Two Souls & a Pocket Watch, page 7
“Everything is planned now,” said Armando.
“Good. I only hope your plans run smoothly.”
Armando smiled. “Don’t be like this, Uriel. You know London has become too dangerous for me, and without any… well, you know… I don’t really want to talk about my alleged father again.”
Uriel looked rather defeated. “I wish you would stay where I can protect you.”
“There are no guarantees here either. I can’t even send an echo straight.”
“Curse your idiotic father.”
“If I had an ounce of power, I’d curse him myself,” Armando said. “See how he enjoys it.”
So, the nephilim was without power, then. Twin souls intact, and without acknowledgement from his own father. Abaddon would never understand the motivations of angels.
“I would help you with the job,” Uriel said.
“Yes, well… I need to get Cecilia out of here too. As you know, she’s picked up some astonishingly bad habits.”
Uriel laughed. “Please tell her she may keep my watch, but Bel is rather attached to his money clip and would like it back.”
Armando laughed. “She’s a hellion, no doubt, but she’s the best thing to happen to me.”
Was Cecilia his wife? Was he married to a thief? Abaddon watched Armando wrap his arms around Uriel and rest his head on his shoulder.
“I wish you would not go,” whispered Uriel.
Armando lifted his head to kiss Uriel’s cheek softly, and Uriel gifted him a twitchy smile. Abaddon’s fists clenched at the intimacy on display, using every ounce of willpower he possessed to stop himself from bursting from the cupboard. He wanted to go out there and rip Uriel’s heart out.
“You know I must” said Armando.
“What about Bram?”
“He is as eager to get away as I am, and we might need you yet. One last favour?”
Uriel cupped his cheek. “For you, anything.”
Who the hell was Bram? How many lovers did this curious boy have? Perhaps, when he left London himself, Abaddon could convince Armando to come home with him.
“I’ll send a runner later,” said Armando. “Bram and I need to work on our strategy.”
“Sounds intriguing. And I suppose this is because he needs to disappear? Something to do with Vernon?”
“Precisely.”
Uriel reached for an urn on the mantel. “Will you take some money?”
Armando stilled the man’s hand. “You really ought to find somewhere more original to store your coin.”
Uriel laughed. “It’s well protected, believe me. The only thing a thief would find in there is a full set of horrifically sharp teeth.” Armando joined in the laughter, then Uriel said, “Are you sure you won’t take anything?”
“No. It is long past time for me to strike out on my own.”
Uriel pouted. He looked pathetic. “You are not striking out. You are running.”
“You won’t always be there to bail me out of mischief.”
The pout lingered. “I will.”
“Uriel,” Armando growled, causing a twitch in Abaddon’s trousers.
“You underestimate my dedication to your ongoing escapades.”
Armando kissed Uriel on the cheek again, far too close to his mouth for Abaddon’s liking. “Thank you for everything.”
Abaddon remained in the cupboard, counting to ten over and over again. When Uriel finally opened the door, Abaddon only wanted to tear his head off a little bit.
“You can come out now.”
“Who was that?”
“My nephew,” said Uriel.
Abaddon snorted. Nephew, indeed. “Tell Bel I hope to never see him again, but if I do, I expect better hospitality than a musty cupboard with only one spy hole.”
“You are a grumpy one, aren’t you?”
Abaddon grunted, then left quickly. He didn’t want Armando to get too far away.
This time, he’d catch the lively fawn.
15
The Protector
Armando was being followed. He had always been able to tell. But how many eyes? That was the part he didn’t know. He sauntered through the small park at Trinity Square like he didn’t have a care in the world. The moment the path turned a corner, he darted into the trees, quickly assessing the railings behind him. He’d climb over them as soon as he discovered who was following him.
The park was busy enough that surely nobody would attempt anything in the middle of the day. But whoever was following him had the merrymakers rushing out of the park like rats scurrying from the light. It was too much to hope that his pursuer was not brimming with dark energy.
