by Ana Calin
I’ve never felt more certain of anything. It’s for the first time when I’m completely sure that I’m doing the right thing. I’m madly in love with this man, and I’m well aware that eloping with him through the back door means surrendering myself to him entirely. I make the choice full-heartedly. He grabs a random leather jacket from the pegs by the exit, flings it over my shoulders, and we plunge out into the night.
The streets are narrow, dark and chilly, only here and there an orange light flickering at a window, but Kieran’s arm around me and the warm proximity of his body are all the “safe” I need. I mentally say farewell to the buildings that stand dark and timeless on each side of the cobbled street like a tunnel. This is the old part of Northville, which miraculously escaped bombardment during the war. These houses are almost as old as the line of Kings and Queens, and their walls witnessed many of the Middle Ages’ terrors and horrors, including the black plague. There are still basements where community graves were found.
Just a few months ago I thought I could never leave this place, even though its mystery chilled me to the bones, but somehow I couldn’t stop probing it. Today I know the town was always a cruel place, and that all through my life it’s been an anonymous retreat for rich twisted devils and their dark practices. I’m glad it’s going down.
Rain begins to fall from the laden skies, the drops big and hard like gravel on my face. I raise the jacket over my head, but my legs are wet and freezing. The rain shortly soaks Kieran’s shirt too, making it cling to his sinewy body, but he doesn’t seem bothered at all.
“Don’t you—”
“I’ve been through far worse than a little angry water, Saphira,” he interrupts, increasing pace as we slosh through the puddles. “It’s you we need to get to warmth fast.” My feet practically swim in the cold water.
“Where are we going?” My teeth clatter, and Kieran’s hold tightens.
“An inn. Joyous awaits us there. He has a car ready.”
But at the next street Kieran suddenly halts. He pulls me back behind the last corner we passed. I follow his gaze around the gutter to realize that we’re looking at Virgin Vivienne’s house—what’s left of it after the fire. Two figures in monk-like cloaks, one tall and broad, the other small and thin, go separate ways from it. They’ve obviously been in there together, but it turns out one of them—the one that heads our way—is a woman. I can’t see that far, especially through the heavy rain, but Kieran’s eyes turn to serpent slits, and he identifies her.
“You won’t believe this. It’s Pretty Lauren.”
Surprise kicks out my manners. “You gotta be shitting me.”
CHAPTER XXIV
I WILL FIND YOU AGAIN
The oldest inn in the old city. A gas lamp burns low on the table by the window where the Marquis stands, parting the curtains with his fingers and watching the entrance. I walk in from the bathroom drying my hair with a towel, the floorboards gritting under my feet until I drop on the bed. We haven’t yet changed clothes, so I’m still wearing the torn fishnet stockings and the pink corset with black lace, which is humid and uncomfortable. I stare at the Marquis, and I’m sure he feels it, but he keeps looking out the window into the night.
“That was surely Ivan Basarab, Saphira, why didn’t you let me chase him? There would have been no one left to hunt me and my kind, and we could have lived in peace forever.”
“What if you failed to catch him?” I keep my voice low and soft, cautious not to instigate him in any way. “He would have known we’d try to get his real identity out of Lauren, and he would have killed her like he did Gunnar, and like he tried to kill Vivienne.”
“I would have caught him.” His voice is controlled, but I know better. The way he stands there in his wet clothes that cling to his spanned body, the profile of his face resembling that of a ruthless prince, they tell me how much he wants to get out there into the storm and hunt down the Slayer.
“You don’t know that, Kieran. You know nothing about the real Ivan Basarab, he could be some engineered creature himself as far that goes.”
“I’ve fought engineered creatures before. My makers sent me to take down many, and I have yet to meet my match—I hope that doesn’t sound arrogant. It’s a truth I’m not even proud of.”
“But this is The Slayer, Kieran. He’s specialized in taking down assassins like you.”
“And yet he works from the shadow because he’s afraid of me.”
