Chapter 12
Zora woke alone. She lay in darkness, staring up at the ceiling. Glimmers of lamplight flickered across the beams as people crossed back and forth outside. There were shouts for fresh horses, for ale and food, for passengers to hurry up with their meals before the coach departed without them. The sounds of
gorgio
life seemed more familiar to her now, and it felt like the last time she heard Romani had been years, not days, past. She had left the tiny country she called home and traveled as a stranger in an unknown land.
Another inn. This one in Lil-engreskey gav, Oxford. With no trace of the
geminus
, they could not move forward. Even if they had a trail to follow, both she and Whit were exhausted. They had needed food and rest.
She pushed herself up and sat on the edge of the bed. Once again, she had slept away the day, and night had already fallen. A candlestick perched atop the nightstand, so she touched the tip of her finger to the wick and lit the taper. She smiled at how familiar her magic felt to her now, as though it had long been part of her and only now could it come forward.
At the washstand, she poured herself a basin of water and quickly cleaned herself. A small mirror hung above the washstand. She undid and then braided anew her hair. As she did, she caught sight of the bed’s reflection, and Whit, asleep in a chair. His sword lay across his lap.
She had offered him use of the bed. They could sleep beside each other. His eyes had blazed, his jaw clenched tight, a sinister intensity radiating from him.
“I do not trust myself,” he had said through clenched teeth. “Now get into bed.”
She had taken one look at his face and done exactly as he demanded.
He battled something. Ever since he had switched places with the
geminus
, a burning shadow clung to him. Unmistakable hunger smoldered in his gaze, especially when he fixed it upon her.
With him asleep, she could admit it to herself: that hunger and shadow called to her. She stared into her own eyes reflected back at her in the mirror. Her other self—the one who craved power over others, who yearned for dark pleasure at any cost. She no longer knew who she was, only that each moment the world changed anew, and she with it.
She turned and studied him as he slept. Even in slumber, that dark edge shaped him. He was just as volatile as she, yet, for all that, he remained her constant in the midst of uncertainty, perhaps
because
of his unpredictability. In some bone-deep way, she knew him. All his faces, all his facets. As he knew her. And they both needed to undo or stop the damage wrought by the
geminus
, before it spread like sickness to other towns, other cities. Before it was too late to regain Whit’s soul.
His eyes opened. His body tensed. Instantly alert.
They held each other’s gazes for a long moment. She kept very still, like a fox waiting for its hunter to move. Suddenly, he stood, secured his sword, and left the room.
Shaking, she washed, using the basin and ewer. The water was cold enough to steal her breath, but she used its chill to cool her heated blood. She doused the candle and left the room. The carpets and gleaming lamps in the hallway testified to the inn’s quality, far better than that of the inn of the previous day. The quality of patron was better, too, as evidenced by the many curious, suspicious, or outright hostile glances she received as she went downstairs.
Whit was not in the dining room. Those who sat in it hunched over their sausages and chines of mutton, their glasses of wine and bowls of green soup, moodily sawing away at their food and speaking no more than necessary. A peculiar tension hung over the chamber, evidenced by the sideways glances being exchanged, and mutterings like a river on the verge of flooding.
A woman in a server’s apron and bearing a tray walked past. Her eyes flicked up and down Zora. Open hostility soured her expression. “Didn’t know we let filthy Gypsies in.”
“Insult me again,” Zora urged softly, “and you’ll wake up tomorrow with a gourd for a nose.”
The
gorgie
’s eyes widened. “That’s not possible.”
“Are you willing to take that chance?” She waved her ring-covered fingers at the serving woman as though conjuring up a Romani curse.
“No,” squeaked the
gorgie
, clapping her hands over her nose.
“I’ll be watching you with my third eye, reading your mind, so if you even
think
another insult, I will know. And act.” She waved her fingers again, and the serving woman fixed her gaze on the floor.
With a regal nod, Zora glided outside.
As she crossed the torch-lit yard of the inn, she felt it again, that tension and disquiet hovering over the town. She heard it, too—the sound of many voices raised in restless humor, arguments and accusations flung like so much pottery to shatter upon the walls of empathy.
She darted to the side as two ostlers in the yard actually threw punches at one another. Briefly, she debated trying to separate them but decided the safest course of action was to stay out of their fight. In her experience, fistfights never lasted long. Hopefully, the ostlers would burn themselves out faster than they could hurt one another.
She found Whit inside the stables, in the stall that accommodated his horse. He had removed his coat and stood in his shirtsleeves, tacking up the horse to prepare it for anticipated departure. He wanted to leave, and soon. Yet she kept silent, watching him at work, the strength of his body and play of muscles beneath his shirt. Lamplight lined his clean profile in gold.
She shifted, and he turned at the sound.
“I haven’t felt the
geminus
’s pull.” Whit growled a curse. “It’s gone, the bloody vault is gone, and I’ve nothing. No direction.” He looked grim.
She muttered her own curse. Livia was nowhere to be found, and the mad ghost had been their only source of information, jumbled and rambling as it had come. Now she and Whit stumbled in darkness trying to solve a riddle without fully knowing the question.
The ostlers’ fight outside grew more heated as someone slammed against the stable door. Whinnying in alarm, Whit’s horse tossed its head, but the lead rope tied to an iron ring in the wall kept it from rearing up.
