Bank of Westminster

Chapter 13

The flames died away, and one by one the demon-hunters collapsed until only Frank was left standing.

His clothes had nearly burned away, his skin was blackened and blistered, and not a single hair remained on his body. Only the emerald-green scales on his arms and legs were unscathed—tiny plates that locked together so tightly they still gleamed like silk even after the firestorm.

They looked like the armor of some beast.

Clearly, this was a power belonging to the Bronze-ranked demon-hunter.

Much like the [Promise] Barron had received upon becoming a contract knight.

Bill cast a frantic glance behind him. Even the lion-knight who had been patrolling for the Knights Templar had fallen in the flames, unable to use his sole Promise—[Lion's Roar]—before death.

He stared at Barron, who looked reborn from the ashes: wounds closing in the fire, pitch-black eyes now ringed by flickering gold.

The golden eyes of a Gold-rank enforcer.

Yet if Barron were truly Gold, they would all have been reduced to carbon in an instant.

Which left only one possibility...

Scales along Bill's arms shifted and locked, and two crescent bone-blades unfolded from his forearms. Staring at Barron, he finally managed a complete sentence.

"You contracted a pure-blood dragon. How?"

Barron did not answer. Bill sneered. "Pity. Looks like you've only just fully awakened—nothing more than a Black-Iron contract knight."

"Know why your flames couldn't touch me?"

The bone-blades crossed with a rasping shriek. "Because I'm a Bronze-rank Beast-path demon-hunter! Every scale on my arms and legs is dragon-crocodile armor—fire from even a wyvern can't melt it, let alone the flames of a legendary Red Dragon!"

Bill suddenly kicked the ground. The lion-knight's sword skittered across the floor and clattered to a halt beside Barron.

From the corner, the sheet-wrapped Julius and the children showed fresh fear and despair.

Bill's bronze pupils glinted with cruelty. "Come, knight! Pick up your sword and let me taste the fabled might of a Dragon-Knight!"

His twin bone-blades whined as they scraped past each other, poised to strike.

He had spoken at length only to rattle Barron's composure and draw him into close combat. The strange dragonfire had not been as harmless as it seemed; beneath the scales, his skin was already scorched and throbbing.

If Barron took the bait, the gap in rank—and the difference in their skill—would let Bill lop off his head in a heartbeat.

Barron glanced at the sword, then at Bill's newly bald scalp. He touched the cross-shaped scar on his cheek, drew the sawed-off shotgun hidden at his waist, and—trusting instinct—imbued the shells with dragonfire before pulling the trigger.

The moment the shot left the barrel, the casing ruptured from the sudden heat.

Bill twisted aside, but the spread was too dense; star-like shot punched through his scales and slammed him to the floor. Blood gushed as he howled, "Who... what are you?"

The man's shadow loomed larger. "You can't kill me!" Bill cried, terror shaking his voice. "I'm the second son of the Frank family! My father's a Silver demon-hunter! Kill me, and House Frank will wipe out yours!"

His gaze flicked to Julius and the children. "And them!"

Bill was certain death was seconds away.

The man knelt with the sword, face calm, golden eyes blazing. He carved neat crosses into Bill's cheeks. Blood beaded and fell.

Fear made Bill's eyes twitch. "No... don't..."

But the man didn't stop. He counted steadily, as though marking time.

"Thirty-four. Thirty-three. Thirty-two. Thirty-one..."

Each number earned Bill a fresh cross. When his face ran out of room, the blade moved to his body. When the count reached zero, Bill had become a bleeding lattice of crosses.

"Know why I did this?" the Dragon-Knight asked.

Bill's voice was hoarse with pain. "My execution..."

The knight shook his head. "Wrong answer. There's a price."

"Price?" Terror seized the demon-hunter. "I'll pay anything—anything! Just don't kill me!"

"Why..."

The Dragon-Knight leaned close and whispered, "Because you cut in line."

"No!"

Steel flashed. Bill screamed; on the far side of the room Julius and the children squeezed their eyes shut.

A ripping sound—something sliced.

But no pain came. Bill opened his eyes to see the man holding his wallet.

Barron repeated the process, slicing the purses from every demon-hunter and the lion-knight with casual efficiency.

