by Bryn Donovan
Nic nodded. “Which one of you woke up first?”
“I did,” Michael said. “I woke up and I was naked, chained to the wall, with the bandage over where my tattoo was. And then I saw Valentina.” His voice pinched as he said her name, and Nic straightened. “She was…collared and chained like a dog.” Michael’s voice, and his eyes, had gone hollow. “All I could think of was that she was alprimus…” Val’s heart was sore. None of this had been his fault. She reached over and took his good hand. “I couldn’t do anything to help her.”
“You did help her,” Nic said. “You’re both here. Keep talking.”
Michael nodded and obeyed. Soon, Val interjected to explain how she’d gone into Ezra’s psyche and told him what to do to make the others leave.
“That was brilliant,” Nic said plainly. “Then what?”
Having recovered his composure, Michael described the rest of the horrible encounter, right up to the end. “And then this handsome bastard walked in like, ‘What’s up?’” he concluded. Nic gave a quick grin at that.
“I want you to go back to one thing,” Nic said. “You kicked their leader to death while you were chained up. You plasma-bladed the head off one of the gunmen. But what about the other one? When I came in, he was dead on the floor, but I didn’t see any blood.”
The dread that had been building inside Val all morning broke, and tears came to her eyes. “I killed him. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Michael moved closer. “Shhh, reina.” His love barricaded her against despair. “You did the right thing.”
But Val felt filthy. She’d given something away, and it could never come back. They’d all loved her for her kindness, her softness. Her innocence. Now it was gone.
“Hey, come on.” Michael stroked her cheek with his good hand, unabashedly tender despite the fact that it was a debriefing. Nic looked down. He touched the button on his phone to stop recording. “It was my idea,” Michael said. “I thought you could do it, and you did. You never got mad at me for what I’ve had to do. Right? You’ve seen it all. You’ve never gotten mad at any of us.”
Her worst thought came to the surface. “It was like what the demon did to you.” She’d figured out how to do it, in part, from the way it had exploded him into a million miserable pieces. At least she’d given the Tribunal member a true death, quick and clean. It wasn’t much comfort.
“You did it to save both our lives.” Michael leaned forward and kissed a tear from her cheek. “I’m sorry. It was ugly.” His blue eyes searched her face. “You’re still the same sweet person. Promise.”
He knew the right things to say. Gratitude filled her heart. She’d try to believe him. Shakily, she put her other hand over their joined ones.
Nic cleared his throat. “You did this with psychic power?”
She nodded. “I went into his psyche and I, uh, exploded it.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Okay. I don’t even know if that’s something…anyone’s been doing. Capitán will want one of the Mages to talk to you about that. But we can stop for now.” He pushed back his chair. “Incredible work, both of you.”
“I just wish we could’ve found the stone,” she couldn’t help but say. “I don’t know if they have it, but if they do, they could find someone else to hack into me.”
Nic snapped his fingers. “I forgot to tell you. I’ve got it.”
“What?” Michael demanded as Val stared at Nic.
“Yeah, sorry. I barely had a chance to mention it.”
It was true. He’d been administering first aid, dealing with a prisoner, and watching for more Tribunal. And this morning, he’d been getting them fed and then debriefed immediately, before their memories got fuzzy.
He dug into his front pocket. “It was in the kitchen of that house. Along with the gun and knife and both of your phones.”
The phones must’ve gone off, and they must’ve heard Nic’s voice as he’d tried to contact them. The Tribunal had no doubt learned not to answer them. In Italy, answering one had meant that Manus Santi had seen one of their faces and, thanks to Cassie’s powers, birds had pecked him to death.
Nic showed Val the crystal in his palm. “I’ll hang onto it until we get Agnes to clear it.” Agnes Goldberg was an Earth Elemental at El Dédalo. “I don’t expect us to get ambushed by Tribunal before we get home, but if we do, I can protect it.”
Val remembered what it had felt like, sending cracks through a man’s psyche. She never wanted to do it again if she could help it.
But she would if she had to. “I can protect it myself.”
Recognition crossed his features. “You’re right.” He placed the stone into her palm. “No one can invade your psyche now. You’re safe.”
Val closed her hand around it. Strange that such a small object could bring her so much gratitude and relief. It was like getting a large piece of her own soul back again. “Will the Tribunal stop looking for Sophie, then?” she asked, and then realized the answer to her own question. “They could still use a psychometrist.”
“Yeah, they could try the same thing with another object,” Nic said. “They could’ve already stolen something from us to use. They might even hope she’d be a willing informant, since she kind of hates us.”
“She wouldn’t do that, would she?” The idea scandalized Val.
Nic raised his shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe. If she’s still alive.”
“She’s alive,” Jonathan said.
They turned to see him standing in the doorway.
“Holy hell,” Michael said. “You Read Ezra?”
Jonathan nodded and walked over to take the empty chair near them.
Nic looked as if every muscle in his body had tensed. “Do they know where she is?”
“Not exactly. But they’re pretty sure she’s in Chicago.”
Michael gaped, and Val felt just as surprised.
Nic asked, “How did we not find her?” It was exactly what Val wanted to know.
