Seduced by Shadows (34 page)

The transport back to the safe house might have been a funeral procession. Liam arrived a few minutes after them, the task Sera had set him complete.

Sera met Betsy outside Zane’s room. “This is awful,” she warned. “But I didn’t know whom else to call.”

The nurse clutched her small duffel, still blinking the early-morning sleep from her eyes. “I’ve done three mercy tours following two civil wars and a genocide. You can’t shock me.”

Sera gestured her in.

After one small gasp at the sight of the battered, raw meat that had been the talyan warrior, Betsy upended the duffel on the table beside the bed. Zane flinched at the clatter of glass vials.

“You’re awake?” Betsy slanted a glance at Sera, eyes wide with disbelief. “I’m a nurse. If I hurt you, tell me.”

Zane chuckled, little more than a gurgle. “I sort of doubt I’ll notice.”

“Ah, a funny guy,” Betsy said. “Those kind pinch my ass.”

The bare twist of a smile on his cut lips faded. “No pinching, I promise.”

“Just to be safe, I’m putting you out again. You won’t feel a thing.”

“Good,” he whispered.

Sera set her hand on his shoulder while Betsy emptied a syringe in his arm. He went slack, and she reassured herself that his chest still rose.

Betsy started cleaning and suturing. “I could lose my license for this.”

“We know all about risk.” Archer laid a hefty stack of bills beside Betsy’s duffel. “For your next civil war.”

Betsy glanced at Sera. “Is he for real?”

Sera shook her head, no.

“It helps to think of it all as a bad dream,” Archer agreed.

Betsy grunted. “You say this guy can’t go to the hospital, but we don’t know what internal damage he’s suffering. And you can be sure he’s suffering.”

“Yeah, we’re sure,” Archer said. “We just needed you to stabilize him.”

“He’s still capsized,” Betsy said. “We’re just keeping him from sinking any more. Barely.”

“That’s enough.”

“Probably not.” Betsy unrolled an arm’s length of gauze. “Whoever did this was a monster.”

Sera bowed her head.

“We’ll catch him.” Archer hovered just behind her. The warmth of his big body took a bit of the chill off hers.

Betsy eyed them. “You vigilantes? That why you won’t go to the police?”

Sera sighed. “Remember that self-defense course you wanted me to take? Consider it taken.”

“You’re gonna save the whole city from bad guys now?”

Sera looked at her hard. “How many gunshot wounds, rapes, and finger-shaped bruises on kids have you seen? If you could stop it, wouldn’t you?”

Betsy stared back. “No one can stop it.”

Sera let her intensity bleed away. “Slow it, then, even if you’re not sure what you’re doing matters in the end, even if nobody else thinks you’re right.”

Finally, Betsy shrugged. “Guess that’s why I came here.”

Wrapped in gauze, Zane at least looked tidy. Sera gave Betsy a hug. “Liam will take you home. Use the money to refill your black bag. We might need you again.”

Betsy’s lips twisted. “Fine. But don’t you forget, no one can fix dead.”

Sera nodded—but death just wasn’t the scariest of her fears anymore.

CHAPTER 19

Archer slumped on the chair outside Zane’s door, a weary bookend with the talya across from him, listening to the rasp and hitch of breath from within the room.

Perversely, bright sunlight gleamed through the window at the end of the hall, low in the winter sky but undaunted. Archer would’ve poked it out had he a knife long enough.

It was the least he could do for the man inside.

Why had he allowed anyone else to guard her? He’d known what stalked her and had been painfully aware of her innocence of what unholy evil could be done to her. But edgy with the longings she aroused in him, he’d let someone else take his place.

And Zane bore the consequences of his dereliction.

His own chest wrenched with every labored breath he heard. He welcomed the pain as penance, wishing he could truly take the other man’s wounds upon himself.

The scuff of footsteps down the hall made him raise his head, though the other talya never even glanced up.

The silhouette approaching was backlit by the sun, the head haloed in a golden corona, the outline carved
away by gleaming light until all that was left was a slender, ethereal darkness that burned into his brain.

The figure raised its arms, and for a heart-stopping moment, Archer thought flowing wings would surely follow, arch up to shatter the too-small corridor, while a fiery sword pierced his heart. . . .

