Angelo stood beside the Reverend to Mouse’s right about eight feet away. Two guards flanked the Reverend. There was a body on the floor in front of her. She held her breath a moment, listening. He was still alive, but not for long, unless someone stopped the bleeding. Instinctively, she moved toward him, but guards pulled around the starboard side and started shooting.
Her shoulder recoiled as a bullet bit into her collarbone, and she fell back, crouching on the port side of the deck. Clenching her teeth against the searing pain, she put her hands down on the wood flooring and started to sway, side to side.
“Rise up,” she said to the sea.
High, rolling waves crashed against the side of the yacht. The boat swelled up over the water, leaning hard to port, and slid down the back side and up against the next mountainous wave. The Reverend fell to his knees with a loud thud. His two bodyguards tried to haul him up, but they were pitching back and forth so violently they couldn’t touch him. Mouse heard the guards on the starboard side cry out, followed by two sharp slaps of water as they fell overboard. Angelo was the only one left standing.
With a quick scan of the deck, Mouse realized she’d lost track of Kitty, and a cold dread ran through her veins. But then Angelo called out for her.
“Mouse! He’s sliding off! Help him!”
The body in front of her rolled hard to the left as another wave hit. Mouse lunged for it as it went over the side. The head lolled back, face up, as she knotted her fists into his shirt and waistband. She could see now that it was a young man, a boy really, about sixteen or seventeen years old. Blood was pouring out of a gaping hole in his thigh. His heartbeat was slow and faint. He would be dead soon.
Mouse could hear the bullet wedged into her broken collarbone grind and squeal as she tried to pull him up. He was too heavy. When another wave hit the starboard side, the boy’s weight pulled her halfway overboard.
“Be still,” she said through gritted teeth to the water, and the water went still like glass.
She looked over her shoulder toward Angelo. His face silenced all her doubts, and, even in the midst of the chaos and danger, she felt joy catch at her throat. Angelo looked at her with such faith—he still believed in her, body and soul. She’d found home again, at last.
The boat started rocking. Angelo leaned against his crutches and the rod, working to keep his balance. He looked up to see Birhan sliding overboard. Angelo couldn’t get to him in time. But Mouse could.
“Mouse! He’s sliding off! Help him!”
Mouse didn’t know Birhan, didn’t know if he was one of the Reverend’s men. But it didn’t matter. She lunged for him. She saved him. As Angelo knew she would.
“Take her now! She’s vulnerable!” the Reverend yelled.
Angelo smiled down at him as he rolled on the deck. “You have no idea what she’s capable of, but I do. If you have a way off this boat, I’d go now.”
“I’ll do it myself, then!” The Reverend lunged for Aaron’s rod, his chunky fingers wrapping greedily around the smooth wood. Thick, radiant blue branches of light shot out from the rod and into the Reverend, who buckled backward, his eyes wide and slathers of foamy spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth. The crackles of lightning were gone as quickly as they came. The Reverend’s men caught him as he pitched forward, but there was no point. Spinal fluid poured from his ears and nose as his guards dragged him down the port side, away from the shooting, his eyes fixed and staring blankly toward the heavens.
“Angelo!” Mouse cried.
His eyes snapped up to meet hers.
“I can’t hold him. Help me!”
Angelo catapulted himself forward with his crutches and let go of the rod as he dropped to his knees and threw his torso over the side, clutching at Birhan’s waistband. He swung his legs around to brace himself against the rail and pulled. Mouse rolled over into the same position, and together they hauled Birhan back up onto the deck.
Mouse balled up the edge of her cloak and pressed down against the wound to stop the bleeding. “We need something to make a tourniquet.”
“There’s no time, Mouse. He won’t make it.” Angelo put his hands on hers. “Be who you are. Command him to live.” He was begging her.
“If I tell him to live, he might do it—forever. I won’t do that to anyone, Angelo. That’s a curse no one should have to bear.”
“Choose different words then. You’re a healer, Mouse. Just heal him. Please.”