“That doesn’t surprise me as much as it surprises everyone else,” Jonathan said. “She can steal anyone’s information, and she’s smart.”
Well, he would know, Val thought. “Chicago’s still a big place.”
“It’s a lot smaller than the whole world. We’ll find her.”
“She’s not going to come willingly, right?” Michael asked.
“No,” Jonathan said as Nic shook his head. Val didn’t even know what they did with defectors. A lifetime sentence in Solemore?
Jonathan cast a sympathetic look at Nic. “I know it’s going to be weird.”
He gave a grim smile. “I probably won’t even see her. What else did you learn?”
“Enough to have a thousand more questions. I need to write everything down.” He got up.
“And I need to get this to Capitán,” Nic said, indicating the phone in his hand as he got up as well. He picked up his plate.
“Is there breakfast?” Jonathan asked as they headed inside.
“We’ll ask Raj to make you something.”
Michael smiled at that as Nic and Jonathan left.
Val stood up, wincing at the sharp pain at her hip as she did so, and went to the edge of the balcony to look over the marsh and the sea beyond, blue under the bright morning sky. The sight hadn’t changed at all, when so much else had. Then she stared down at the stone in her hand. It still had the gold setting on the pale tip that had held the chain, when she’d worn it around her neck every day. Again she remembered telling her mother that it could be all golden. All daytime, no night.
But coming through the darkness had made her stronger. And she herself was not all sweetness and light, as she’d believed. She knew herself now, better than ever, and that was another kind of strength. The contrast she’d seen and accepted in Michael, and in other Knights too—their kindness and courtesy to most, their ruthlessness in other’s defense—that contrast was in her as well.
Maybe it was at the heart of what it meant to be Manus Sancti.
>
When she’d grown up in this house, learning her lessons on this balcony, developing her psychic gifts, she’d never imagined using them in the way she had. Perhaps her mother had guessed.
Michael drew up next to her, looking down at the crystal in her hand. His love and gratitude were as peaceful and steady as the gentle waves lapping up to the distant shore. She put the stone in her pocket and took his hand.
“I know,” she murmured in response to his feelings, as though he’d voiced them. “I can hardly believe we’re here together. Safe.”
“We should take some time off, once we’re healed up. Go to Santa Fe so you can do your meditation and spa things, or wherever you want.” He brushed his lips against her cheek. “Just the two of us.”
“I was just thinking about that.” She sighed. “I would love that…all that time together. Not just a few hours in the middle of the night.”
“The more time, the better.”
“Capitán will give us a long leave. We’ve earned it.” She cocked her head at him. “But what would you do in Santa Fe?”
A roguish smile played at his full lips. “You.”
“Oh, really? Then I might skip the meditation.”
His laugh gratified her. “You’d want a break from me sometimes. I know you need alone time.”
“Maybe some. But being with you is as comfortable as being alone,” she said, even as she realized it. She smiled at his surprise. “And it’s wonderful.”
He leaned in and kissed her; a gentle kiss, but she felt it all the way to her toes. “I love you so much,” he told her, still holding her close. “You have no idea.”
“I actually do,” she teased him.
He laughed again. “Yeah, I guess you do.”
“I love you that much, too.” For so many years, she’d hidden her feelings toward him. Now, she could tell him anything that was in her heart. “I feel like, no matter what, as long as we’re together, everything’s going to be all right.”
“There are going to be more scary times ahead,” he said, but she felt no fear or dread from him. His gaze hung on her, soft with adoration.
“The Tribunal will retaliate. But they were after us, anyway.”
Michael nodded. “Even besides them, it’s always something. It can be hard to be married to a Knight.”
“I know.” She’d have to accept that, the uncertainty… “Wait. What?”
“Um.” He blinked. “I was just saying, it’s dangerous.”
“Oh.” Confused, she turned away to look again at the shore.
“No, I do, though,” he said quickly.
She peered at him. “You do what?”
“Want us to be married. I know you know that.”
Val wanted to shove him. “How would I?”
“Like we were just saying. You know me inside out. That’s one of the reasons why…but there are so many reasons. And I feel like we’d want to take a year or so to get used to being a couple, but yeah, I mean…you want to, too, right?”
She couldn’t help it. She giggled.
“Stop laughing,” he ordered her, though amusement glinted in his eyes.
“Is this a proposal?”
He looked up toward the sky as though for divine help. “It’s like the worst one ever.”
“Yes,” Val said.
“Yes, it’s the worst…?”
“Yes, I’ll marry you.” A bright, pure joy rose inside her.
His mouth parted, his amusement gone. “This is amazing.”
“It really isn’t,” she admitted. “I’ve wanted to pretty much forever.”
“Sorry it took me so long to catch up,” he said, his voice husky.
She stood on her toes and pulled him down to kiss him. He cupped her cheek, and his tenderness and the strength of his devotion almost brought tears to her eyes. The kiss was longer and sweeter than any of her teenage daydreams, accompanied by the soft music of the sea.
Then she whispered, “You were worth the wait.”
THE END
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THE REQUIEM MOON
BOOK III, KNIGHTS OF MANUS SANCTI
“Come out,” a deep male voice said.
