The little light flew with a loud crack and struck the wall to Tom’s right as he shoved open the west doors. He’d thought a bomb had gone off the way the bullet blew a hole in the chapel and threw him down the stone stairs, out into the open plaza. He hadn’t a clue how close he’d come to having his soul stripped from his body. Rubbing his bleeding head, Tom wobbled and rose to stand again as Paolo climbed over the rubble on the stairs.
“Ultio sanctus!” Paolo cried out. A blazing white aura burst from him, and he stormed down the stairs looking like a man on fire, his eyes shining like suns. Stopping halfway across the plaza, he raised his hand and another bullet appeared in his palm. Tom froze in fear, and at the last moment he thought of a spell.
“Manus repercussa,” he mumbled, hoping Paolo wouldn’t hear.
“Anima discerptum!” Paolo commanded the bullet to fly. As he did, Tom raised his hands and winced. A bright green film appeared in front of him, and when the bullet struck, it cracked loudly and bounced back at Paolo but missed him by a thread. As it passed by, a ghostly double-image lurched from Paolo’s body and then vanished again, as if the attack had come close enough to tug on his soul. Paolo didn’t even flinch. His face radiated such intense anger he appeared oblivious to danger.
At that moment something stole the combatants’ attention. The bell in the southwest tower of the cathedral began to ring loudly. Someone in the tower was pulling on the ropes with all his might.
“What is this? Since when do devils have guardian angels?” Paolo was furious. “I would say you are lucky, Thomas Crowe, but this only means we’ll meet again on the execution block.” The incessant ringing drew the attention of the Bureau patrols nearby, and soon many more men in white uniform were filling the plaza. Among them were Macius and Decius, who had been sent to find Paolo when he didn’t report back to the Bureau in time.
“Excellent! Thomas Crowe!” said Decius, a chain link weapon snaking out of his sleeve, jingling as he approached. Tugging on his black gloves he smiled and greeted Paolo. “The Minister-General will be pleased to see this man in our custody. Well done, Paolo.”
“The Minister-General should be interested to know that this is the Lord Rainer Young who was reported to have arrived today,” said Paolo, flipping a hand in Tom’s direction.
“That explains the uniform,” said Decius. “And more importantly it explains the sudden loss of contact with Isla del Sol. The Minister-General is going to be upset with you, Thomas.” He smiled smartly and waved to his men. They promptly seized Tom and locked his hands in a pair of especially thick irons.
“How was your swim?” Tom asked, furrowing his brow.
“My swim? How droll,” said Decius, making a sour face as he turned away. “We’re taking him to the headquarters,” he told his men.
A single ray of light fell through the window of Tom’s prison cell and cast the glow of the moon on the greasy floor. He had been stripped of his uniform and had only his loin wrapping to wear. As the night wore on, the beam of light inched closer and closer, until it touched his bare toes. Against the wall he sat, doing nothing because, of course, he’d already tried feverishly to smash his way out. Even completely transformed, his strong arms, claws and fangs left not a scratch on the walls or iron bars. Clearly the Bureau had enchanted all the cells in the dark dungeon they’d left him in, so he didn’t waste any time wearing himself out. After banging on the walls and jerking on the iron bars a few times, he knew he wasn’t going anywhere the Bureau didn’t want him to go. Alone except for the watchful eye of Luna Mater peeking in at him, Tom sat awake, mind empty, until he heard the sound of delicate footsteps in the corridor outside his cell. Smelling something like the crisp scent of dry flowers, he knew who approached.
“Hello, Corvessa,” he said, although he could not make out any details of the face of the shadowy figure standing outside his cell.
“Hello, Thomas,” she replied, softly and sweetly. As if she were made of smoke, her body passed through the solid iron bars and she walked into the cell, swaying her hips and brushing her fiery hair over one ear, her blood red lips and pale, youthful face gleaming as the moonlight caressed it. Twinkling like emeralds, her beguiling eyes flirted with his.
