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Already the poison was spreading through my body, dizzying me. Quenching my magic. I gritted my teeth, mentally whispering my mantra.Be prepared to kill everyone you meet.Right about now, that wasn’t working out so well for me.
His pale eyes flashing with fury, he pulled the trigger again, but it only clicked dully. The gun was empty. A small mercy.
“Well.” He smiled wryly, walking toward me. “I guess I could always kill you the old-fashioned way.”
I crawled away from him, gripping my gut, trying to block out the searing agony. “I should have known it was you. A fascination with power. Obsession with fear. You worship chaos…” Shivers wracked my body as the blood seeped through my fingers. “I profiled you all along.”
“Mmm. Yet look where you are now, mongrel,” he growled, eyes gleaming.
“Yeah, well…” I looked down at my blood-stained fingers. “I like to know that I got things right.”
He kicked me in the stomach, right where he’d shot me. I gasped with pain, collapsing to my back, staring at the arched stone ceiling. Shadows writhed along the pillars, as if this place were cursed. And maybe it was—Smithfield, the vortex of slaughter. Moaning, I gritted my teeth.
The fae smiled, apparently enjoying my grimace of pain.
At the sight of his shit-eating grin, rage flared in me.Fight, Cassandra. Always fight.If only there were some way I could use my remaining magic… I grasped around me for metal, glass, anything.
“No one to save you anymore.” He knelt over me, running a fingertip down my chest. “No more tricks. No more magic. Just me and you. Do you know what I think I’d like to do? Break your ribs, one by one. I want to see the fear in your eyes. What do you think, profiler? Will I enjoy it?”
A line of blood trickled from my mouth. “I think you need a more pro-social hobby.”
He leaned over me, his pupils black as coal, completely devoid of feeling. “Ready to die, mongrel?” he asked, pressing his knee on the gunshot wound.
I screamed.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” His fingers wrapped around my throat.
As if in a dream, I stared into his eyes. So soulless, so empty, that I could see nothing in them but my own reflection.
FIVE DAYS EARLIER
Despite my Special Agent training, I nearly got myself killed three seconds after leaving Heathrow airport. I could handle snipers, knife attacks, poison, bombs—just not cars driving on the left side of the road.
But hey, in my defense, I was a bit preoccupied with the serial killercase I’d been called in to profile.
Anyway, three steps into the road, and it was all screeching brakes, honking, and the words “stupid twat” and “fuckwit” piercing the air.
And I’d been thinking everyone in England would be polite.
As the red-faced man continued his tirade (“Watch where you’re going, fucking dozy mare!”), I jumped back to the sidewalk, cheeks burning. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. I was in England now. The land of Shakespeare, Chaucer, and—as I was quickly learning—inventive swearing. They drove on thelefthere, something I should really keep in mind.
Having oriented myself, I decided that maybe navigating my way to a bus in a foreign city in the middle of the night was beyond my capabilities right now.
I mentally scanned through everything I’d digested in my tourist guide on the plane: trains, the Underground, black cabs. Perhaps best to just get one of those. Supposedly, the black cab drivers were required to memorize the entire city, street by street.
I turned, catching a glimpse of the yellowTaxisign by a long line of cabs. Pulling my suitcase behind me, I hurried across the crosswalk, back toward the terminal. As I hustled past the airport’s gleaming windows, I caught a glimpse of myself: pale skin, rumpled blond hair, wrinkled skirt, and coffee stains on my white sweater.
Apart from the gloriousness of my favorite black boots, I looked like shit.
I reached the line of black cabs, and a bearded man rolled down the window, leaning over. “Taxi?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said, relieved. “I need to get to the Bishopsgate police station.”
“No problem.” He smiled. “Hop in. I’ll get your bags.”
I let him put my carry-on in the trunk while I slid into the back seat.At least some of them are polite.
The driver got in, switched on the engine, and rolled into traffic. I relaxed into the soft leather seat.
