Shadowdance by Kristen Callihan Page B

giving off a horrible stench.
    “I understand shifters have an exceptional rate ofregeneration, Master Talent; do you not find it odd that, although he was a shifter, Mr. Pierce is in such an advanced state of decay?”
    “Yes,” said Talent grimly. “Something has been done to him. A shifter’s body ought to reject the application of false limbs. We can regrow ours, after all.”
    “Curious.”
    Talent turned toward the other crawler. “Now this fellow I don’t know.”
    His body had been mutilated. Crude metal legs, an iron-forged false fist—which was what had smashed her face—an iron clockwork heart that looked wrong when compared with the GIM’s elegant devices. His flesh was grey and decaying about the edges of his limbs.
    His torso was made entirely from iron, and coals glowed dimly at the bottom of his rib cage. He’d been the one to breathe fire upon them. The memory had Mary looking Talent over again. “What happened to your… wings?” The huge wings had been leathery like a bat’s but had the graceful shape of an angel’s.
    Talent gave a small start. “Went away.” He attempted a lighthearted look but it didn’t quite work. Bemusement flickered in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected wings to sprout from his back either.
    “The only beings I know of with wings,” Mary said, “are primus demons and fallens.”
    Primus were said to be the first demons created, born from the collective thoughts of mankind. Fallens were angels who had chosen to live among men, and thus were cast out of heaven. They were rare as a diamond in the sand; no one in recent memory had seen a fallen in the flesh.
    Talent’s green eyes looked straight at her then, and awry smile tugged at his mouth. “Where do you think a shifter comes from, Mistress Chase?”
    He had her there. Onus, the offspring of primus and human beings, included weaker demons and shifters. Most onus were many times removed from their primus forefathers. Mary pursed her lips. And his grin grew. “Your father must have been an exceptionally strong onus.”
    The light in his eyes dimmed. “My father, whoever he was, was pure primus.”
    At her shocked look, he shook his head slightly. “The ignorance, really…” Talent leaned slightly into her space. “The reason there are so few shifters in the world is that we are the direct get of a primus.”
    Primus themselves being rare and not inclined to mingle with others.
    “You… you don’t know who your natural father is?”
    His jaw hardened. “Nor do I want to. Now”—he bent down, and with impressive strength hauled one crawler over his shoulder before grabbing hold of the other—“let’s stop flapping chaps and get these back to headquarters. Grab the hearts, will you.”
    Hefting both unwieldy crawlers like sacks of grain, Talent strolled out of the alleyway, leaving Mary to follow.

Chapter Eight

    T he devil often hid in plain sight. No one knew this better than Jack. After he dropped the shadow crawlers’ bodies off at headquarters the next morning, he headed out. Time was short—Chase would be meeting him soon—but he could not put off this particular task. Nor did he want to.
    Blood boiling and teeth set, he took the stairs leading up to the
honorable
Mr. William Cavendish’s Belgravia town house two at a time. The black lacquered door was little impediment to his rage. One swift kick and it flew open, the sound of splintering wood and the clanging brass knocker giving him a short satisfaction.
    A footman yelped, jumping to attention after his delayed shock. “Hold! Stop—”
    One punch to the man’s jaw and he fell like a sack. Jack shook out his hand and kept going, heading past the vivid display of red hothouse roses and toward the sound of titters. Female and slightly alarmed. Behind him other servants scurried, the hushed plea of “Ring for the constable”coming from one of them. They needn’t bother. He would not be here by the time the bobbies arrived.
    Wrenching