by Brenda Drake
“Who?”
“That Uber driver,” I say. “Horus.”
Marek peeks around the back of the van. “He’s going down the street. Call Shona.”
I can see Horus through the windows of the van now. His back is to us. I dial Shona’s number on my phone.
Shona answers on the first ring. “Hey. I’m almost through. This crowd is ridiculous.”
“One of those guys following us just went down the street. Hurry, before he gets back.”
“I’m outside now,” she says. “Where are you?”
“We’re across the street. Take the blue-and-white crosswalk.” My insides are in knots like a tangled necklace. “And go with a crowd. Not by yourself.”
Marek stays close to the van as he peers through the windows.
“What’s happening?” I hate not seeing what’s going on.
“She’s approaching the crosswalk.” He squints, studying the other side of the street. “Shit. Horus is heading back up the street.”
He’s going to see her.
Chapter Sixteen
There’s no thought to what I do next. I just act, hurrying around the front of the van and charging over the crosswalk. I meet Shona before her foot lands off the curb and hold the umbrella over us, making sure to tilt it in Horus’s direction, blocking our faces from him.
I hold her arm, and we hurry back to Marek. Without hesitation, we jog down the steps to the road below and keep going until we reach an intersection.
“Which way to the hotel?” I hope one of them knows where we’re going.
“This way.” Shona goes left onto a narrow street. She dials some numbers in her phone, listens, then lowers it. “Straight to voicemail. Sid’s preoccupied. We need to get an Uber or something.”
Marek pushes the wet hair away from his face. “No. We can’t trust it. Horus was an Uber driver. We should take public transportation.”
Shona doesn’t look very happy about that. Her lip protrudes in a pout, and she whines. “I hate public transportation.”
“I’m sure you won’t die just this one time.” My voice gives away the fact that she’s starting to annoy me.
If looks could really kill, her side-glance would cut me down. “I’m sure I won’t.”
The entire ride on the public tram, my heart pounds in my ears sounding like a thousand racehorses running around a muddy track. Though it’s chilly out, my palms are clammy, and my face is hot from running through street after street before finding a tram stop.
I glance around. The tram’s packed, and the many faces of the riders hold no emotion. Any of them could be dangerous. Stranger danger, I could almost hear Jane say. She says it a lot, especially to me. Probably because I have a habit of not paying attention to my surroundings.
I’ve had many narrow escapes as a result of my lack of awareness. There was that time I stepped onto a crosswalk without looking and a passing car almost hit me. Another time when I was distracted while rushing down a sidewalk and ran into a pole. And the time when I was climbing over the rocks by the river, made a misstep, and plunged into the icy water.
No wonder she’s always nervous about me. I’m a walking accident about to happen.
I lean forward in my seat and grab my knees with shaky hands, take a deep breath, and release it slowly. This has to be a dream. No. It’s more like a nightmare.
Nothing makes sense. We’re chasing clues that don’t make any sense. Going on this hunt doesn’t make sense. It’s definitely one of those poor judgment calls of mine, and I’m not sure I’ll escape harm this time.
Marek places his hand on top of mine. “You okay?”
I nod. “I’m good.”
“Well, you don’t look good,” Shona says from her seat across the aisle.
She’s really starting to bug me. No. If I’m honest, she’s been annoying me since we first met.
“What did you find in the chapel?” she asks. “Let me see it.”
Marek looks from me to her. “Not here. When we get to our room. There are too many eyes around.”
She focuses on the window next to me. “We’re getting close. Our hotel’s just a few blocks away.”
I shift to see outside, but nothing looks familiar. Dalton would be all over my case for not taking in my surroundings. Dad always told us to keep track of where we were and know the landmarks so we’d never get lost in unfamiliar places. I’ve been careless since arriving in Rome, but no more. I need to stay alert. Know where I am.
The tram slows, and Shona stands. “We’re getting off here.”
I give one last glance at the window and pause. There are two men in black trench coats marching down the sidewalk, heading for our hotel. They’re just businessmen, I reason with myself. Not everyone dressed in trench coats is dangerous.
A woman in high boots with a fierce look on her face passes by the window. Her expression makes me slide back in my seat.
Stop it. She’s only a woman running late for something.
The tram coasts to a stop, and the doors open. I step down to the curb behind Shona. Marek comes out right after me. The hotel is the third building up from where we get off. At almost four, the lobby’s practically empty. Guests are probably out sightseeing or in their rooms preparing to go out later.
The doorman stares out the window, waiting for someone to need his services. Lanky and tall, his shoulders are sharp under his red-and-gold jacket, and his chin comes to a severe point. The woman behind the reception desk gives a quick glance up at us before returning her attention to the screen on the computer in front of her.
Marek places a hand on my back, and I jolt forward.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s just one of those freak-out kind of days,” I say, covering up the fact that his touch would send jolts through my body even if we hadn’t just run from the gene-pool-winning trio.
The elevator dings, and the doors glide open. Cain charges out, his head down and his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. He lifts his eyes, spots us entering the lobby, and charges over.
