Men…and men…and men…finding their mistresses…and their whores…and—sometimes—their wives. Save for that one, the one that had been found by that street urchin boy in an alley among the bins and the trash. Now that…that had been truly scrumptious. He almost wished he could have found that boy, too, and let his knife spill his blood as well. But no, the blade was not for such as him.
He stepped carefully over a patch of slick ice on the path that wended higher into the mountains before him, knowing it was there without needing to see it. The shadows just worked that way for him—guiding his feet, guiding his blade. His fingers touched the knife in his coat pocket with reverence. Even through the gloves he could feel the shape of the handle through the cloth. No, it would have been wrong to dispatch the boy. The blade hastened its victim’s journey, but nothing more. The destination remained the same…back whence he—and his knife—had come.
But then, two nights ago, the summons had come at last, and he had not wanted to leave the city. There were still so many to send on their merry way. And hadn’t he already done all that Jack—the other Jack—had asked of him? He’d drawn the dragon with their blood—time and time again he’d done it—just as Jack had told him. Even when the call of another prostitute or thief had pleaded for him and his blade, he had stayed to paint the dragons on the sides of buildings…on paving stones…on window panes…or once, lacking a suitable surface, across his victim’s naked body.
Yes, he had done his duty—more than done it. And now, here he was, summoned home like a dog.
But like a dog, the lure of sweet new treats was too much to resist.
He licked his lips, almost tasting the blood that had misted his face from his last victim. His pace quickened. Yes, he could almost taste it; he could almost feel the damp heat as he plunged his hands into the ones promised and let their vitals slip wetly between his fingers in loose, red coils.
His time was coming, a night like no other. Samhain was near…
And Jack—for whom all the others had been named—had promised him a feast.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Mona paced, looking everywhere but at Haake, still lying bound on the floor before the fire. She took in little of her surroundings as her mind waged war with her heart. Miraculum slept peacefully in the armchair where they’d spent the night, one small hand curled around the edge of the blanket in which he was wrapped. Dawn would come soon, and she needed to make a decision before it did. It should be easy. Why the hell was it so hard?
The fire was low in the hearth—little more than glowing embers now—and Haake, too, seemed to be asleep. His rest, though, was not as peaceful as her son’s; he lay there, breathing heavily, his face, flushed with fever, turned toward the wall. She could avoid looking directly at him, but she couldn’t stop hearing the hoarse rhythm of his labored breaths. What the devil was she going to do with the son of a bitch?
She clenched her fists at her sides, the fingernails of one hand digging into her palm, the handle of her dagger chafing at the other. Did she dare release him? No matter how docile and resigned to her presence he had seemed the night before, she did not trust the man. Freeing him seemed like a terrible idea.
But she found it hard to accept leaving him tied here, where he would starve to death long before anyone found him—or else, more likely, succumb of whatever was ailing him. There was no question he needed a healer. The heat rolling off of him was more palpable than that of the dying embers in the hearth, dispelling any doubt.
Just leave him to die, she thought savagely, but the venom that laced the words was directed as much at herself as it was the bastard at her feet. He’d stolen her baby…crept into her bedroom in the dead of night and taken him like a monster in a fairy story—the proverbial boogyman.
Mona had killed before, of course; she was no stranger to war. Once, not long after her parents had died, some of King Astus’s men had cornered Corbbmacc in a back alley behind a storehouse where she was stealing supplies for the Brood. Corbb was too young to be there at all, really—and he was the only family she’d had left in the world. The man, with the point of his sword drawing blood as it dug into Corbb’s throat, hadn’t seen her dagger until it was buried in his neck, and his companion had decided the two children weren’t worth the effort, even if they were Broodsmen. He’d fled.
But killing in the heat of the moment, when her brother’s life was on the line and they were cornered like rats on a sinking ship, seemed very different than leaving a man to slowly waste away in an empty house in the middle of nowhere. And though he disgusted her and she hated him for what he’d done, she still remembered how he’d stood with them at the library in Hellsgate, and the way he’d scrambled down the cliff after Michael before the boy’s faculties had been restored. She couldn’t kill him in cold blood—she just couldn’t do it.
But he deserves it.
Burning with frustration, she went to the window and pulled back the curtain, staring out at the slowly lightening sky. The black outline of the stable she’d sheltered in was just visible amidst the shadows, but beyond it, the road was still shrouded in darkness. It would be daybreak in another half an hour, she guessed, maybe sooner. She had to make a decision.
Turning back to the room, she let her eyes wander aimlessly over its contents. She didn’t know what she was looking for—if she was looking for anything at all. Much of what was here was familiar to her from years spent hiding in Hellsgate—familiar, yet alien relics of a bygone era she’d seen before but never truly understood. The ruins there had held countless picture frames with broken glass, just like the ones lying on the mantle above the hearth. A broken vase, intricately carved of some sort of delicate glass, lay broken in the corner on a patch of stained rug. A twisted jumble of what looked like small, bright-colored ropes lay piled, discarded, in another. A glass orb, whose use was unfathomable to her, hung crooked from a thin cable in the ceiling—some kind of strange magical tool, she supposed. There were other less recognizable bits of broken detritus piled here and there, but nothing remotely useful—ancient treasures crumbling to trash.
