Page 9 of Fortune's Ashes
I stared at her. For one long, unusual moment words failed me. Buffy continued to grin. ‘Buffy,’ I said finally, ‘this isn’t a lonely-hearts column, and I’m the last person who should be doling out advice on anything to do with love.’
She frowned prettily and wagged her finger. ‘Romance,’ she said. ‘Not love. Not yet anyway.’ She fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Please? I can hardly speak to Lady Sullivan about this sort of thing, and I don’t have many friends who can help.’
‘I can’t begin to imagine why,’ I said sarcastically.
She pasted on a doleful expression but I didn’t care; I was beyond falling for any of Buffy’s tricks. I turned up the collar on my coat and started to walk away. ‘Find somebody else,’ I said. ‘I’m not the person you want for this.’
‘But, detective, you are,’ she wheedled. ‘You truly, truly are.’
Even if I’d wanted to answer her, I didn’t get the chance. Before I’d taken another step, a wash of extraordinary dizziness assailed me. There was a loud whooshing in my ears and the sky seemed to darken and slip sideways. My mouth opened and I heard my own words coming at me as if from a long way off, while a series of images flashed with nauseating speed through my head. ‘Elementary. Elementary. Elementary. Innocent blood will run.’
As soon as I’d finished speaking, I doubled over and threw up again. No carrots this time; there was only bright yellow bile.
‘Ewwww.’
I couldn’t deal with Buffy’s disgust right now. I retched for a final time and straightened up, pressing my fingertips to my temples. What had I seen? A splash of blood on a grubby pavement, for certain. There had been a glint of something metallic, maybe a knife. And, confusingly, a small flag trodden underfoot by a heavy boot, followed by another flash of sharp metal as a concealed blade slid out from the toe of the boot and slashed upwards.
‘Elementary,’ I muttered to myself. What did that mean?
‘What’s going on with you?’ she enquired. ‘Is being preggers making you crazy? Is this what baby brain is?’
I squinted at her in horror and my stomach dropped to my shoes.
‘What? I’m a werewolf – I can smell your hormones from a mile away.’ She tapped her ear. ‘I can hear the extra heartbeat, too. Any wolf could. Is the baby why you’ve left the luscious Lord Horvath?’
Was there anyone in London who didn’t know I was pregnant? I hissed in irritation and made a mental note to avoid all werewolves for as long as I possibly could.
It was even more imperative that I spoke to Lukas tonight. I wouldn’t put it past any of the clans to break the good news to him allegedly ‘by accident’. In fact, if I knew the clan alphas, they’d positively relish the thought. ‘If you tell a single soul,’ I said, ‘including Lady Sullivan then I will—’
Buffy put her hands up. ‘Whoa. I won’t breathe a word. Promise. Your condition doesn’t affect Clan Sullivan so I have no reason to spill the beans.’ She grinned happily. ‘By staying quiet, does that mean you’ll help me with that advice in return?’
I glared at her, spun around and took off down the street.
‘Wait,’ Buffy called after me. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Baker Street.’
‘Eh?’
‘Elementary,’ I whispered. My dear Watson. While I was fairly sure I’d read somewhere that Sherlock Holmes never uttered that famous phrase in any of the novels about him, there was no doubt that it belonged to him.
Laura lived very centrally so Baker Street – and the fictional detective’s fictional home – was only a few streets away. It would take no time at all to get there and find out what my damned vision was all about. Whether I was already too late remained to be seen.
I forced down the last of my nausea and picked up speed. I needed to get a move on. I put Buffy, Laura, Lukas, the baby, Alan Cobain and everything else out of my head and sprinted as fast as I could.
When I rounded the corner into Baker Street, I saw the usual smattering of early-bird tourists and well-heeled Londoners. It wouldn’t take a detective, fictional or otherwise, to tell the difference between the two. The wealthy Londoners, who lived around here and were on their way to work, were wearing sharp suits and shiny shoes, together with tight expressions of distaste at the tourists. The tourists were talking loudly and stopping abruptly at random points along the pavement to take photos or point at buildings. They were dressed far more casually, and even from fifty metres away their excitement was apparent.
What wasn’t apparent was any sign of a crime.
‘Do you always like to start your day with a crazed run through London?’
I clenched my jaw. ‘What are you still doing here?’ I demanded. Buffy must have run behind me all the way.
She smiled patiently. ‘I told you, I need some advice.’
She was determined, I’d give her that. Sensing that I wasn’t going to escape her no matter how hard I tried, I gave in. ‘Fine. Come to Supe Squad later today – 2pm. I’ll see what I can do then.’
I turned away from her and continued to scan the street. An open-top tour bus trundled past. There was still nothing that looked out of place.