"What... are you?" Bill rasped.

Barron poured the coins into his ring in full view of the room, then planted a boot on Bill's head.

"An escaped convict—and the bastard who kicked you off the metro."

Bill snarled through blood-flecked coughs. "Barron Constantine... I'll remember you..."

Barron's voice was flat. "Tell it to the nun behind you."

Bill twisted his neck. Striding toward them was a tall woman in a long, fitted habit, a slender katana at her hip.

The nun unsheathed the blade. "Holy Office, Inquisition. Battle-Sister Lotus, on scene. May God judge your sins—over."

She lifted the sword over her shoulder, right side high—the kendo stance called "Kasumi," Barron remembered from manga in his previous life.

Bill laughed despite his wounds. "A Battle-Sister of the Inquisition! You're finished!"

Barron picked up a fallen sword and rammed it through Bill's right shoulder, pinning him to the floor. "Choose your words more carefully, friend. You're still in my hands."

If not for Bill's powerful family, the need to clear his own name, the presence of the Battle-Sister, and the Cavendishes' safety, Barron would have repaid every ounce of pain tenfold...

Even if that meant killing.

Yes, even killing.

He drew the blade free and drove it toward Bill's heart.

Clang! The Battle-Sister was suddenly in front of him, her katana parrying the thrust, eyes sharp.

Knowing her skill, Barron leapt back. The instant Lotus raised her blade, he snatched the sheet-wrapped Julius and pressed his sword under her chin.

Tears slid down Julius's cheeks. Barron looked at Lotus.

"Will your God choose to save one person—or kill one?"

Unlike the razor-sharp sword, the face beneath the wimple was delicate: pale skin, dark brows, finely carved lips—classic Japanese grace.

Long black hair spilled over her shoulders. A katana-wielding nun straight out of manga, Barron thought wryly.

Lotus hesitated. Bill sensed his chance. "Forget saving or killing! He's a fugitive wanted by the Prol Court! Battle-Sisters exist to fight—just kill him!"

Barron saw her waver. No rabbit, no wolf. He murmured an apology and drew a shallow cut across Julius's bare arm.

Julius screamed on cue.

Barron's voice was cold. "Your God loves humanity, Sister. Life or death—make your choice."

"Kill him!" Bill shouted.

"Let me go!" Barron demanded.

"Older Sister!" the children cried.

A tremor crossed Lotus's face. She stood in silence, then sheathed her sword and backed out of the room.

She had made her choice.

Damn it! Rumor said these Battle-Sisters could do nothing but fight and pray! Bill cursed.

Barron exhaled, but stayed wary. He had seen what Lotus could do. Instead of heading for the door she'd left by, he hoisted Julius and leapt through the window.

As he cleared the sill, he saw Mrs. Cavendish watching from the next room. She smiled—an ugly smile.

...

In a deserted alley Barron set Julius down, checked for pursuers, then pulled wad after wad of cash from his ring and stuffed it into her arms.

"Hide this. Get your father to move your family somewhere else—fast."

"What about you, Mr. Constantine?" Julius asked, voice shaking.

What about me? I'll improvise.

"I have my own ways. Battle-Sisters are merciful; if they ask, tell them exactly where I went—no need to hide it..."

Barron glanced around; his golden eyes flared and dimmed. "Their target is me. I heard the lions roar—they'll be here by scent soon..."

"Oh, right..."

He patted his pockets, then pressed a gold-foil chocolate coin into her palm.

Julius stared at it.

"For you. I almost forgot... You're still a kid. Fourteen years old—on the Outside that's still middle school." He laughed bitterly. "Bloody England, past or present, Outside or Inside—always lousy to minors... That's all. Don't think I'm nagging. Take care of yourself and your family. Maybe we'll meet again."

With that, he lifted a manhole cover and dropped into the sewers.

A moment later, he lifted the manhole cover again. "By the way, don't pull that flower-selling stunt too often—you'll get beaten up!"

The cover clanged shut.

Julius stared at the gold-foil chocolate resting in her palm, lost in thought. She said nothing, but in her heart she whispered:

Until fate brings us together again... Mr. Constantine.