A Temptation of Angels

by Michelle Zink

  “But what if my body doesn’t put itself back together right?” she asked, looking up at Griffin.

  “It will,” he answered. “It knows the form it’s supposed to take.”

  “But how?”

  “It just does. Now,” he continued, “after that you’ll—”

  “What if the pieces of… of me get lost along the way?” she interrupted. “What if they’re not all there when it’s time to put it all back together?”

  He sighed, favoring her with an indulgent smile. “It is a legitimate question, but you don’t have to worry. All of you travels together, whether walking the streets of London or channeling yourself through space via light energy.”

  “But I’m not in tiny pieces when I walk the streets of London,” she said. “If I were, some of them could easily be delayed while waiting for a carriage to pass or lost when I stop to look in a shop window.”

  He sighed, squeezing her hand. “You’re just going to have to trust me. I had the very same fears when I learned to jump, but here I am. Simply follow my instructions, hold tight to my hand, and we’ll be back in front of the house before you know it.”

  She nodded. “All right.”

  “Now,” he said. “Close your eyes.”

  Everything went black as she did.

  “Breathe in and out. Nice and easy.” She did as he instructed, his voice a velvet whisper. “Your body is made of millions of pieces. Most of them are invisible to us, but they’re there. They know where they belong and can assemble and disassemble themselves at will. I’m going to count to three. When I do, I want you to see your physical form breaking free of its bodily confines. See it disappearing into the light and traveling, as if in a very fast tunnel, to the streetlight outside the house. It will do the rest all by itself.” He paused, his voice leaving a cold spot in the darkness of her mind. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded.

  He must have had his eyes open, because a second later he began counting.

  “One…”

  Helen imagined her body, as whole and real as it was to her every day of her life, preparing to disassemble.

  “Two…” Griffin squeezed her hand, and she saw the light stretching far beyond this streetlamp. Tunnels and tunnels of light connecting every part of London to the other. Then, one tunnel connecting the light under this lamp to the one in front of the Channing house.

  “Three.”

  Something tugged at her stomach, pulling her as if she were attached to a string. There was a split second of weightlessness. A moment in which it was if she had no body at all. She only had time to wonder if she was dead. If this is what being dead felt like. And another moment to think it wasn’t bad, to feel so light and so free.

  And then Griffin’s voice was low in her ear.

  “You can open your eyes now.”

  She was inexplicably afraid. As if she might open her eyes to find the world changed, when reason told her there was only one of two possibilities.

  Either she had failed and they were still standing in front of Galizur’s.

  Or she hadn’t and they were home.

  She opened her eyes, willing them to make sense of what they were seeing and feeling a rush of relief when she realized that they were, in fact, near the Channing house. Not right in front of it as she’d imagined, but only four streetlamps down.

  “Well done.” Griffin’s voice came from her right. “And quite close for your first try.”

  She looked up at him. “Did I… miss?”

  He laughed aloud and she found herself smiling. “It was a near miss. We all do it in the beginning and some of us by a lot more. I was two blocks over my first time.”

  She felt a rush of pride. “Really?”

  He nodded. His eyes grew serious as he looked down at her, and she saw something else in their depths. “Really.”

  She felt suddenly shy. “Thank you for teaching me.”

  He stepped out of the light and, still holding her hand, pulled her along with him toward the house. “It was nothing. You’re a good student. Although…”

  She glanced up at him as they walked. “Yes?”

  He smiled down at her. “I must confess I will miss your… proximity when jumping together.”

  “Well,” she said, answering his smile with one of her own. “There’s always sickle training in the ballroom.”

  “That there is.”

  And this time when he laughed, something more urgent than friendship slid through her veins.

  Weariness settled over Helen’s shoulders almost as soon as she shut the door to her chamber. Whether from the visit to Galizur’s, everything they’d learned while there, or the jumping, she was thoroughly exhausted.

  She bent over to unlace her boots, grateful for Andrew’s craftsmanship. The leather was as supple as a rose petal. Her feet had not hurt a bit.

  Undressing was easier without the accoutrements of a gown and voluminous petticoat. She couldn’t help but feel proud as she unlaced her newly designed corset, laced in the front. She could not fathom why they weren’t all designed in such a fashion. It made no sense to be imprisoned by such a garment until such a time as someone else could free you. Her design was unlaced and strewn on the floor in less than a minute, along with the buttoned blouse and split skirt.

  She breathed a great sigh of relief, stretching her naked body toward the ceiling before approaching the bureau and pulling a nightdress from its second drawer. The fabric was thinner than the material of Helen’s childhood gowns, but that could not be helped. She had only specified color and content, not weight. Clearly, Andrew and his team of seamstresses had thought her old enough for a mature nightdress. Even still, she felt self-conscious when she turned to the mirror to unpin her hair. The nightdress was quite see-through in the firelight, though she supposed it didn’t matter when she was alone in her chamber.

