Changing Nature (The Immortal Descendants Book 3) Read online

  The soup was good and exactly what I needed to refuel after the energy burn of the night. “The view on top of Tower Bridge is really pretty.” Nothing like being the queen of non-sequiturs.

  Archer looked at me sharply. “You mean the walkway?”

  I shook my head. “I mean the top. It’s how I got ahead of Dodo. His center of gravity was too high for the wind up there.” I watched Archer carefully.

  He took a breath, then the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Dodo?”

  Relief surged through me. He wasn’t going to question my judgment or make me feel like a kid with a disapproving parent. But I buried it quickly with a casual shrug. “I caught the resemblance to Raven when he tried to go across the bridge at full height. He just looked like a big, dumb, about-to-be-extinct Dodo bird.”

  There was amusement in his eyes. “You’ll have to take me up there some time.”

  I grinned. “Too bad the wind’s so strong. Sword-fighting across the top of the bridge would be epic.”

  He suppressed a smile. “Too bad.”

  I cleared my bowl and washed my dishes, then put away the rest of the soup and washed out that pot too. Archer wrapped up the rest of the bread, and the domesticity of the scene struck me as strange and precious because it was so normal. And normal was definitely odd in our world where the Descendants of War were hunting mixed-bloods like me and had license to kill Vampires like Archer on sight.

  “Speaking of sword-fighting, I want the katana tonight.”

  This time he actually did smile. “Confident enough in your martial arts to take me on with a katana?”

  I threw the dish towel at him. “Are you?”

  Bishop Cleary was the only full-time resident at Guy’s Chapel, and the attics had long since been emptied of anything but dust and a family of finches that had made a nest under the eaves. He gave us permission to use it as a make-shift gym, and sometimes even came upstairs to watch us train. Tonight he was at some big ecclesiastical meeting, so he’d probably stop in when he got home.

  I always trained in the same clothes I wore in real life – basically just jeans, boots, and t-shirts. In my world, the hand-to-hand combat had been real, and I never got a chance to say, “Hold on, time out. Excuse me while I go change into sweats so I can fight you.” In fact, the last time I had to actively defend myself from a sword, I’d been wearing a sixteenth-century dress that weighed a ton, and the sword was being wielded by a Monger/Vampire named Bishop Wilder, who had been as much out of his Victorian time as I had been out of my modern one. He’d traveled to 1554 to make sure Elizabeth Tudor died in the Tower of London before she became queen, which he hoped would give him access to the blood of one of the greatest Seers of all time. Seers are the Descendants of Fate, and their skills range from basic fortune-telling to full-blown prophecies. Archer had Seer blood in him, which was why when Bishop Wilder bit him back in 1888, the mutated porphyria infection turned him into a Vampire instead of killing him outright like it would a regular, non-Descendant human.

  I was descended from both Time and Nature – my mother, Claire Elian, is a Clocker, and my dad, Will Shaw, was a Shifter Lion. I can’t Shift, but I do have hereditary feline skills that work really well when I’m free-running, or when someone’s coming at me with a Japanese samurai sword like the katana in Archer’s hands.

  I leapt backwards and held my own sword in front of me with both hands on the hilt. Katanas are two-handed swords, and Archer had taught me the seven basic moves to use depending on where my opponent had left himself open.

  My problem was that Archer was fast, so whatever was open, wasn’t for long.

  “The top two inches of the blade are where you should aim all your power when you slash, Saira. It gives you the distance you need for a good swing and allows the sharpest part of the blade to be the focus.” Archer’s skill with various weapons was impressive, though he said he’d always preferred blades to guns. With a knife or a sword, a person had to really mean to hurt or kill their opponent, which usually meant that running away hadn’t been an option. With a gun, people could kill by complete accident, and that didn’t sit well with his code about life and death. We joked about Vampire morality, but for him it was serious business. In spite of needing blood to survive, or maybe because of it, he had never taken anyone’s life for granted.