Sophie’s heart slammed in her chest. If she was going to be shot, she wasn’t going to let it happen while she cowered behind her sofa. She got to her feet.
Then she froze in fresh shock. Standing in the middle of her living room with a gun in his hand, breathing hard, was Dominic Joe.
The man who’d killed Simon, her cousin and best friend. In her wild grief, she’d called for Nic’s punishment, but Capitán Renaud and everyone else had said the shooting had been an accident, a demon’s deception. Part of her had always known they were right.
The bodies of the two men who’d attacked her lay dead on either side of him. Nic was here either to dispatch her, too—one bullet to the back of the head, their usual method of execution—or to drag her to prison. She’d thought about this ever since the night she’d run away. Those were the only two outcomes she could envision for a Mage who’d broken her vows and abandoned Manus Sancti, and death struck her as more likely.
She clenched her jaw and lifted her chin in the best imitation of bravery she could manage. Of course they’d sent Nic. If he was her executioner, he wouldn’t flinch. He might enjoy it. Who could possibly hate her more? Had the dead men intended to get her to safety before he’d arrived? No. No one ever defended her, let alone strangers.
Nic looked different than when she’d last seen him in London, five years ago: the planes of his face harder, his cheekbones even sharper, the last traces of youthful ebullience burned away. If she recalled correctly, he was a couple of years older than her, and she was thirty-three now—an old, old thirty-three, and anyway, no one was too young to die. His black hair was longer, brushing his collar. Instead of the leather jacket she remembered, he wore a puffy olive parka, more suited to a sleety late winter in Chicago. If he put the faux fur-trimmed hood up, it would obscure both his features and his build from anyone who happened to see him on the street. That too suggested an execution.
“I’m probably the last person you expected to see,” he said, his voice neutral.
“The last person I wanted to see,” she retorted automatically.
“No. That’s them.” He nodded toward one of the dead bodies, crumpled under her floor lamp. The other lay behind him in a small pool of slowly spreading blood. She felt dizzy.
“Who are they?”
“Tribunal.”
She let out a strained, humorless laugh. Really? Their old enemies, dating back to the time of the Inquisition? They’d been wiped out over sixty years ago.
His grim expression didn’t change. “They killed Lucia.”
Her whole body went cold. She’d been good friends with Lucia Dimitriou in London, and she’d often wished there were some way to talk to her again without alerting all of Manus Sancti to her own continued existence. “You’re lying.”
He reached into his coat pocket with his left hand and held out his phone to her. “See for yourself. I was in the obitus.”
It had been so long since she’d heard that word, and it struck a somber knell in her soul. Had there really been a meeting about Lucia’s death, to plan the Scholar’s memorial and revenge? With a shaking hand, she took the phone. Its screen was locked, and it looked exactly like a popular, mass-produced model. No one would’ve guessed it was custom-built, with apps specific to a secret society hunting supernatural evil. She didn’t have to access any of them to verify the truth of his words. If she touched an object, she
could learn about anyone who’d touched it before.
No doubt Nic, like all Knights, carried his phone with him at all times, which made handing it to her a rash act of vulnerability. Or was it? He was a warrior, and he was the one holding a gun.
But then he holstered the weapon beneath the coat, giving her a painful sliver of hope. He glanced around him, no doubt taking in the dingy thrift-store furniture and the single small window with peeling trim. Why should she feel ashamed? She didn’t care what he thought, and at least the place was hers, where she was free to do whatever she liked. But it must’ve been a jarring contrast to her chic Chelsea flat he’d visited once, along with a few others, including Lucia…
Closing her eyes, she searched for confirmation of her friend’s death.
She saw Nic walking down a dim hallway of glass and steel—El Dédalo, the huge subterranean headquarters in New Mexico. Although she’d never been there, it couldn’t have been anywhere else. A meeting in a room with ancient swords on the walls. Capitán Renaud, two women she didn’t know, and Samir Hassan, a powerful Knight and Lucia’s fiancé, who’d also been a friend of Sophie’s. Samir’s eyes were wide, mouth parted, as though he’d been physically stabbed in the gut. Jonathan West—her ex-boyfriend, the man she’d once thought she might love and be loved by forever—speaking in a hollow voice about the Tribunal, and of Lucia in their custody, taking her own life. Samir covering his face and weeping.
Her throat burned. Lucia. It was true.
What did Nic want with her? She cast her sight further to find Nic in a meeting where a middle-aged black man told Capitán, Jonathan, and a few others Sophie’s own story. How, in her stylish London flat, she’d removed a patch of her own skin to get rid of the Manus Sancti tattoo with the nanochips that tracked her location and vital signs. How she’d gotten on a container ship in Tilbury and stayed on it for over two months— Rotterdam and Hamburg, Papeete and Noumea, Sydney and Melbourne. How she’d taken a train from Savannah, Georgia, to Galesburg, Illinois, where she’d spent a year serving beer and pizza to college students and retirees, pretending to be a forlorn illegal immigrant from Russia, which was partially the truth, and collecting her meager hourly wages in cash along with the tips. The man who spoke was clearly a Diviner, one of their experts at technology and hacking. He, and likely a whole team, had laid her story bare.