Page 37 of Demon Heart: The Complete Series

C haos outside Buckingham Palace played across my phone screen as I sat in the back of the car speeding its way to Ashford. Another riot, police and the ADU hosing the crowd, beating them, attacking them with spells.

So many people.

So much drama.

Plenty of suffering.

All because of the queen.

St. Pancras International used to be the station for rail journeys through the Channel Tunnel, but it was still being rebuilt after experiencing heavy damage last year, along with several miles of track.

Ashford International survived, along with the rest of the track running to the coast, so all European services began there.

One more year and St. Pancras would be up and running again. As long as the impending war didn’t scupper the plans.

I missed Xavier. I wanted him beside me in this backseat, telling me more about his Danish pastries, about himself, here on this mission with me.

Maybe he could talk me out of it.

Maybe he could hold my hand.

It’s funny how life spins things sometimes. When you’re at your loneliest, you get handed a buoy to keep you afloat, only to find a hole in it. A hit of biting humor, a smackdown for you trying to rise above your station.

Yeah, I got it. Stay in my lane, be The Shadow, stop pining for more, and certainly stop doubting the queen and my job.

I can still taste you on my lips…

The speeding car cut along a motorway, passing many fields and areas under repair—a constant sight these days.

“We’re almost there,” the driver said.

“Thanks.”

Swiping away the news report, I brought up the blueprints for King Basile’s train again, going through my access plan.

Front carriages. No entry.

Middle carriages. Forget it.

Second carriage from the rear. Bingo. It was the storage car, and the only possible weak point for me to break into.

I can do this…

I boxed up more emotions, more doubt. They all sought to overthrow me, to pluck me out of this madness.

In my five years on the job, this was my second wobble.

The first happened in Greece in my premier year as The Shadow.

Twenty-one, running around Athens, hunting down an enemy of Her Majesty.

After killing said enemy, I went to the beach, contemplating my choices as the sun set on the horizon.

With glamouring spells still available, I’d considered disguising myself, disappearing for good.

But I knew the queen would find me. There was no way out for me other than death or old age.

So, I’d killed the doubt along with my mark, returning to the palace, and spent the next five years spying and killing and being the best Shadow I could be.

The car crossed a flyover, Ashford International just on the other side. The neon lights of its signage gleamed as a beacon of hope in a gloomy night.

Piper sent me a text. King Basile’s cavalcade was about fifteen minutes away, leaving me plenty of time to board the train.

The driver dropped me off on a side street away from the station.

I wove through the shadows on foot toward the station, a diversion spell covering me.

Cameras moved everywhere, watchers in the skies on their poles guarding the station.

A dead demon tower loomed over everything on the far end of the carpark.

A sea of men and women smothered the station, a combination of royal French guards and ADU agents awaiting their king.

If my spell dropped, if I made one sound, things would take a painful turn.

Taking my time, I moved across the carpark, every step cautious, every breath shallow. I passed their eyes, their weapons, inches away from violence.

Eventually, I made it to the ticket barriers. Laying on my back, I wiggled beneath the gate, inch by inch, four men standing on either side.

Focus. Pure focus. The mental state of the assassin. Be the air, be the concrete beneath me. Be nothing more than the wind.

I made it to the other side. King Basile’s royal train, decked out in blue and silver livery, waited on the opposite platform, bodies moving inside the twenty carriages, patrolling the connecting bridge and all the other platforms.

Rather than attempt crossing the busy bridge, I eased myself onto the tracks, creeping toward the train’s rear carriages. As I moved, I studied the pattern of the guards on patrol, memorizing their every move.

Reaching the second-from-last carriage, I waited for my opportunity.

Ten seconds, that’s all I’d get. I watched, I listened to the boots on the platform, Skele at the ready.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

I slid Skele into the emergency override lock at the bottom of the door—which was actually above me. The door made a puffing sound to indicate its unlocking. I pulled the door open and climbed up into the carriage, closing the door behind me, relocking it with Skele.

Ten seconds exactly. Perfect timing. With my diversion spell still intact, the cameras missed me and my interaction with the doors.

Smooth sailing so far.

Neatly piled crates filled the carriage, leaving the middle gangway clear and a few side nooks for me to duck into. I took a nook in the middle, crouching below a tinted window, back resting on a sealed chest.

I had no interest in snooping. I only snooped if the queen said so.

She’d left me with no such order.

Still and silent, I waited for the king.

King Basile arrived exactly fifteen minutes after me. I stood up to watch the scene through the window opposite my position.

Ten cars pulled into the carpark, blue lights flashing, the royal vehicle shielded in the middle, the French flag fluttering in the wind and rain. Guards surrounded His Majesty, leading him onto the train.

Once we reached the Channel Tunnel, I’d start moving for the center carriage—the royal carriage—and countdown the twenty-minutes it would take us to reach the other side of the sea.

Box your fear. Wrap the box in chains.

Five minutes after the king’s arrival, the train began to move, quickly gathering speed.

Begin the countdown.

A pale body took shape before me, shocking me out of my focus. A body of deadly muscle, a familiar scar slicing across his chest.

“Xavier?”

This wasn’t happening. Please tell me this wasn’t happening.