Shadows & Dreams Read online

  Previously published; newly revised by author

  I like my women like I like my whiskey: liable to kill me.

  The two parts of being a paranormal private investigator I could really do without are being forced to eat bananas by an animated statue with a potassium fixation, and being put on trial for murder by a self-appointed council of vampire oligarchs.

  To be fair, I did kind of do it (the murder, not the bananas). But I was kind of saving my girlfriend, who is kind of one of them.

  On top of this, I’ve also wound up with a primordial queen of the damned trying to strangle me in my dreams. And the conspiracy of undead wizards who tried to sacrifice me fifteen years ago has decided that now is the best possible time to give it another go.

  Throw in the woman who left me for a tech start-up, the old girlfriend who I might sort of owe eternal mystical fealty to and a werewolf “it girl” who can’t decide if she wants to eat me in the good way or the bad way, and I’m beginning to think life would be easier if I made better choices. Then again, it’d be a whole lot less fun.

  This book is approximately 98,000 words

  One-click with confidence. This title is part of the Carina Press Romance Promise: all the romance you’re looking for with an HEA/HFN. It’s a promise!

  Also available from Alexis Hall

  and Carina Press

  Iron & Velvet

  And coming soon

  Kate Kane Book III: Fire & Water

  Also available from Alexis Hall

  The Affair of the Mysterious Letter

  Prosperity

  Liberty & Other Stories

  There Will Be Phlogiston

  Glitterland

  Waiting for the Flood

  For Real

  Pansies

  Looking for Group

  How to Bang a Billionaire

  How to Blow It with a Billionaire

  How to Belong with a Billionaire

  Content Warning

  Shadows & Dreams contains some violence.

  Shadows & Dreams

  Alexis Hall

  Author’s Note

  This is a slightly revised edition of Shadows & Dreams. There are no changes to major characters or events, but I have rephrased a few lines here and there to improve readability and Patrick’s sire has been renamed from Katya to Yelena because it suddenly occurred to me that having a Katya and a Kate was needlessly confusing.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Fire & Water by Alexis Hall

  Prologue

  Lovers & Murders

  My name’s Kane, Kate Kane. I’m a private investigator, operating out of a dingy office just off Bow Street.

  Thirty-something years ago, my deranged faery queen of a mother left me on my dad’s doorstep wrapped in a wolfskin, in a basket made of briars.

  Fifteen years ago, I was deep in the closet, dating a vampire dickhead who hated himself, failing my A levels, and trying to come to terms with being a faery princess. A faery princess with a bunch of scary hunter powers and a mum who keeps trying to take over her body.

  Ten years ago, I’d dumped the vampire, moved to London, done a BTEC in private investigation, and got a job with a bloke named Archer.

  Last year, I split up with my long-term girlfriend, slept with a client, and got my partner killed (not entirely in that order).

  Three months ago, I was hired by Julian Saint-Germain, one of the four most powerful vampires in England, to investigate a murder at one of her clubs. I saved her from a crazy faery sewer lord, but along the way, I ended up striking a deal with a giant rat gestalt, swearing fealty to the Witch Queen of London, and playing sex chicken with an alpha werewolf. Also, I might have accidentally killed a thousand-year-old vampire prince.

  Oh, and me and Julian are sort of seeing each other.

  Chapter One

  Brothers & Bureaucrats

  Snow was falling through silver mist on the Dream of a city.

  I edged forwards over the icy bridge, my sword raised to strike. The Sorceress raised her hand to the pearl-grey sky. The clouds cracked open. I threw myself aside, and a lance of green-tinted lightning struck the place where I’d just been standing. I rolled to my feet and charged.

  Our blades met in silence.

  The snow glistened on the edge of my sword and dusted the dark green coils of the Sorceress’s unbound hair.

  I wrapped my free hand round her sword arm and pinned it against my body, turning my own blade back to bring the point level with her throat.

  She smiled. Her eyes gleamed like absinthe behind her ornate mask. She leaned towards me and ran her fingers gently across my cheek. In the half-light, her nails sparkled, bright as emeralds.

  I ran my sword through her throat.

  She billowed into green smoke and dissipated into the mist.

  * * *

  I awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and the taste of wormwood. I’d been having these dreams since I’d sworn fealty to Nimue. Sometimes it was a lady in green, sometimes it was a giant pig, sometimes it was shadowy armies, and once it had been this weird monster with a snake’s head, a lion’s body, and rabbit’s feet that I’d chased in circles and then lost somewhere in Seven Dials.

  To be honest, I wasn’t exactly thrilled with my new nighttime adventures, and I missed the days when the dreams I remembered involved three nuns and a set of handcuffs. But Nim had given me her help when I’d asked for it, and it could have been a lot worse.

  There was a knock on the door. “It is eight o’clock, Miss Kane.”

