The Fading Dusk

by Melissa Giorgio

  “We need to find out more,” I hissed to Vernen as we stood.

  “I know, but tread carefully, Irina. If the ritual is what we think it is, he’s not just going to casually say, ‘Oh you need to slit someone’s throat.’” Vernen snorted. “He’s trying to convince us to get married here, not send us running into the streets screaming.”

  “Everyone is mad,” I muttered. “Completely and utterly mad.”

  “What was that?” Sorel asked, tilting his head toward us.

  I beamed. “Nothing!”

  WE JOINED SOREL AT THE altar, where he talked in length about the sacred wedding ceremony. When it became obvious that it had nothing to do with the immortality ritual, I tuned him out and let my eyes wander.

  There was a high-backed mahogany chair behind the altar covered in intricate carvings. Most were elaborate designs, but two images caught my eye. First was a highly detailed dragon on the top—it stood out amongst the flowers and random shapes. Poised for flight, the dragon spewed a large ball of flames from its open maw. The other design I recognized from the sketches Leonid had shown me.

  It was the mirror image of one of the marks left at the crime scenes.

  My heart sped up. This was it! There was a connection! Someone who knew about the church and its practices was trying to perform the immortality ritual!

  I glanced at Sorel out of the corner of my eye. Was it him? Somehow I couldn’t picture the kind priest covered in someone else’s blood as he slit their throat. But he’d evaded my question about the ritual; was he scared to reveal too much?

  I took a deep breath. I was partly here because I didn’t want to risk disappointing Leonid, but the main reason that drove me was Bantheir’s innocence. If all we learned today was how the Church of Essence conducted wedding ceremonies, then it would be a huge waste of time.

  So I gathered my courage and asked, “What’s the ritual?”

  Both men turned to regard me. Vernen looked a little pained, but he kept quiet. Like me, he must have realized that this may be our only chance at finding anything out.

  Sorel blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s just, I’ve heard about this church.” I flashed Vernen what I hoped looked like an apologetic smile. “From my friends. I was talking about getting married and how much I love Roger, and how I want to spend more than the rest of my life with him, and one of my friends said I should go to the Church of Essence.” I ducked my head. “Sorry I misled you, honey.”

  “That’s… that’s all right,” Vernen said, scratching the back of his neck.

  Facing Sorel, I plunged ahead. “I love the idea of being able to live forever with Vernen, but my friend said it involves a great deal of sacrifice? And… blood?”

  Sorel’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and my stomach dropped. I’d gone too far. “Where did she hear a thing like that?”

  “From a magician!” I blurted out. Vernen’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He was standing slightly behind Sorel, and he frantically shook his head, telling me to back down. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. “There’s this magician who does shows sometimes in our neighborhood, and then he goes out for a drink with one of the locals. He went with my friend and her husband and told them about the ritual! I don’t remember his name—”

  “Bantheir,” Sorel spat, his brown eyes flashing dangerously. He no longer looked like the innocent, sweet priest who had charmed us with wedding stories. Now he looked like someone capable of killing to get what he wanted.

  I sucked in a breath at the mention of my master’s name. Not good. Had Bantheir really taken the Essence and embarked on some madman’s quest for immortality?

  The familiar ache deep within my gut returned, and I grabbed the altar for support. Sorel, oblivious to my sudden discomfort, continued speaking. “Six months ago, he joined our church, claiming he wanted to become a follower of Jaegger. Of course we took him in; we never turn anyone away, you see. He spoke to us of a humble life, of how he grew up in the slums and worked hard until he made enough money to escape to Way.”

  Lies. Bantheir had been born in Way. Maybe it’s the wrong person. Maybe it was someone else who claimed to be Bantheir, I thought desperately.

  “He had everyone in the church believing his story. How could we not? He was charming, friendly and kind, and went out of his way to help the church.” Sorel glanced at the plain altar. “It’s obvious that times are difficult right now for us. We’re the last one in all of Dusk, and our followers have dwindled to a paltry number. Bantheir brought a light to this church, reinvigorating it. For a time, we thought things would turn around, get better…”

  “What happened?” Vernen asked.