She bent to Birhan’s ear and whispered for him alone. “Heal. Heal fast. Heal sure. Heal.”
Blood bubbled out of the wound as the skin knit itself together. She could hear his heart, steady and strong. She looked up at Angelo, smiling, but the moment of relief melted away as Mouse saw the scene playing out over Angelo’s shoulder at the far end of the bow on the main deck below them.
Kitty stood between Mouse’s father and Luc. Luc wore the tattered cloak Mouse had left behind at the gardener’s cottage. He wore the mask of the kurdaitcha. He looked like a smaller version of Mouse when she had gone hunting for vengeance.
And in his hand, Luc held the glowing shaft of the bone shard sent down from the Seven Sisters.
He was pointing it at Kitty.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Mouse shoved past Angelo and stumbled to the railing, looking down on the deck below.
“Luc! Put the bone down!” Her voice was shrill, panicked, pleading.
He startled and turned up to look at her. The kurdaitcha mask, almost as long as his whole body, jutted up into the thick fog and sent wisps spiraling out from him like pinwheel universes born in the moment.
“Think about what this woman did to you,” their father said to Luc. “What she did to your sister. This woman is evil.” He was quiet and calm, reassuring. He drew Luc’s attention back to the disheveled, blank-faced Kitty, who stood in front of the boy.
Mouse wrestled her panic and shoved it down, deep inside, so when she spoke, she, too, was calm. “She has hurt you, Luc. And she deserves to be punished for it. She wants to make the world look just like her. She wants to make everyone act just the way she wants. She wants everyone following her rules. And she’s willing to do anything to make that happen.”
“Then I should kill her,” Luc said through clenched teeth.
“Yes!” his father hissed.
“No. Because this isn’t about her, sweetheart. It’s about you. About the choices you want to make.” Mouse started to climb the rail.
“Stay up there!” Luc cried.
“Okay, okay.” She stepped back. “I’m not going to make you do anything. I just want you to think it through first. I have faith in you, Luc.”
“Me, too,” their father said.
“I know you’ll make the right choice. And I’ll love you regardless of what you choose to do. Okay?”
Luc half turned and nodded. Their father was silent.
“Do you remember how you felt after your nanny died?” Mouse asked.
“I didn’t mean to do it, and I was sorry it happened.” He sounded so small. “But this is different. I want to do this!” His voice surged with all the pain and fear he’d suffered; the bone shard glowed brighter.
“Part of you does, yes,” Mouse answered.
“I didn’t do anything to her. I didn’t do anything and she . . .” His heart was pounding in his little chest. “It hurt. Everywhere. And she . . . she laughed as she cut me, laughed when I screamed. She said I deserved it.” He cocked his head toward Mouse again. “Did I? Am I something bad, Mouse?”
“No!” Anguish burned against Mouse’s throat and eyes, but she needed to walk through this with him—wherever the path might lead. She would not let him walk it alone. It was a broken, little-girl Mouse, the girl who had spent so much of her childhood asking the same question, who gave him his answer. “You are not bad, Luc, and you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t do anything wrong. What you are is a beautiful boy with a kind heart. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
&
nbsp; “No, there’s not.” Their father took a step toward Luc and put a hand on his shoulder. “And yet this woman ripped you away from your own bed, made your skin bubble and boil so she could cage you like an animal, and then she—”
“Stop!” Luc cried as he leaned forward, the tip of the bone shard just inches from Kitty.
“Do it,” their father said. He kicked Kitty at the back of the knee, driving her down onto the deck. She pulled up and was now face-to-face with Luc, who took a step back, his hands shaking.
“I know you want to make her pay for what she did,” Mouse said.
“Just like you did, you hypocrite.” Her father sneered. “You picked off the people who hurt you and yours. One by one, you hunted them in this same cloak, wearing this same mask, trying to hide from your true self. My son has the strength to accept who he is, to embrace it. To do what he was born to do.” He flipped the kurdaitcha mask off Luc’s face. It went spinning out into the dark sea.