She considered searching the rest of the house, but doing so would take time, and she wanted to get back to Garrett and the safety of the Brood’s house in Coalhaven. What were the chances of finding anything useful, anyway?
Outside, the wind gusted, and she heard a thud as something banged against the side of the house. A shutter? An open door?
“I did what you wanted,” Haake said suddenly, making her jump. She spun toward him, raising her dagger instinctively, but of course there was no need.
Haake’s eyes were open now, and he seemed awake, but he was staring at a point on the wall beside the mantle where there was nothing but bare plaster and a few broken, dusty cobwebs.
“I did it,” he repeated, his voice trembling, “and you promised…”
Gooseflesh rippled along Mona’s arms, and she lowered the dagger again. He must be hallucinating in the throes of the fever, she thought. Somehow that made her decision even harder.
She dropped to her knees beside him and tentatively pressed her fingers to his forehead. He was burning up, and his skin was damp with sweat. His eyes shifted to look at her, then returned to the wall.
“Please,” he whispered, and Mona was startled by the pain and pleading she heard there. “You promised…”
His eyes slid shut again, and he seemed to slip back into an uneasy sleep—perhaps he was even unconscious.
Nervously, Mona looked back at the window. Faint light was filtering through the dirty glass between the curtains. With a start, she realized Miraculum was awake, his blue eyes watching her curiously. He did not stir or cry, but he did smile when he saw her looking at him.
Mother.
Haake moaned, and her gaze went back to his still form on the floor beside her. He looked weak…and sick…and pale…
“Damn it,” she muttered, and she began cutting through the knots that bound him. She doubted it would
make much difference. If he woke, he probably wasn’t well enough to find a healer on his own, let alone try coming after them. But at least this way, if he died, her conscience would be clear. It wasn’t as if she could—or would—carry his sorry ass back to Coalhaven.
Outside, the wind gusted again, accompanied by the dry rustle of the autumn leaves. She heard the gentle creaks and moans as the house settled around her. Her pulse quickened. She felt uneasy here. They needed to go.
The last of the knots fell away, and Mona got to her feet, watching Haake carefully as she did. He didn’t move, though; only his breaths came a little quicker, as if he was having a bad dream. Relieved, she cinched a fragment of the rope around her waist like a belt and slipped her dagger into it. It would do. She would need her hands to carry her son. Not for the first time, she felt horribly exposed without some kind of chain mail or leather armor protecting her.
There was another muffled thud as the wind dislodged something else—a shingle, perhaps.
Feeling distinctly uneasy, she went to Miraculum and swept him up into her arms. He was getting heavy, already starting to outgrow her ability to carry him. How did Karikis mothers deal with that, she wondered. She’d known, of course, that Karikis children grew more quickly than human ones, but somehow the more practical ramifications of that had never crossed her mind until the last few days.
Somewhere in the house, a board creaked.
Mona paused, listening. Her heart was hammering now, pounding in her ears. Something was wrong, but she had no idea what it could be. Only silence met her ears, save for the low moan of the wind in the eaves and Haake’s labored breathing.
“You’re spooking yourself,” she murmured to the ghostly reflection of her face in the dirty glass of the window. The first rays of dawn were painting the autumn sky with streaks of pink that gave way to pale shades of gray. It was time to get going.
She went to the door, shifting Miraculum’s weight in her arms, then paused again with her hand on the knob.
What was it she was hearing? …feeling? …sensing?
Beneath her palm, the knob turned on its own, and with a gasp, Mona stumbled backward, clutching Miraculum to her breast. The door swung open, revealing a pair of large sillhouettes in the hall behind, nearly invisible in the dark.
“There,” one of them said in a low voice. “I told you—the Hichen is never wrong.”
The two figures stepped calmly through the doorway and into the dim light of the dying fire. Both were Karikis warriors, dressed in the traditional robes of their kind rather than the more human-like atire Garrett favored. One with tan scales carried a spear; the other had a rust-colored complexion and appeared to be unarmed. Neither came any closer as they eyed her warily.
Mona dropped Miraculum back into the armchair and turned to stand in front of him, facing the warriors. Her hand dropped instinctively to the handle of her dagger, and her fingers closed around it.
“What do you want?” she asked. “If you’re here for him—” she nodded toward Haake’s prone form, “—you can have him.”
The unarmed Karikis was staring past her, and she shifted her weight, trying to block Miraculum from his view.
“Him?” he said, glancing down at Haake. “He is of no more use.” He kicked Haake, who groaned but did not wake. “No…we are here for the boy.”
Mona took a step backward until she could feel the seat of the armchair against the backs of her knees. Behind her, she could almost feel Miraculum’s curious gaze as he watched the drama unfold before him.
“The boy is my son,” she said, trying to sound calmer than she felt.
“Liar,” the other Karikis hissed. “You are human. The boy is Karikis.”
“He’s half Karikis,” Mona said, feeling her hand tremble on the handle of her dagger. She wanted to draw it, but forced herself to wait. There was no way—no way in hell—she could take on these two Karikis. Each weighed at least twice what she did, and Karikis warriors were famed for their hand-to-hand combat skills. They were certainly far better trained than she.
