crawler. Its body was a dense mass of misery, the soul trapped within screaming for release. Pity made her heavy. The crawler fought as she wrapped herself around it and tugged the soul free. Out of the body they went, Mary and the pitiful soul of the crawler.
Below her, Talent whirled about and tore straight into the now-empty shell of the crawler’s body. Teeth bared on a snarl, Talent yanked out the clockwork heart, and the body toppled.
As soon as the body fell, the soul in Mary’s arms eased and stretched up toward the night. Like a shooting star, it trailed across the sky then disappeared.
Bloody, buggering hell. Jack’s teeth ground as the remaining crawler leapt upon his back and its iron fingers tore through his flesh. He smashed a fist into the crawler’s gut but hit a gate of metal ribs for his efforts. Bad hit. Learn from your mistakes, mate. Nearly all of the crawler’s body was metal, a thick shell that withstood Jack’s blows. Over the grinding of gears and the whistle of steam came the ominous whoosh of fires being stoked within the thing’s lungs, and Jack braced for another blast. The massive wings on his back, the ones that had popped out as if by instinct, throbbed in pain, but they could apparently withstand fire. But if the dull ache coming from them meant anything, there was a limit to their strength. And unfortunately the crawler had him by the shoulder, leaving him no way to turn. The fire was going to come at him full on.
Shit and piss, this was going to hurt.
But then a shroud of blessed cold surrounded him, then passed through him. Chase. He’d felt her slide through him before, a second after her eyes went dim and her body fell limp. If he lived a hundred years more, he’d never grow accustomed to the sight of her simply vacating. It unnerved him to the core. But now, when the crawler’s red eyes suddenly went black and its body slackened, he might have kissed Chase in gratitude. Somehow she’d drawn the crawler’s soul out, leaving Jack free to make the kill.
He didn’t waste time. Skin ripped from his knuckles as he punched past the metal rib cage and grasped the clockwork heart. Hot oil and solid iron filled his palm before he tore the device free. The crawler didn’t even flinch as it crashed to the ground with earthshaking force.