  She ran her fingers through her unbound hair, her eyes growing heavy as she approached the bed. Tomorrow, they would have their instructions from the Dictata. She didn’t want to contemplate Darius’s actions should they be ordered not to seize Victor Alsorta. Helen was certain Darius would go after him anyway.

  And Griffin would surely follow, out of loyalty.

  Pulling back the coverlet, she slid into the cool sheets and pulled the blankets over her as she thought of him. She saw his kind eyes, gazing down at her with something too like affection to be called anything else. His grin, suddenly rakish, as they’d walked the rest of the way home after jumping from Galizur’s. Did he feel the same flush of heat when she looked at him that she was growing accustomed to when his eyes looked into hers?

  She shook her head against the notion. It was too late and too complicated a matter to consider. It only led her to further questions. Questions about the future. About her own ability to fully love someone when she could not even mourn her parents properly.

  Clearly, she was deficient in her ability to form meaningful attachments to others.

  Turning over in bed, she reached for the photograph on the night table. What she saw stopped her cold, and she sat up in bed, reaching for it. It wasn’t the image that had changed. Her parents still stared back at her from another time and place as a younger, rounder-faced Helen did the same.

  But now it was not lying loose atop the table, but safely ensconced inside a silver frame.

  She reached for it hesitantly, as if it harbored a mysterious brand of magic. Once it was in her hand, she studied the elaborately fashioned silver, encrusted with tiny pearls in the corners. It was not a frame she had ever seen. Surely, not one belonging to her. There was only one explanation; someone had stolen into her room and placed the photograph inside it.

  She thought back to the last time she had looked at the picture, holding it in her hands. She had not even looked at the night table before her afternoon rest. Which meant that someone could have placed the photograph there while she was out this afternoon.

  She thought of the orphan boy who ca
red for the house. Could he have placed it there? No, she was quite sure he wouldn’t do so without permission. Besides, the frame was fine. Too fine to be in the hands of an orphan.

  It had to be Griffin.

  Throwing back the covers, she stepped onto the cool carpet, the framed photograph still in her hand. She did not think through the social implications of making her way from her chamber to Griffin’s room. He had said she could come if she needed anything, and if their current circumstances didn’t place them outside the social norms, she didn’t know what would.

  She stopped at the second door on the right, surprised to find it half open, dim yellow light leaking from its frame. Glancing first left and then right down the hall, she found it as empty as always. But she knew there was no guarantee it would stay that way, and she finally leaned toward the door, speaking Griffin’s name softly through the crack, not wanting to wake Darius should his room be nearby.

  A few moments later, there was still no answer. She heard a slight shuffle from within and found herself reaching for the door, pushing it slowly open.

  Stepping into the room, her eyes scanned it for signs of Griffin. The layout was much like her own chamber. She took in the large four-poster bed, the blankets askew, as if it had not been made since the night before. The firebox was in the same position as hers, though this room only contained one wardrobe instead of two, and the bureau was significantly smaller.

  But all of this was forgotten when she finally caught sight of Griffin, shirtless and with his head bent over a bowl of steaming water. His muscled back rippled as he reached blindly for a towel on the washstand. She felt something inside her shake loose and expand, spreading like a hot wind through her veins as he stood, his broad shoulders and back fully revealed in the glow of the fire.

  She could hardly swallow as she tried to make sense of the image etched onto his skin. It was not the marking itself. It was a combination of everything. The warmth of the room. His bare skin. His proximity to her and the sudden realization that she could step toward him and be against him in seconds.

  She was trying to force the thought from her mind when he turned toward her.

  “Helen?” She wondered if he would be angry that she had been presumptuous enough to enter his room without permission, but there was only concern in his eyes as he crossed the room to her. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, I…” The words came out in a croak, and she cleared her throat before continuing. “I simply wanted to ask you…” The words in her mind disappeared like vapor. It was distracting having him stand so close, his skin stretched taut over the muscles of his chest and arms.

  “Yes?” he prompted. “You wanted to ask me what?”

  Her cheeks grew hot, and she looked away, trying to get ahold of herself.

  “I shouldn’t have come. It can wait until morning.” She turned to leave, wanting nothing more than to get away from the over-warm room where she could no longer think clearly. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

  “Helen.” She felt his hand close over hers, pulling her back toward him. His eyes dropped the length of her body, and she realized she was still in the thin nightdress. And standing right in front of the fire. When he spoke again, his voice was low. “You’re not disturbing me.”

  His eyes locked on hers, an ocean of silence moving between them. She had an almost uncontrollable desire to reach up, entwining her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. To run her palms against the hard expanse of his bare chest.

  Instead, she thrust the silver picture frame, now gripped so tightly in her hand that her fingers hurt, between them.

  “Did you do this?”

  He dropped his eyes to the frame, nodding slowly.

  Looking down at it, emotion welled inside her like a wave. When she spoke, her voice was softer than she intended. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Our parents were murdered while traveling back to London from our country house. We, at least, still have our home and everything in it. It’s true that it’s a cold comfort compared to the loss of our parents, but it is something to remember the way things were.” He hesitated, meeting her eyes before continuing. “You’ve lost so much. I wanted you to have something solid to hold on to. To remind you of a time when you were still together with your family.”

