Dreams of Shreds and Tatters Part 9

"Are you sure?" he asked again. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet.

"I know what I saw." Antja sat curled on the couch with a blanket around her shoulders. She no longer trembled, but her face was pale and hollow-eyed. Her upswept hair had wilted, long dark coils trailing over her shoulders, still glittering with pins.

He looked in all the corners, switching on lamps to dispel the shadows. Nothing crouched in the narrow kitchen, or lurked behind the screen that separated the bed from the rest of the loft. He brushed his knuckles across the top of the safe that sat beside the bed, concealed by a drape of black silk. The spells of protection that sealed it more surely than any lock thrummed against his skin; the books had not been touched.

But just because nothing had come inside didn't mean nothing had tried. Easy to ward private places, homes, but the gallery below was open to the public-the rules of invitation and consent didn't apply. The monsters could have slipped in downstairs, or through in-between s.p.a.ces like the stairwells.

They'd entered the cabin easily enough. Had someone let them in? A door or window left ajar by accident? By malice?

Rainer completed his circuit and turned back to Antja. She cradled a coffee mug between her hands, watching him with red-rimmed eyes. He dragged a hand through his tousled hair. Vancouver should have been an end to running, to jumping at shadows.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, and her voice was small and fragile. It had been so long, he realized, since he'd seen her without her careful masks. When had she started wearing them for him?

Leather creaked softly as he sat beside her. He draped an arm around her shoulders. "I don't know, liebchen."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. He'd forgotten how comforting her warmth was, how familiar. But it wasn't her face he saw anymore when he closed his eyes. No wonder she wore masks. She deserved better.

Blake deserved better, too. Robert and Gemma had been due more-they hadn't even been buried. G.o.d only knew what the jackals did with the bodies they disposed of for their exorbitant fees. At least Alain would have a grave.

"You have to do something," Antja said, pulling away. "Stephen and his friends are watching, waiting for their chance. He wants you out of his way."

He sighed. "I know." Like many younger cities in the new world, Vancouver lacked entrenched magical orders, but had plenty of squabbling young cabals. Rainer had needed allies when he arrived in the city, and fell in with Stephen York's faction. It had turned out to be a poor decision.

Let him try, he wanted to say. He wanted to wash his hands of all of it: the scheming and intrigue and petty hedonism of mages, the wheedling and flattering and grueling finances of the gallery. But it wasn't that simple. He'd invested too much to simply walk away. He'd cut his losses in Berlin and fled, but he knew how lucky he and Antja were to have survived that.

"Do you think-" He paused. The thought had circled in the back of his mind ever since the failed investment, but he hadn't yet spoken it aloud. "Do you think he was responsible?"

Antja frowned into the bottom of her mug as if she could scry the answer there. "No," she said at last, not looking up. "I don't. But that doesn't mean he won't try something else."

"I'll deal with it," he promised. "One way or another."

She began to speak, but her breath caught sharply. Rainer leapt to his feet, otherwise senses screaming. The lights went out; porcelain shattered on the floor.

A draft rushed past him, tugging at his untucked s.h.i.+rt. An instant later a tremble like a silent thunderclap shook the room. His guts twisted as the fabric of the world tore open. But his wards were silent; he had invited this.

Rainer dropped to one knee, turning his eyes to the floor. Antja whimpered. The temperature dropped hard and fast and his eardrums popped with the change in pressure. The smell of wine and honey and roses flooded the room.

:You summoned us: A polyphonic voice-one high and piping, one the swell and throb of organs, the third s.h.i.+vering inside his skull. The overlap set his teeth on edge.

Three days ago, he thought, even as he shuddered. He bit his tongue. Some things weren't meant to be admonished. His eyes adjusted swiftly to the dark, but he didn't look up. Whether they came as the voice of the King or as his wrath, his messengers were never easy to behold.

Ein jeder Engel ist schrecklich.

"I have questions." His teeth chattered, and his breath frosted in the air.

:About your failed ritual: Sinew creaked as its wings extended. Mushroom-colored undersides rippled, mottled with dark veins. The top thumb-joint nearly brushed the rafters.

"Yes." Rainer swallowed, his throat painfully dry. "We were attacked."

The angel paced on crooked legs, clawed feet gouging the floor. Its tail lashed the air with a rattle of bone. Rainer raised his eyes and tried to follow its path, but light and shadow twisted away from its lean frame. It bruised the world with its presence.

:Beings from the dark places in the lands of dream. They serve our master's enemies: "What do they want?"

The creature turned its long head and Rainer couldn't meet its eyes. :To destroy you: He didn't think he imagined the chiding note in its voices. :It is no light matter to summon us, Chosen: "What about-" His voice broke on Blake's name. "What about the supplicant? He lives, but his soul isn't with his flesh, and I can't find him." If what Liz had said was true- :He is with us now. The bargain was interrupted, but the King will complete it: Rainer's breath left in a rush. "So he's all right? He'll wake up?"

Wings flared, shrug-like. :That remains to be seen. The King will decide if he returns to you or stays with us: "What do you mean? That wasn't what I intended."