“Well?” he asked, turning up one palm and shrugging a shoulder.
“Well?” She laughed in a deep, sensual tone. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?”
“Beg your pardon, but I assumed you were going to tell me anyway,” he said with a scowl, in no mood for her.
“Thomas,” she said, hurt and frowning, “why do you prick at me? I came to get you out of here, don’t you know?”
“I can’t imagine why,” he said, lazily getting to his feet and slouching against the iron bars as she played with her nails and felt him with her smiling eyes. “You have finally got me, after all. You caught your mouse, now you don’t want to eat it?”
“Who do you mean?” she inquired, feigning ignorance.
“You’re in with them … the Eight, or whoever, aren’t you? Why else would you know where to find me, hm?” Tom withheld none of his displeasure.
“Oh, Thomas,” she sighed, pouting and stepping close. “I don’t want you harmed. I came here so we could leave together.”
“I don’t understand.” Shaking his head wearily he rested his weight on one leg and scratched his chin as he looked up at the window indifferently.
“Thomas, the Eight are nothing more than a bunch of fools,” Corvessa assured him. “I did this all for you, Thomas. I sent them all to the ends of the earth so I could find you and bring you back to me, and so I could eliminate everything that has come between us and our beautiful destiny together.” She moved still closer, baiting him in a breathy voice.
“What is all this talk of destiny tonight?” he asked, scowling in annoyance. “Mine’s changed more times than I can count.”
“No, it hasn’t, Thomas,” Corvessa disagreed, placing a hand on his face. “It’s always been about us. I know you’re tired and hurt, but I’ve succeeded. You and I can be together. The world is ours now.”
“What do you mean it’s always been about us?” An eerie feeling crept into his arms and up his neck, and he stared suspiciously into her intense, wandering eyes. Did she really mean to suggest she’d engineered his involvement in every escapade he’d become a part of over the past few years? No, he denied it, that’s impossible!
“It’s taken a long time for us to be together,” she explained. “To create the Eight, to allow you to do all of the silly things you so stubbornly had to do—”
“Harlan is dead because of the Eight,” said Tom, raising his eyebrows and looking at her skeptically.
“Thomas, dear, you killed your brother because you were confused,” she corrected him. “He was the Second, but he died by your hand. Do not be upset with me. I did not want it to be that way.” Before he knew it, she had her arms around him, looking into his eyes pitifully.
“What about Paris? You knew I had a demon and you provoked it. Why? I came to Leon Beaumonte looking for revenge, but he wasn’t trying to take Molly from me. Speaking of her, where is she? She’s supposed to be here, waiting for me, and she isn’t. I’m sure the Eight have something to do with that as well.” Tom should have been shouting at the top of his lungs, but he wasn’t. He thought it meant that he was in control, handling his fury quite well, but it was not so. Corvessa’s floral perfume, green eyes and red lips were in control.
“Thomas, I’m sorry but …” Corvessa put a hand to her breast and looked away sorrowfully. “Jack Darcy captured the girl and your ship. The Bureau has been after that awful man for years. When they intercepted him in Bombay, he had already killed her and the others.”
“No …” Tom shook his head, looking away in pain. Before he had time to think through her lies, Corvessa pounced again.
“It will be all right, Thomas. We still have each other. I did so much for you, Thomas.” With her hands on his face and neck, she laid he
r head on his chest and breathed deeply. “I have lived for so long, and I have learned that the only way to get anything you want is to make war. To be sure, you must make everyone want what you want, and you will get it. I sent the world to war against your kind, my kind, even one another, and I made you famous. I made you the one everyone wanted to find, and slowly you came back to me, while the fools killed themselves and handed the world to me. Now we can share it, Thomas.”
She backed away from him, leaning against the bars. “I spent years and years for this night.” With her hands behind her, she hooked her fingers around the iron bars, moaning the word as if it stung her tongue to say it.
“You truly did all of this?” Thomas asked as his eyes widened in disbelief. Another chill tickled his spine as it all sank in.
