by Amy Miles
Nicolae casts a worried glance in her direction as Malachi pulls the doctor away. Roseline watches as the doctor collects several vials of sickly yellow goo. “What is that stuff?”
“You really don’t want to know,” Nicolae grunts, shifting so Roseline cannot see anything else.
“All that matters is you are alive,” Fane soothes, twining his fingers through hers.
Her head falls back against the headboard. “Is he alive?”
No one has to ask of whom she speaks. Fane sighs. “No. Malachi saw to that.”
Roseline winces, curling within herself. Her chance of finding Gabriel has slipped from her fingers. If only she had been awake to torture the man herself. She has certainly learned a trick or two from Davros over the years.
Nicolae clears his throat, inching forward. Fane shakes his head, drawing her attention. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Fane replies, kicking at Nicolae. He darts out of the way, glaring.
“She needs to know.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Fane hisses.
“I’m right here, guys,” Roseline snaps. The door closes, interrupting their argument. Fane stiffens as Malachi marches up to the bedside.
“What Fane is trying to forgo telling you is that we have a clue,” Malachi announces.
Roseline frowns. “A clue?”
“Yes,” he nods enthusiastically. “Although we were unable to drag out any information from that fiend at the cave, I was able to find something among the papers I took from the secret room.”
She perks up on that one. “I didn’t realize you had found anything.”
“He shoved it down his pants.” Fane rolls his eyes.
“Well I couldn’t risk getting it bloody, now could I?” Malachi retorts.
Roseline sits up fully. “I’m dying over here, guys. Fill me in.”
Malachi’s eyes twinkle as he turns to look at her. “There are two halves to the Elder’s copy of the prophecy and I believe they can be found in Dublin.”
“Why Ireland?” she asks.
Nicolae answers this time. “It was a sister club. Less popular of course, but still a perfect location for hiding secret texts.”
She likes the idea. It has been over a hundred years since she visited the Emerald Isle. “So when do we leave?”
Fane and Nicolae exchange a meaningful glance. “You don’t,” Malachi responds. “Doctor’s orders.”
“What? You agreed to this?” Roseline spits, glaring at her friends. Neither one are willing to meet her gaze. “I have to go.”
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” Malachi informs her, shifting to perch on her bedside table. “It is unclear to what extent this poison damaged your system. I cannot allow you to leave until we know you are healthy again.”
“But-”
“No,” Fane says, squeezing her hand, “he’s right. It is not safe. Those darts carried a poison that we do not understand. Malachi’s doctor said it held dark enchantments. You are lucky to be alive. If Malachi had not reacted so quickly…” he lets his words fall off as he offers Malachi a tight nod of approval.
Fane turns to look back at Nicolae. “The boy and I will go to Dublin. Malachi will remain behind with you to administer the final antidote serums.”
Roseline glances from face to face. All hold remorse but none appear the least bit willing to budge on this idea. She sighs, slumping in bed. “Fine. Go, but you’d better call every hour with a progress report.”
“Yes ma’am.” Nicolae grins, rising from the end of her bed. Fane and Malachi follow suit.
“I will be downstairs if you need me. There is a pull cord next to the bed you can use to alert me,” Malachi informs before slipping from the room.
Fane looks back one last time, a tight smile on his face. “Just don’t do anything stupid while we are gone.”
“No promises.” She grins weakly. Her head spins as the doctor’s newest dose of medicines kick in. She shifts down into the mound of pillows, enveloped in cottony goodness.
Nicolae pauses before closing the door. “Hey, Roseline?”
“Yeah?” She opens her eyes, fighting the urge to let sleep take her away again.
Nicolae smiles. “You were right. You are totally badass.”
He slips from the room as Roseline’s smirk lets down and sleep steals her away.
Chapter 30
Elias and Seneh huddle together not far away. Their rapid speech draws Gabriel’s attention. Not that it would take much. He is desperate for a break.
After nearly three days of constant practicing, he has yet to hover more than an inch from the ground. And his blisters…truly disgusting.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his parched throat croaks as he struggles to his feet. Tingling needles poke at his calves. His feet are numb all the way up to his ankles.
Elias was gone far longer than he had originally planned. He barely even acknowledged Gabriel when he arrived.
Gabriel hopes they are discussing a new training location. He is beyond done with the desert. He doubts his cracked lips will ever heal properly.
“We are leaving.” Elias rises. Seneh swiftly follows, his hand automatically gripping his sword as he searches the skies.
Gabriel pumps his fists in the air, but pauses when he notices his mentor’s grim face. “Wait. What’s going on?”
“There was a raid.” His gaze drops to the steaming sand. “Some of the monks did not make it.”
