“Come on. I’ll find you a temporary place to stay.” I strode up the frozen escalator steps that led to the surface. “I bet you’ve never been to the Circus.”
2
Thanks to well-preserved buildings and its close proximity to other sections of the city, Piccadilly Circus was a busy part of Britannia City. A few heads turned as I crossed the junction with a three-headed dog trotting beside me. We were accustomed to monster sightings around here, but not necessarily accustomed to seeing them behave like canine companions.
I stopped at the security desk in the building known as the Pavilion. The Pavilion dated back to the 1850s and housed a music hall before it became a shopping arcade. It fell into ruin after the Great Eruption until the Knights of Boudica claimed it as their headquarters. We weren’t the only knights in the city, but because we were the only organization that was all female, we were the last call for the desperate, the poor, and the discreet. We took the jobs nobody else wanted because nobody else wanted us. I wasn’t sure when breasts became a determining factor in how well someone could wield a blade, but I recognized the valuable service we provided. People who hired us were lucky to have us.
The security guard took one look at me and shook her head. Treena was used to seeing me in one of three states: moody, bloody, or accompanied by a newfound companion.
I feigned ignorance. “What?”
“One day I expect to see a parade of rats behind you.”
“No thanks. Not a fan of rodents.”
“Maybe not, but I bet they’re a fan of you.” Treena studied my companion. “One lanyard or three for your guest?”
“Let’s forgo the lanyard today. I guarantee she’ll take an instant dislike to you if you try to put something around her neck.”
Treena made a noncommittal sound and waved us through the warded gate.
The dog kept pace with me as I approached the hub. Our headquarters was mainly open-plan except for an office designated for private client meetings, a small kitchen, an armory, and, of course, the loo. I didn’t love the spacious feel of the building, mainly because I preferred to keep to myself and the layout prevented me from hiding. I tended to get around that issue by not turning up at the office except when necessary. I met with clients in alternate locations and only returned to headquarters at times like this when I needed the assistance of the other knights and to complete paperwork. As much as I hated asking for help, the dog deserved the effort.
“Look who made a new friend.” I moved aside and made a ta-da motion with my hands. A collective groan followed.
“Not another one,” Minka complained. Minka Tarlock inherited the dark hair, bronze skin, and wide, brown eyes of her Asian father and the height and accurate nose of her Nordic mother. She specialized in spells, which was the primary reason she worked in a more administrative capacity. There was rarely time to complete a spell in the field, especially if the ingredients needed were scarce.
“Another what? I’ve never brought a Cerberus here before.”
Minka gave me a pointed look. “You know what I mean.”
Briar shuffled out from behind her desk. “I’ll get the dog bed.” Briar Niall was a shapeshifter known for her wild red hair, creamy complexion, and heart of gold. When you wanted a checklist, you went to Minka. When you wanted a sympathetic ear, you went to Briar.
“The bed won’t be big enough for that,” Minka said.
“That has a name,” I announced. At least she would as soon as I came up with something better than Mongrel.
Minka folded her arms. “What is it then?” When I didn’t answer straight away, she laughed. “I knew it. You have no idea what its name is.”
“As it happens, I do know, but it’s a terrible name and she’s in need of a new one.”
Briar offered her hand to the middle head, palm flat. “It’s okay. We’re all friends here.”
“All might be overstating it slightly,” Minka mumbled.
“Mind the slobber or you might lose a hand,” I said.
Briar snatched her hand away. “Do you think each head should have a different name?”
“One name should do it,” I said. “The center head controls the other two.”
“Then three heads aren’t really better than one,” Minka commented.
“They are when your goal is to intimidate,” Briar said, now patting the top of a head. Not so intimidating after all.
“Go on,” I urged Minka. “There’s still one head available.”
She gave me a tight smile. “No thanks. I just washed my hands.” She regarded the dog. “I guess the name Cerberus is too on the nose for you.”
Briar snorted. “That would be like naming a newborn Baby.” She crouched down and moved her nose closer to the nose on the left. “Do you have an opinion?”
Minka elbowed me lightly. “Can’t you tell what she’s thinking?”
“Not exactly.” My skill didn’t work that way. I couldn’t have a telepathic conversation with the dog. The communication was more abstract and guided by feelings, except with the animals with whom I shared a strong bond, like Barnaby.
“What about Hella?” Briar asked.
Minka scrunched her nose. “This is a pointless exercise. She doesn’t need to name it. The monster will go straight back where she found it as soon as she releases it.”
“Therein lies the problem.” I told them about Fergal. “Trio needs to steer clear of a certain section of the city and find a new home.”
Briar lit up. “Trio’s a great name.”
I smiled. “Right? It just popped out.”
Minka groaned. “It can’t steer clear of Edgware Road by staying here.”
“I wasn’t suggesting here, specifically.”
Trio barked and wagged her tail. Okay, maybe she was suggesting here specifically.
Minka’s expression grew more pinched by the second. “Let me guess. There’s no space in your flat.”
“Of course there’s no space.” I gave the dog a playful smack on the back. “Sniff around and see who appeals to you.”
Minka quickly returned to the safety of her desk. She avoided animals the way most people avoided vampires. I was pretty sure half the reason I brought creatures to the Circus was to see her reaction. Life held so very few pleasures.
Trio pressed three noses to the floor and sniffed loudly.
“You’re not wearing your uniform again.” Minka didn’t bother to disguise her annoyed tone. “I don’t know how you manage to run around the city without catching a chill.”
I pivoted to face her. “That’s what you’re choosing to focus on?”
“Yes, I choose to focus on the rules. I know that must seem ridiculous to you…”
“I follow the rules,” I objected.
“That uniform is designed to keep you safe.” Minka gestured to Briar’s dark blue outfit.
“And yet here I am—safe as houses and no uniform,” I said.
I wasn’t against a uniform on principle. There was a lot to be said for protective gear, especially ours. The Knights of Boudica had taken great pains to acquire the fluid-like magical armor that protected us from the cold, absorbed shock, and was difficult to penetrate, and I appreciated their efforts. I disliked wearing the uniform because it identified me as a knight and I tried to avoid anything that identified me in a crowd or drew attention to me. I wanted to blend with the shadows, the way vampires once did. It was safer for me. Safer for everyone.