  Sorel laughed bitterly, rubbing a hand over the altar. “I foolishly showed him the Essence, and the next day, it disappeared.” He looked up, staring directly at me. “The person we thought was a humble tailor turned out to be a flashy street magician.” He spat the word as if it was a curse and I flinched. “I suppose he fancies himself strong enough to conduct the ritual and summon Jaegger himself.” Sorel took a step toward me and I backed away, scared of the menacing look in his eyes. “I hope he dies. I hope Jaegger takes one look at him and destroys him.”

  Vernen shoved his body between us before Sorel could get any closer. “Calm down, please. You’re scaring my fiancée.”

  I wrapped my arms around myself, squeezing tightly. “What did he look like? This magician?”

  Sorel waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Brown hair, blue eyes, goatee, medium height and of middle age.”

  “No…” I shut my eyes in defeat. “It wasn’t him…”

  “Sally,” Vernen said warningly.

  The evidence was right there in front of me, but I shoved it aside. Not Bantheir! It had to be someone else! An imposter, someone determined to sully the magician’s good name.

  But if he was innocent, why didn’t he return home that night?

  And another thought, one I’d been purposely ignoring since the night I was arrested: Where has Bantheir been, all this time?

  Was Bantheir… guilty?

  A crippling wave of pain ripped through me and I cried out, falling to my knees. Vernen called out my name—my real name—and crouched down next to me. “What is it? What’s wrong?!” Panic laced his words with desperation as he seized me by the shoulders.

  Choking back a sob, I shook my head. “My stomach—”

  Sorel watched us, lips pressed together tightly. “Is she, by chance, with child?” Before we could answer, a loud metallic crash sounded from our left. The priest whipped his head in that direction. “What in the name of Jaegger is going on? Excuse me for a moment—”

  Vernen went deathly white as he mouthed, “Leonid!” Eyes widening, I jumped to my feet, ignoring the pain. We had to distract Sorel, to give Leonid time to escape. “Can I have a drink of water?” Sorel glowered, so I added a pitiful, “Please?”

  Vernen stood as well, hooking a hand under my elbow to support me. His other hand slowly slid a knife from his boot. Sorel saw and narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on? Who are you, really?” He glanced at me and let out a startled exclamation, pointing toward my head. “Your hair!”

  Too late, I remembered I was wearing a wig. Reaching up, I felt it had shifted and hastily tried to put it back in place.

  “I know you!” Sorel said accusingly. “You’re Bantheir’s assistant! What, you came to steal something else?” He spread his arms wide. “We have nothing left, girl! Bantheir has destroyed us!”

  The same side door Sorel had originally entered through banged open, and a much larger, muscular man walked in. “What’s going on?” he demanded, approaching us. “Sorel, who are these people?” He had long black hair tied back in a tail and menacing eyes. He reminded me so much of the burly man that I began shaking.

  “Dainde, that girl is Bantheir’s assistant!”

  Dainde shot me a look of pure hatred. “You’re the one who killed Franklin and Warth!” He mad
e to grab me, but Vernen darted between us, pushing me toward the aisle.

  “Irina, run!”

  Relieved the cramps had subsided, I charged forward, ignoring Dainde’s loud roars of protests. It was only when I reached the doors that I hesitated, my gaze caught on something that took the breath out of my lungs.

  Over the doors hung the large, circular stained glass window I’d seen earlier. Outside, I hadn’t been able to make out the shape, but from the inside, I saw exactly what it was.

  A five-pointed star.

  There was an audible click as things began fitting together.

  I needed to tell Leonid. Now.

  As if I’d summoned him with my thoughts, the doors to the church opened, and Leonid stood there, cloaked in sunlight. Behind us, I heard Vernen shout something, but I was too intent on telling Leonid what I’d just discovered to pay him any heed.

  Then I heard footsteps behind me, loud and intimidating, and started to turn to look.

  Leonid rushed forward, my nickname on his lips as he grabbed me and shoved me against the wall, shielding my body with his. Our limbs pressed together, so close it was hard to tell where he ended and I began. His mouth was against my ear—to a casual viewer, we would look like lovers embracing.

