The Dire King (Jackaby #4)(41)

Jackaby slumped back in his chair. “She made me a hat, Miss Rook.” The lumpy thing lay on the desk in front of him.

“Yes, she did,” I told him. “And it is atrocious. It suits you.”

He gave a halfhearted smile. “Bite your tongue,” he managed, his brooding melancholy falling off him like heavy treacle from a spoon. “I think it’s splendid.”

“It may not have been woven with wool from a rare yeti, or dyes mixed by Baba Yaga,” I told him, “but I’m sure it was made with love. And also with an ice pick. Hatun didn’t come here for your protection; she came here because she believed in you. She believed that what you do matters. So, we’re going to finish what we started, and we’re going to save Hatun, and that’s all there is to it.”

“And if I can’t keep you safe along the way?”

“You were never supposed to. I didn’t take this position for safety, sir. I took it for purpose. Keep giving me that.”

After a pause, Jackaby smiled in earnest. It was a tired smile, a slow smile, but it was good to have him back. “All right then, my sage young apprentice—what do we do next?”

“Something foolish, I imagine,” I said. “Foolish and decidedly dangerous. That sounds about our style, doesn’t it?”

From across the quiet house, three loud clanks echoed through the corridors.

“Was that the front door knocker?” I said. “Who would be calling at this ungodly hour?”

We both slipped quietly into the foyer. The giant’s low snores rumbled, and the gnomes were piled on top of one another in the corner, sleeping like puppies. I looked up at the transom window. “Well. I’m not sure I like the look of that at all,” I said. The transom read:

r. f. jackaby:

revenge





Chapter Seventeen

By all accounts he should be dead,” Jackaby said, staring at the door. “But I suppose that is true about an increasing number of faces I’ve come across lately.”

“Who is it?” I whispered.

“An old friend,” drawled a muffled voice through the door. “Little pigs, little pigs, let me in.”

My blood froze. Pavel. How was it possible? The last time any of us had seen the vile vampire, he had been leaving the premises very quickly through a closed window—into the sunlight—with a brick in his mouth. My own hands had done the banishing, although I had no memory of my actions. The Dire King had crept into my mind at the time, manipulating me, using me. How could Pavel be back? Why now? Had our night not gone wrong enough already?

“No, sir, don’t—!” I began. Jackaby opened the door.

What awaited us on the other side was not the Dire Council’s cold, confident killer, standing on the doorstep all dressed in black. What awaited us on the other side was barely standing at all. What was left of Pavel was draped in soiled rags. He wore a floppy hat low over his head, but I could see that his face and hands were a mess of angry scars. He had been badly burnt, and he was leaning heavily against the column outside. He looked small and thin and unsteady, and he smelled like a lavatory.

“Not going to just let yourself in?” Jackaby asked. “It went so well for you the last time.”

“I thought I might give you the opportunity,” Pavel managed, his voice slow and labored, “to make up for your poor manners during our previous encounter.”

“You threatened to kill me,” I said.

“I was making small talk.”

“And then you actually tried to kill me.”

“I get tired of small talk. You take things too personally.”

“How did you survive?” Jackaby asked. “I watched Miss Rook drive you out into the direct sunlight. You should be ashes.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“The sewer system, I presume?” said Jackaby.

“I’ve had worse accommodations,” Pavel said, closing his eyes. He looked as though the act of standing might prove too much for him soon.

“And you’ve been draining innocent people to regain your strength ever since?” Jackaby posited.

“Ungh. I wish. Pigs,” said Pavel. “They taste almost human, if you close your eyes. And your nose. They were better than rats, at least. I found myself a quiet corner in the tunnels beneath that fat butcher in the Inkling District. I could go for a pint of the good stuff, though, if you’re offering.” He laughed a dry, hacking laugh.

“And now that you’re back on your feet, you’ve come for your revenge, is that it?” said Jackaby.

“YES.” Pavel’s bloodshot eyes flashed up at me from blackened, blistered sockets. “Yes, I have. And you are going to help me get it.”

“Help you?” I said. “Why should we help you avenge yourself on us?”

“On you? Don’t flatter yourself,” Pavel spat. “It was your hand that drove that brick into my jaw, but it was not you. I’m not stupid. I know who did this to me.”

I blinked. The Dire King. Having that egomaniac trespassing inside my head had been the most disquieting experience of my life. I had lost time during his psychic transgressions. I had done things I could not remember. It was a violation I had told only my closest friends about, but Pavel knew.