Another step closer, and the shadow fell over his face. He squinted.

Sera thumped her arms down, her expression twisted in frustration. “What are you doing out here? Go sit with him. And lose the long faces.”

Archer pulled his scattered thoughts together. Not a seraphim come to slay him as he so richly deserved, but just Sera, demon-ridden, coming to tongue-lash him.

The other talya rose uneasily. “He’s still unconscious. And he couldn’t see us anyway.”

She sighed. “Even unconscious, he’ll know you’re there, that you care. And he doesn’t need to sense your doom.”

“Is there some reason to hope?” Archer murmured.

Sera turned the blast of her hazel eyes on him. Freed from her ire, the talya slunk down the hall, out of sight. “With that attitude, you just stay out of here.” She marched into the room.

Despite her injunction, Archer followed to lean in the doorway.

She tidied the bedside table where Betsy had left antibiotics and extra bandages—as if the teshuva needed those. The league didn’t even stock aspirin.

If the teshuva had gone . . . He drained the thought as thoroughly as any malice. But the shards remained.

Sera talked softly about the sunlight outside, the wind clearing the clouds, the contrast of sun’s warmth and wind’s bite that made it hard to decide whether to stay in or go out.

“Have to put up with the one to enjoy the other, I
suppose.” She pulled up a chair to the bed and brushed her fingers over Zane’s forehead. The rest of him had disappeared behind a shroud of bandages.

Archer’s fingers closed into fists so hard the muscles ached all the way up his arms.

She glanced up at him, then gestured to the chair opposite her. He shook his head. She scowled, but he noticed that the light caress of her hand never changed.

“Archer’s here too, Zane,” she said. “He feels terrible that you’re hurt. But not as terrible as I do.”

Archer drew a breath to refute her on a few key points, but on the sheet, Zane’s hand twitched. Archer caught the movement and straightened. “Is he coming around?”

Sera took the slack fingers in her own. “You don’t have to wake up yet. When you’re ready.”

Archer shifted from one foot to the other. “He might be able to tell us more about the djinn-man.”

“You have Valjean and everyone else with an ounce of tracking sense roaming the city. You sent one team with Bookie’s mobile spectral tracking machine, even though you’re not sure it works. The only useful thing you haven’t done is stuck me out as bait . . .” She took a calming breath. “Anyway, what more can Zane tell you?”

“Not the where,” Archer acknowledged, “but the why.”

She lifted Zane’s hand as if he were evidence. “Does that matter at the moment?”

“You, the constant seeker, ask me that? Why’s the biggest question.”

“I meant the djinn-man’s plans won’t change just because Zane finishes his rest. We’ll know soon enough.”

That sounded a little too much like “The end is nigh” for Archer’s comfort. He scowled. Since when had the thought of the end become something to be feared instead of welcomed?

He stared at her in dismay and slowly backed into the hall.

She couldn’t make him afraid to die. He wouldn’t allow it. That fear would make him useless. Everything he’d lost would have been lost in vain.

The hallway was dark. The sun had succumbed to the clouds again. So much for her theory about taking the bad with the good. It was all bad, and to forget that, even for a second, only made the rediscovery more painful.

If spring came back around, it wouldn’t touch him. He’d have to blame his momentary hope on the teshuva within him that still thought it would win its way back into grace.

Idiot demon.

Wrapping the fury of betrayal around him like a fine trench coat, he stalked down the hall.

If Zane was twitching now, his teshuva would have him awake in another hour. They’d get their answers then, and the end they’d bring on would be like nothing the djinn-man could ever have imagined.

“You were almost caught.” The Worm paced, wringing his hands with such frenzy, Corvus wondered he didn’t tear them off.

Perhaps his next sculpture should be a carrion bird, some great-winged, soaring beast that descended to earth only to thrust its naked beak into the soft flesh of the welcoming dead.

But the thought of those feathers, more black on black on black, made him shudder. The damn crow was hard enough—so hard that for the first time since he’d stolen the techniques of colored glass from his Roman masters, he’d thought of giving up.

He was glad there would be no next time.

