A Temptation of Angels

by Michelle Zink

  “Suppose you spotted someone right now, Helen. Someone to whom you’d like to remain invisible. What is the first thing you must do?”

  She had answered without hesitation. Her voice was small and soft in the haze of memory. “Go unnoticed.”

  She saw her father’s solemn eyes gazing into hers. “And why is that?”

  “Because my chances of escape are smaller if someone sees me first,” she had said.

  “That’s right, my girl.” Her father had nodded, a sad smile playing at his mouth. “That’s right.”

  His voice was clear as a bell in her mind, and she stepped backward into the shadows, testing each step as she went to make sure the floorboards would not creak before putting the full force of her weight on them.

  When the figure shadowed the doorway to the parlor, she forced her breath slow and steady. Her eyes found the exits in under five seconds.

  The wall behind her, unstable enough that a good push might get her through.

  The glassless panes at the front of the house which she could reach in four long strides.

  And the doorway in which the tall, shadowy figure now stood.

  Obviously, a last resort.

  She didn’t know if she could be seen, but before she could weigh the wisdom in making a run for it rather than staying and hoping she hadn’t been spotted, the figure spoke.

  “I imagine you’ve already found the exits.” The voice was familiar and male. “You’ve all been well trained.”

  Raum.

  She meant to stay hidden. To give herself as much time as possible to work out an escape plan. But the words angered her, and she stepped out of the shadows without thinking, her mind a haze of red-hot fury.

  “We were well trained.” She spat the words at him. “You were one of us once.”

  He took a step into the room, casting an eerie shadow in the dim light leaking in from outside. When he spoke, the anger in his voice mirrored her own.

  “It has been a very long time since I was one of you.”

  She shook her head. “Not long enough to justify your betrayal.”

  “You’re in no position to judge me.” He almost roared the words, and she felt the first threads of fear wind their way through her stomach. “You don’t know anything about my life.”

  “In no position to judge?” She was incredulous. “I’m in every position to judge. You murdered my family. You would have murdered me, too, if I hadn’t escaped.”

  He seemed to flinch in the moment before he covered it with an impassive expression. “I told you, I don’t do the killing.”

  “Oh, yes. I remember. You only order the killings.” Her fingers itched for a weapon. A sword or even a sickle. “That makes it all right, then, doesn’t it?”

  He looked at the floor before meeting her eyes. His hair shone like polished ebony even in the half-light. “I didn’t know it was you.”

  “How could you not know? Your murders have hardly been random. You’ve been killing the Keepers, one by one.”

  She flinched as he stomped toward her. Stepping back, she gauged her chances for escape. She was too close to the wall to get enough momentum to break through it. The window was still a possibility, but Raum looked fit and fast. He was much taller than she, his legs far longer. It was a gamble.

  And then he was right in front of her, his hand on her arm in a grip that made no mistake of the fact that she was outmatched in strength.

  “I wasn’t given the names of the Keepers,” he said defensively. “I only had the family names. Cartwright and an address. And in any case, I didn’t remember your given name. I only remembered a serious girl with soft hands who had me to tea in a garden overflowing with roses. It was your eyes… those violet eyes that made me sure it was you.”

  His voice had become softer and so heavy with sadness that Helen had to rally her anger around an unwelcome feeling of kinship with the man who had ordered the killing of her parents. Of her.

  “I don’t care what you did and didn’t remember. You murdered my mother and father. You murdered the other Keepers and their families.” She hesitated, swallowing and lifting her chin. “And now I suppose you’ll murder me, too.”

  She had no intention of giving up without a fight, but she needed to buy herself time. Time to extricate herself from his grip and plan an escape.

  But Raum didn’t move for a weapon. He didn’t move at all. He simply stared down, his eyes licking like fire toward hers. The seconds stretched between them, nothing but the sounds of their breath in the room, his iron grip burning around her arm.

  Finally, he let go. Stepping back, he dropped his hands to his sides.

  “Perhaps you’ll entertain the idea that this isn’t the first or last time you’ll be wrong,” he said quietly.

  He made his way toward the door.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she called after him.

  He didn’t answer. He simply kept walking, availing himself of the escape she was already recriminating herself for not trying to make.

  Just before he disappeared into the hall, he turned. “Your friends took something from my worktable. Now you have everything you need.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve let you live. For now.” His words dropped like a stone in her belly. “The answer is in plain sight. I can’t give you anything more.”

  And then he was gone.

  SEVENTEEN

  She sat on the stone steps leading to the house for some time after Raum left. At first, instinct screamed at her to give chase. To follow him. To kill him as he’d killed her parents.

  Or ordered them killed, as he was so fond of saying.

  But she had been trained too well. Reason quickly took over. By the time she’d shaken off her shock and emerged from the house, Raum was long gone. Besides, she had no weapon.

  She contemplated his appearance with a mixture of anger and curiosity. How dare he return to this, the scene of one of his horrific crimes?

  On the other hand, why had he left her alive yet again?