He twists a chair in the air and brings it into place before me by the bed, then he straddles it with smooth feral moves. He gathers my hands in his and comes so close that his bittersweet scent infiltrates through my nostrils and lures me back into calmness.
“Saphira, I meant it when I asked you to run away with me. I crave it, but Basarab’s presence here will bring death and destruction over Northville even with me gone. When Basarab doesn’t need Lauren Morris anymore, he’ll kill her, and he’ll probably end Inspector Jeremy Simmons too. Not to mention what he’ll do to poor Mrs Grant, who’s trapped at the asylum. Hell will break loose over this town, Saphira, and all because of me. Because I showed up here in the first place.”
I look down as I process his words. “Why didn’t you think about all this before you asked me to elope with you?”
“I did, but I—” He hesitates for a moment, then his voice drops to a soft, chocolate slur. “Truth is that moment I didn’t care, Saphira. All I cared about was being with you.”
“And what changed?”
He presses my hands to his wet chest and moves by my side on the bed, dipping into the mattress. I can feel his gaze searching my face, but I keep looking down to hide my tears. My heart slams into my chest, surely pumping a flush to my cheeks.
“I’ll tell you what changed when I first met you, Saphira. The boy I used to be, Kieran Slate, I thought he’d found his end under the knives of the Elite. What my makers brought back to life was a mutilated soul who, fuelled by anger and hatred, grew to be the best of their monsters. I crawled in the sewers underneath London and left them only to bring death upon rich bastards that my makers wanted removed from their way. I did unspeakable things to them, Saphira, and I enjoyed it. I came to Northville determined to do unspeakable things to my tormentors. And to do terrible things to you. The night at the Royale, when I turned around and saw you staring at me I couldn’t believe my wicked luck—the daughter of Gunnar Lothar, falling right into my hands.”
He lifts my head and looks directly into my tear-filled eyes.
“But the next instant it hit me how unlike your father you were,” he says. “Your face . . .” He strokes a tear off my cheek, looking at me like I’m made of gold. “These stunning golden eyes, they ripped straight through me. I became instantly aware that I’d been blinded by my hatred, and that I shouldn’t make a victim of you. Still, I took such second thoughts as weakness from my part, vestiges of the human I once was. Yet by the time I found you back in the banquet hall I’d changed all my plans, making them easier on you . . .”
“Nothing of what you did to me was ever easy on me, Kieran,” I whisper. I should feel anger, and yet I’m overwhelmed by pain as if a knife cuts me with every one of his words. He takes me in his arms and presses me to his wet, hard chest, his voice vibrating in my skull.
“I swear that hurts me more than it hurts you. Saphira, I fell in love with you, I fell fast and madly and relentlessly. You have no idea how it tormented me, how I suffered when I realized that I wanted you to myself more than anything . . . But I can’t just take you away and leave destruction behind, leave innocent people in the claws of the evil that I brought upon them. We’d never find happiness like this.”
“When?”
“When what?” He holds me tightly, and I can barely breathe anymore.
“When did you realize you felt something for me?” I manage.
He caresses my hair and my face like a worshipper. “I first admitted to myself that you meant something to me on your date with Pukov. J
ealousy made killing him so much more pleasant, as horrible as that sounds. Soon I stopped fighting my feelings for you because they were too intense, and I realized everything I repressed was coming back with a vengeance. Now I’ve surrendered completely to this madness, to this love. But if we leave Northville, Saphira, and we build our happiness on the demise of these people, it will haunt both of us forever.”
I push him gently with my palms and look up into his face with all the emotion I feel inside. With all my being I return the passion that I feel coming from him, but I must assume the responsibility that goes with it.
“Talk to your men, Kieran, ask them to save this town. They’ll fight for you, they’re loyal— proof that the vestiges of your good nature were there long before you met me. And leave discovering Basarab’s true identity to me.”
He looks at me puzzled. “What?”
“Please, listen. Your men are strong, bred to kill and experienced fighters, the only protection this town has.” I swallow. “Jeremy is biased by his hatred for you, so he and his policemen won’t oppose Basarab, who will surely wipe out the whole place once he’s done with it, just like you said. You and your men are Northville’s only chance.”