  He shrugged, seeming embarrassed as he looked away, avoiding her eyes.

  “Griffin.” She reached up without thinking and placed a hand on his cheek. He turned to look at her. “Thank you.”

  She was immobilized, his skin warm against her palm in the moment before she raised up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. Then, she hurried back to her room before she could do something even more foolish.

  TWENTY-ONE

  They were finishing a late breakfast when the bell rang at the front of the house. Griffin rose to answer it, taking a last sip of tea before heading for the hall.

  Helen sat in silence with Darius, occupying herself by adding marmalade to her toast and trying to squelch the feeling that he knew all about her midnight foray into his brother’s room. She could not help but think his gaze too knowing, though she told herself she was only being paranoid.

  “It’s from Galizur,” Griffin announced, returning to the library with an envelope in his outstretched hand.

  “Are you certain?” Darius rose, snatching it from Griffin. “It’s only been a few hours.”

  Griffin sighed. “I’m sure. It was dropped off by Wills, that little urchin Galizur uses for errands.”

  Darius tore open the envelope, pulling a stiff piece of parchment from its interior. Griffin and Helen watched him, hoping for a clue to the envelope’s contents based on Darius’s expression.

  “What does it say?” Helen finally asked.

  “The Dictata has agreed to see justice served in the matter of Victor Alsorta and Raum Baranova.” Darius continued in a distracted voice without raising his eyes. “It says the knowing murder of a Keeper is a capital offense that supersedes mortal law. Further, Raum is, technically, one of us and therefore still under the authority of the Dictata.”

  Darius lowered the paper. He made his way to the window and stood, gazing at the garden beyond.

  “What happens now?” Helen asked.

  She was surprised when Griffin answered. “Now we go after them.”

  The words fell like lead on her heart. She tried to stifle her alarm by focusing on practical matters.

  “There is one thing I don’t understand,” Helen began. “How, exactly, will it be possible to bring Alsorta to the Dictata for justice? I cannot imagine he’ll simply come when asked.”

  “He’ll bow to the sickle like any other,” Darius promised. “If it’s enough to strike fear in the soulless wraiths and demons, it will be enough for Alsorta.”

  Helen thought of the sickle. Of its jagged teeth and razor-sharp edge. It was not hard to believe that even a man like Alsorta would succumb to fear when faced with such a weapon.

  “All right, then,” she said. “How will we know where to find them?”

  “We won’t find them anywhere,” Griffin said, his voice tight. “Darius and I will go while you stay with Galizur and Anna.”

  Without thinking, Helen rose from her chair. “I’m not staying there while you risk your lives.” She shook her head. “It’s out of the question. This is my fight, too!”

  Griffin stepped toward her, his back to his brother as he lowered his voice to a level only she could hear. “Don’t be rash, Helen. It will be dangerous.”

  She put her hands on her hips, glowering at him. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be if I were armed.”

  His eyes bore into hers. “You’re not going.”

  “Try and stop me.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll follow you if I have to. I can only hope I remember how to jump and don’t end up somewhere even more dangerous.” This last bit she added just to make a point. She would be going, with or without their blessing. “Now, how will we know where to find Victor Alsorta?”
>
  Darius’s voice sounded from the window. “Galizur’s note says he is working up schematics on Alsorta’s home outside London. It appears that’s where he’s staying at present.”

  Griffin nodded slowly. “So we’ll get the plans from Galizur and move on Alsorta tonight.”

  Helen heard the worry in his voice and wished she hadn’t been the one to put it there, but there was no helping it. She had not mourned her parents properly. Had not even had time to see to their remains. This was, at least, something she could do.

  And she would, despite the fear that coursed through her, even now.

  “There’s one thing we’ll have to see to before going to Galizur’s,” Darius added.

  Griffin turned to him. “What is that?”

  “Helen is right,” Darius said. “If she’s to accompany us, she must be armed.”

  Helen didn’t bother trying to hide her surprise.

  “And if she’s to be armed,” Darius continued. “She’ll have to prove herself capable of wielding a sickle, at the very minimum. Come, Helen. Let’s retire to the ballroom, shall we?”

  “I’ll spar with her!” Helen heard Griffin’s desperation and knew he was trying to protect her.

  Darius shook his head, a knowing smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

  “I think not. That would be no proof at all. Helen must prove her ability to stand with us.” He leveled his gaze at his brother. “And she must prove it to someone whose personal affection will not force him to be gentle.”

  They made their way from the library to the ballroom in silence. Once there, Darius removed his sickle from his belt. She felt a morbid sense of satisfaction at the knowledge that Darius meant for them to spar with a real weapon instead of the training sickle she had used with Griffin.

  Good. She would be forced to prove herself for real, as was only fair.

  But when Darius ordered Griffin to give his sickle to Helen, Griffin refused, shaking his head.

  “This is ridiculous,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at his brother. “I won’t stand for it. Helen doesn’t have to prove anything. To you or to anyone else.”