away from him—but I was fast becoming his best Retriever and this was a job that had to be dealt with quickly. It also needed to be carried out by a vampire young enough to walk in daylight, especially during the summer months, and who could travel overseas and pass for human.
I shake my head as though I can shake off the lingering frustration, and focus my attention on the bookstore across the pedestrianized court. The steel gate is only secured with a padlock and would be easy to break, if that’s the entrance I choose. But I’ve done my homework, running reconnaissance earlier today, and discovered an even easier way in.
At floor level there is a delivery hatch where books and other merchandise are brought into the shop. I’d spent the morning staking out the area and watching until a white van pulled up on Charing Cross Road. Its occupant, a stocky delivery guy in blue overalls, wheeled a trolley of boxes to the hatch and dropped them through one by one.
I couldn’t resist smiling to myself and wondering why people made it so easy. Of course the entrance was small, but then so am I—that’s why Theo sends me on these jobs. I hadn’t been able to see all the way inside the little doorway, but from what I could make out it had looked like the deliveries were thrown down a crude wooden chute and into the basement.
Perfect.
I crack my knuckles and slip through shadows pooled around the edges of the street, careful to avoid the light from the closest lamp. I sniff the air, stiffening when I detect a faint animal scent. I spot the mangy-looking fox out the corner of my eye as it pokes its nose into a trash can. Urban foxes are apparently common in London, but I am still strangely invigorated by the sight. It’s like a magical encounter; a shamanic meeting with my totem animal, or something romantic like that. Our eyes meet and we exchange a long look; she’s a tough cookie, this little fox, but I’m a lot tougher.
She turns tail and runs.
I crouch by the hatch and test it. Of course it’s bolted from the inside—maybe with more than one set of locks—but that doesn’t stop me from sitting on the ground and setting the soles of my boots against the forest green paint at the top of the hatch. I lean back on my forearms, using them for leverage, and push with both legs, trying to break the little door.
It’s trickier than I thought it would be; there’s nothing to hold onto. No conveniently placed lamppost or bicycle rail. My arms keep slipping backward on the cold ground, but I dig in with my elbows and kick my legs again, one final time.
The hatch crashes inward with a crack that echoes along the quiet street.
Cringing, I glance in both directions before flipping myself over and wriggling through the ragged opening on my belly. It reminds me of my favorite scene in
I heart Princess Leia. Sue me.
“Into the garbage chute, flyboy,” I mutter, before tumbling down into darkness.
The wooden delivery slide turns out to be badly made from shabby plywood, and I’m glad that good sense won out and I’d chosen jeans for this expedition. As it is, I still have to pull several splinters from my hands at the bottom of the makeshift chute, wincing as I wait for the tiny wounds to close up on their own.
There are some benefits to being a Creature of the Night.
I roll my eyes at my own morbid sense of humor and rub my sore palms together. I am in some kind of dispatch room. Piles of books are scattered around on the desks, and almost every inch of floor space is taken up with boxes upon boxes. A machine that looks like it might be for weighing and stamping outgoing mail is precariously balanced on a tall cabinet against one wall, while the other is covered with crooked shelves that have seen better days.
The whole place stinks of something stale and sort of musty, as though a giant wet dog has taken up residence.
I jump down from the edge of the chute and tiptoe to the doorway that leads into the shop. I’d scoped out the shop during the day, wandering among the browsing patrons and tourists but, obviously, hadn’t actually been able to get inside the delivery area until now.
The door is locked, but with nothing more than bolts on the outside—top and bottom. I’d noticed that earlier.
I take a few steps back and then run at the door, aiming my flying kick toward the bottom where one of the bolts should be. There is a satisfying crunch and I feel the shock of impact all the way up both legs and into my hips. I set my shoulder against the door and heave it the rest of the way open—at least enough so I can slip through the gap. I am leaving more of a mess behind than I normally do, but that can’t be helped. It’s not like there’ll be fingerprints that can be traced, and nobody is going to hear the noise way down here in the basement. Not to mention the fact that I’ll be long gone before anyone is even aware that there’s been a break-in.
Of course, I have been known to speak too soon—
Which is when I come face-to-face with a young guy who looks as shocked to see me as I am to see him. We stand staring at each other for an uncomfortable moment, under the faint yellow glow of the tiny spotlights set into the ceiling around the single display case.
He isn’t very tall, though still taller than me—not exactly difficult given that I’m pretty slight. His shoulders indicate a wiry strength, though, and his hands are clenched into fists.
The boy has beautiful tanned skin and hazel eyes that are so luminous they almost appear gold. His black hair is short but messy, and it looks like it would curl if left to grow any longer. It makes me think suddenly of Theo, and how this is what his hair might be like if he ever cut it.
Irritated at myself for thinking of my Maker at a time like this, I attempt to look fierce and give this interloper my best glare. “How the hell did you get in here?”
The guy raises black brows. “I’d ask you the same question, but it seems pretty obvious how
He has an English accent that I might think was sexy under other circumstances, but I refuse to get sidetracked by the fact that he’s totally cute. And young—maybe around seventeen.
It feels as though I’ve already lost control of this situation, and there’s nothing that makes me madder than being out of control. Especially when the kid standing in front of me seems strangely composed after seeing a girl- in-black burst through the door She-Hulk style.
“You’re staring,” he says with a sudden grin. “Didn’t your mum ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”
“My mother is dead,” I snap and then immediately wish I hadn’t. Why am I telling this stranger something like that?
I shake my head and then sniff the air, narrowing my eyes against the sudden whiff of magic. “What are you?”
The boy is still smiling. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”
I let out an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I have work to do. Stay out of my way and this doesn’t have to get unpleasant.”
“If you’re going to threaten me, I think it’s only fair that I know who I’m dealing with. What’s your name?” I have a sneaking suspicion that he might be laughing at me.
“You first,” I counter.
He shrugs. “I’m Adam.”
“Moth.”
“Interesting name,” Adam says. “Did your parents have a sense of humor?”
I bite back a sudden smile. This is crazy, but I can’t stop the feeling that this guy—Adam—isn’t someone I want to hurt. He seems harmless enough.