  Twilight was upon the city when she finally gave up. She made her way down the walk, closing the iron gate behind her with a squeak. The lamps along the street had already been lit, smoke rising from their flames in a sooty smudge. Dark gray clouds moved swiftly overhead. They blocked out the sun completely, and Helen couldn’t help wondering if it was a sign of the end. If the atmosphere itself knew that the Orb—and the world it represented—was dying. She crossed her arms against the cold, rubbing her arms and worrying about what Darius and Griffin would say about her long absence.

  The thought of Griffin brought a welcome flush of warmth to her chilled body. He was not as daring or certain of himself as Darius, but he had a quiet confidence that soothed her. Despite Darius’s easy strength, it was Griffin who made her feel safe.

  That was no small thing, at the moment.

  She was stopped at a street corner, waiting for a line of carriages to pass, when she saw the paper.

  The newsboy stood on the corner, heckling passersby to purchase a copy. And although it was just an ordinary paper for an ordinary day, something caught her eye as she passed.

  She doubled back, digging in her bag for a coin to give the boy in exchange for the paper.

  “Thank you, miss,” he said, handing her a copy.

  She nodded, already moving away, her eyes on the article splayed across the front page.

  Syndicate Now Owns 92% of Business and Industry!, the headline screamed.

  Yet this was not what got her attention. It was the grainy photograph accompanying the article. She brought the paper closer to her face, trying to get a better look at it in the waning light. Her attention was pulled from the paper by a hard jolt to her left shoulder.

  “Watch yourself!” An old laborer turned, glaring at her as he made his way down the street.

  She stepped aside, oddly shaken. A few moments later, leaning against the brick of a milliner not far from the Channing h
ouse, she tried again. Now, without the distraction of jostling passersby, she could make out the image of a gentleman emerging from a strange kind of horseless carriage. The details of the man’s face were lost in the blurry photograph, but there was something on the side of the carriage. Something familiar.

  She tipped the paper toward the light from the nearest streetlamp. When the image at last came into focus, it was Raum’s voice she heard.

  … the answer is in plain sight.

  And though she could not remember the last time she had run, she tucked the paper under her arm and made her way through the streets of London as fast as her feet would carry her.

  Dimly aware that she was making a clatter, Helen closed the door with a bang and ran down the hall. She found the brothers in the library, their mouths hanging open in astonishment as she burst through the door.

  “What the hell—” Darius started.

  Helen held up a hand, trying to catch her breath while simultaneously heaving the words. “I know… what… the initials are on the… paper.”

  Griffin shook his head. “What initials?”

  She crossed the room, thrusting the paper at him. “The ones on the parchment. From Raum’s.”

  He studied her for a moment, trying to find the answer in her eyes.

  “Look!” she cried.

  He lowered his gaze to the paper. She could see his eyes move across it, and she stepped forward, pointing to the image.

  “Not the article,” she said. “The picture.”

  He tipped the paper toward the lamplight while Darius looked on, his usual expression of practiced boredom slipping in the face of his curiosity.

  It seemed like forever before Griffin looked up, a horrific understanding dawning in his eyes as he met Helen’s gaze.

  “Victor Alsorta?” It was all he said.

  Helen nodded, trying to ignore the burning in her lungs. “It’s the same, isn’t it? The insignia on the carriage?”

  Griffin passed the paper to Darius. “Have a look.”

  Darius looked at it for less than a minute before he smacked the paper down on the desk. Jumping to his feet, he paced the library.

  “Why would Victor Alsorta order the execution of the Keepers?” he muttered. “And how would he even know who we are? There must be some other explanation.”

  Helen knew she should tell Darius and Griffin about her run-in with Raum. About his veiled hint that they could find the pieces to the puzzle if only they looked carefully.

  Yet, when she opened her mouth to speak, the words wouldn’t come. Her face flushed when she remembered Raum’s proximity in the scorched parlor. His breath on her face. His hand on her arm.

  It was not attraction that brought the heat to her face. Of that much she was certain. It was shame. Shame that she stood passively by, having a civil conversation with the man responsible for her parents’ death. Shame that she had not found a way—any way—to kill him when she had the chance.

  She could not tell the brothers now. It would only anger them further when they all needed to be levelheaded. She would wait. Raum might appear again, and next time, she would be ready.

  Her mind whispered that she was rationalizing. Making excuses to avoid doing the thing she knew she should. But it was no matter. A moment later, Griffin spoke, and she had all the excuse she needed to let go of her thoughts of Raum and their strange meeting.

  “It does seem improbable, but it’s the closest we’ve come to a real clue,” Griffin said to Darius. “Whoever is behind the killings has successfully murdered seventeen of us despite the fact that we were well hidden by the Alliance and with no small power ourselves. That would require tremendous influence. The kind of influence held by someone like Victor Alsorta. It seems we should at least explore the possibility that he’s involved.”

  Helen nodded. “I agree. The initials are the same. The logo behind it is blurry, but it could be the same as well. It would be foolhardy not to consider a connection.”

