Authors: Crystal Collier
80
Angel
Patter, thump, thump, thump.
Kiren tilted his head in the darkness of his room, slipping from meditation. The door handle to his bedroom twisted. He almost tumbled out of his chair, listening. Raspy breath echoed a thundering heart: Alexia’s.
“Kiren!” Pounding rattled the wood.
He reached the door and unlocked it in a single stride.
“Kiren!”
He pulled it open and she stumbled inward, into his arms. Curls frizzed out around her head, as though she’d been tossing all night. He smoothed them down and her pleading face turned to his. “You have to stop it!”
“Stop what?”
“Sarah . . .” Her eyes squeezed shut, chest rising and falling quickly.
“A dream?”
She nodded.
Doors clicked open behind her, feet in the hall, people coming to see what caused this outburst. He glanced down at her thin nightgown and slid her into his chamber, settling her on a stool. He knelt before her. “What happened?”
“I . . . it was . . .” Her eyes lit and she held up a hand. He took her fingers, and she closed her eyes.
Sarah stood in Charles’s study, leaning on the mantle, head down. The curtains blotted out the last of sunset. Glowing embers cast jagged shadows across her brooding face, heavy lines of sorrow creasing her brow.
A hiss.
Her head turned.
A face hid in the shadows, only his large silhouette and glittering earring identifying the being.
“John?” Her eyes shot wide. “No, you are supposed to be—”
A flicker of flame lit his face. His eyes shone wide, pupils a brilliant crimson.
She stumbled backward, her shoulder smacking into the wall.
He leapt at her, fingers gripping her tiny form, her flesh burning in his grasp . . .
Kiren sat back.
Alexia grabbed his loose shirt. “He is going to kill her!”
Several faces hovered at the exit. Whispers echoed at the suggestion. He wished there were a way to hold this conversation privately, to keep their prying ears away.
She tugged on his shirt. “You have to save her.”
He stared at the floor. “He is not going to kill her.”
Her breath caught. She fell to the floor before him, seizing his face and forcing him to meet her gaze. “What do you mean? I saw it! It is going to happen.”
He brushed her hair back. “What you witnessed is not her death. He was turning her.”
She gasped. “Please no. Please stop him!”
He touched her chin where a little discoloration was forming, a bruise. “I—I cannot.”
“What do you mean
cannot
? She is one of us. You have to!” Tears erupted and drizzled down her cheeks. He encircled her with his arms, pressing her cheek gently against his chest.
“You cannot let her become one of them,” she whimpered, clinging to him.
“She decided to remain in that world, and I . . .” He couldn’t meet her eyes.
“You what?”
He groaned. “We had an agreement, you and I.” He forced the words out around a tightening windpipe: “She is not part of your life anymore.”
Alexia sat back and covered her mouth. Tears flooded down her cheeks. He tugged his handkerchief out of a pocket and caught the deluge. He wouldn’t have been strong enough to give up his family, no matter the reward. It was cruel to ask it of her.
She gasped and pushed him away, her eyes round with terror. “Miles took a letter to Sarah for me, and the Soulless followed him back, almost to the manor. Sarah knows everything. If she becomes one of them, they will come for me.”
He groaned.
“You must save her to protect all those who dwell here.”
His mouth worked, but the words wouldn’t come out.
I promised to never leave your side again. They are watching for me on the road and will attack, night and day. I may not make it in time, and if I fail they will certainly reach you before I can.
Her head turned. Edward stood in the doorway, the others crowding behind him. The question hung in his friend’s lifted brows: help her forget?
He bit down. It was an easy solution. They could relocate to one of his other houses and allow Sarah’s transition.
But Alexia would hate him. He would hate himself. No, he would not take her memories again, ever. She was right. He had to go.
Alexia shoved against his chest. “You will save her, if you—”
He rose. He moved to his closet and retrieved a waistcoat, sliding it around his shoulders. “Lester, prepare my horse.” He fastened buttons and pulled his hair back in a band.
