Black London 05 - Soul Trade

needed him, so she cutthrough the new stream of people coming off a Cardiff train and approached the fat man.
    “You’re Petunia Caldecott,” he said without preamble. “The Weir.”
    “On my better days,” Pete agreed. “Nobody calls me Petunia, by the way. It’s Pete.”
    “I need to ask you something,” said Purple Coat. He shifted, fists shoved into his pockets, and Pete tensed again. This gent could very well be a nutter. Hecertainly looked the part. She and Jack didn’t have many fans in the UK these days, though assassins usually went directly for their target.
    Mentally, she cataloged her options. She could run, thump him with her police baton, scream, or try to sling a hex, which was about as reliable as closing your eyes and hoping the other bloke missed. Physical magic was Jack’s game. She was just a beginner.

    Purple Coat drew out a crumpled object wrapped in newspaper, and Pete started breathing again. “Ask, then,” she said. “Haven’t got all day, have I? We’ve somewhere to be.”
    “I know,” he said. “The Prometheus Club.”
    Of course you do, Pete thought, because nothing since those odd, pale creatures had shown up in the graveyard had been a coincidence.
    “You going to warn me away?” she asked PurpleCoat. “Threaten me? Whatever it is, kick on.”
    “From what I’ve heard, neither of those will have any discernible effect on you,” said Purple Coat. “I just needed to reach you. To talk to you before you disappeared into that den of vipers.”
    Pete held up her hand, exposing the twin circles of the geas. “It’s a little late for that, mate. They’ve got their hooks in good and tight.” She cocked herhead, taking his measure. He was dirty, up close, and had the sour smell of the infrequent bather. His eyes were bloodshot and even though he was still a fat bastard, his skin sagged from weight loss. He looked sick, and exhausted, and his eyes kept roaming the train station even as he bit back a yawn. “Who are you, anyway?” Pete asked him. “When was the last time you slept?”
    “My name is Preston,Preston Mayflower,” he said. “I used to be a Member.” Pete could hear the capital letter in his voice. “I’m sorry for the state I’m in, Miss Caldecott, but I can’t rest. They have members who can reach you in your dreams, get inside your head. I can’t allow that to happen.”
    He twitched as a businessman passed too close and tucked himself inside his windcheater. Pete had dealt with plenty of paranoidsas a copper, and she knew the difference between drug-induced insanity, genuine mental illness, and fear.
    This was the latter. “What’s wrong, Preston?” she asked, employing her best soothing tone. “What’s so important that you came here?”
    “Listen.” Preston grabbed her wrist, abruptly, and Pete jerked in reflex. She didn’t get much feedback from Preston, though, just a jumbled buzz of magic,like the last bit of static electricity when she brushed against metal in winter. The raw nerve of Manchester’s Black was stifling her ability to sense anything more.
    “Please don’t touch me,” she said gently, removing Preston’s hand from her. “I don’t want Jack to get the wrong idea.”
    The threat of Jack Winter made Preston recoil like a spring, which would have amused Pete if the poor man hadn’tlooked so terrified. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” He swiped a hand across his eyes. “I used to have a normal life, Miss Caldecott. They’re going to say things about me—that I’m a nutter, that I went off the rails and betrayed them, that I’ve always been crazy and unstable. But I’m not .” He shuddered. “I was a geomancer—someone who could consecrate and bind the earth, find holy sites, tears betweenthe Black and the daylight, that sort of thing. Made a nice living as an estate agent, when I wasn’t searching out trouble spots and places of power for them. ”
    “Okay,” Pete said. “I believe you, Preston.” She didn’t know what she actually believed, but he needed to hear it and she needed him to get to the point.
    “When I found it, they tried to take it, tried to lock me up,” said Preston. “Theytried to take it for themselves. I saw it then, what the tenth gathering was really about, and I’m here to warn you, Miss Caldecott. Break the geas. Don’t get anywhere near the Prometheans, and if you must do so…” Preston shot a bug-eyed glance into the crowd, eyes roving over every face as his