Whit murmured to the animal, soothing it, even as tension hardened his shoulders. “It’s been like that, according to taproom gossip. A near riot on Broad Street. Students smashing the windows of coffeehouses—these were commoners and servitors, not noblemen or gentlemen commoners. Half the populace is in the street; the other half is barricaded in their homes.”
“I thought the
geminus
was gone.”
“Chaos breeds wherever it goes, and even when it has moved on, the turmoil continues.” His scowl was bitter—and directed at himself. “Oxford is a powder keg. One spark is all it needs to explode. And wherever the
geminus
goes next, whatever village or town or city, the same thing will happen. That’s precisely what it wants. Madness. Literal pandemonium.”
She eyed the saddled horse. “When do we leave?”
“Immediately. But I don’t bloody know where to go.” He slammed his fist into the stall’s wooden partition.
The horse snorted in alarm. Zora edged back. It was a large animal, and she knew full well the kind of damage an errant hoof could cause. Whit was a large animal, too, just as unpredictable, and even more dangerous.
“You and the
geminus
, you’re bound together somehow.”
“Ever since we switched places.” His voice was tight. “Except I cannot feel it now.”
“The ... what did you call it ... bearing compass. The one within you that draws you to wherever the
geminus
may be. What Livia was trying to create with her spell.” She held his gaze. “Try that compass now so we can track the
geminus
.”
“It isn’t here,” he said through clenched teeth.
“But it’s
somewhere
.” At his silence, she pressed, “Don’t fight your link to the
geminus
.”
He scowled. “If I let it go, give it free rein, it will take over. I’ll be lost.”
“You won’t.” But she was not so certain as she pretended.
“And if I hurt you—”
“I can protect myself.” She glanced down at her hands. “What I did before, in that garden, that was nothing.”
He stalked out of the stall, with Zora close behind him. They faced one another in the main chamber of the stable, the musky smell of horse, leather, and hay all around them.
She moved quickly, drawing Whit’s sword from its scabbard. The hiss of metal slid through the stable, cold and purposeful.
His expression tight, he stared at the blade she now held.
“I’m not giving the
geminus
a chance to swing this at me again,” she said.
With the tip of his finger, he guided the sword’s point upward, making it ready. “Use this if I do
anything
to hurt you.”
She prayed it did not come to that, but she nodded. He shut his eyes and exhaled, long and slow. Tension left his long body in a wave. He appeared to reach inside himself, searching.
She watched him, carefully, cautiously. This needed to work, yet she also feared its success.
For several breaths, nothing happened as Whit stood, eyes closed, silent, reaching through unseen space for the bond between himself and his dark half. To Zora, every moment felt a painful eternity. What might happen? Could she truly hurt Whit, if she had to?
A horse kicked the door of its stall. She jumped, almost dropping her weapon. The other horses shifted restlessly, nickering in apprehension.
Whit opened his eyes. He smiled at her.
She secured her grip on the sword, readying to strike.
The
geminus
was back.
For all the darkness within himself, the difference between Whit and the
geminus
was stark—the difference between the night sky and the pitch-black depths of a bottomless chasm.
It took a step toward her. She held the sword higher, pointed at the creature’s chest. But it was still
Whit’s
chest. His heart beating in his chest.
The
geminus
eyed the sword. “A fine welcome for an old friend.” It pressed one of its fingertips to the sharp tip until a trickle of crimson ran down its finger.
“Stop,” she said, for the creature wounded Whit as much as itself.
Surprisingly, it did, then wiped its finger down the front of its waistcoat, staining the doeskin with a band of blood. The
geminus
glanced around the stable with a grimace of distaste.
“There’s nothing here but animals. Hardly worth my time.” Then its gaze returned to Zora, chilling her. “But you, my child, are a delightful prize. My master will be pleased.”
“I’ll sooner drag this”—she hefted the sword—“across my own throat.”
The
geminus
clicked its tongue at the gesture. “Either way, a threat is eliminated.”
She seized this bit of information for the advantage it was. “So I am a threat to
Wafodu guero
.”
“Are we to play chess now? Strategies and gambits?” The creature shrugged. “Well may you try, but no matter your cleverness, there’s truly nothing to you but an ignorant Gypsy girl. Whereas I have my master’s unfathomable experience and knowledge.” Its smile turned cutting. “The advantage will always belong to me and my master.”
It stepped closer, and Zora angled the tip of the sword against its chest, holding it back.
“Tell me where you are,” she said.
“In this repulsive stable. Wherever it is.”
“Where were you
before
?” she demanded through clenched teeth.
“So you may undo my beautiful work?” Despite the sword’s keen top, the
geminus
moved yet closer, its expression cold and hungry. “I rather like it here. Wherever we are. The company is vastly entertaining.”
It would not stop at the threat of the sword. She held tight to the hilt, keeping the blade up, feeling the solid resistance of the
geminus
’s chest. Whit’s chest. If the creature came any nearer, she would have to either stab it—stab Whit—or flee.
The creature saw her hesitation, and smiled again. It pressed still closer. The sword’s cutting tip pierced the doeskin waistcoat and shirt, but the sharp metal hadn’t yet punctured the flesh beneath. The
geminus
kept its gaze locked with hers.