“Where have you been?” With teeth clenched, jaw muscles tense, he narrows his eyes at Marek. “You trying to make a move on my girl?”
“She’s not my type.” Marek returns an equally menacing glare at Cain.
Shona rests a fist on her hip. “That’s an insulting thing to say. What do you mean I’m not your type?”
Her question only succeeds in triggering Cain more. With two long, fast steps, Cain grabs the collar of Marek’s shirt. “Stay away from her, you hear?”
“Get your hands off me.” Marek yanks away from Cain’s grip and pushes him. “I’ll break your arm if you touch me again.”
Cain throws a fist at Marek, and Marek ducks.
“Smettila,” the woman at the reception desk shouts, then fumbles with the knob to the door behind her until she gets it open and stumbles through it. Most likely, she’s getting someone to help her, which means whoever it is will probably kick us out of the hotel. I just hope they’ll let us grab our bags from our room before doing so.
“Ehi tu, smettila!” The doorman storms across the tile floor in our direction and continues yelling something in Italian. Whatever he’s saying sounds angry. I shrink back, wanting to stay out of the man’s path.
Cain shoves Marek back and turns his glare on the doorman, hate sparking in his icy blue eyes. When the man reaches us, Cain tackles him, and the man’s head thumps hard against the tile floor.
Shona pulls on Cain’s arm. “Get up. What are you doing? You’re going to hurt him.”
Cain straightens—his face an emotionless mask.
“Stay put,” Shona orders. “And don’t you dare move.”
He doesn’t move, not even a muscle.
Blood pools around the man’s hea
d.
“He’s bleeding.” Marek kneels beside the man and places two fingers on the man’s neck.
“Is he dead?” It sounds like someone else asks that question. My voice filled with so much fear and emotion it’s almost unrecognizable.
“He can’t be,” Shona says. The panic in her voice matches the one pressing hard against my chest, practically cutting off my air supply.
“There’s a pulse,” Marek says.
I drop to my knees beside Marek. “We have to compress his wound.”
Marek raises his head, his eyes search around him. “I need a towel or something.”
Shona removes her sweater and hands it to Marek. He lifts the man’s head and presses the cashmere against the wound. The man’s breathing is labored, yet his face looks peaceful.
A gasp comes from the reception desk. The woman who’d run into the other room is back behind the counter, hands to her mouth, eyes wide.
Marek’s head snaps in her direction. “We need an ambulance.”
She doesn’t move, her hands are still covering her mouth, head shaking.
“How do you say ambulance in Italian?” Marek ask.
Shona tosses the girl an annoyed look. “She works in a hotel. You speak English, don’t you?”
The woman nods.
“Call an ambulance. This man slipped on the floor and he’s hurt.” Shona glances at us and whispers, “There are no witnesses. They’ll believe it’s an accident.”
The woman picks up the phone.
This can’t be happening. Cain’s a heartless beast. He’s dangerous, and I don’t want to be around him anymore.
Marek must think the same thing, because he lowers his voice so that only I can hear him. “We need to ditch these two. Cain is a loose cannon.”
Several outward pants come from the man and then one long exhale. His chest stops rising and falling.
“Is he—” A sob cuts through my chest. I know the answer before Marek confirms it.
Marek places his fingers back against the side of the man’s neck and waits, listens. The expression on his face makes me think he’s hoping as hard as I am. Hoping to feel a pulse. Hoping the man’s still alive.
That expression fades, a grim look replacing it. Marek slightly shakes his head. A shake that says what I fear. “He’s gone,” he mutters.
“No.” The world seems to be rocking, and I lower my head. I want to go home. Be safe in our house with Dalton. If he were here, he’d know what to do.
“See what you did!” The anger in Shona’s voice is frightening—deep and scratchy—like sandpaper dragging across concrete.
Cain hasn’t moved from his spot. There still isn’t any emotion on his face. He doesn’t even flinch when Shona shouts at him.
Marek pushes up to his feet, his face twisting with anger as he glares at Cain. “You did this.”
Shona sidesteps between them. “It was the man’s fault. He came after us. Cain was just responding.”
“The man’s fault? Have you lost your senses?” Marek lets out a frustrated breath. “Your boyfriend has no soul. He’s evil.”
My eyes land back on the man who was alive only minutes ago. The memory of Dad lying dead on the rocks beside the river hits me hard. I gulp back tears. Is the man someone’s father? Will they be as lost without him as I am without Dad? The pain is too heavy to carry. My heart breaks for them. He’s younger than Dad. So if he has kids, they’d be younger than me.
I place my hand on his.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, quiet and sad. I don’t know how to pray. No one ever taught me. So I adjust on my knees, lower my head, and repeat, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.”
“We need to get our stories straight.” Shona paces, her high heels clicking against the tiles. “He slipped. As simple as that. We were returning from sightseeing and walked in right when he fell.”
“That won’t work,” Marek argues. “The receptionist witnessed everything. She saw Cain attack me. Remember?”
“Oh, yes, that.” She places a long slender finger to her lips as she thinks. “Okay, so you two were fighting over me, and the man hurried to stop it. That’s when he slipped.”