“I’ve been meaning to offer a very similar solution, but I don’t agree to you having any part in this.”
“It would be easier for you to take Basarab down if you knew his true identity, right?”
“Of course, but—”
“Kieran, I have a plan.”
The door flies open, and Jeanie and Joyous storm in. Jeanie’s curls and red dress are heavy with rainwater, and her eyes alarmed, while Joyous—for the first time without a smile in place—looms lank behind her, his prominent boned head that is almost a circus curiosity high above her rosy cheeked-face. His stare is as creepy as ever, and I still doubt his mental sanity by the look of it, but he’s indeed compelling, attractive maybe in a weird way.
“You need to get out of here, fast, the police are already close,” Jeanie urges, heaving with palms on her knees.
Kieran jumps to his feet and grabs my hand, but I yank it away.
“Go, Kieran!”
“I don’t like this.” He reaches for me again, but I leap from the bed and hurry to the table, drawing a chair and taking a seat. I can already hear the calls of the squad outside. “Please, trust me. And whatever happens with me—do not intervene. I’ll find a way to let you know as soon as I have his true identity.”
“What? No way, I can’t do that.” His face is dead-white as he approaches me. I grow desperate as the fight-mongering calls from outside take up. Steps are already rapping up the stairs, but Kieran still won’t go, his eyes flashing into slits and his hands elongating into claws. Jeanie yelps and stumbles backwards, retreating in horror.
“I’m begging you, Kieran,” I cry.
Joyous takes two long strides to the window, throws it open and grabs Kieran’s arm.
“Let’s go. It’s the best thing to do right now.”
Kieran keeps in place. “I will find you again, Saphira, even if I have to turn this whole God forsaken town upside down.”
I get up and press my lips on his, which takes him by surprise. I try to imprint the smooth, rich feel of them into my memory in case this goes wrong. The plan is clear in my head, and it takes only a moment to whisper the most important part in Kieran’s ear. It’s supposed to make him feel more in control, and it does.
His eyes take human shape again. He stares hard at me, and only follows Joyous out the window when the policemen’s steps almost reach the door. I sit back down and take Jeanie’s hand. It helps me keep from shaking.
Without even trying a knock, Jeremy breaks down the door and steps over the threshold with an angry frown, his men pouring in like cockroaches from behind him.
“You were here with him,“ Jeremy growls through his teeth.
“Let us explain,” Jeanie steps in, but he shoves her to the side and stomps to me. He doesn’t even mind her yelp and the thud as she hits the floor. He scares the crap out of me, and I make to get up, but his big hand pushes me back in my chair, his other fist clenched on the table by the gas lamp.
“You thought you could fool me. Didn’t you imagine that my men would report it immediately once they lost you?”
My pulse is high with fright, and my eyes must bulge like potatoes out of my face. I look around at his men devastating the room. Two of them climb out the window, following Kieran and Joyous’s route to the roof. Jeremy squeezes my shoulder, causing me a shriek of pain and forcing my full attention back to him. I can’t believe Jeremy Simmons is actually doing this to me.
“Don’t waste my time, woman, tell me the truth!” He’s beside himself with rage, and I’m even afraid he might hit me.
“Leave her alone, Jeremy, you’ll give her another seizure, and one of those almost killed her tonight,” Jeanie says, forcing herself back on her feet and trying to separate us. I cling to her arm, wanting nothing more than to take distance from her brother. I’m so grateful for Jeanie right now, for her presence of mind. I was right to trust her.
Jeremy retreats a couple of steps, looking at Jeanie and me as if he’s trying to see the big picture.
“What seizure, Jean? Saphira’s been seen with the Marquis de Vandenesse at the pub, technically doing it on the table, and in my book, that’s called fervour, not seizure.” He sounds crazy with jealousy.
“If you heard that, then you must’ve heard as well that when the Marquis tried to take her with him she started twitching uncontrollably.”
Jeremy’s eyes fall on me again, slightly calmer. “Is that so? He tried to kidnap you?”