“Yes, sir!” The spectators scattered.
She appeared at his side.
He lifted her chin. “You are sure about this?”
She nodded. “Save Sarah.”
“I love you, Alexia.”
“And I love you.”
His traced her jaw with his thumb, realizing this could be the last time he ever touched her. His heart clenched. They’d had so little time together—not nearly enough.
He ran a hand through her curls, the other slipping around her back, and lowered his lips to hers. He kissed her with his whole soul, keeping his sadness back. This must be a triumphant farewell, like a young man going off to his first battle, promising to return with honor and glory. Only a person as aged as himself could know there was no glory in war.
He pulled away before she reached their shared connection and discovered his traitorous thoughts. She did not need to worry. He did enough of that for both of them.
He brushed her cheek, smiling for her, and turned away.
She followed. Her footfalls chased him down the hall and into the entry, halting on the stairs. He paused at the exit for Edward to aid him with a jacket, tucked into some boots, and took a bundle of staples from Nelly.
He stepped to the door, took a deep breath, and gazed upon her. With that flimsy nightgown and brave smile, she was the angel of a thousand dreams, the hope that had guided him through one dark hour after another. Perhaps the heavens would be merciful and carry him back to his angel once more.
He bowed for her and turned to the night.
1
Whispers
It wasn’t until she settled back in her room, unable to sleep, that Alexia realized: he kissed her as though it might be his last.
She worried. She tried to dream about Kiren, to see where he was, if he’d succeed, but it wouldn’t come.
Morning.
Whispers carried from the kitchen, hushed voices rising over top of one another. She entered and Edward stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening. Nelly, Ethel, and Lester’s heads turned, each one straightening up, nodding at her, then going their separate ways. Miles leaned in the corner, arms crossed, frowning. She caught his gaze and he pushed off the wall, pausing in the doorway to the yard and nodding back over his shoulder.
She followed him. He entered the barn, tugged a scrub brush off the shelf and settled before a saddle.
“Miles, why is everyone acting so strange? What were they arguing about?”
He rolled his sleeves. “Why did you send him away?”
“To save Sarah.”
“And who is going to save you?”
She blinked. “What?”
He dipped the brush into a bucket of water and went to work. She knelt beside him, placing a hand on his arm. He tensed. She let go.
He sighed. “They are worried.”
“Worried the Soulless will hurt him?”
He met her eyes. “Worried they will come for you.” He got up angrily. “I lost them a few miles out last time, but with the numbers they’ve gathered, it won’t take them long to figure us out.”
She rose, recalling his terror the night he returned from delivering Sarah’s letter. “You lost them?”
He straightened.
“How in the world could you outrun those . . . those . . . ?”
He grimaced, color thickening. “I didn’t say I outran them.” He resumed his seat and went back to work.
Several awkward moments ticked by to the scrape of bristles on leather.
“How did you escape them?” She touched his hand.
He stopped. “When they . . . when they scarred me,” his face crinkled in disgust, “they left some of what they are in my skin. It prickles sometimes and I know they’re close.” He took a deep breath. “If I let the taint take over—”
Take over? She leaned away, letting go.
“I’m not one of them.” His eyes swung to hers, wide and pleading. “I don’t hunger, but I, I feel them. I can make them not see me, but it costs.”
She remembered him trembling and pale, hunched over his knees at the back door. “The sickness?”
He nodded, scowling at the saddle.
“They will not find us.”
“Let’s hope your aunt burned that letter, or they will.”
***
She stole a horse in the afternoon. She could cope with the silence that followed her through the house, but the tension in their restless faces? And they still had three days until the moonless night.
Kiren’s refuge came into view the fifth time she looped back—although she didn’t realize it until she halted at its heart. She dismounted and wondered for the fiftieth time if they’d ever enjoy the tranquility together again. The terror of her letter’s existence stole over her.