“If you get caught,” the Worm was shrieking, wriggling closer, “they’ll know—”

With a lazy snap of his wrist, Corvus reached out and
wrapped his fingers around the man’s throat. “Worms serve a useful function, but they turn up in multitudes wherever there is dirty work to be done. So a wise worm keeps a low profile.”

The Worm pried at the fingers around his neck, eyes bulging even more than usual.

Corvus loosened his grip. “Don’t test my patience. I find my grasp on it tenuous of late.”

The Worm stumbled back out of reach, rubbing his throat. He croaked, “Is that why you killed the talya?”

“I freed him.” Corvus turned to the window to look at his sculptures. The seagull in flight, his first, was still his best, he thought. Ever since, he’d tried to recapture that abandon of line and wildness of raw material. The faintest touch of blue threaded through its belly had been an inspired act, as if the bird launched itself toward the wide-open ocean, the pure waters reflected in its white feathers. He almost heard its mournful cry.

The annoying chuckle of the crow interrupted his reverie. The wretched bird had stuffed itself into its water dish and was flinging up a spray as it bathed and gargled.

He stalked toward the cage.

The bird cocked its head toward him, feathers fluffed to twice its size.

Just beyond the cage, the Worm watched him as warily.

Corvus glanced over at the man. “The darklings misunderstood my command. I’ve neglected their breeding since my army has changed. But I still need Sera Littlejohn. The solvo blanks must be near to punch through the weak point in the Veil when her teshuva ascends.”

The Worm shrugged, obviously trying for detachment, as if he could shed his anger and fear like the crow’s feathers shed water. “It’s too late. The league will be alert now, watching for you.”

Corvus waved his hand. “I have aeries all over the
city. The miserable talyan never look up from their desperate grubbing.”

“After that attempt on the hotel, they’ll know this wasn’t some anomalous ferales attack. If they have their noses to the ground, it’s only to pick up your scent.”

“That is why I have worms to muddle the way.” Corvus eyed the other man. “And now I think you will help me again.”

The Worm backed away. “This is getting too risky. I never thought—”

“Because you are a Worm,” Corvus said patiently. “My ferales failed, but you can bring me Sera Littlejohn.”

The Worm stiffened. “Me? How can I—”

“You will have to bring your squirmings out of the shadows, of course.” Corvus touched the ring, the stone cool and smooth under his caress. “After the last talya, I have learned something of extracting demons from their mask of flesh. Bring me Sera Littlejohn, and you will finally have your reward.”

The Worm’s gaze fixed on the ring. “You’ll do it?” His voice rose again with barely suppressed glee. “You’ll strip her demon and give it to me?”

Corvus bowed his head. “I promised. You will know intimately the power of the Darkness.”

Archer woke at a hand on his shoulder. He’d know that gentle touch anywhere.

“Sera.” His voice sounded rusty, as if he were some penitent monk who hadn’t spoken for years. He cleared his throat. “What’s wrong?”

He’d taken the couch in the safe house’s common room as his command post, collating reports from the haunt- and reaper-class talyan trackers in the field. Now his time sense told him it was the deepest part of night.

“It’s Zane. He’s . . .” Her breath caught on the next words. She tried again, substituting, “He’s not doing well.”

Archer surged off the couch. “The teshuva should have—”

“It’s gone.”

From a few steps away, he turned to glare at her. “A demon doesn’t just wander off.”

“I don’t know where the hell it went. But his wounds haven’t healed at all. In fact, there’s a new one. In his leg. The djinn-man hadn’t gotten that far.”

Archer’s blood ran cold.

The halls were dark and empty except for the two talyan in chairs flanking the door to Zane’s room.

Sera’s brows drew down in angry bewilderment. “No one would go in to sit with him.”

Archer slowed, looked closer at her. Just as the teshuva could take away the wound, but not the pain, it couldn’t erase her sorrow, though the lines of grief would never etch her face. “Have you been here all day?”

She nodded mutely.

The bedside light cast a soft glow over Zane. Other than that, his skin had bleached the same color as the bandages.

Archer sat heavily on the chair beside the bed. Carefully, he peeled back the lower half of the sheet and the gauze Sera had laid over Zane’s leg.