Chapter Twenty-Three

There was no natural light a quarter mile beneath London. One of the fluorescent panel lights flickered where one bulb had long ago burned out and the other threatened to go any time. No maintenance team was allowed into this area. Only Gerard, the monarch, and the Lanzo brothers had access. Ky cared little if the place caved in and became inaccessible, and suspected his brothers felt the same. Gerard might clean obsessively, but if a lock broke or a toilet clogged, it might be six or seven months before he tried to fix it. “Tried” being the operative word, since he sucked at small repair tasks. He viewed maintenance to be too many levels below his pay grade.

Ky scrutinized the depository, the room where they stored the dangerous magical items acquired off maniacal magical creatures over the years while in the Crown’s service. The ones in the locked cases were the ones in need of transport, many of which hadn’t seen daylight in decades. The various jars of random body parts or benign trinkets cluttering the tables and a few shelving units didn’t matter. He could see blank spots from Flynn’s extraction of items.

They’d decided having the collection in plain sight with only him to protect the items during transport was a smaller risk than leaving them in here where someone could pilfer one dangerous relic at a time. More so now with Slate against them.

This was Roman’s attempt at distraction. He fully understood Roman wanted him far away from the temptation of Vivi. He couldn’t be there when she elected to either erase herself or die. Deep inside, he would be unable to allow her to do either. The choice had to be hers, and it had to be out of his hands.

He unzipped the black duffel bag, then donned leather work gloves to load items into the bag. Skin to skin with any of these objects was suicidal. Chills zipped down his spine as he wrapped a protective towel around a glass vial. If this broke to release the oil inside, he’d feel the dragon fire scourge. It blasted the ultimate punishment from dark necromancy, which removed the ability to feel pleasure, like someone ripping out a person’s heart and soul. Yet it also accelerated the drive to seek out gratification. In essence, it created a monster ever-hungry for indulgence, hedonism, and decadence, but who never experienced the relief of fulfillment. Any people he touched would also become infected by the scourge.

He repeated the towel wrapping with a second tiny vial of neon purple fluid. The beauty of the fluid was deceiving. The witch who designed the plague formulated it to efficiently wipe out humanity by turning them into ghouls. Nasty stuff.

Once done, he clicked on the miniature holographic projector Flynn designed to buy them time before questions were asked. It created the illusion all the items were still there.

Next, he examined the weapons wall. Hundreds of armaments from various eras hung here, all of them serviceable. He selected three guns and made sure they were loaded with an active in the chamber. He pocketed two boxes of rounds in his tactical pants and loaded a few more into the bag. From the side table, he removed his last St. Michael pendant, one he’d picked up in Rome decades ago. An antique, at least two or three centuries old, it’d been blessed by the pope and melded from the metal of a medieval knight’s sword.

At this point, he needed any form of help. Because his neck tingled.

Whenever that occurred, it was followed by something bad happening to him.

He kissed St. Michael and believed God heard as he whispered, “I could use you on my side for this. A bit of an assist would be greatly appreciated. The world can’t have any of these on the loose. The Curmsun Disc is enough of a disaster.”

How he wished this would be the last time he saw the inside of this room, but he’d be back. So long as the curse band wrapped his wrist, he was chained to these humans.

Duffel bag over a shoulder, he rounded the corner and came face-to-face with Gerard.

“You look terrible,” their handler said.

“Starvation and torture make a crap workout program. It’s what you sent me in to do. How about you tell me how come it was important I go alone and get caught?” Ky tilted his head, eyebrows trekking upward. “Was it Slate who made you order I surrender and go in? To do it alone without backup?” He felt himself shift to his feral form as anger shuttled adrenaline through him. Muscles expanded, nails sharpened, teeth grew longer and sharper. He became taller and broader as his body readied for battle. Details of his environment came into sharp focus such that he could hear the whoosh of Gerard’s blood through his heart and see each bead of sweat the second it formed along his brow.

Gerard took a step back. Even though he knew himself safe from pain or death, since the Crown had ordered that so, no human could avoid their gut instinct to run.

“What do you have there?” Gerard, now recovered and more confident despite Ky’s shift, pointed at the bag.

“Weapons.” In a sense.

Gerard stared at the bag and backed up. “Planning for World War III?”

“Are you working for Slate? Did you coordinate to send me in to act as a stud horse so you could sell the brainwashed lycans to the highest bidder?” God, he hated repeating himself.

No answer.

Ky slammed a hand into the wall, leaving a dent in the drywall. “Was it for money or power?”

Gerard swallowed hard. “Where are you going with that many weapons? Tell me. That’s an order.”

An order. A direct order from a representative of the monarch.

“I seek to protect the world and all its inhabitants.” Ky stepped back, his hands shaking, and despite his best efforts they wouldn’t stop. That was the truth. Maybe not the full truth, but he hadn’t lied. He wouldn’t tell what was in the bag. This was imperative.

Ky felt the truth bubbling up. He bit his tongue to stop himself from speaking. Will not speak of the relics. Blood filled his mouth. The force behind the compulsion to follow orders dove into his brain. Pain overrode everything.