She sat, listening to the brook gurgle by. She pulled out her little puzzle box and played with it absently as she pondered.
John was close to Sarah, which meant if the dispatch came into her possession he’d know about it. She hoped the epistle got buried in a stack of clutter at the Wilhamshire house. Maybe she ought to retrieve it . . . but would the Soulless be watching?
She returned to the enigma twirling through her fingers, pondering how her mother dealt with this strange world, imagining the dread of every moonless night and the relief she must have felt in leaving this life.
The box splayed open.
She started. That couldn’t be right. What did she do to trigger it?
It lay flat in her hands. The silver lining revealed similar floral patterns to the exterior, cushioning a simple black hairpin.
A hairpin?
She lifted the piece of metal, squinting at its dull surfaces. The metal was stiff in her fingers, and bare—completely normal. Her mother wanted her to have a hairpin?
She slid the silly thing over her collar and lifted the box, tilting it. An inconsistency caught her eye. Someone had damaged one of the patterns, leaving slender silver lines through the heart of one flower:
Save him.
82
Haste
Alexia gasped.
Save him
. The letters jumped out against the iridescent interior.
Why had the box opened now—now when she’d given up on the thing, now in a quiet, trivial minute? How had it happened? More importantly, what did it mean?
Dana . . . If she could dream the future like Alexia, surely she’d have known the peril, and knowing, she would warn her daughter—just as Alexia hoped to save Sarah.
She scrambled onto the horse and galloped back beneath the canopy, her mind frantic. What could she do? He had a day’s lead. Even if she rode like a maniac, he could be fifty miles ahead of her. No horse could overtake that in a single day—or even two.
The house came into view. Miles stood in her path, arms crossed, a bundle strapped to his back. She pulled to a halt.
“You are mad, Alexia.”
“I cannot sit around and hope. I have to save him.”
He tapped a foot. “The best way to do that would be staying put.”
“I am going.” She stared him down. “So either move out of my way or—”
“Do you know where you’re going?”
She glared. “Maybe.”
He straightened the pack weighing his shoulders and laughed at her. Of course he knew the real answer. “He is not going to like this.”
“Like what?”
“You following him.”
“Good for him.”
He grabbed hold of the saddle and pulled himself up behind her. “West. We go west.”
“You are coming?”
“Can’t let you get yourself—
and the rest of us
—killed now can I?”
She bit down and exhaled. No, she couldn’t.
“We need to move, before Edward tries to stop us—and he’s on his way now.”
She handed him the reins, and he turned their animal into the trees at the back of the property.
“How far is it?” Alexia called over pounding hooves.
“Two days if the horse can keep a good pace.” Miles looked her over and amended, “Three days at the least.”
“Will Edward catch us?”
He chuckled. “No. Lester is the runner, not Edward, and we didn’t leave any horses behind.”
“But he could send Lester.”
He nodded, mood much too light. “If Lester were home.”
“What? But he . . . in the kitchen this morning . . .”
“He moves fast. He could be in India by now.”
She couldn’t even contemplate that. “They will worry. We should have at least told them where we are going.”
His face screwed up. “And send them into hysteria?”
She had no rebuttal.
His head shook. “It will get smoothed out. It always does.”
***
They rode hard, bruising her rump and legs. Alexia tried to ignore the discomfort, to be brave. That night they camped under the shelter of an elm. She slumbered like a rock, waking sore, exhausted, dirty, and smelly to stale bread and multiple bug bites. Miles saw a bit more of her temper than she’d intended.
They mounted the road again.
“Have you been there before?” she questioned testily.
He smiled. “I spent about six months camped in your father’s woods, monitoring for any traces of the Soulless, and then watching, er, listening to John.”
Alexia blinked. “Six months?”
“Off and on.” He shrugged.
“He trusted me to your care?”
He laughed. “He doesn’t trust anyone with you. I just helped gather information.”