Mouse’s head hung down. “He’s right that I was weak, Luc. But the weakness was giving in to my anger. I wanted revenge for what had been done to me and to Angelo. And he’s right—” She couldn’t hold back the tears. “I hunted those people down. I killed them—I didn’t mean to, but I wanted them dead. And so it happened. I will carry the guilt of that the rest of my life. But that’s not who I am. Surely not who I was raised to be.” She looked up to the star-strewn sky. The fog was gone, but her sight was blurred with shame. “I made the wrong choice, Luc. Which is why I don’t want you to do the same thing.” She leaned against the rail, looking down on him again. “And you are stronger than I am.”
Luc shook his head, his hair ruffled and knotted where the mask had been. “No, I’m not.”
“You are. Do you know how I know?”
He turned to look at her. His eyes were wide with fear. He needed her to have the words to help him let go of his anger.
“When you . . . when Mercy died—”
“That was an accident.” His eyes squeezed tight against the blur of tears.
“I know, I know. You did it because you were angry. You didn’t mean to—just like I didn’t mean to. We all make mistakes, Luc. Because we’re human. So is Kitty. Look at her.”
Luc turned back to face his tormentor.
“This woman meant to hurt you, and she was going to do it again, son,” their father interjected. “You saw her pouring your blood all over this boat so she could play her sick game. And she’ll do it again if we don’t stop her. She’s your enemy.” He sounded more urgent, pressing.
Mouse kept her voice even, hopeful. “Think about that day with Mercy. I know it hurts to look back on something we did that we’re ashamed of—but there’s something far more important about that moment. She forgave you. You remember how that felt?”
A little light drove out some of the anger and fear in his eyes.
“This is how I know you’re stronger than me. You let her forgive you, and you forgave yourself. You accepted her gift of mercy. I’m not very good at that. I hope you’ll teach me.”
His body started to relax.
“I know you can be as strong as Mercy. I know—”
Mouse’s father pulled himself up. “This woman does not deserve your forgiveness, and she will not love you for it.”
“It’s not about her, Luc. It’s about you. What choice do you want to make?”
Luc looked up at his father, his lips quivering. Mouse could see the boy shaking, but he held himself as if bracing for something. “I won’t do it, Father. I won’t kill anyone. Not now. Not ever.”
Like her little brother, Mouse saw the blow coming. She was over the rail and grabbing her father’s arm before he could backhand his son. He shook himself free of her and his human form at the same time, Mouse and the shreds of his humanity falling to the deck at his feet. He kicked out at her, his clawed foot slamming against her chest and throwing her back against a table. His other hand snaked out and plucked the Seven Sisters’ bone shard from Luc.
“Why am I the only one willing to do the dirty work that must be done?” His voice was high, playful—a voice Mouse had learned to fear. It signaled that her father was at the peak of his fury, wild and unpredictable. He sighed and shrugged dramatically and tossed the bone into the air. He caught it as it fell just in front of Kitty’s face. And then he slammed the point of it through the flesh of her bottom jaw, up through her palate, and out her left eye. Blood shot out of her like a fountain.
Luc screamed when the blood sprayed across his face. He wiped at it frantically as if it were burning him. Mouse scrambled over to him. He threw his arms around her neck, wiping his face side to side against her shoulder and then burying his head against her chest. She tried to pull him back so she could make sure he wasn’t hurt and to clean away the blood, but he wouldn’t let go.
Their father lifted Kitty up, his hand still gripping the bone shard under her chin, blood raining down, and he tossed her into the sea. The bone glowed brightly blue down into the dark, until it was a ghost, and then it was gone. He reached down and grabbed Luc by the collar and pulled, ripping the seams of his shirt. Mouse kicked at him and wrapped her arms more tightly around Luc, who was screaming something meant to be words but which Mouse couldn’t understand. A boot slammed into her ribs and wedged between her and Luc, pushing her away.
She couldn’t hold on. Luc couldn’t hold on. He cried out as he was torn away from her: “Mouse. Mouse.”
“Please!” she begged. “Leave him here. Let me take care of him. Please!”