  My nerves jangled with the predator instinct that made me more agile than usual. Maybe I just anticipated his moves, or maybe the adrenaline from my fight or flight earlier had woken some new skills in me, but after forty-five minutes we were both grinning, and I was dripping with sweat.

  “Nice. You’re getting stronger,” Archer said.

  “I noticed it when I was climbing earlier. You’re not so bad yourself, Vampire.”

  He took my katana and wiped it down carefully with a soft cloth before storing them both in a hard-sided case. For the past month, since I’d asked him for sword-fighting lessons, Archer had been acquiring pairs of all these different kinds of weapons to teach me. Fencing with rapiers was the hardest since they required so much finesse, and broadswords were tough because they were so freaking heavy. I liked the very cool-looking scimitars, and katanas were totally badass, but my favorites to fight with were daggers.

  Archer had given me throwing lessons, and we had a target set up at one end of the attic. While he was putting away the katanas, I picked up my two favorite daggers, a matched pair with silk-wrapped handles and hard steel blades, and chose a spot across the room from the target. I stood with my feet about shoulder-width apart and took aim.

  I could feel that the first dagger was going to be off as it left my hand, and it hit the wall just under the target. Archer had been a patient teacher with me though, so I didn’t give in to frustration. I just took a breath, re-set my shoulders, and threw.

  The second dagger hit dead center on the target.

  “Did you feel the difference in your throw?” Archer had been studying me, and my happy grin must have been infectious because his eyes lit up with pride.

  “The way my fingers let go. The second throw was all at once.”

  He nodded. “Perfect.” He pulled a piece of fabric, about five inches wide and about six feet long, from one of the weapons cases. “Grab the daggers and come here. I’ll show you how to conceal them on your body.”

  I stood in front of him and let him wrap the fabric around me like a tight vest. He slotted a dagger under each arm and then checked the fit. “You could wear this under a loose shirt and the blades would be safe, even while you run.”

  I examined my reflection in a long mirror that stood in one corner. It looked simple, and even when I swung my arms to test it, the daggers stayed secure. “It’s perfect. And low-tech enough that I can do it anywhere.”

  Archer appeared in the mirror behind me and turned me to face him. Very carefully he removed each dagger and set it down on the table. My eyes were locked on his face as he took his time unwrapping the sash from around my body. His touch was gentle, and his gaze sent shivers down my spine. When the fabric was open, he used it to pull me toward him.

  “Thank you for outrunning the Monger.” His whisper was like a caress against my hair.

  “Thank you for getting me out of there.” The deep blue of his eyes was mesmerizing, and I smiled when his glance went to my mouth.

  Right before he kissed me.

  “Eh, hem. I’m so sorry. I thought you’d still be training.”

  I grinned against Archer’s mouth and pulled back from him to see Bishop Cleary standing in the doorway at the top of the attic stairs. “No worries. We were just wrapping up.”

  Our friend, the current bishop at Guy’s Chapel, King’s College, was trying unsuccessfully to hide his own smile. “Right, then. I’ll meet you in the study?”

  “Be down in a minute.” I snuck another quick kiss in as Bishop Cleary turned to leave, and then backed up to pull my hoodie back on over my damp t-shirt before I got cold. Archer grabbed my hood and pulled me in for
another, longer kiss before he reluctantly let go, and we went downstairs.

  The fire was lit in Bishop Cleary’s study, and I curled up in my favorite Danish modern chair across from his desk. Archer’s hand brushed my shoulder as he passed me to sit in the other one.

  “So, you know I was at a bishops’ meeting.”

  “Right. What’s new in the church business?” Bishop Cleary was used to my irreverence, so I knew I wouldn’t offend him, but his expression stayed serious.

  “Obviously I can’t disclose the private affairs of the Church of England, but something came up tonight that may have some bearing on the situation with War’s Descendants.”

  I stared at Bishop Cleary. “Mongers are getting mainstream attention?”