“I did,” she said happily, like a little girl, as if Tom had given her the impression he was proud of her.
“You’re mad.” Tom was stunned.
“Love is mad, Thomas.” Corvessa stepped close to him again, her eyes searching his face, genuinely surprised by the sound of disappointment in his voice.
“I don’t love you, Corvessa,” he said flatly.
“You … what?” She recoiled and took a step back, drawing up her arms.
“I don’t want out. I don’t want to go with you. If I did get out of here, and Molly was truly dead, I would swallow a bloodstone before I came to you for anything, least of all your love.” The blue in his eyes looked pale, dead.
Corvessa’s hands shook as she folded her arms and curled inward, looking away and blinking her eyes in dread. She looked as if she was trying to speak, as if, on the inside, she was screaming, but her lips merely trembled and parted. She gasped, and her eyes widened. If she had a soul, it had just fractured like an icicle touched by hot breath. Her hair fell in waves over her shoulders and into her face as she wept, quickly walking past Tom and slipping through the iron bars like a phantom. Her footsteps grew quiet, and she was gone.
*
On the night of October 31st the city of London came into sight. Molly stood on the main deck of The Roatán Butterfly, hands holding the railing, cinnamon hair catching the cool light of the moon and getting tangled in the breeze. She’d been there ever since the ship entered the mouth of the Thames, despite her sore back and her heavy, engorged middle. Shivering, she chewed her bottom lip and rocked on her heels, watching the waterway and looking for Hutch’s Wharf. On the quarterdeck Chera hummed and balanced the helm with one finger, eyes sweeping riverside streets, counting the white uniforms. Ine and Geoffrey huddled by the railing as well, not making any sound, and Leon paced slowly between the masts, watching the moonlight shining on his black boots and tapping his fingers on the hilt of Fantome.
Chera steered the ship slowly along the river and crept up on Hutch’s Wharf, cruising along and tucking into a stretch of pier that was not too occupied. There she and Leon worked quickly to secure the ship to the pier as the others gathered their things. While they were busy, an unexpected ally revealed itself to everyone. Yata, chattering softly, swooped down from the sky and perched on the pier, clicking its beak at Ine.
“Hello, my friend.” Ine greeted it happily. “How did you find me?”
“Does this mean …” Molly whispered, looking at Ine in amazement.
“I do not know,” said Ine, picking up Yata as it took the form of her loyal sword and fastening it and the sheath around her waist.
After the ship was immobile, Chera and Leon folded up the sails and met Ine, Geoffrey and Molly on the pier. Molly removed the cloaking spell from the ship but disguised its name, worried that it might be recognizable to the Bureau. Then, with some haste, the five set out for Thomas’s house. Because Molly could not hide them all from view, the task of sneaking past every patrol on every street was painstaking and tiring, especially for Molly, unable to run and throw herself into the shadows as nimbly as the others.
While trying to cross the street by Bormouss & Ruth’s gin shop—an especially difficult, well-lit area—the crew was spotted by someone in the next alley. Entirely unaware, they continued to whisper to one another, arguing about when to wait for the patrol to pass by, when to hide again, and how many to send across the street at once. Molly was the first to detect the presence of someone who didn’t belong to the group. Thinking she heard a breath, she turned around quickly and silently, raising one hand and illuminating the alley while she drew one of her pearl pistols with the other, aiming it at a surprised stranger, who held up his empty hands and then put a finger to his lips. He did not appear to be a soldier, for he wore civilian’s clothes, a suit and jacket. Fairly old, perhaps a decade younger than Ozias, he slouched, making himself look much shorter than he was. His hair was greyed, thin and long, tied behind his head; his eyes, two different colors—one blue, one green. The arms of his jacket drooped as he beckoned Molly with one skinny arm. Molly gave him a hard look and shook her head, keeping the barrel of her pistol trained on him. By this time, the others had turned and were waiting and watching, all wondering who the stranger was and if Molly would shoot.
