Free Black London 05 - Soul Trade by authors_sort

cage couldn’t lead to anything good. Prometheus Club or not, why thefuck had Preston given it to her? How could he be sure she wouldn’t simply flip it back to the Prometheans to get on their good side?
    Not that she would. She didn’t like people who assumed she’d toe the line just because they put on a good show of force. Her da had taught her better than to knuckle down to bullies.
    And there was Jack to consider. Preston’s own words were on a repeat she couldn’tstop: If you must go, don’t take the crow-mage with you.
    But the Prometheus Club hadn’t given her a choice. Attend or die. It didn’t get more clear-cut than that.
    So she’d have to do what she always did when life in the Black threatened to eat her alive—she’d keep her eyes open and her instincts sharp, and whoever wanted to do Jack harm or use him for their own ends would have to go throughher.
    She put the soul cage back into her coat, deep in a zippered pocket, and let Jack pay the check. “Let’s go,” he sighed. “Maybe Manchester will seem a little more hospitable now that ’m pissed.”
    He leaned on her on the way out of the bar, and Pete let them walk in silence, enjoying the closeness and the warmth of his body. It lasted for half a block, until Pete heard echoing footsteps andfelt a prickle in the Black, one that wasn’t hard to decipher.
    “Someone’s following us,” she told Jack. “Keep walking, don’t look back, don’t act different.”
    He tensed, some of the muzziness disappearing from his expression. “Black’s going crazy,” he said. He gave a shiver, and Pete could only imagine what he was seeing.
    “I know,” she said as Jack gave a low grunt of pain, the assault on hissight making him shiver against the length of Pete’s body. “I know, but just keep walking when I let go of you. Get back to Wendy’s and I’ll meet you there.”
    “Why?” Jack demanded, balking. “What are you going to do?”
    Pete let go of him, taking advantage of his slowed reactions to shove him forward. She wheeled around. “I have no idea,” she said, mostly to herself.
    Jack, to his credit, didn’ttry to white-knight it. He just kept going, melting into the shadows quick as a black cat.
    Alone in the street, Pete was only half surprised to see the man and woman from the train station. The woman pointed a crimson-nailed finger at her. “Petunia Caldecott,” she said. “You’ve been avoiding us.”
    “I’m sorry, do I know you?” Pete said. She swiveled to the left and to the right. Alexandra Parkhad plenty of nooks and crannies for more assassins to hide in, but it appeared to be just the three of them.
    “Not yet,” said the woman, “but I know you. And I know what that ink stain on your hand means.”
    The geas flared, and the pain returned tenfold when the woman spoke. Pete forced herself to keep her expression neutral and not flinch. She was good at not flinching, no matter how much ithurt. The Prometheans looked far more ordinary than she would have expected, a bit posh, even. Magicians weren’t supposed to be posh. The ones with actual talent usually looked more like either vagrants or escapees from an old Dracula film. Even Nicholas Naughton, the necromancer whose help nearly wiped London off the map with Nergal, had looked like a slightly scruffy country gent, all turtlenecksweaters and scuffed boots.
    “I should have known you two were Prometheans, what with all the skulking and talking in circles,” Pete told her. “Is this the part where you threaten me with car batteries and pliers?”
    “Of course not!” The woman looked genuinely offended. “If you’d just alerted us you were reaching the gathering early, Miss Caldecott, we could have arranged rooms for you and Mr.Winter at our headquarters in the city center.”
    “Maybe I’m happy where I am.” Pete folded her arms. The woman gave her a smile that suggested the very idea was adorable.
    “Because a tip in Alexandra Park is your idea of