  “They may have nothing whatsoever to do with what’s being reported in every district in the city, but I thought you should know what the parish priests are concerned about.” He paused, then inhaled. “In the last week, over forty people have disappeared. Not all in London, so Scotland Yard doesn’t seem to have picked up on the pattern quite yet, but the priests are hearing about it from frightened families of the missing.”

  Archer leaned forward. “Why do you think the Mongers are involved, Pat?”

  Bishop Cleary regarded him steadily. “Because I recognize some of the Family names from your genealogy.”

  Missing

  The names Bishop Cleary had heard from the priests spanned the Descendant Families – all but the Mongers. There was a Rowen and a Mulroy from the Shifter clans, a Kardos, Foss, and Constantine from the Seers, and even a Kelly and an Eddowes from the old Clocker Families. There were many more names, of course, but because Archer had compiled the Immortal Descendants genealogy back in 1888, none of the more recent Family names were known to us.

  “Do the missing people have anything in common? I mean, besides a relationship to Immortal Descendants?”

  Bishop Cleary shook his head. “Nothing I could really put together from the reports. Some are young, a few are middle-aged, and only four of them are elderly. Their families said they had all left their home or workplace and just never made it to their destination.”

  A cold chill ran through me, and Archer and I stared at each other. “Was I supposed to be added to that list tonight?”

  Bishop Cleary suddenly leaned across his desk. “What happened, Saira?”

  I filled him in on my escape from the Monger, with Archer adding his observances about the array of thugs waiting outside the Tower. For me, apparently. The more I talked about it, the more likely it sounded that the night’s events were supposed to have been an ambush. I suppose I should have been flattered that a gang of Mongers was sent after me, though if the whole gang had actually chased me, I wouldn’t have made it.

  Our friend looked grim. “I don’t like it, Saira. Obviously, between the two of you, you’re as safe as one could hope without hiding you away in an attic somewhere.”

  My gut tightened. Anne Frank I was not.

  “However, of immediate concern is why are these people being taken, and what will happen to them?”

  I looked at Archer. “I think maybe we need to talk to someone on the Descendants’ Council, either Millicent or the Armans. Find out what they know.” He nodded, and I turned to Bishop Cleary. “I guess I’m going to call in sick tomorrow, which is a bummer because with all the publicity about the Armada Pearls, other missing jewel mysteries are starting to come in from the academics.”

  Archer looked thoughtful. “I imagine it’s the publicity that brought you to the Mongers’ attention again. I’m sure you’ve been photographed in the background in Ravi’s office. In any case, it’s probably best to avoid the Tower for a few days.”

  I grimaced. “Why do I suddenly feel like the prisoner who can’t get in the Tower of London?” I stood up and went around the desk to kiss Bishop Cleary on the cheek. “Thank you for everything. I hope we can be back next week, but I have a feeling I may have to stay low until we figure out what the Mongers are up to.”

  “You are always welcome here – both of you. If there’s ever anything I can do to help, you have only to ask.”

  Archer shook Bishop Cleary’s hand, and I ran upstairs to quickly throw some things into a backpack. I didn’t want to be gone too long, but my wishes didn’t seem to have too much to do with my reality when it came to Mongers.

  Archer met me outside and we sprinted down the alley to a parking garage where he kept his Aston Martin. I loved that car, and he let me drive it whenever our journeys took us outside London. I was his look-out tonight though, and within fifteen minutes we were out of the city and speeding toward Elian Manor.

  When it was clear we weren’t being followed, I let myself relax back into the deep leather seat. “Have you Seen anything about any of this?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t had visions of any kind in several weeks.”

  The only visions I knew he had were the ones I’d Seen by touching him, usually when we were asleep. We hadn’t slept next to each other since 1554, when we were hiding out in the Tower of London trying to save Elizabeth Tudor from Bishop Wilder’s bloodthirsty plot. Now, when I was in London, it was out of respect for Bishop Cleary that we stayed out of my room, and the weekends at Elian Manor were spent surrounded by people. Besides Lady Millicent Elian, my cousin many times removed and the current Head of the Clocker Family, my mom, Claire, and all the staff who kept the massive place running, we usually hung out with Mr. Shaw who, in addition to being in love with my mother, was helping us research possible points in history to look for Bishop Wilder.

