Nick slashed with the knife, missing Ian’s middle by a mere inch when he sucked in his stomach at the last second. Ian took careful steps sideways as the tenement roof smoldered, sending smoke into the sky.
Mary grinned from her perch like some medieval gargoyle. “Careful, sister, your concern for a man is showing.”
Unarmed, Ian had no choice but to back up toward the courtyard wall as the final sparks of his fire spell shot into the sky. He was running out of room. Benjamin attempted to trip him, but as the boy was made of nothing more than mist and misery, Ian passed right through him as though he were smoke.
Ian spit out another spell. “With this charm, I disarm!” Yet the magic had no effect on Nick, who toyed with him by jabbing with the knife. Ian dodged until his back hit the brick wall. Mary watched with eyes as wide and black as coals, tapping her fingers lightly against her lips in anticipation of the death that surely must follow.
Edwina had seen hints of the specter of cruelty in her sister before with Freddie and that Thisbury boy, but it sickened her to witness Mary’s ghoulish complicity on full display.
As Nick taunted with the knife, relishing his power over Ian’s magic, the tenement roof burst into flame. There were children inside, and parents so desperate to feed them they took handouts from a murderer. Edwina concentrated on words potent enough to douse the fire. She stepped into the courtyard and raised her hand to the sky. “Gather in form, gray and frightening. Cloud and storm, thunder and lightning. Wind and rain, lash and blow. Fog and murk, sink below.”
She’d made no effort to hide her incantation behind mortal poetry. The spell was a beacon. A gust of storm to rattle the Constabulary to action. But she also needed the cloak of fog to hide her from those who’d soon swarm the yard.
The rain fell, lashing the burning roof with relief. The fog billowed and settled, enveloping the courtyard in a blanket of thick gray mist. Tenants ran out of their flats in a panic, their faces and bodies fading in and out of ghostly view. Ian called out Edwina’s name through the mist. Nick answered with a call for his blood. An emergency whistle shrilled in the lane.
Somewhere in the fog Benjamin sang, “Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home. Your house is on fire, your children shall burn.”
Mary, she knew, had already flown. And now she must too.
Fog swirled around Edwina as she held her arms out to let her shawl’s fringe hang free. She summoned her ancient heredity, letting the magic coalesce inside and flutter up to fill her veins. The grounded weight of flesh and heavy marrow fell away, replaced by broad wings and hollow bones that spread out in graceful arcs. From downy tufts to pinion feathers, from claws to polished beak, her primeval bloodline effused throughout her body, transforming her.
Then she took to the air.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The mortals, who’d been happy enough to stay silent while Ian was being attacked in their yard, streamed out of their upper-level flats, screaming the roof was on fire. And still Nick lunged. The dandy was done playing, but without his club to first render his victim unconscious, his blade kept missing the mark.
Then, from the corner of his eye, Ian spotted Edwina. She’d cast a spell to draw the rain and fog. Well done, lass.
She’d done a proper job of it. The mist swallowed everyone in seconds so he couldn’t see two feet in front of him, though he knew Nick was still there. He dodged right, feeling his way against the courtyard wall. He could hear men rushing through the corridor, but he’d lost track of Edwina. He called out for her to know she was okay, but it was Nick who answered, rising out of the mist only inches away on his left. Seeing the bloodlust in his eyes reinvigorated Ian’s memory of the man found lying facedown in the alley in a pool of his own blood. The fear Ian had felt reliving the man’s final moments—the terror, the degradation, the helplessness—all surged within him in an overwhelming desire to live.
Nick grinned, knowing he had him pinned and hidden from view by the fog. He could still stick the blade in and slip away unseen, letting the blood wash away with the rain. Nick’s vile thoughts showed on his face as he drew his arm back for a roundhouse slice meant to sever Ian’s carotid artery. Ian raised his forearm to defend himself, cringing in anticipation as the rain spit in his face, when a large bird plunged out of the mist.
The strike came swift and brutal. A raven, with wings as black as coal, dropped out of the fog, lunging with its claws out. It tore at Nick’s face, his buttons, his plaid coat. The dandy ducked and covered his head with one arm, but the raven found the vulnerable skin on the back of his neck and tore open a gash that no magical talisman could have deflected. The bloodletting forced Nick to retreat as he swatted his arm and cursed at the mad bird. He jabbed with his knife, stabbing at the air, but the raven only swooped out of reach and circled around for another attack.