The first man stepped to one side, and Mona moved to block his view again, but he held up a hand to forestall her. She hesitated.
“She does not lie,” he said. “I can see the human hair upon his head. Half human then. Only half Karikis.”
“But the Hichen said—”
“The Hichen said he was the one. He need not share all with the likes of you…or me, for that matter. If the gods have told him this boy is the one, then I accept it.”
The other Karikis did not respond, only shifted his grip on his spear. Clearly his companion was the one in charge.
“Step aside, human,” the leader said, and he moved toward her. There was no rancor in his voice, only the powerful tones of one used to giving orders. Pale sunlight, feeble and gray, filtered in through the window and turned his scales nearly black.
“No,” she said, and she drew her dagger.
“There is no need for you or your son to get hurt. Do not force our hand.”
Mona’s eyes flicked to the one with the spear. She doubted it would take much of anything to force that one’s hand. He was plainly only waiting for an excuse to use his weapon—itching for a fight.
Desperate plans, each more implausible than the last, flashed through her mind. The window was closed. By the time she scooped up Miraculum and got to it, they would easily overpower her; the two Karikis stood between her and the door—if it was only her, she might be able to dodge past them, being more agile than the big warriors—but there was no way she could do it while carrying Miraculum.
“You can’t have him,” she snarled, surprised at the sound of her own voice.
With a sigh, the leader bowed his head and stepped to one side. The other came forward, adjusting his grip on the spear once again until he was brandishing it like a club.
Mona dropped into a crouch, keeping herself between the men and her boy.
The warrior swung the spear, its shaft whistling through the air toward her, and Mona raised her left arm to block it. The blow nearly sent her sprawling, but she righted her self and stood, swinging upward with the dagger in her right hand.
The Karikis had not been expecting the move, and she caught him by surprise. Her blade tore a shallow gash along the underside of his forearm, and he hissed in pain, stepping backward.
Too late, Mona realized she’d been fooled. The leader had swept past her while she’d been fending off his companion and was reaching down to scoop Miraculum out of the chair behind her.
“No!”
She lunged at him, barely realizing what she was doing as she let her dagger fly from her hand. He was less than three feet away; there was no way to miss. Her blade found its mark, burying itself in his chest to the hilt.
The Karikis leader staggered backward, clutching at his chest. His mouth opened and a great gush of blood errupted from it as he fell to his knees, showering both her and Miraculum in a crimson spray. A strange choking sound came from his throat, but if there were words, they were unintelligible.
Mona spun away from him to find the other Karikis raising his spear. She dropped to the floor and rolled toward him, wrapping an arm around his knees and pulling him down with her. It was a move that would have never worked if the man hadn’t still been stunned by the sudden loss of his companion. His weight shook the room as he crashed to the floor, seemed to shake the entire house.
Mona reversed her roll and landed on top of him, pounding at his gut with all her strength as she straddled him. It was like hitting a slab of stone. Her fists howled with pain, but she ignored them.
The Karikis bucked, trying to force her off of him, but she clung to him like a wild cat, her nails scraping away great swaths of his skin. The tan scales fell away in dry sheets, leaving bloody tracts behind.
As she clung to his robes, he raised his weapon, trying to find enough space to swing it at her. Desperately, she caught hold of the shaft of his spear. For long seconds, they
grappled with it, each trying to wrestle it away from the other.
With an almighty heave, the Karikis threw her off of him, sending her tumbling through the air to slam against the wall beside the fireplace. She slid to the floor and the world started to go gray around the edges. She blinked furiously.
Don’t pass out…don’t…
The world snapped back into focus as she tried to regain her breath. The big warrior staggered back to his feet. The butt end of his spear struck the orb hanging from the ceiling, and it shattered, raining broken glass upon his head.
Forcing herself to move, Mona used the momentary distraction to crawl back toward the leader’s corpse. If she could retrieve her dagger…
She reached the fallen Karikis and knelt beside his body, scrambling for her weapon. Her fingers slipped on the bloody handle. She wasn’t going to be fast enough. She could hear heavy footsteps behind her…
Something struck her back, knocking her forward. Her hands came up to break her fall, but slipped in the Karikis blood on the floor. For a moment, she thought that only the wind had been knocked out of her. She tried to turn toward her attacker but couldn’t.
Pain such as she had never felt in her life exploded through her guts. She let out a cry that was far weaker than it should have been and looked down.
The tip of the spear was protruding from the fabric of her nightshirt on her left side. It was red with blood—her blood.
As she stared in disbelief, she felt a tremendous tug, and the spearhead vanished back inside her. Mona screamed, but all that came out was a kind of wheeze. She clutched at her side, falling back onto the floor. Blood, so hot it almost seemed to burn her fingers, ran over her hands, soaking into her shirt and turning the cloth scarlet.
Above, the Karikis was staring down at her, his expression inscrutable. He stepped around her, lifted Miraculum gently off the armchair, and turned toward the door.
“No,” Mona whispered, but her mouth was full of blood.
Haven Divided Page 37