“Lucia?” the man whispered. “Lucia Vasquez?” He recoiled when Molly pulled back the hammer on the pistol and held up his hands again. “What are you doing out at this hour? It is dangerous!”
“Who are you?” Molly whispered back loudly.
“My name is Remy Vanille. You do not know me, but—”
“Then I ought to shoot,” Molly threatened.
“Wait, Lucia,” said a second voice. Another man appeared from behind Remy and showed himself. It took Molly no time to recognize her father, Gabriel Vasquez. “You must come with us. Thomas needs our help. There is no time to explain out here.”
“Father …” Molly’s arm weakened and she lowered her gun, running down the alley and throwing her arms around him. Immediately she felt hot tears come to her eyes as she sniffled and fought her urge to cry.
“Oh, Lucia, I am happy to see you as well, my beautiful daughter!” Gabriel held her and smiled, keeping his voice down while wanting to shout for joy. “Ah, and this is Thomas’s ... I hope?” he said, grinning awkwardly and patting her bulging stomach. Molly laughed and nodded, wiping away her tears.
“I’m so sorry,” Molly apologized, extending her hand to Remy.
“No, no. Your suspicion is understandable,” said Remy, waving his hands. “But please, we must be going.”
“You said Thomas needs us,” said Molly, turning to her father and suddenly remembering what he’d said. “What do you mean? He’s alive? Father, is he alive? How can it be?” Molly cupped a hand over her mouth as another stream of tears fell over her cheeks. Though she was smiling, her pinched eyes looked to be in pain.
“Yes, Lucia, he is alive. He arrived about three weeks ago, but the Bureau has him. They are holding his public trial tomorrow, and you know what that means if we do not help him.” Gabriel had so badly wanted to delay mentioning the truth about Thomas’s predicament, but since he’d last seen his daughter, he vowed never again to withhold anything from her.
“All right,” she said, turning to the others. “Is everyone ready to go?”
“Molly.” Leon stepped forward. “If it is all right with you, I will now say my adieus. I wish you and Thomas the best, but there are matters I cannot leave to chance by accompanying you much farther.”
“No, I understand, Leon. Thank you for everything you’ve done. Thomas is not here, but I speak for both of us when I say we are grateful.” Molly rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath, settling herself down as she smiled at Leon.
“It has been a pleasure, all of you,” said Leon, looking at each of them. “Until we meet again.” With a wave he turned and went back to the street, looking both ways and quickly sneaking off into the dark.
“Let’s be away, then,” Molly told the others, following Remy and Gabriel.
Leon came upon the Pagani estate just after the turn of midnight. If there were any light within, he could no
t see it in the windows, which were covered with curtains inside and grown over on the outside with ivy. Moonlight spilled over the roof and ran down the front of the house, painting it pale white, like bones. Leon opened the gate and stepped into the little yard, letting the gate swing shut behind him as he approached the step. Stopping at the door he banged the knocker against it and waited. A young vampire answered it quickly, opening the door and smiling, mistaking him for a typical visitor.
“Hello,” she said charmingly. “Which of the girls invited you, if I may ask?” Her voice was accented with French characteristics, which Leon thought was odd for a member of the Red Legion.
“I was not invited. I came to speak with Sylvia LeRouge,” he answered.
“I’m sorry, Madame LeRouge is not here,” she said, thinking his request to be unusual. “Oh!” she gasped, stepping out from the dark and looking closely at him. “My lord? Prince Leon, is it you?”
“Gianna?” Leon was just as shocked. When the girl stepped into the light he knew her immediately. As the moon touched her, her ash-blond hair came alive; her pale skin shone as her cool, azure eyes looked up into his. She looked as if she were made of snow and ice, dressed in a dainty, lacy blue and white dress.
“I didn’t know what to think had become of you,” she whispered. “Everything is so uncertain. Please, come inside. Let’s not linger out here.”
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