His words left her peculiarly comforted, and at the same time unsettled. She blushed as she thought of Kiren watching over her each moonless night, fighting his desire, yearning to take her away and make her his own . . .
She snuffed the thought, her cheeks burning. “I am glad, and I am grateful he enlisted your aid.”
His smile faded. He looked away. “It’s reckless of him.”
“What? Why?”
“I could ruin everything.” He exhaled.“What I told you about the Soulless . . . it is not entirely true.”
“Which part?”
“How they affect me.” He scratched the back of his head and sighed. “I am not always trying to
escape
them. Sometimes I’m running to them. Sometimes so fast I don’t even realize it until . . .” He shook.
“But why?”
He watched the passing road vacantly. “They call me.”
“Call you?” She touched the back of his hand. The skin felt cold.
He pulled away as if she’d stung him. He looked down ashamed. “They are my parents.”
She couldn’t help the chill that settled in her bones. Of course! His parents didn’t simply die when they fended off the Soulless on his behalf. The complexity of his struggles made her own shrivel in comparison.
“They have been seeking me ever since the Master saved me. If I’m not careful . . .” He shifted. “You see why I might endanger him. And you.”
And she could—in more than one way. She understood why Edward and Ethel worried the night Miles returned looking pale and why’d they panicked at the idea of him touching her. If he’d been caught by the Soulless . . .
But Kiren didn’t fear him, didn’t fear leaving her in his presence, so she shouldn’t either. “Perhaps he is demonstrating his trust in you, which you have not betrayed, I might add.”
“Or maybe he’s as sentimental as his old man.”
“What?”
He gasped, eyes shooting wide. Seizing the reins, he gave the horse a kick. She grabbed around his waist as they bolted through the foliage and off the road into a field of chest-high grain. He whistled and the mare dropped to the ground, shrouding them entirely behind green stalks.
She cleared her throat and whispered, “Is that part of your gift, or do you simply use the animals’ thoughts?”
He laughed quietly.
“Miles, tell me what you know about his past, about his parents?”
A growl resonated from his throat. He crouched lower.
She ducked down. “Miles?”
A carriage rolled into view. The low rumble only now registered to her comprehension.
“Let me concentrate, Alexia. I need to know if they see us.”
She quieted and waited. The mechanism bobbed back and forth on familiar sounding hinges—the same kind she’d listened to on every venture from home. The loss weighed on her heart as the carriage squeaked away, like her childhood rolling by.
“Time to go.” Miles gave two clicks and the horse rose.
“Who were they?”
“Nobles. Rich nobles.”
They pranced back out onto the dusted road.
“Would they have known me?” she questioned.
“Probably.” He blinked back at her.“What are you going to do if you are seen? I mean your father . . .”
She halted at the notion. If?
If
? She’d certainly be seen if she intended to save Kiren, and Father—what would he do? He indisputably
would not
allow her to disappear again. Would he try to force her back into that disgusting betrothal?
Miles gave her a half-grin.
“Were you listening in?”
He nodded timidly.
“Miles!”
“Sorry.” He looked away. “There is something you can do though.”
“What?”
He cleared his throat. “All of us have the ability to
blend in
.”
She didn’t get his meaning.
“To fade into our surroundings, to make it difficult for them to see us—not that they can’t, but they don’t realize we’re there. Have you ever noticed when someone is watching you? Even when you can’t see them, you feel it.”
She nodded. How many times had she sensed another presence in the last couple years? On her birthday, moonless nights, especially through her nightmare-plagued birthdays. Kiren had been there, always been there.
“The opposite works. If you really don’t want to be noticed, you focus on your surroundings, on the absence of thought, merging into the trees or road. It doesn’t work on our kind though.”
The concept seemed a bit far-fetched, but what didn’t these days? She’d have to attempt it. He had her curious.