“Fighting over you?” Marek shakes his head. “Unbelievable. You’d lie for him. I won’t. We have to tell the truth. Cain has to be accountable for what he’s done.”
“You don’t understand,” she says. “Without me, Cain is dangerous.”
“Without you he’s dangerous,” Marek repeats with a sarcastic laugh. “You were here and this still happened.”
There’s a pull on my hands before my palm heats and the man’s skin warms under my touch. A twitch of his finger. A raspy breath. The man isn’t dead. I let go of his hand.
I fall back, my butt landing on my heels. “He’s still alive.”
The front doors whisk open at the exact second the doorman sits up, a confused look on his face, blood dripping from the back of his head. At the sound of several footsteps entering the lobby, I turn.
Bjorn, Inanna, and Horus march in our direction. A swarm of death’s-head hawkmoths follows and passes them. The moths rush around me, forming a whirlwind of yellow-and-brown wings.
I cover my head with my arms and scream.
Chapter Seventeen
Marek plunges into the wing storm, the moths pelting him, and he wraps his arms around me, shielding me with his back. His flinching body and grunting tell me they’re hurting him.
“Stop!” rips from my throat.
Just as quickly as they rushed in, they fly off.
Marek’s cheek rests against mine. “Are you okay?” he says breathlessly. “You’re so cold.”
I nod because I can’t find the words to speak. He unwraps his arms and releases me.
A few of the moths lie dead on the floor, the skull pattern on their backs staring up at me. My breaths ease, and I straighten. My hands feel frostbitten, the muscles and joints stiff.
Shona takes a few steps closer to us. “What are they doing here?”
I pick up Shona’s sweater and press it against the back of the doorman’s head. “You’re going to be okay,” I say to him, but he just stares at me, and his eyes are cold and biting as dry ice.
“We’re here for him.” Inanna heads for Cain. Before reaching him, she removes a syringe with a light-blue liquid inside.
Bjorn grabs Shona from behind. “Tell him to stay still, or you won’t like what I do next.”
Marek makes a move for him.
“Don’t try it,” Bjorn warns. “I don’t like hurting girls.”
Shona’s tearful eyes slide over to Cain. “You will stay still,” she says, and he obeys her.
Cain doesn’t flinch when Inanna inserts the needle into his neck and pushes the plunger down, the contents emptying into him.
“Stop!” Shona struggles in Bjorn’s grasp. “What did you give him?”
Horus strides over and grasps the doorman’s shoulder.
I look up at him. “Leave him alone.”
Horus ignores me.
Inanna turns a sympathetic look to Shona. “I’m sorry. You needn’t fear us. We won’t hurt you. As long as you behave.”
Cain’s knees buckle, and he falls forward, crashing face-down onto the floor.
“No!” Shona starts for him, but Bjorn tightens his grip on her arms. She wriggles in his grasp. “Let me go! What did you do to him?”
“I’ve righted a wrong,” Inanna says. “He was a Risen.”
“A Risen?” The confusion on Marek’s face matches mine.
“He was meant to die in that accident,” Inanna says, walking toward me. “But Shona touched him, and he awoke from death’s sleep.”
“You’re not making sense,” I say. “Death’s sleep? Shona touched him… Are you saying she brought him back to l
ife?”
She stops in front of the doorman and me. “Just as you did to this man.” She gives Horus a nod. “Don’t let her touch him.”
Horus releases the man, grabs me, and drags me away. I thrash in his arms and kick his shin, but it doesn’t even faze him. He holds me tight. “Let me go,” I snap.
Inanna pulls another syringe full of that blue liquid out of her pocket. She squats in front of the doorman and inserts the needle into his neck, dispensing whatever it is into him. The man falls back, thumping against the floor again.
Marek hits Horus with one of those stands used to hold velvet ropes for a barrier, which had been blocking the entrance to the closed restaurant. Horus crashes to the floor and slides across the tiles. My mouth drops open. It had to take a lot of strength to hit Horus that hard. Marek snatches up my hand and drags me to the doors.
“Damn.” He shoots a look back at me. “How are your hands that cold?”
I ignore his questions and pull back on his lead. “What about Shona? We can’t leave her.”
“We either leave her, or they’ll take all three of us.”
I give Shona another look and can barely see her face with the tears building in my eyes. Bjorn’s arms are tight around her. She looks from Cain’s body on the floor to me. Even with the fear written all over her face, she nods and mouths “go” before Marek tugs on my arm again.
I leave her, and my guilt is like a boulder crushing down on me. If only I were as brave as her. We take off up the street. My tears escape, and I let them race down my cheeks.
Marek keeps shooting glances over his shoulder.
We’re a ways up the road when the Italian police, lights flashing, pass and screech to a stop in front of our hotel.
Cars are backed up on the street in both directions.
“It’s Horus,” Marek says, pulling me down with him behind one of the waiting cars. “He’s looking for us. I don’t see the others.”
Sid’s pink Fiat squeals to a stop just up the street from us. He’s blocked by the building traffic. “Come on!” he yells, waving us over from the driver’s side door.
Marek and I dash around people and vehicles.