I clear my throat and gather my courage to start with my plan, but one of Jeremy’s men storms in breathlessly, his face alight with urgency.
“Inspector Simmons,” he stammers, “they’re here!”
“Who’s here?” Jeremy barks at him.
“The Black Angels. The Slayer’s fighters. But, Inspector, they’re many, and they’re not, they’re not . . . normal.” He looks terrified and he’s shaking, his fleshy round face glistening with sweat.
Jeremy obviously understands what the man means without further words. He strides to the window and looks out. When he turns to me, an evil grin stretches on his square, unshaven face. As good looking as women find him for his muscles and testosterone-squared features, right now to me he’s downright ugly.
“Please, Saphira, have a look.”
Curiosity and worry compel me to the window. Under the street lamps rain soaked, black-hooded figures pour into the street from side-alleys. Black Angels. The Slayer’s people.
The one who seems to be their leader has stopped across from the entrance to the inn, and he apparently senses my staring at him. He pushes off his hood and looks up, revealing a face which, even though it’s too far away to see in detail, is clearly disfigured by some terrible disease, covered in red and white blisters full of puss that makes me think of leprosy. I gasp in horror and draw backwards only to bump into Jeremy’s burly chest. His huge palms clasp my upper arms.
“Now the Marquis must face opponents his own size—monsters, like him.” He sounds mad, whether with hatred or sick ambition, I don’t know. Nor does it matter. I jerk away and turn to face him, looking straight into his face. His eyes are wild, like a madman’s.
“You’ve made a pact with the devil, Jeremy! These creatures came to finish the Marquis, but they won’t leave without having finished you as well, and everybody who knows of their existence. They won’t risk their secret leaving Northville.”
He grabs me above my elbow and pulls me to a corner, whispering close to my face. “The borders of Northville have already been sealed. The rocky wasteland all around is now infested with these creatures. No one gets in or out of this town. These creatures will help me end your lover the Marquis, once and for all, and for that I’ll pay any price.”
Jeremy’s fingers clench around my upper arm. He practically drags me
down the stairs and out of the inn into the rain. I’m scared and calling out his name, begging him to release me, but he doesn’t stop even as I stumble and lose my shoes. He treats me like a criminal. I sense his jealousy, frustration and broken pride at having lost so much to Kieran. Hatred is driving him mad.
His men follow, and Jeanie calls after us from the rear of the flock, but Jeremy’s way too deep in his wrath to mind even his sister. He drags me down the street, taking the middle of the road and displaying me like a Salem witch, his policemen sloshing behind. I’m scared as heck to see the black monks so close, but they keep quiet on the sidewalks, their faces only black gaps under the hoods.
Lights go on here and there, and prying faces with tousled hair appear behind windows with lamps in their hands. But soon, fear wins over curiosity and they close even the shutters, the decaying historical buildings turning to shadows in the heavy rain. I’m soaked and freezing, my cheeks hurt from the cold, and I feel catapulted back into the darkest times of the Middle Ages.
The town goes silent like a graveyard, only our precession’s rhythmic slosh down the road cutting through it. I scramble and limp awkwardly as my foot soles go bloody, but the pain is insignificant. Thoughts of Kieran fill my head. These creatures are too many. Kieran and his men are at their mercy, and it’s all my fault.
As we reach my parental home my heartache for Kieran is almost unbearable. I’d give my life to be able to take back what I asked of him. By the time Jeremy throws me into the big armchair by the fireplace I’ve driven myself crazy.
One side of my face is suddenly burning from the heat, but the other one feels like needles as it defrosts. I try to get up and talk to Jeremy, but he pushes me back into the now wet, cushioned antique. Someone tries to put a blanket around me, but he doesn’t let them. Anger clouds my head, and I’m determined to say something, but people start trickling into the room, making me stop with my mouth open. They seem so well synchronized in their arrival timing, that I’m sure the gathering must have been prepared in advance. A meeting of the elite circle, just like the others Jeremy has been holding ever since Gunnar died.