  Over Leonid’s left shoulder, I saw something hurtle past—a silver and black blur. It embedded itself in the wall with a low thunk.

  A knife.

  A knife that would have hit me square in the back, had Leonid not shoved me aside.

  I gasped and Leonid’s grip on me tightened. His face was pure murder as he turned his head slowly to the left to regard Dainde. Vernen was behind him, holding a hand to his left eye.

  “Vernen,” Leonid said, “please take her out of here and wait for me at our usual spot.” The words were pleasant, normal, but his tone of voice sent shivers down my spine. Every word sounded like a growl, and each syllable promised pain.

  Leonid pulled away from me, rolling up his sleeves as he took slow, deliberate steps toward Dainde. Vernen skirted around them, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the doorway. His left eye was swollen; he must have been punched during the scuffle.

  “Wait!” I said. Dainde was smiling; he wasn’t intimidated by Leonid at all.

  “No, Irina, you really don’t want to see this.” Vernen managed to get me outside, slamming the doors behind him.

  “Wait, Vernen, Leonid is still in there—”

  Dainde’s howls of pain, muffled through the doors, filled the air.

  I let Vernen pull me away.

  AS VERNEN LED ME THROUGH Way, my mind was a whirlwind and I hardly paid attention to where we were headed. Within minutes, I was completely lost.

  When we happened upon a small park, Vernen led me over to a bench and made me sit. “Wait here,” he instructed, slipping away before I could ask any questions.

  Pulling off my wig, I slumped in my seat, shivering despite the sweat that coated my skin. I wished I could shut down, stop thinking, stop realizing that Bantheir—

  No! My stomach gave an awful lurch and I was hit with a sharp wave of nausea.

  Stop thinking, Irina. Desperate for a distraction, I let my eyes roam, drinking in the scenery. While Bantheir and I had performed in some parks, I’d never been to this one before. I could see the edge of Dusk in the distance, marked by the gently curving stone wall that surrounded the entire city. To my right, then, must have been Rise. It made sense that I didn’t recognize the park—I’d never ventured this close to the northern section.

  The park was small, with a rolling field of green grass. A couple of children played tag, their mothers watching while they talked. Behind me was a busy street filled with bustling stores; Vernen had gone in that direction, and now he returned, holding two steaming cups and a paper bag tucked under one arm.

  He sat down next to me and handed me the cup. Thanking him, I accepted it, breathing in the aroma. “Hot chocolate?” I asked, surprised. I’d only had it a few times, when a member of the audience had treated me and Bantheir afterwards. I’d loved it, though, and wished we could afford to drink it more often.

  “The best in Dusk,” Vernen said. He set his cup down and opened the paper bag, pulling out a large, round roll. “And this is the best meat bun in Dusk. I know the two don’t go together, but I figure you’re in desperate need of the best right about now.”

  I took one look at the roll and shook my head. “I can’t eat anything.”

  His face was etched with lines of concern. “Your stomach still hurts?”

  “Only when I…” I flushed, realizing how strange what I was about to say sounded.

  “Irina?”

  “Only when I think Bantheir is…” I gritted my teeth against the pain.

  “Guilty,” Vernen finished. “Whenever you think he actually committed the crime, you hurt.”

  I nodded, taking a small sip of my hot chocolate. “That’s not normal, is it?”

  He avoided my gaze, looking uncomfortable. “I’m pretty sure I’d be reacting the same way if I found out Leon had committed some atrocious crime. Although I’d refuse to believe he was guilty in the first place.”

  A small smile tugged at my lips. “Funny, he said the same thing about you.”

  “Really?” His blue eyes brightened happily.

  “Will he be all right?” I asked. “We just left him.”

  “Leon can take care of himself.”

  I took a deep breath, about to protest further, when I paused. Vernen wouldn’t just abandon his friend. If he thought Leonid was in danger, he would have stayed, or even gone back, instead of sharing a bench with me, eating meat buns and drinking hot chocolate. I grasped my cup tightly to prevent my hands from shaking. I had to trust that Leonid would be fine.

  “I think it’s amazing, how close the two of you are,” I said.

  His face flushed, surprising me. Studying him carefully, I thought about their ability to talk with just their eyes, their unwavering trust in one another, and a sudden thought occurred to me. “Vernen… Do you like Leonid?”

