Part 17 (1/2)
A muscle worked in Stephen's jaw. ”No.”
”Then get the h.e.l.l out.” Rainer's voice was too deep, s.h.i.+vering at the edges; the sound made Alex's teeth ache.
Stephen straightened his jacket in a poor attempt at nonchalance. Then he turned and retreated down the stairs with the measured steps of a man trying not to run.
Rainer turned toward Alex and Liz, and they both flinched. The shadow under his skin rolled back like a wave, leaving his usual face pale and drawn. ”I'm sorry you had to see that,” he said.
The crowd drew one more collective breath and slowly returned to life. Guests blinked at one another in confusion. A gust of wind shook the windows and someone squealed, followed by a nervous giggle. One by one conversations picked up where they'd been abandoned as if nothing had happened.
Rainer took Antja's arm, and Liz tugged Alex away. Hand in hand they fled down the stairs and into the icy night.
14.
Hooks
LATE THAT NIGHT, well into the next morning, Antja sat in the candle-pierced darkness of the loft. Rainer slept at last, snoring softly while rain battered the walls.
She hugged her arms around her knees, as if she could hold herself together so easily. The seams were unraveling, threads slipping through her fingers. The gallery, their lives in Vancouver, the fragile veneer of normalcy she'd built for herself-soon it would all be gone. She'd nearly cut the last thread herself tonight, nearly lost control in a way she couldn't afford. Anger and careless magic were a deadly combination, no matter how intoxicating they might be in the moment. She'd been nothing but reckless tonight, first with Alex and then with Stephen. She couldn't let it happen again.
They could run, she and Rainer. The idea was all too tempting- pack a bag and vanish in the night, as they had from Berlin. This time they wouldn't have the Brotherhood's thugs on their trail. Run and start over someplace new. Someplace warm.
But where would that leave Blake, or Alex, or Liz, or anyone who'd been caught up in her and Rainer's troubles. Alain's death, and all the others, would mean nothing.
And anyway, Rainer wouldn't leave Blake.
They consume us like moths, Alain had said, without even meaning it. Had it really been him, or simply her guilt and unspoken fears wearing his face?
He needs me, she'd said to Alex, but was that true? She couldn't tell love from cowardice anymore. Another thought circled, implacable as any shark: she could ask for help. She could bargain.
She would never forget that night, had relieved it in dreams more often than she could count. The sight of the Brotherhood's agent standing under the window of their rented room. The cold rush of panic when she realized their luck had run out. But trained killer or not, the man was still distracted by a smile and a song, by the swirl of her skirt around her knees. Easy enough to join him in the shadowed alley, to lean in close enough to kiss. Close enough to use the wicked little knife in her pocket. But even as she stood over his crumpled body, watching his blood run black into the gutter, she knew she and Rainer wouldn't make it off the continent. With that fear in her gut and the memory of blood sticky on her hands, it had been easy to find the incantations in Rainer's stolen books, to speak them to the dark and make the devil's bargain.
The candle on the table guttered, rippling shadows across the walls. Rainer stirred with a sigh and rustle of sheets, then stilled once more. Antja closed her eyes, burning with sleeplessness and misery, and lowered her head to her knees. ”What am I going to do?”
”Yes. What are you going to do?”
Her chair sc.r.a.ped the floor as she started. The dark man stepped out of the shadows behind her, the candle flame was.h.i.+ng his black eyes to liquid gold. Rainer slept on.
”What are you doing here?” Her bare feet slipped to the floor and her fingers tightened on the arms of the chair.
”You're distressed. You needn't torment yourself this way.” He laid a warm hand on her shoulder and she jerked away, twisting out of the chair.
”Not when you're here to torment me instead.”
He chuckled. ”That wasn't my intention. Not entirely. I might ease your suffering, if you'd let me.”
”With what? More death? Your gifts are poison.”
He tilted his head, and the light kissed the curves of his cheek and brow. ”You bargained for your safety, and his.” One mahogany hand gestured toward Rainer. ”And you're both safe. I can keep you free from harm, but not from pain and doubt and fear. Well, I could,” he amended. ”But I think you're too attached to your humanity for that.”
She shuddered and dragged a hand over her face. ”What do you want from me?”
”Only your occasional service, as per the terms of our agreement. Some help me willingly, you know. Have you ever considered that?”
She had, if only in the dark watches of the night when she couldn't lie to herself, but she would die before she admitted it to him. ”Some people are fools.”
His lips pursed. ”So very many. All right, Antja Michaela. I can release you, if that's what you wish, but not for free. What do I gain if I strike your name from my book?”
She turned away, hugging herself. Still Rainer slept.
”Would you give me another name to replace yours?”
That drew her around again. ”Another name?”
”A trade. But who?” He flicked dismissive fingers at Rainer. ”He's already spoken for. Another of his flock, perhaps?”
Don't even think of it. But it was too late. ”You would trade a name for a name? No tricks, no lies?”
He shrugged and straightened the flawless line of one sleeve. ”If it were a fair trade. Someone talented, someone interesting. Someone who means something to you.” He c.o.c.ked his head. ”Why? Do you have someone in mind?”
”I can't,” she whispered. ”I won't.”
”Ah. Well, if you think of something else, do let me know.” He closed the s.p.a.ce between them and cupped her chin gently. ”You look so tired, my dear. You should rest.”
Then he was gone, leaving her s.h.i.+vering in the guttering candlelight.
THE STORM RAGED through the night like it meant to end the world, a deluge fit for Deucalion and Utnapishtim. Alex's mood was fey enough for eschatology, even in the comfortable darkness of the bedroom.
Liz lay soft and warm in his arms-except for her inexplicably icy feet, which were tucked against his s.h.i.+ns-too still to be sleeping. He wished he could concentrate on the shape of her hip under his hand, the smell of rain clinging in her hair. He could install her image in the galleries of his memory palace, could remember the shades of her hair, the pattern of her freckles and the agatine flecks of her eyes. But the feel and scent of her, the rasp of her breath- could he hold onto those, or would they wither in time like flesh from bone?
But even this moment of sensation did nothing to hold the images at bay: Antja's s.h.i.+mmering glamour; Rainer's eyes gone black. A room full of people turned to dolls with a gesture. Alex wished he could cling to his horror so easily, but Antja was right. The more his shock faded, the more he wanted to understand what he'd seen. The same way he'd felt when he first watched a stage magician make a coin disappear, when he'd first seen an illuminated ma.n.u.script written in characters he couldn't read. But this was more than that-something had been taken from him, and he had to get it back.
”What are we going to do?” He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Liz stirred.
”I don't know.”
She rolled over, touching his chest lightly with her bandaged hand. Her fingertips traced the dips and hollows of his ribs and sternum as if she meant to memorize them, and he s.h.i.+vered. He still responded to her touch, for all he'd tried to train himself not to. On rare occasions she invited-permitted, a scathing voice corrected, endured-physical intimacy, but now was hardly a time for it. Not with Antja's false face waiting behind his eyes.
”Thank you,” Liz said after a moment. If she noticed his shudder, she had the grace to ignore it. ”For coming with me. It helps.”