“That’s not possible.” His throat clenches. Gabriel stares blankly back at Elias. “I thought they were leaving shortly after us.”
Elias nods. “As did I. Something delayed them.”
Gabriel’s stomach twists painfully. “What happened?”
“Enael and Ordin were captured,” Elias says, his sorrowful eyes latch onto him. “Sias did his best to free them before he fell. I am sorry.”
Foamy bile rises in his throat as the acid burns deep into his flesh. Gabriel doubles over, holding his stomach. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”
A strong hand comes to rest on his shoulder. “Sias was a brave warrior. He would not have wanted his death to come any other way.”
“But what about Enael and Ordin?” Gabriel asks, twisting his head to look up at Elias. The sparse contents of his stomach churn like a volatile cyclone. If he had not just suffered through an entire day without nourishment - Seneh’s crazy idea of training- Gabriel is sure he would have thrown up by now.
“Taken. We are not sure of their exact location.” Elias steps back as Gabriel rises. He drops to one knee, meeting Gabriel at eye level. “There is nothing we could have done. If we had stayed, we would be dead too.”
Gabriel shakes his head, backing away. “No. This is not right. It’s my fault they were captured. We have to find them.”
“No,” Elias’ booming voice scatters across the dunes, “you are not ready yet.”
Gabriel’s expression hardens. “They were my friends.”
Inhaling deeply, Elias rises to his full height. “Do you think you care more for them than I do? I have known Sias since his childhood. The other monks have given their lives for this cause, one that I have been heavily involved with since long before you were born. Do not assume that you lay sole claim to remorse, young one.”
Gabriel turns away, stomping at the ever-shifting sand. It piles over his sandals, searing his feet, but he welcomes the pain. It reminds him that he is alive. That he can avenge Sias’ death. He turns back, determination engraved on his face. “What must I do?”
Elias and Seneh exchange a glance. The look that passes between them is loaded with concern but also with grim admiration. Seneh nods. Elias returns his gaze to Gabriel.
“Prepare for the trials. None of this will stop until you succeed. Your friends believed in you enough to risk their lives. Honor them now by fulfilling your destiny.”
Gabriel nods, rolling his shoulders back. “For Sias.”
Chapter 31
&nb
sp; Malachi eases his office door closed. He winces as the clicking lock echoes loudly in the silent house. He moves around the side of his desk, sinking back into his chair as he retrieves his cell phone. He shifts to turn on the radio, dialing it down low so as not to disturb Roseline’s rest.
Classical music pours through his speakers. He leans back in his chair, his silky raven hair falling around his shoulders as he closes his eyes. He does not want to make this call.
Sighing heavily, Malachi blindly types in the familiar numbers. He presses the phone to his ear and waits. The dial tone rings in his ear. His heart patters in his chest and a slight dampness clings under his arms.
“Hello?”
Malachi takes a deep breath. “I need to speak with him.”
No response, but none is needed. There is no question of whom he speaks.
He waits, tethered to the silent connection. Sometimes the answer comes swiftly, other times it seems to drag on. The wait is always unbearable.
His fingers tap against the rich mahogany desk. Its top is meticulously clean. Not one item is out of place, apart from the cylindrical object lying in the middle - the object he has yet to open.
“Do you have something to report?” The voice on the other end of the line is clipped, harsh. Obviously, they are going to skip over any pleasantries. Not that this has ever been a part of their business deals.
Malachi grips his phone. The stretched skin over his knuckles fades to white. “She lives.”
“That is very good, for your sake.” The venom in the man’s voice chills Malachi’s blood. He knows all too well what happens to those who fail his boss.
“She took on ten of the Elder’s Eltat by herself,” he protests. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“You should have stopped her,” the man hisses, silencing Malachi. “It is your job to protect her.”
Malachi hangs his head. He knows there is nothing he could have done to prevent Roseline’s attack. Even if he had not had his hands full fighting his own battle, Roseline had not have given him any time to react.
He had to admit, her precision strikes on the Eltat had been very impressive. He doubted he could have done better.
“Do you have the scroll?” his boss snaps into the phone.
“Yes.” He glances down at the aged document before him. As silly as it sounds, the small object terrifies him. Once he breaks the seal, there is no going back.
“Make sure you help her translate it…properly.” Malachi frowns at the emphasis placed on the last word. What is that supposed to mean?
“What of the other two?” His boss presses.
“They are on their way to Dublin to search for the prophecy,” Malachi says.
“Excellent.” The man’s tone tilts upward with his unseen smile. “Keep her busy, but keep her safe. She is far more important than you realize.”
“I will,” he vows. There is no way he will let Roseline out of his sight now.
The line falls silent. He leans forward, straining to hear. When the voice returns, it startles him. “Do not fail me again, Malachi.”