Ivory talons rattled. :That is hardly your concern now. You should be spreading His word, His vision. Already mortals dream of Him, and it is good. He is pleased with you, Chosen. Your offering is insignificant compared to that work: Insignificant. Blake. His throat tightened around a bitter reply.

"I serve," he said at last. It was the only answer he could give.

:Yes. Unto death, and beyond: The angel turned to him with a sc.r.a.pe and rustle of wings, bathing him in its cold presence. Beneath cloying sweetness its scent was dark and musty. The smell of altars, of tombs. One attenuated hand reached for his face, tilting his head back. Its touch seared, but he didn't pull away.

:One setback does not diminish the service you've given. Know that He values you, and do not despair: Now he met the angel's eyes, black and full of stars. The void pulled him in, chilled him till his bones would shatter. Then he fell through the other side, into golden light and the presence of his master. Beautiful and terrible, crowned in darkness and robed in flame. The smell of wine and hot blood washed over him, stronger than before, and the distant howls of the choir rang in his ears. Euan euan eu oi oi oi! Light poured into him, burning clean all the dark places.

Then the vision was gone and the messenger with it. Rainer knelt on the floor of the loft, shaking and awash in sweat. Antja wept softly behind him.

"Are you all right?" she asked as the lights returned, lowering her hands from her tear-slick face.

He could only nod, trembling and speechless. He swayed and fell to his hands and knees. His flesh felt frozen through, but golden fire still pulsed in his veins.

Antja slid off the sofa and crawled to him, heedless of the broken mug and spilled coffee. The light inside him pulsed hotter as she touched his face. She pulled him close and her heart beat hard and fast against his chest.

He threaded tingling fingers through the weight of her hair, spilling pins across the floor. The smell of her skin dizzied him. Her pulse fluttered under his lips as he kissed her throat. She stiffened, and for an instant he thought she would pull away. Instead she let out a shuddering breath and kissed him.

His hands tightened in her hair as she fumbled with the b.u.t.tons of his s.h.i.+rt. Thread popped. Her teeth sank into his lower lip and he tasted blood. Her necklace bit at his fingers as he reached for the straps of her dress. He tugged at the chain, and amethysts spilled across the floor in a glittering rush.

She pushed him back onto the unforgiving floor. They would both pay in bruises, but for now nothing mattered but Antja and the fire.

For a moment, it was almost enough.

9.

Funeral Weather

ON SAt.u.r.dAY, ANTJA went to meet the devil at the crossroads.

High noon, but already the sky hung low and sunless, swollen with a weight of freezing rain. Only hours left until Alain's funeral. Until she saw the grave she'd put him in.

Mourning black hid her bruised knees and the teethmarks on her throat and shoulders; makeup hid her swollen, red-rimmed eyes. Her hands were steady as a gun-fighter's, her reflection in shop windows straight and poised. Her boot-heels tapped a confident rhythm on the sidewalk. She only shook on the inside.

Rainer had offered to come home with her, to pick her up for the service. She'd refused both out of pride, to prove she wasn't afraid of monsters under the bed. He had enough to worry him. And the monsters would find her anyway.

Rain beaded on her leather coat as she walked aimlessly through the downtown streets, trickling cold across her scalp. Her umbrella was in her purse, but the weather suited her mood. The brittle light dulled the gaudy Christmas decorations, robbed holly and tinsel and wreaths of their warmth and color. The people around her might have been ghosts.

For a moment last night things had been the way they were, when Rainer held her like she was the only thing left in the world. When every night in a new rented room might have been their last. She'd never thought she would look back fondly on those awful months they spent running across Europe.

The first pretty boy with a sob story who comes along. If she had known, would she have done anything differently? The answer was still no.

She swallowed a bitter lump of self-pity. It wouldn't serve her. Not with what she was about to face. Her neck and shoulders tightened just thinking about it.

Come on, d.a.m.n you. Come and talk to me.

She paused at a corner to wait for the light to change. Even though she expected it, she jumped when the dark man appeared beside her. No one else so much as glanced at him.

"Some people ask nicely when they want my attention." His voice was a low rumble, a lion trying to pa.s.s as a house cat.

"They'll learn better." The choice was mine, she told herself as her fists and stomach clenched. Mine alone. Mine to live with. The crosswalk chirped. She might daydream of gunfights, but there would be no showdown today. He led; she followed.

"You called?" he asked when the reached the far sidewalk. He wore a different shape today. She'd seen half a dozen since he first appeared to her at a crossroads in Rouen years ago. Like all his faces, this one was beautiful: dark copper skin, strong bones, long black eyes. He might have stepped straight from an Egyptian tomb painting, never mind the bespoke suit. He burned against the dull grey day, too warm and vivid to be real.

Der Herr ist mein Hirte, nichts wird mir fehlen. The Psalm was a distant memory, the days of attending ma.s.s with her family a lifetime past. She could barely remember the words. Muss ich auch wandern in finsterer Schluct- "Ich furchte kein Unheil, denn du bist bei mir." His voice rasped over her skin, like velvet against the grain. "Do you really think anyone is listening, my dear?" He gave her an indulgent smile. "And besides, I'm with you now."