  He choked on his hot chocolate. Setting his cup down, he slumped forward, resting his arms on his knees as his blush deepened. “Is it that obvious?”

  I knew it! Worried that I’d somehow made him feel bad, I said, “No, no, it’s not. I’ve just been watching the two of you. There’s not much else to do when stuck in prison, you know?” I cracked a weak smile. When he didn’t respond, my smile faded. “Does he know?”

  Vernen shook his head. “If he does, he’s polite enough to keep quiet about it. It’s hopeless, I know, but I can’t stop myself from loving him.”

  My cheeks burned hotly at the word “love.”

  “Maybe he’ll only ever see me as a brother, but that’s all right. I’d rather be only that than have him tell me I disgust him.” There was a distant look in his eyes. “We’ve known each other for nearly four years now. I can barely remember what life was like before him. Even if we can’t be… together in the way I’d like, at least we can still be together. As friends and comrades. If that makes sense?” I nodded. “I can only hope he feels the same way.”

  “I’m sure he does.” I touched Vernen on his arm. “I am sorry, though.”

  “What, for my unrequited love?” Vernen smiled. “It’s all right.” He bumped my shoulder with his. “And what about you?”

  I started squirming. “What about me?”

  “Any romantic feelings I should know about?” He winked. “Now’s your chance to confess to me, Irina. I’m going to have to turn you down, of course, but I’ll do it gently.”

  “Do what?” a new voice asked. We both turned to see Leonid behind us, arms crossed over his chest. I was so relieved to see he was unharmed that all of my breath came out in one loud whoosh. His face was expressionless, leading me to believe he hadn’t overheard our conversation.

  Vernen gave me a knowing look, making me blush even harder. “I’m about to break Irina’s heart.”

  Leonid
blinked. “Come again?”

  “Vernen,” I said warningly. I wasn’t quite sure how the topic of conversation had shifted toward me all of a sudden. I also didn’t like how Vernen seemed to have figured everything out while I was still trying to understand what was going on with my heart. To distract everyone, I grabbed the paper bag and shoved it toward Leonid. “Meat bun?”

  He accepted the bag, eyeing me strangely. I looked away, pretending I hadn’t noticed. With a sigh, Leonid came around and sat down on the bench, next to Vernen.

  “Any trouble?” Vernen asked.

  “No.” There was a sound of rustling as Leonid opened the bag and produced a bun. “Our friend now realizes how dangerous it is to throw knives at unsuspecting people. He won’t do it again.” Leonid paused. “He can’t do it again, I should say.”

  I winced.

  “Leon…” Vernen trailed off, shaking his head.

  “He’s still alive, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Leonid popped the last bit of bun in his mouth. “I do know how to restrain myself.”

  “Barely.” Vernen rolled his eyes at me. I shrugged helplessly in response. “Did you find anything while you were snooping?” he asked.

  Leonid swiped Vernen’s cup of hot chocolate, ignoring his friend’s protests as he drained it. “Nothing. Everything I read about—the closing of the other churches, the dwindling of patrons—you learned from our friend the priest.”

  “Oh, so you were listening in?” Vernen asked, a playful glint in his eye. “You owe us congratulations, you know.”

  Leonid scowled. “For what? Your sloppy attempt at acquiring information?”

  “No, for our impending nuptials and baby.”

  I spit out my hot chocolate, coughing loudly.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Leonid muttered, suddenly very interested in a spot of dirt on his boot.

  “It’s amazing you dropped that box or whatever it was right after Sorel asked if she was pregnant…”

  Leonid’s eyes were narrowed dangerously. “Vernen—”

  “Really great timing, you know?”

  “If you don’t shut up right now, I’m shoving this cup down your throat,” Leonid growled. When Vernen doubled over, shaking with silent laughter, Leonid punched him in the shoulder. “Shut up! We have more important things to worry about! We know Bantheir is performing some sort of immortality ritual, and we also know he hasn’t finished, or else he’d come out of hiding and squash everyone who opposes him like bugs.” He leaned forward eagerly. “The real question is where will he strike next?”