  Speaking of deals with supernatural beings. Elise had been foisted on me by a crazy rat god as the price for some annoyingly vague information. She turned out to be an animated statue, but she doesn’t take up much space, she brews a mean cup of coffee, and she fixed my washing machine. So it was working out pretty well.

  I pulled on my fluffy dressing gown and went through to the living room. There was a mug of coffee and a banana waiting for me on the dining table. Elise was a big believer in the practical value of the humble banana.

  I do not like bananas.

  “Did you sleep well?” asked Elise.

  She still looked like a supermodel, but since she’d started buying her own clothes, she’d taken to dressing like a librarian. She was currently wearing a long tweed skirt and a silk blouse with a grey woollen cardigan over the top. She told me once that she chose her clothes partly for their texture. I unloaded her laundry a couple of weeks ago and she’s got some of the nicest underwear I’ve ever seen. And I like to think I’m an expert.

  “Same old, same old.” I slumped
down at the table. “Misty London, scary chick in green, faint sexual undertone.”

  “I am concerned, Miss Kane. Restful sleep is a necessary biological function. I do not believe this can be good for you.”

  “Elise, I drink, I smoke, I’m dating a vampire.” I picked up the banana and waved it under her nose. “Apart from these, I don’t think I do anything that’s good for me.”

  “That is poor reasoning. The fact that you undertake many activities that are harmful to you should lead you to minimise risks in other areas of your life. But I am pleased you are still eating your bananas.”

  I diligently ate my banana, finished my coffee, and got dressed. By the time I got down to the car, Elise was settled in the driver’s seat and was programming the satnav. Since Elise doesn’t eat and only pays me a nominal rent, she spends most of her salary on gadgets. My flat is piling up with coffeemakers, sandwich toasters, automatic coin sorters, and hard-core power tools. She also has this remote-control helicopter, but after the incident with my drinks cabinet, she’s no longer allowed to use it in the flat.

  I got in and buckled up. I never used to be comfortable in the passenger seat. It was kind of a control thing. But driving makes Elise so damn happy that I feel like a dick saying she can’t. And I’ve come to appreciate the headspace. Or the extra twenty minutes sleep.

  A lilting Welsh woman instructed us to turn left out of the driveway.

  I gestured at the dashboard. “You’ve been driving us to work for three months now. Why do you need a satnav?”

  “I thought it would be useful to have a second opinion.”

  “And I don’t count, do I?”

  “Your voice is not so pleasant, Miss Kane.”

  “What’s wrong with my voice?”

  “I do apologise. I was merely teasing. I assure you, your voice is sweet and melodious.”

  “Damn straight.”

  Sometime later, the Welsh woman helpfully informed us that we had arrived at our destination, and we went up to the office. Archer’s name was still on the door, but Elise had taken his desk. She’d made a few other changes too, like getting the paperwork off the floor and into the filing cabinet, and I had about half as many unprocessed invoices and unpaid bills as I’d had three months ago.

  We were just wrapping up the Fletcher case. Mrs. Fletcher had hired us to find out if her husband was cheating on her. That sort of job is the bread and butter of the detective business, but it’s fucking depressing because, basically, everybody loses. Either they are cheating and so your marriage is ruined. Or they’re not, in which case you’ve wasted a tonne of money and destroyed the trust in your relationship. Mr. Fletcher had been cheating, but it had been tough to get evidence because his mistress was a ghost, so she hadn’t actually shown up on film, which meant we’d had to shell out for some good, old-fashioned spirit photography.

  Wrapping up the job left me officially between cases, and frankly, there wasn’t much chance of anything major coming up until after Christmas.

  Elise would probably want to use the time productively to get on top of the bookkeeping. But I was looking forward to taking a break, spending some quality time with my vampire girlfriend, and heading back up north to visit the folks. I hadn’t seen much of Julian since I’d rescued her from the King of the Court of Love, because there’d been some major political fallout since I’d taken the Prince of Swords down a sewer, and he hadn’t come out again. The advantage of not seeing someone as much as you’d like is that when you do, the sex is fucking amazing. On the other hand, since Julian is the vampire prince of pleasure that kind of comes as standard. So you’re mostly left with the disadvantage, which is, well, that you don’t see them as much as you’d like.

  I’d known what I was getting into from pretty much the moment I walked into her office, and I’m well past my spend-every-moment-together-I-am-nothing-without-you phase, but I don’t like keeping to someone else’s schedule. Maybe I’m messed up, but missing her makes me feel needy, and that makes me feel annoyed, and that makes me drink too much, and that makes Elise sad, and that makes me feel guilty, and that makes me more annoyed.

  And then I see Julian and it’s all wonderful.

  I stared moodily out of the window and thought about going outside for a fag break. Since Elise started working for me, I’m legally obliged to provide a smoke-free environment so I don’t give her lung cancer, despite the fact that, as far as I know, she doesn’t have lungs.