Her fists knotted in her pockets. "What happened last night? What was that thing doing at the gallery?"

"Sit with me." He gestured to a bench by the sidewalk. Rain dripped from the sheltering trees, but the wood was dry. The weather didn't touch him. His otherness was all the more unsettling for the mask of humanity. At least the things Rainer summoned made no pretense of what they were.

"What happened?" She sat. No use in arguing. The cold ate away at her anger. All she wanted was rest. "You promised safety."

He shrugged, adjusting the cuffs of his immaculate suit. A gold and lapis scarab gleamed on his lapel. "You are safe, aren't you? What have I ever done, Fraulein Schafer, except help you?"

"People died! I did as you asked and people died."

"I only suggested you open a door."

"d.a.m.n you. You sent them there, didn't you? You brought the monsters."

He turned to face her, catching her in his obsidian gaze. Her reflection stared back at her, trapped in gla.s.s. "Those creatures are nothing to do with me."

She looked away. "Lies. You're the father of lies."

He laugh was as lovely as his voice, warm and rich. "Hardly. Everything I know of deceit and duplicity I learned from your kind. I have no need of lies. I'm no more responsible for the monsters that killed your friends than I am for the creatures your lover calls. They don't do my bidding."

"Whose, then?"

His smile stretched. "Why? Do you think you'd like them any better than me?"

She shuddered. The memories waited whenever she closed her eyes: the demons pouring into the room like ink, razor-edged shadows; the shock on Gemma's face as they laid her open. The blood, the stink, the screams...

"There's so much moving beneath your world that you don't see, above and behind and beside it. Even your lover's Brotherhood, for all their pomp and mysteries, have barely scratched the surface. The Yellow King, the lords of the Abyss, Leviathan in the depths, and so many others, all with their foolish followers. They play long games, and a great many pieces wind up broken. And forgive me, child, but you would scarcely be a p.a.w.n on their boards. You may not think so, but you were lucky I'm the one who answered you. And luckier still that I don't draw the curtain back for you."

She looked down at her hands, clenched white-knuckled in her lap. The devil she knew. He was impossible to deal with on a good day, and it had been so long since her days were good.

"You're tired, Antja." One dark hand lifted a stray lock of hair off her neck. She flinched as his scent surrounded her-myrrh and bergamot, sharp and bittersweet. "You should rest."

"Don't say my name," she whispered, her voice too small. His warmth lapped over her, driving away the chill.

"Why not? It's a lovely name, Antja Michaela."

No one called her that, not since her father died. "Don't."

"But it's my name now, isn't it, as much as yours? You gave it to me."

Languorous heat spread from his touch and it was harder than ever not to cry. "I didn't know."

"You knew enough to call me, enough to make the bargain. I never lied to you."

His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of her neck, taking away the pain. The sound of rain on leaves faded, along with the hum and bustle of traffic. Everything was soft and dreamlike, like she'd stepped sideways out of the world. It felt so good not to hurt.

"Don't do this." Her voice caught.

"Why should this be unpleasant? Have I ever failed you? You did what I asked of you. You should rest now, enjoy your safety."

"Safety? We could have died at the cabin. Alain died." There, there was the anger she needed. Her first and best friend since they'd arrived in Vancouver-her only real friend besides Rainer. Her fingers clenched on the edge of the bench, splinters p.r.i.c.king her skin. The pain drove away the distraction of his touch.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't realize he was to be part of our arrangement. I would have been more than happy to renegotiate."

She twisted, one hand flying toward his face. He caught her wrist before the slap struck home, holding her effortlessly. A sliver of wood jutted from her palm, piercing the mount of Apollo. He plucked it out and flicked it aside. Before she could pull free he raised her palm to his lips and kissed away the bright bead of blood.

"I get the impression you no longer want my help." He sounded almost hurt. He lowered her hand, but didn't let go. "Do you think your life would be so much better without me?"

"I'm willing to try it." Her voice was dry, but desperation tightened her throat. Desperation and panic. He had kept them alive. Could she really throw that away?

Men and women pa.s.sed them on the sidewalk, umbrellas raised, collars upturned against the cold, coffee cups steaming in their hands. Friends and families laughed together. Lovers linked arms. She wanted to scream at them, to make them look. So many terrors waiting for them, in daylight as well the dark. Why couldn't they see?

The devil watched her with heavy-lidded eyes. "It would be unkind of me to continue our relations.h.i.+p against your wishes."

A muscle twitched in her jaw. "Don't toy with me." Too late for that, d.a.m.n him. She'd called him for answers, but he'd twisted her around and distracted her. She closed her eyes, fighting for composure.

"What would you be willing to do, to end our bargain?"

Tricks. Tricks and lies. She tried to squelch the hope that welled in her chest. The cruelest of all Pandora's devils.

"You won't let me go. I can't afford anything you would ask."

He glanced at her out of the corner of one eye, a smile glinting there that didn't reach his lips. This was what the gazelle must feel when the lion closed in.