***
They found a farmer’s barn for the night. She stood at the door, staring up at the sliver of a moon, dreading what would happen if they didn’t arrive within a day.
And yearning for Kiren.
“He will be all right.” Miles settled into the straw.
She glanced at him. She hoped so.
“He’s been looking after himself a long time, Alexia. They are not going to take him by surprise.”
She wished she could share his certainty, but with the hundred possible scenarios playing through her brain, there was no rest. Would John use her to weaken him, or would she be the hero of the hour?
She tugged open the crimson box.
Save him.
Dana had known. She had to trust.
Dana wouldn’t lead her astray. Alexia sighed and settled into the straw. What would tomorrow bring?
***
Sarah cringed behind John. A brilliant gold band glistened against her white knuckles as she squeezed the mantle’s frame.
He glanced back at her, scarlet rage radiating through his pupils as he twisted the ivory gun in his grasp.
Kiren inched closer, his pendant clutched tightly in his fingers.
John turned the weapon on him. “Do not interfere! I cannot contain it much—”
Sarah reached out. “Please Arik, John, do not—!”
Alexia woke with a start, Miles jerking her arm. “We have to go, unless you like pitchfork for breakfast.”
They burst from the back of the stable, only seconds before the farmer arrived—or so Miles promised.
The day progressed slowly. Her rump ached so badly she could hardly sit.
“We have to be close,” she muttered.
He didn’t say anything, seeming to be in peak shape for this type of abuse.
“We can walk for a bit.”
“Miles.” There he went, invading again.
“I know. I’m trying.”
It felt good to be on her feet, at least until the hard soles of her shoes bit into her heels. She wondered if a worse whiner existed. She was sure Miles pondered the same thing.
“Five more miles.” He halted her when the sun had progressed three-quarters of its daily sequence. “Time to eat.”
“Are we going to make it? Can you sense him?”
His lip twitched. “Too far. Wouldn’t matter anyway. I never can find him unless he wants to be found.”
***
Dusk halted them before the hedge-lined gates of her father’s estate.
It brought her back to the days before the peril of moonless nights and Soulless beings, before she knew love, before she grasped what it meant to be herself.
Miles gasped. “You have to get inside.”
“Now? What is—” His eyes flashed darkly. She didn’t need any more motivation.
“Alexia?” He grabbed her arm. “You need a gun.”
“A gun? Why would I . . . ?” Did he know that John possessed one? Did he expect her to duel with the Soulless?
“Metal—primarily iron, is a dead substance. It burns the Soulless. It burns us. It can pierce their dead hearts.” He took the horse’s reigns. “You know where your father keeps his pistols.” It wasn’t a question. “Don’t be seen.” He backed into the trees.
“You are not coming with me?”
A twisted grin curled his mouth. “Be careful, Alexia.”
She stiffly sprinted around toward the back of the house and rounded the corner.
Smack!
Her hip screamed. Dirt scraped into her elbows as she skidded to a halt, leg twisted awkwardly beneath her.
“Lawdy toad eater!” Vicious soprano assaulted her ears. She lifted herself and gasped. Sunset turned the child’s golden hair a shimmering pink as she sat up, dusting her red velvet skirts.
“Bellezza!”
“You are supposed to be dead.” The girl scowled.
Of course, what kind of greeting did she expect? “And you should be in prison. What are you doing here?”
The child glanced back over her shoulder. “Not dying. Unlike you.” She winked. Her body shimmered and whitened, dissolving into thousands of particles and lifting into a hazy cloud.
Alexia pulled herself up and stumbled. Pain shot up her leg, her ankle screeching in protest. She balanced on the wall of the building and pulled herself along. Nothing would keep her from Kiren. She slid through the back door, past the unoccupied billiards chamber and across the upper hall, stopping at the conservatory door.
Locked.
She cursed her fate. This was it. Kiren would die because she couldn’t open a stupid lock she’d picked a hundred times as a child! If she had a nail, or lever . . .