A Temptation of Angels (29 page)

“It isn’t for me to allow or disallow, Darius. We’re equals in this. We all seek vengeance for our parents’ deaths. For Galizur’s death. We all want to see Alastor sent back to hell where he belongs. But we’re partners. We must decide together. I’m simply telling you the way I see it.”

“Would Raum submit to censure by the Dictata, if he were given amnesty to aid you?” Anna asked.

Helen thought of Raum’s flashing eyes. Of the straight set of his spine and the way he held himself apart from everyone in the world. She thought of it all and told the truth.

“I don’t know.”

Anna nodded, chewing her lower lip. She turned to Darius, taking his large hand in her small one. “If Raum can give you access to Alastor’s estate and information about his power, it’s worth considering.”

“According to the Dictata’s own rules, we should kill Raum on sight for what he’s done,” Darius said angrily.

“Yes.” Anna nodded. “But if he agrees to appear before them when it’s all said and done—assuming he even survives—I
think they would agree that seeking his assistance is the wisest course of action.”

“And you would agree to such a thing, Anna?” Darius’s eyes searched hers. Helen looked away, trying to give them what privacy she could under the circumstances. What was passing between them felt too intimate, too personal, for Griffin and her to be party to it. “Wouldn’t it pain you to see us working with the person who is, ultimately, responsible for everything? Even your father’s death?”

“I think it’s more complicated than that,” Anna said. “We’ve all lost something, Raum included. I think my father would want you to rid the world—and its Keepers—of any threat by the Legion. And I don’t think he would begrudge you the aid of the lost one to do it.”

Helen felt the whole world hang in the balance of the silence that followed. The world in which they lived and the Orb spinning slowly below them. Both of them fighting for a chance.

Finally Darius turned to her. “How do you know he’ll come?”

If you need me, I’ll be there.

Helen had not realized she was holding her breath until she let it go.

“He’ll come.”

I
don’t much like the idea of Raum being in your chamber, despite the fact that he’s been here before. Or maybe because of it.”

Griffin’s voice drifted to her from a corner of the room. He sat in the shadows, not wanting to deter a possible visit from Raum but unwilling to let Helen speak to him alone if—
when
, she told herself—he appeared.

And although there was shallow humor in Griffin’s voice, humor likely put there for her benefit, Helen could not even manage a smile. She kept seeing Anna. Even now, there was no escaping the desolation in the other girl’s eyes as she pulled a blanket over her father’s face and sent word of his death to the Dictata.

“I’m sorry,” Helen said. “For everything.”

“Helen.” Griffin’s voice was a caress in the soft light of the
fire. “There’s no need to apologize. To continue apologizing. Anna was right. Galizur knew the risks. Ours is a dangerous task. Everyone who helps us shares in our danger. That’s no secret, to them or to us.”

“Still,” she said softly. “What will Anna do without Galizur?”

“What we all must do.” His voice was heavy with sadness. “Continue with the task our parents gave their lives for. Isn’t that what they would have wanted?”

Helen thought of her parents. Of her father’s laughing eyes. His patience in teaching her to fence, ride, and shoot a bow. Of her mother’s gentle hands and the many wise words, handed out like so many parcels for Helen to open when she needed them.

As if her mother had known all along that she wouldn’t be here to offer them herself.

Helen thought of them both and knew that Griffin was right. They would want her to fight. To rid the world of Alastor and take her place among the Keepers. To keep the Orb—and the world it represented—spinning until the Keepers would be replenished.

“You’re right, of course.” She directed her words to the shadowed corner. “It’s what they would want. And I know Galizur would want it that way as well.”

“And so we’ll see that it’s done.” There was a pause in which the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. “You should sleep while you can. I’ll alert you if he… if Raum makes an appearance.”

Her feelings for Griffin deepened as he stumbled over the name. He did not like to speak of Raum. Did not want to utter his name or entertain the idea of Raum entering his home. Did not want Raum in her chamber in the dead of night. But he allowed it for the same reason he allowed Darius to take the lead. He loved them. Helen saw that now. Griffin loved his brother.