The voice of the witch, the one who cast the original spell came back to him, soft and commanding: By this blood you are bound to the monarch of England…to serve for all the days you live.

He screamed to drown out the words, not even realizing he vocalized. Even if it left him in ruins, he would never betray his brothers. He wouldn’t betray the world. The items in the bag had to get to safety. This was worth death. “I am a protector. May God drive my moral compass.” He gripped the pendant of the saint tightly and uttered a Hail Mary prayer. “Help me be strong, Michael.”

He remembered every time he’d given in to this human’s orders and obeyed even when he questioned the orders. Never again would he do that which he didn’t agree with for humans who sought to enslave his kind and make them do despicable things against their will. Like forcing Vivi, who abhorred violence, to become a killer.

“Jesus Christ, Ky. I believe you’re a protector or whatever.” Gerard was next to him. Not touching him, but worry etched into his face. “I needed to know whose team you played for.”

Ky found himself sitting on the floor, hugging the bag with no memory of how he’d fallen to this position. He swallowed the blood in his mouth.

He said, “I serve the monarch. That hasn’t changed.”

Slowly, he got to his feet.

Gerard tried to help him up, but Ky shook him off with more force than intended. Gerard stumbled to catch his footing.

“Seriously, Ky. I’m not questioning you.”

“You just did, asshole. You still do.” He stepped back to increase the space between them. “Let’s not pretend you trust us or care about our well-being.”

“That’s not true. I do care about you three. Did you kill the girl?” Gerard asked.

“Are you asking because you want her dead?” he countered, kicking himself for potentially pushing him to give an order to kill her. Which he wouldn’t follow. Her name is Vivi. She’s a person. A beautiful creature who doesn’t deserve what’s going to happen to her.

“I don’t know her,” Gerard said. “If she’s a threat, then you guys deal with her. If you haven’t already.”

“She’s been handled; she was a threat, but no longer.” He rocked back and glared. “You knew what went on in those facilities before you ordered I go in to find out, didn’t you? You knew today she’s a product of whatever mind manipulation they’re experimenting with.”

Gerard wouldn’t make direct eye contact. He wished he could force this human to tell him the truth with voice coercion, but it didn’t work on him, since Ky and his brothers had to do his bidding.

How would they handle their curse, their job against terrorists, if they didn’t trust their handler? This was the person who passed down marching orders from the monarch, orders that most of the time didn’t come directly from the Crown, but from Gerard, acting on the Crown’s behalf. The monarch didn’t give two shits about the minutiae of paranormal creatures threatening humans around the globe. But they couldn’t question every single order. There had to be trust for this to work.

They needed out of the curse. Never had it become more imperative that they not be beholden to humans. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to work for God, on the other hand, but at least the deity might have more interest than the king in feedback from them regarding their directives.

Ky smoothed out his voice to eliminate emotion. “If you’re wrapped up in this with Slate, then that’s going to be a problem. Remember, our curse binds us to the Crown. The king calls the shots, not you. You’re a peon who passes orders from the Crown to us. You’ve grown overconfident in that you see yourself as an equal to the Crown when you’re not. If you’re involved in this scheme to manipulate, murder, and breed lycans in order to hurt and control people across the world, that makes you an enemy, a terrorist of far greater threat than many you’ve sent us to eliminate. If we confirm this, we will speak with the king to determine if you’ve become a problem we need to hunt down, along with all others involved in those facilities.”

Gerard paled. “I’m…I’m not involved.”

Ky squinted and worked his jaw back and forth. “Pick sides carefully in this war. It’s about to get messy. You of all people know when faced with a threat this large, we can recruit help from otherworldly resources, even gods and angels. We don’t stop fighting until we win. Losing isn’t in our DNA.” He picked up the duffel bag.

“There’s a witch in Namibia I need all three of you to go take care of.”

“Now?” Ky glared skepticism. “What about the confirmation from Slate that multiple programmed lycans and other paranormal creatures are out there? That doesn’t sound to you like a more worldwide threat?”

“Namibia is first. There are reports of mysterious deaths. Sounds like she’s taken over a church.”

“A lone witch in Namibia terrorizing a few people? How about if you go deal with that? You’ve been doing this shit as long as we have. Maybe it’s time for you to pitch in. Ever thought of that?”

“That’s not my job. I’ll email exact details. Deal with the witch in the next few days. Report in daily.” Gerard liked to yank their leash like an insecure jerk.

Ky despised it. He was done with that game. This also sounded like busy work to keep them distracted.

He stiffened but didn’t turn around as he ground his teeth, fighting not to blurt out a fuck you. The curse burned up his arm, warning of another heavy punishment if he didn’t comply. “I will fulfill the mission you gave us that involves Namibia. Then we’ll go after the facilities and everyone involved. If you’re a part of it, then you’re next. There’s nowhere on the planet you can hide from us. I guarantee if they’re messing with other species, they will unite with us in the war, bringing powers to the table that no human can counter.”

Gerard wiped sweat off his upper lip.

“Think on it hard,” Ky said. “If you’re with Slate, then run. Run hard and fast and disappear. If you’re with us, after Namibia we expect a full report of every fucking thing you know about the facilities.”