  Darius rubbed the stubble at his chin. “All right. We’ll go see Galizur tonight. If anyone has information on Alsorta, it will be Galizur.”

  Griffin looked at Helen. “Nicely done, Helen. We were becoming worried about you, but it seems your time away from the house was well spent.” There was a subtle question in the statement.

  Raum’s face flashed before her eyes, a silent recrimination for the lie of omission she was about to tell. “I went to the house. I… I had to see it for myself.”

  “The house?” Darius looked over at her from his position near the window. “Your house?”

  She nodded.

  “You should have told me that you wanted to go.” Griffin’s voice was soft. “I would have gone with you.”

  She turned away from the concern in his eyes, busying herself by rubbing a smudge from the otherwise gleaming desk. “It was impulsive. And you were already gone.”

  “Still,” he said. “I don’t like the thought of you walking the streets alone. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Thank you. Truly. I’ll keep it in mind.” She didn’t want to imagine what Griffin would say if he knew the danger she had really been in, to say nothing of the fact that she had let Raum walk away without even a protest. “I think I’ll lie down before we go to Galizur’s.”

  She made her way from the room without another word. Griffin looked wounded by her dismissal, but she didn’t wish to invite company. There was too much swirling through her mind. Too much guilt and confusion. She could not bear the pressure of trying to put a name to it all. Not even for Griffin.

  Back in her chamber atop the comfortable mattress that had become her bed, Helen’s eyes itched with exhaustion. She knew she needed sleep. That whatever was to come would require her attention and vigilance. But her mind would not stop turning over everything that had happened.

  She had come face-to-face with the undeniable truth.

  The house was all but gone. Her parents were never coming back.

  She reached out for the photograph on the bedside table. The paper was glossy and thick in her hand, the edges beginning to curl. She stared into her mother’s eyes, trying to see the things to come in their depths. Could her parents have known, even on that warm summer day, that they would come to this eventuality? That they would perish at the hands of a murderer? That Helen would be all alone in the world and unable, even, to shed a tear for any of it?

  When all was said and done, it was the last that caused her the most anguish. She knew terrible things happened in the world. Deep down, she even knew her parents must have seen this as a possibility.

  But her own inability to grieve properly was something she could not understand, least of all forgive. Good people grieved when bad things happened, didn’t they? They felt loss and sadness in a way that was transparent to others.

  And while it was true that her insides felt hollowed out, that there was a dull and ceaseless ache where her heart lay in her chest, there was no real pain in the wake of everything she’d lost. Her soul was as cold as the air that bit through London in winter, her grief a shadow to the vengeance that itself had dimmed since the appearance of Raum.

  Raum. The thought of him brought her anger back to the surface. It was Raum’s fault her parents were gone. His fault Helen must feel not only their loss, but the loss of her very self. The loss of everything she’d thought herself to be, back when she believed she was kind and compassionate and, if not physically strong, at least brave and willing to defend the things she loved.

  She held her building rage close. Nurtured it like the lone spark necessary to light a fire.

  And all the while she told herself it was because of what Raum had done that she was forced to see herself not as she once imagined herself to be, but as she really was.

  EIGHTEEN

  Some time later, Helen sat up in bed, wondering how long she’d been asleep. Her rest had been fitful. She could only hope it would be enough to see her through the coming hours.

  The s
pace beyond the curtains was dark, but Griffin had not come to retrieve her for the trip to Galizur’s. She dressed quickly, adding a buttoned waistcoat to her snug top, too fitted to be truly appropriate, though that was hardly the point. It was ease of movement she was after and fabric that wouldn’t catch, should she find herself scaling another fence. The waistcoat was for warmth alone. Masculine and many buttoned, it was reminiscent of a military coat and would only add to the oddity of her attire. Even still, it was quite cold, and she could not afford to be preoccupied by physical discomfort on the trip to and from Galizur’s.

  Heading for the door, Helen grabbed her gloves off the mantle. Crafted of supple ivory leather, they covered her knuckles while leaving her fingers bare.

  All the easier to hold a sickle. Or better yet, a glaive.

  Of course, there was no guarantee Darius would see fit to arm her with either, but she would have to insist. It was the unexpected nature of her meeting with Raum that had thrown her off guard. If she had been prepared—if she had been armed—she would not have let him leave the rubble of her home alive.

  It was this she told herself as she made her way through the darkened hallways toward the staircase. The rest, however short, had done her good. She felt in control for the first time since the fire.

  The house was quiet, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer the only sound as she descended the stairs. She began to worry that Darius and Griffin had left her behind, but a moment later, she heard their voices coming from the library. She continued to the back of the house. The voices rose in agitation as she approached the doorway, and she stopped just outside, catching bits and pieces of the conversation.

  “…however you justify it,” Darius finished. “It’s unwise to form an attachment.”

  “What about your attachment to Anna?” Griffin’s voice was challenging. “Is that unwise as well?”

  “That is not the… and you know it.” She could hear the steel in Darius’s words.

  “It is. And just because you’re my older brother, doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do in my personal life.”