  That was when Tash walked into my office.

  I’d pulled her at the Candy Bar about three months ago but entirely failed to follow through. She’d given me her number and I’d given her my card, but I’d never called her and, honestly, never expected to see her again. It was pretty obvious this wasn’t a social visit. She still had that quirky pixie look, but it was like someone had stolen all her magic dust.

  “Uh, hi,” she said. “I know this is weird, but I need your help.”

  Truth be told, it was a little bit awkward, but my social weirdness threshold has gone way up since my girlfriend tried to murder my ex-girlfriend because her ex-girlfriend tried to murder her.

  “Take a seat.” I waved across my desk. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Perhaps a cup of tea would be appropriate?” offered Elise.

  Tash huddled into a chair. “Yes, thank you.” She had surprisingly good manners for a girl who’d been up for shagging in the doorway of Pizza Express. Elise disappeared into our tiny kitchenette, and Tash seemed to relax a bit.

  I shunted my midmorning whiskey behind a stack of old case notes and tried to look professional. “What’s the problem?”

  “It’s Hugh.” The words came out in a rush. “My brother, Hugh, he’s disappeared. But he broke his leg. We called the police, and it’s been more than two days, and I’m worried. He isn’t answering his phone, and nobody’s seen him. There’s this leaflet, and it says ninety-nine percent of people come back within forty-eight hours, but it’s been forty-eight hours and he hasn’t come back. And I don’t know what to do.”

  I should probably have said something comforting but I couldn’t think of anything. “Who saw him last?”

  “I don’t know.” She picked up one of the Kane and Archer pens Elise had recently ordered for publicity which were now scattered all over the office. “Probably somebody at the hospital.”

  “Which one?”

  “The Whittington. He broke his leg changing a lightbulb. Because he was standing on a swivel chair because he’s an idiot.”

  “Any history of depression?”

  She shook her head.

  “Any personal problems?”

  “No, he was doing really well. He was doing this MA at Brunel, and he’d just got this major internship or something.”

  “If he was at Brunel,” I asked, “why did they take him to the Whittington?”

  “He did it at his girlfriend’s house in Highgate. He was only supposed to be in overnight but there were complications.”

  “And he had no enemies or anything like that?”

  “What? Hugh?”

  “You’d be surprised.” I shrugged. “I know he’s your brother, but it would be really helpful if you could find out if he gambled, drank, or took drugs or if he had any debts or dangerous friends.”

  She thought about it for a moment. “He played D&D.”

  Eve had tried to get me into that. I played a gnome paladin and got killed by a big cube of jelly when I was level 3. After that, I just hung out on the edges of the group and stole their pizza.

  At that moment, Elise came in with tea for Tash and a coffee for me. “Would you like me to take notes, Miss Kane?”

  “Any objections?”

  Tash shook her head.

  “Okay. Miss...” I suddenly remembered that Tash’s surname was not the Teetotal Lesbian.

  “Shawcros
s.”

  “Okay, Miss Shawcross is looking for her brother, Hugh, who disappeared from the Whittington Hospital in Highgate, between two and three days ago. He was being treated for a broken leg. The police are looking into it, but the family hasn’t heard anything yet. The police will probably see him as low risk given his age and circumstances. He was studying for his master’s at Brunel, and he’d recently started an internship. The accident happened at his girlfriend’s house, which is in Highgate. As far as Miss Shawcross knows, he had no enemies, no mental health issues, and no personal problems.”

  “Just the broken leg,” added Tash. “That’s strange isn’t it? Disappearing when you can’t walk?”

  It could have meant he’d been abducted, but the police take things like that very seriously. Since he was still floating around the MPB and hadn’t been kicked up to Serious Crimes, it meant it probably wasn’t a kidnapping. Or at least didn’t look like one to the police. So that left either the plot of an episode of Miss Marple, in which a man with a broken leg discharged himself from hospital for no clear reason, or there was something supernatural going on. Right now, the supernatural explanation looked more likely. But, then again, when all you’ve got is an enchanted hammer, every problem starts to look like a possessed nail.

  “It’s a little unusual,” I said, impressed with my own tact. “I’ll need his contact information, current address, a photograph, as recent as you can get, digital is fine. I’ll also need details of the internship, his friends, and the name and address of his girlfriend.”

  Tash pulled out her phone. “I’ll email you some photos. It’s [email protected], right?”

  I nodded. I remember when you had to wander around with a single copy of a crappy Polaroid. It’s way easier now everybody puts a tonne of shit online, but you still have to remember that, whatever people say about our media-obsessed age, people don’t put their whole lives on Facebook—just the bits of their lives they want their friends to know about. It’s not like you ever see so-and-so has updated their status: Borrowed 20 grand from Jimmy “Machete” Carter to fund my secret crack habit.