  Maybe tonight, since they weren’t expecting us at Elian Manor, we’d be able to sneak in and curl up for a nap together.

  Archer’s voice drew me out of my fantasies of sleep. “If these missing persons incidents are, indeed, the work of Mongers, could they be escalating their mixed-blood moratorium policy? Or, even worse, are they perhaps a consequence of a ripple or split in time?”

  I clutched my head. “Oh, God! I don’t even want to imagine that Wilder could be messing around with history again.” The last time he did that, there was a ripple effect in our modern time which altered the power structure of the Monger Families. It also turned the Head of the Seer Family, Camille Arman, against me when she thought I stole a Family heirloom. Her twin children, Adam and Ava, were my friends, and even with the accusations their mother leveled against me, they stayed on my side. The odd thing was that when Archer, Ringo, and I stopped Wilder from changing history, everything in our modern time went back to normal. And no one but us remembered that it had ever been anything different.

  “I guess we’ll need to start poking around Monger business to see if anything has changed.” Archer sounded as frustrated as I felt.

  “Changed from what? Who’s to say we know what’s normal? And temporal physics? Not my best subject.”

  “I don’t know. You seem better qualified than most at this point.” Archer’s voice had a calming effect on me.

  “Not better than my pain-in-the-butt cousin, Doran. But he doesn’t count because his only job in life is to frustrate the hell out of me. I might start carrying daggers just so I can use him for quick-reflex target practice whenever he Clocks into a room.”

  That snarky statement earned a bark of laughter from Archer. Doran wasn’t his favorite person either, although the information he’d parceled out in little bite-sized morsels had been incredibly useful as I learned the rules for time travel. But it was never enough and just made me greedy to know more.

  “What do you really know about Doran?”

  The question surprised me. “I don’t know. Miss Simpson showed me a St. Brigid’s School yearbook from the seventies that had him in it. She’s the one who said he was a cousin, I think. And he’s definitely a Clocker, though my mom’s never met him. Actually, come to think of it, you’re the only other person I know besides Miss Simpson and me who has seen him.”

  “I’m thinking a little investigat
ing into your cousin might be in order.”

  I waved a dismissive hand. “Have at it.”

  The headlights were the only illumination on the single lane road we’d turned down, and the massive trees along the drive stood like ancient sentinels above us. “Park near the stables so we don’t wake anyone up.” It was after midnight, and the big manor house that came into view was dark. Archer cut the engine even before coasting to a stop, and we moved with tagger stealth around the grounds. Millicent’s big gray cat stared at me from the eaves of the stables, and I whispered a greeting to him.

  “Hey, Cat.”

  “He doesn’t have a name?”

  “Not that anyone’s told me.”

  Archer held his hand up, and Cat came forward to receive his homage, rubbing his sides along Archer’s knuckles and purring loudly enough to wake the sleepers inside the manor house. I stared. I’d never seen Cat do more than squint at anyone before leaning down to clean his bits.

  “I didn’t know you liked cats.”

  Archer looked over at me with a smirk. “Really … Shifter?”

  Guh. I never felt feline unless I was running, but the way Archer’s eyes slid over me, I suddenly felt like rubbing myself over his knuckles too.

  Quickly switching tracks on that train of thought, I reached into the back seat for my backpack, slung it over my shoulder, and after a last look at the very playful smirk still dancing on Archer’s face, I skulked off toward the house.

  Archer’s silent chuckle followed me as we made our way to the kitchen door. I knew the heavy wooden bar would be locking it from the inside, but the root cellar just outside had a trap door to the laundry room I’d discovered on one of my explorations of the massive house. When I pulled the old iron ring, the heavy metal door lifted without a squeak. Someone must have oiled the hinges recently, which was weird, since the root cellar hadn’t been used for regular storage in years.