He peeked through the dense shrubbery, trying to catch a glimpse. He was so entranced by the footsteps on the path, he didn’t notice the movement behind him until it was too late. A hand clamped on his shoulder.
“Who are you hiding from, then, pretty boy?”
Armando didn’t recognise the coarse voice, but knew it was one of two people, or rather one of two types of people, or really, one type of person that worked for one of two people. It was either one of Wish’s men, or one of Turk’s men. Neither was appealing, but it was the first time he’d ever thought he might be grateful if it was one of Turk’s men.
It was only when he turned around that he realised he was royally stuffed. Five men were more than he could handle. One was pushing his luck.
“We heard Jack Wish was after you. That who you hiding from, lad?”
Ah, Turk’s men.
Relief flushed through him. “For your information, I am currently engaged in a game of Hide and Seek.”
“How fortunate for us,” said the man. “It’ll be a while before anyone finds you.”
“Yes, it will,” said Armando, still in stalling the enemy mode. “I am excellent at this game.”
The men laughed. It was better to let them think he was stupid and unaware. Armando had no doubt it was Jack Wish’s men out there following him. Soon, they would arrive and demand Turk’s men hand him over, then Armando would make his escape, while the men tried to gut each other with knives.
It was a perfect plan.
Turk had been trying to find a way to loosen Armando’s drawers since their formal meeting eight months ago. Armando wasn’t even sure how he’d avoided the man for so many years; he was everywhere. He was also distinctly the lesser of two evils. A vampire he might be, but he was more refined than Wish. Would it really be so bad to ask him for protection? He had other boys he used for blood. Alas, he was easily bored and discarded them when he’d had enough. Perhaps, he had discarded them permanently into the river. Armando hadn’t even thought of that. Turk could easily have been murdered by the revenge corpses.
Old Clapper had been murdered in his bed by the corpse of Agatha North. Even stuck at Uriel’s, he’d heard that someone had come to London to dispel the wraiths. Some said it was a divine priest. Armando knew there was no such thing as a divine priest. Some said it was a witch. Some said it was a shaman, fresh off the boat from Egypt. It was unlikely that any of them knew what a shaman was, or where Egypt was for that matter.
“What is it you want?” Armando asked, not troubling to keep his voice down. “My protector does not like me speaking to other men.”
“I don’t see no protector.”
“Perhaps, he will find me easily now since you take so very little care with the volume of your voice.” Where the hell were Jack’s men? If they weren’t coming, he’d need to scare them off another way. Deep brown eyes and a scarred cheek flashed into his mind. Dare he use the man’s name as a deterrent? Would it even work? Turk’s men were older than Wish’s men; did that make them more likely to remember Abaddon’s name? And would they be scared if they did? “You will soon see he is the size of a house.”
A snigger in the trees made them all look around warily. The tree shook, and a huge man lumbered out. It was darker beneath the trees, but not as dark as the club. The man’s scars looked raw in the dappled sunlight.
“Oh, petal,” he said, looking from one man to the next. “This is the worst hiding spot yet. You really need to get the hang of this game.”
Armando’s nostril’s flared at the man’s nerve. He was excellent at this game. And how dare he start up with that flowery nonsense again? Armando suppressed the voice telling him he liked it. He did not like it.
Abaddon glared at the men. “State your business.”
The men looked warily at each other. Finally, one of them spoke, putting on a tone he obviously thought was fancy. “Mr Turk has heard of Mr Wish’s interest in Mr Rose and would like to extend his offer of protection.”
Abaddon said, “As you can see, that is quite unnecessary. His protector is indeed as large as a house.”
“You’re his protector?” said Turk’s man.
“Perhaps you thought he spoke of someone else the size of a house?”
“You look like—” The man cut himself off, then stared at a spot on Abaddon’s shoulder.
Abaddon scowled down at the man. “Yes?”
Turk’s man let out a shuddering breath. “Abaddon. You look like Abaddon.”
