Page 6 of Soulbound
But Cleo stopped listening. Premonition itched under her skin. And this time it had sharp knives.
Danger, her senses whispered to her. Taking Jeremy by the sleeve, she slowed their pace. The Labyrinth was dangerous by itself—this wasn't the Order, where rules and laws were in place, and the Prime's Sicarii assassins would hunt down any who disobeyed those laws. The sorcerers and creatures that lived in this hidden world deep in the heart of London were already outcasts. Their only rule was: the strong survive.
Nobody looked at them suspiciously. Indeed, more attention seemed to be given to a man and a woman hurling abuse at each other several yards away, something about a cursed amulet not working....
A flash of red caught her eye between the amused onlookers. A woman strode toward them in a velvet walking dress, wearing a broad-brimmed hat with marvelous feathers.
Cleo slammed her back against the brickwork, her breath catching in her chest. Morgana. That was Morgana, her husband's mother, and the woman who'd threatened to kill her. Which could only mean the tall man walking beside Morgana was the demon. She hadn't caught too much of a glimpse of him.
"What is it?" Jeremy rasped. Every hint of color had drained from his face.
"Don't move." She looked away as Morgana gathered her skirts and strode around a puddle. The other woman hadn't seen them yet, but she was moving with surprising alacrity. They had to get out of here. "This way."
Shoving him in front of her, she pushed him into an alley. Premonition, don't fail me now. Cleo opened her divination instincts up to opportunity. Find me a way out.
Behind them, someone cried out. Cleo started running, grabbing a fistful of her skirts.
This way. Something tugged at her.
She turned down the next alley, and her skin started itching furiously. "Not this way!" Grabbing Jeremy's arm, she hauled him back the way they'd come.
Taking blind turn after blind turn, she relied solely upon her sense of premonition. It had never failed her before, and when they fetched up in front of a small walled garden in a very old section of the Labyrinth, she thought this might be the first.
There was a door ahead of them. Somewhere to hide perhaps, and her instincts were clearly leading her here. Cleo pushed it open, panting under her breath, and found herself in a garden. Snaking vines of ivy crawled up the building beside them, and she was almost certain a few of the strands turned their arrow-shaped leaves toward them as they stepped through into the courtyard. It felt like a hundred eyes watched her.
The garden looked disused. But it wasn't empty.
A man surveyed the statue, his hands clasped behind his back. Cleo froze, and Jeremy crashed into her. What on earth was the fellow wearing? It looked like something out of the Renaissance.
Slowly the man turned. Black curls tumbled over his face. A handsome man, though his neatly trimmed mustache made him appear slightly evil. "Ah, my queen. We meet at last," he said, in a deep baritone.
Cleo glanced behind her. He was definitely referring to her. "I'm afraid you've confused me with someone—"
"Have I?" He stepped down from the ledge around the fountain, looking around. "It's been a long time since I've walked these alleys. Nothing truly changes."
Cleo grabbed Jeremy by the sleeve, and tilted her chin toward the door. The man was mad. Time they got out of here. "We'll just leave you to your own thoughts then—"
"White Queen, your eyes so bright," the stranger almost breathed, "Glowing now you've lost your Sight."
White queen. A shiver of fright edged through her as she took a step in retreat. Was this one of the demon's men? There was no other way he could know that particular name. "What do you want?"
"I have a gift for you." He smiled at her knowingly, then turned and reached for a book that had been resting on the fountain ledge. "It might help with your studies."
Studies?
"Here, now," Jeremy stammered, stepping between them. "You keep that thing in your hands, and keep your hands where we can see them!" His aura began to glow as he drew power from the world around him—even from her—as if he prepared himself for some sorcerous working.
Oh, Jeremy. The boy wore one ring. Bravado was all well and good, but this wasn't the sort of place to confront a fellow.
Cleo drew the pistol she was carrying in her reticule. Bullets did little against a warded sorcerer, but these particular bullets were carved with runes that could slice right through any ward. "Stand aside, Jeremy."
He started at the crack of her voice.
"Stand aside," she repeated firmly, and when Jeremy shifted, she lifted the pistol and stared through the sights at the stranger. "You will tell me who you are, and what you mean by all this rubbish, and you will tell me now."
"My name is Quentin Farshaw."
"Impossible," she retorted. "Quentin Farshaw was one of the first seers in England."