And he loved her.

His love was not selfish or prideful or domineering or full of expectation.

It simply was. And she knew now that whatever happened, she loved him as well. She would fight to protect him and would die doing so if necessary.

“Griffin?” She called out to him across the room.

“Yes?”

“You’ve become my friend, and I love you.” It was right and true and that made saying it easy.

She heard his surprise in the intake of his breath. “And I, you, Helen. I think I’ve loved you since the moment you
first stood on my doorstep.” He paused. “But now, I really must insist that you sleep. My love will still be here when you wake up.”

She smiled, though no one could see it, and then marveled that she could find a smile on such a night. It was the last thing she thought about before drifting off to sleep.

“Helen? Wake up! Someone’s coming.”

She didn’t know how long Griffin had been calling her name when she finally came around, but she was not yet coherent when she heard scratching at the window, the scuff of boots along the sill.

She lay still, waiting to sit up until she heard the thud of boots on the carpet.

She sat up. “I knew you’d come.”

It was not what she had planned to say.

“I heard what happened.” Raum stepped carefully across the floor, stopping at her bedside. “I told you I’d be here if you needed me.”

She felt suddenly like a traitor. She had allowed Raum to come knowing that he would be blindsided by Griffin’s presence. It placed her in a precarious position, trapped in the web of her own torn allegiances and her affection for two
men who were, for all intents and purposes, mortal enemies.

But it was too late to worry about that now. Raum was here, lowering himself to sit on her bed even as she heard Griffin rise in the corner.

“I think that’s close enough, don’t you?”

Raum froze in the moment before he stood up, backing slowly toward the window like a caged animal as he peered into the shadows.

“Who’s that? Who’s there?” Even now his voice was as calm as if he were inquiring about the weather. It was the voice of someone who had taken care of himself for a very long time and gotten himself out of more scrapes than Helen could ever imagine.

“Griffin Channing. You killed my parents.” It was said calmly and with resignation.

Helen swung her legs over the bed as Raum turned his face to her.

“You knew about this?” he asked her. “Set me up?”

She shook her head. “It’s not like that. We need your help.”

“While that may be true, I find it hard to believe that one of the Channing sons would ever seek my assistance. They know what I’ve done.”

“Yes, we do,” Griffin said.

“Well, then.” Helen noticed with surprise that, as he spoke, Raum had one hand on a sickle at his belt. She had thought they were only for the Keepers. “I imagine you’d like to kill me. Send my body to the infernal Dictata as proof that the executioner is dead.”

Griffin’s nod was slow. “I won’t deny that there is a part of me that would like to do exactly that. But I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

Helen jumped in. “You were right about the dogs. We would be dead if you hadn’t told me. Galizur gave me tranquilizer darts to put them to sleep, but I left one behind and they…” Her voice broke and she cleared it before continuing. “They traced it to Galizur and murdered him.”

There was regret in Raum’s eyes. “I’m sorry. He was a good man. I remember his kindness when I was young.”

“Now we have a problem,” Griffin said.

Raum raised his eyebrows. “I thought you already had problems.”

“Not the least of which has been you.”

Helen heard the coiled rage in Griffin’s voice and knew he was close to losing his temper. She started talking, hoping to head off an explosion between the two men that would cost them all time and energy they could not afford.

“Victor Alsorta isn’t just the leader of the Syndicate,” she explained. “He’s Alastor, a member of the Legion’s Blackguard, seeking control of the records on their behalf. He doesn’t want them to increase his own wealth and power as we first thought, but to change the course of history that has led to the Dictata’s rule for centuries.” She looked into Raum’s eyes, speaking softly. “But then, I imagine you already knew all of that.”

“I did.”

There was no point asking why he hadn’t told her. “We think the other members of the Syndicate are planning some kind of overthrow at the Summit, which would accelerate the Legion’s plans considerably. The Legion would prefer to have access to the records, but if they can’t find the key in time, there’s every reason to believe that Alastor will take the world by force.”

Raum crossed his arms over his chest. “What does this have to do with me?”