The deep, raspy voice cuts off as the line disconnects. Malachi sinks back into his chair. “I’m a dead man.”
Chapter 32
Roseline slips out from under the covers and treads lightly across the room. Her bare feet are silent against the rug. The cold bathroom tile brings a sigh of relief from her parted lips as she searches for her crimson corset and pants. They are missing.
“Darn it,” she grunts, twirling in the dark. The bathroom is in pristine condition. Someone came in and cleaned while she was asleep. Her stomach twists at the thought of Matis entering her room. Surely, Malachi would not have allowed that.
A shiver races down her spine. Malachi is the only one left that could have cleaned her room. He must have come in while she was sleeping. Roseline wraps her bare arms around herself, feeling exposed.
Tiptoeing back across her room, Roseline pokes her head into the closet, an enormous waste of space in her opinion. Two rows of wooden rods run along the walls, empty of clothing. A floor to ceiling cabinet houses two black shirts and jeans. Roseline snatches one of each and hurries out of her robe.
A small part of her winces at the fact that the clothes are an exact fit. Malachi has paid very close attention to her body size.
Casting aside that disturbing thought, Roseline searches for her boots and finds them missing as well. Annoyed, she slips from her room and plods down the hall barefoot. Her hand trails along the curving bannister to the bottom of the staircase.
The house is silent and clothed with shadow. Roseline glances out of the windows over the arched doors and realizes it’s nighttime. How long did she sleep?
Candlelight flickers at the end of a long corridor in a part of the house that Roseline has yet to explore. She silently moves down the hall, casting a glance over her shoulder from time to time. Music wafts from a room, a classical piece that she instantly recognizes as Mozart’s Requiem Mass. Somber. Passionate. Hauntingly beautiful.
“I love that song,” she says as she enters the room.
Malachi smiles, glancing up from a stack of papers. “I was among the few fortunate enough to attend the private concert for Mozart’s lovely wife, Constanze, after she died. I believe that was sometime around the early 1790’s. I’m afraid my memory has a failed a bit in my old age, though.” He smiles, motioning for her to sit.
Roseline lowers into a hard backed chair, facing him from across the desk. He closes his eyes, allowing the music carry him away. She turns her head as the beautiful Latin floods her mind.
“Righteous judge of vengeance, grant me the gift of absolution before the day of retribution,” she translates.
Malachi opens his eyes. “Fitting words, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps.” She dips her head in agreement. Her eyes travel over the papers layering his desk. “Can’t sleep?”
Malachi rises to turn down the music. “I’m afraid I must ask your forgiveness. I wasn’t entirely forthcoming with details earlier.”
Shifting onto the edge of her seat, Roseline waits.
“I didn’t just find a clue at the caves-” he pauses. The chair creaks as he sits back down. “I found one half of the prophecy.”
“What?” Roseline leaps to her feet. Her fingers latch around the edge of the desk. The wood groans in protest of her vice-like grip. “How could you keep this from me? I had a right to know!”
“Please, sit. Let me explain.” Malachi motions for her to return to her seat. She does so reluctantly, but not without a cold glare.
“If I had informed you of its presence, would you not have fought me over it?”
“Yes,” she grumbles, impatient to see the document.
“And how do you think Fane and Nicolae would have reacted as soon as you refused to remain in bed?”
Her shoulders slump. “They would have refused to leave my side.”
“Precisely.” He grins. “And now, you are free to refuse medical treatment, against doctors’ orders, and down every cup of coffee I own while you dig into this document.” He holds the scroll aloft.
A smile alights on her lips. “Very sneaky. I like.”
Malachi laughs, pushing the unrolled document toward her. “I thought you might. Take a look.”
Leaning over her edge of the desk, Roseline takes in the slightly yellowed paper. The edges curl from centuries trapped within a tight spiral. Her fingertips spread along the curl as her eyes sweep over the ink.
“I can’t read this.” She glances up. Her brow crumples with frustration. “I am fluent in many languages but I have never seen this one before. Is it the same one you showed us before?”
Nodding, Malachi rounds the edge of the desk and comes to rest at her side. He stares down at the scrolled markings. “This is not a human language.”
He falls silent, letting her connect the dots. When she rises to meet his gaze, understanding smoothes the crinkles around her eyes. “Ang
els wrote this.”
“Originally, yes, but, as I told you, this is a copy. Even if we did manage to translate this prophecy, we cannot be guaranteed of its genuine nature. One incorrect stroke of the pen could change an entirely new word.”
Roseline groans, dropping back into her seat. “This is hopeless. Every time I feel like I’m taking a step toward Gabriel, I’m actually sliding back three.”