“Well, it is nice to be remembered, even if everyone seems to think I am dead. As you can see, I am not. Now, if you don’t mind, we have plans.”
For a tense moment, Turk’s men looked at each other, a series of eyebrow wiggles and lip twitches their only method of communication. Surely, they didn’t have the audacity to take him on? They couldn’t be so stupid.
In a matter of seconds, Armando learned they could.
Several black eyes and broken ribs later, Armando bit his lip, wondering if he should do anything about the heap of men in the park.
“Are you coming, then?” Abaddon had not a cut upon him, although his hands were bloody.
Armando shuffled in Abaddon’s wake, finally catching up to his gigantic stride as they passed through the park’s gate. Abaddon flinched.
“Are you hurt?” Armando asked.
Abaddon grunted.
“I do not speak pig,” said Armando.
“It’s the iron.”
Armando looked over his shoulder. “The gate?”
“Not just the gate,” said Abaddon. “There was a rail in the ground. For the bolt to slide into.”
The gate had an arch over the top of it. That meant Abaddon had walked through an iron circle. How was that even possible? Abaddon was a vampire, wasn’t he? Armando had never been wrong before.
Armando tracked spots on the pavement and looked down at Abaddon’s hand. “You’re dripping blood everywhere.”
“My rooms aren’t far. I’ll clean myself up when I get there.” He looked back at the park, then turned abruptly, stalking off even faster than before. “You’ll be safe now.”
Armando followed. Abaddon seemed to be in a world of his own. When they reached the steps leading up to his rented rooms, Abaddon jumped at Armando’s presence by his side.
“Why are you still following me?”
“You’re my protector,” Armando said. He liked the idea. Twice, the man had rescued him and, twice, he’d asked for nothing in return. Didn’t that make him honourable? Didn’t that make him a gentleman? Armando was sure the unconscious men in the park wouldn’t think so, but—
“I didn’t mean it, boy. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
Armando was quite aware of that fact. “That is both accurate and fair.” He could’ve been wrong, after all he was staring at his boots when Abaddon turned towards him, but he was sure he felt the man soften. He watched a drop of blood hit the step.
“It was neither accurate nor fair,” he said gruffly. “Please forgive me. I’m sure you have… many virtues.”
Armando snorted. “Get the door open, Abaddon. The housekeeper will curse you for bringing blood to the doorstep. I’m coming in with you. You’ll need someone to fix you up.”
“I’d forgotten how hard London heads are,” Abaddon said, letting himself into the house. “I am quite certain their skulls are twice as dense as the average man.”
Armando pushed past him. “Which way?”
Abaddon sighed. “Upstairs, turn right, all the way along the landing. My room’s at the front.”
Armando was halfway upstairs before Abaddon even got the door shut.
“I know very well an uninfected cut would have healed before the last man hit the ground,” he said, swaying his hips a little on his way up the stairs. “I’ll fix your wound. It’s the least I can do after you’ve rescued me twice.”
Armando grinned to himself. He’d fix the man up—that would give him time to figure out how to make his proposal—then he’d make a deal with him. Abaddon might say he didn’t want him with his words, but Armando had seen the look on his face. He’d seen that look on many faces. Abaddon wouldn’t turn him down; he was sure of it.
Ten minutes later, a bowl of clean water and a pair of tweezers in hand, Armando’s confidence faltered.
There was barely room between the bed and the chair, and Armando would die before he’d get on his knees between the man’s legs; he’d save that for when he’d sealed the deal. That meant he’d have to sit on the bed to tend to the poisoned wound. He’d helped the enormous man out of his jacket, leaving him to roll up his own shirt sleeve with his clean hand, and instructed him to sit with his elbow on his knee and his hand raised. The first bowl of water had turned bloody in an instant. Now, Abaddon was trying to pick the slivers of silver out of his hand with his enormous fingers.