Helen continued while Griffin brooded. “We won’t be able to access Alastor’s estate again. Not the way we did before. He’ll be on alert. And he’s going to be ready for us.”

“I’m waiting,” Raum said.

Griffin saved her by saying aloud what she could not. “You’ve
worked for him. You obviously know his security setup and probably a lot more that we don’t know about. We need your help getting in and killing him before he can kill the rest of us.”

Helen allowed herself to hope in the silence that followed. Then, Raum laughed aloud.

“You expect me to believe that you want my help? That you would trust me to fight beside you? After what I’ve done?”

His voice was incredulous, but Helen heard the self-loathing in his words.

“It’s not our first choice, believe me,” Griffin said. “But we don’t have any other options.”

Raum narrowed his eyes, looking at Griffin and Helen with suspicion. “That isn’t all, is it? You won’t say ‘thank you very much and have a nice life’ when it’s all said and done.”

“No, it won’t be that simple,” Griffin confirmed.

“Then, what?”

Helen tried to find the words to appeal to Raum. She had a feeling they would not be as carefully chosen by Griffin.

“You would help us as a show of good faith,” she finally said. “When it’s all over, assuming we survive, you agree to present yourself before the Dictata for judgment. In return for your assistance, we will plead with the Dictata to show you leniency.”

He did not laugh or otherwise deride the suggestion. “So I’m to believe the Dictata will simply forgive me for the execution of the world’s Keepers—”

“You said you didn’t kill them,” Helen interrupted.

He nodded. “Nevertheless, you expect me to believe that the Dictata will let me walk away, knowing I ordered the murder of the Keepers?”

“Not you. Alastor,” Helen protested. She heard Griffin’s snort of contempt at the rationalization and fought the urge to argue the point all over again.

Raum turned his eyes on her. “It’s true that Alastor ordered it done, Helen. But I hunted you. I found you. I ransacked your homes for the key. And then I ordered my own hired killers to murder you and your families.”

The sorrow in his eyes told her what the truth cost him. She knew it was a truth that he had repeated to himself a hundred times since they’d found each other, even though he was saying it aloud to her for the first time.

“And yet, if you help us set things right, I think the Dictata will take into consideration the… mitigating circumstances of the situation.” Helen was surprised at Griffin’s conciliatory tone. Perhaps Raum’s regret was not lost on him after all. “It won’t be a free pass, no. But it might be a fresh start.”

Raum paced to the firebox. He turned away, seeking what little privacy he could find while still maintaining a visual on the room in which they all stood. Helen recognized the maneuver. They had all been taught to trust no one. Raum more than anyone.

He rubbed his jaw with one hand, his face pensive. There was no guarantee that they would prevail over Alastor even with Raum’s help, but without it, they were almost certainly doomed.

He turned to face them. “I’m sorry. I can’t do it.”

“But, why?” Helen had difficulty speaking around the despair that rose in her throat. She stepped toward him, placing a hand on his arm. “Can’t you see? We need you. This is your chance to set things right. To begin again.”

“I’ve already had to begin again,” he said wearily. “I don’t have the energy to do so once more, and the truth is, I’m not even sure I care about the outcome.”

She flinched at the words. “You don’t care what happens to us? What happens to me?” She lifted her chin, pushing on. “I don’t believe you. I know you care. I can see it in your eyes.”

Her words struck him like a hammer. For a moment, there was such vulnerability, such tenderness in his eyes that she wanted to weep. Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
Something slammed down over the emotion and his expression returned to nonchalance.

“I wish you well, Helen. That much is true.” He brushed past her on his way to the door. “But I can’t do anything to help. I have my own worries. Every low-life criminal in the city is looking for me at the moment, mortal and otherwise. It’s all I can do to keep myself alive.”

“I should have known that you would look after yourself first. It’s what you’ve always done.” She knew it wasn’t fair even as she flung the words at his retreating back. Raum had been forced to look after himself. There had been no one else to do it. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself, and she continued shouting as he reached the door. “Run away, then. Run away from the possibility of something lasting and good. It’s your strong suit, after all.”