Her father hammered his knee into her face and sent her flying onto her back across the deck. She saw the storm then, swirling, massive, lightning popping, and she twisted her head around to see Angelo standing on the upper deck, the rod of Aaron in his hand, the Book of the Just in his other, and Birhan by his side.
“Leave them alone or I will unleash God’s own fury against you,” Angelo said.
Her father held Luc by the waist. The boy was tearing at him, trying to get loose. “I don’t care about her. But I am going to take my son home.”
He started to pull his cloak around himself and Luc.
Mouse had crawled to them and wrapped her hand around his boot. “I’ll go in his place. Let Angelo have Luc. I’ll go with you. I won’t fight. I’ll do whatever . . . whatever you ask me to do.” She was sobbing. “And I can take care of myself. You don’t have to . . . you don’t have to look after me like you do him. You know you don’t like it. Please.”
Her father paused. “How do I know you’d keep your word?”
“Because I love him.”
“No, Mouse,” Luc whimpered. “I want to be with you.”
Her father tossed his head side to side, considering. “You know, if I take him, I bet you’ll come home on your own, wagging your tail behind you. So, I’ll see you later—” A finger of lightning shot down from the sky and struck him in the back. He arched, howling, and let go of Luc, who sank to the deck and curled into a ball.
“I will not let you take Mouse or the boy,” Angelo said.
“Who are you to stop me?” Mouse’s father demanded.
The boat began to quake as the sea churned.
“I bear the Book of the Just and the rod of Aaron,” Angelo replied.
“Meh, been there, done that.” He shrugged. “Now I have legions at my command.”
Mouse could see forms taking shape in the water. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Demons.
Luc put his hand in hers, his face full of the same desperate surety that had settled on Mouse. They had no choice.
“Angelo, don’t.” She said it quietly, but he heard all the same. “It’s not worth the end of the world. Let us go.”
Angelo shook his head and tightened his grip on the rod. “I can’t lose you again. Not to him.”
The creatures in the sea started to scramble on top of each other, breaking the surface of the water. Some were giant-like demons Mouse had seen so long ago in the pit at H
ouska. Some were smaller. All of them had faces that were achingly hungry, and Mouse knew what they craved—the light inside all the people, light that the demons had never had or had forfeited. They wanted to gorge themselves on souls and devour hope.
“I love you, Angelo. If you love me, if you’ve ever loved me, you’ll stop.” She stood and pulled Luc up into her arms. She could taste blood and the salt of her tears on her tongue. “Put the rod down. Please.”
Angelo’s face crumpled and he lowered the rod. Birhan put his arms around him, holding him up. The storm uncoiled and floated away like ships in the sky.
“I don’t want to say good-bye.” Angelo could barely get the words out.
“Me, either.” Mouse clenched her hands into Luc’s shirt. “Miluji tě,” she whispered to Angelo, and then stepped toward her father.
Angelo fell to his knees, unable to speak, his face turned up to the sky.
The sea was still churning with demons, though they seemed to be waiting for something. Mouse looked to her father. His face was full of something she couldn’t read. She’d never seen him look that way. His eyes were on something past her.
“I wondered when you’d show up,” he said.
Mouse spun to look where he was looking. On the upper deck, framed by the stars and a sliver of moon, sat a man Mouse knew was not just a man. He wore a simple linen tunic that bunched against faded jeans rolled at the cuffs, his bare feet dangling out. He was covered in tattoos—symbols and letters Mouse knew from a book she’d read once seven centuries ago, a book that had nearly killed her. The Book of the Angels. The man’s face was full of the same expression her father wore, shame and sadness and a terrible hope.
“Hello, brother,” the man said. “It’s been a while.”
“You’re a little late, Gabe. It’s all over. Crisis averted and all that. You can head back to your angelic throne.” Mouse’s father twitched his head and the demon-filled sea went quiet and still. “No Armageddon today. See?”
“You can’t take credit for that this time, Star of Morning.”
Book of the Just Page 34