Armando perched on the edge of the bed and gently moved Abaddon’s probing fingers away from his injured hand. Fire swept along his skin from his fingers to his neck, but he was determined that his face remain passive.
When the man looked up at him, Armando saw a thousand thoughts speed behind his eyes. Thoughts that spun into whispered words and heated promises in Armando’s imagination. He was right; the man wanted him in his bed. That he was already in the man’s bed was causing Abaddon no small degree of discomfort; Armando saw it in his eyes. He saw everything in his eyes, and it both thrilled and terrified him.
16
Do You Want a Daddy?
Whatever confidence had emboldened the boy earlier had fled. The moment he perched upon the bed, Abaddon had wanted to keep him there forever. The feel of those fingers on his hand had seared his flesh, and it took everything not to snatch his hand away.
His injured hand, tingling beneath the gentle manipulation of Armando’s slim fingers, buzzed with awareness. It was quite clear the current running through his hand was not a simple reaction to angel blood; this current ran both ways. He could feel it. Armando hadn’t looked up from his task since he began.
“London is so very unwelcoming for vampires.” Abaddon cringed at what he hoped passed for small talk. “Full of river and iron, yet they flock here. Why? Is the nightlife really so vibrant?”
Armando dropped each sliver of silver into the bloody bowl, then prodded gently with his thumb to find the next splinter.
“It seems some of Turk’s men are… somewhat prepared for vampires,” Abaddon went on. “He wore a gauntlet, something like a quillarm, but it was poorly made.” He winced when a larger, more jagged splinter was pulled from between his fingers. “It hurt him as much as it hurt me. Lucky for me, he didn’t manage to get a punch in, or I’d be wearing a silver beard, and you’d be pulling this lot out of my chin.” He flexed his hand. “That was the worst one yet.”
Armando huffed. “Keep your hand still.”
“I thought perhaps an invisible cat had slunk away with your tongue.”
Armando’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t speak. For several more minutes, Armando pulled the tiniest shards from Abaddon’s skin. The young man glanced up when the last shard was squashed between the tweezers, then dropped it into the bowl. Abaddon wriggled his fingers while Armando soaked a piece of muslin.
“That was the last?” Armando asked quietly.
He flexed his hand again. “Yes. It seems so. Thank you.”
Armando pulled Abaddon’s hand back into his own and rubbed the damp muslin over his bloodied skin. “I never thanked you properly for saving me.”
“What constitutes a proper thank you?”
“Whatever you wish, but—” Armando’s gaze darted around the room, unable to settle on anything. Abaddon opened his mouth to speak, but Armando blurted, “I need protection. I was considering going with Turk’s men when you arrived because he is the least frightening of my prospects, but I worry that he bores easily. I am not entirely convinced that at least some of the corpses that rose from the Thames were not his discarded boys.”
He dropped the muslin back into the water, wrung his hands, then began to pace in the small corridor of space between the bed and the window. Abaddon looked up at him, but his own eyes refused to settle on any one part of the handsome young man.
“What sort of protection are you looking for?” Abaddon asked, wariness building in his gut.
Was anyone who had lived in London as long as Armando this guileless? Was this an act? He certainly had cause to worry if these two particular men were fighting over him. Could Abaddon leave him here to fend for himself? For whatever reason, the pretty flower had decided he could take no more of Uriel’s generosity. If Armando was determined to leave London, Abaddon could at least help him get away. If he proved to be untrustworthy… Well, Abaddon was a grown man. He’d deal with it should such a situation arise. After all, before the fight broke out in the park, he’d been desperate to take the boy home, hadn’t he?
Armando stopped moving right in front of him, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “What other sort of protection is there?”
“You had not considered that there might be more than one sort?”
“I am the one who seeks protection from men like Jack Wish,” he said, dropping to the bed. “I have accepted that it won’t be me who attaches the conditions. That will be my protector’s business. Can you protect me from him?”
“Theoretically, yes. Him, and a thousand others like him.”
