Standing in front of the machine, Domek was only steps away from Imrich’s crumpled form. He focused on what was in front of him. Without the wisp inside lighting its tangle of wires, Imrich’s dark machine seemed spindly and nonthreatening. Domek had always loved the careful precision of gears and mechanics, but this machine was poison. It was difficult to believe that Imrich had found a way to drain a soul of its power and transfer it to another, destroying the very essence of what had once been a human being. Nothing should have been able to erase the last traces of a soul from the earth.
He examined it carefully, noting the key components in the faint light of the lamps around the square. Shaking the haziness from his head, he deftly removed the obsidian shard from the pijavice’s distillery, which now connected the globe to the rest of the machine. Imrich had not been satisfied with the pijavice’s magics. Domek frowned and unspooled a raven’s beak from a tangle of wire, disconnected a string of copper from the rest, and then stepped back to examine the machine. Without someone mechanically minded like Domek or Imrich to help them fill in the missing pieces, no one would know how to recreate the machine’s effects now.
Still, just in case.
Careful not to lose his uneasy balance, Domek leaned back and kicked the machine off the bottom step. It arced through the air, and then crashed on the ground, shattering the delicate machinery on the wet cobblestones below. Wires and gears launched free, covering the stones in glinting metal fragments. The noise echoed off the building façades like a gunshot.
Paluska whirled to look at the column, his eyes bright across the square. His head twitched, a strange, birdlike motion, too fast for a human. “Myska!” he roared, and lunged toward them. Ora braced herself between them and hissed, high and threatening.
The White Lady jolted to intercept him again, but stumbled, pressing a hand to an injury in her chest. Her light was dimming. Her eyes seemed drawn like a magnet to the jar in Ora’s hands. With another silent scream that contorted her face, she vanished into the night.
Left alone, Paluska and Ora collided in a blur of movement. They were both slowed by their injuries, and Ora was still hampered by the jar in her grasp. She dug her claws into his chest and slammed him into the ground, but he planted his feet into her stomach and sent her flying backward. She rolled, curled in on herself to keep the jar protected.
The distraction gave Domek enough time to limp down from the steps. His body was screaming for him to rest, but there was no time. As Paluska twisted to look at him, Domek stomped hard on his wrist, making the silver dagger clatter to the cobblestones.
“Traitor,” Paluska snarled.
A fist slammed into Domek’s calf like a train, and he fell to his knees. Gasping, he grabbed the dagger. With the speed of nearly ten years of training, he whirled and aimed it at Paluska.
His old leader jerked to attack him, but stopped when the blade pressed against his throat. The metal left a welt on the muddy skin.
Paluska panted, half-crouched on the wet ground.
“Look what you’ve become,” Domek said. “You’re what we always fought to stop.”
“You’re the one working with a pijavica,” he snarled.
“You’ve become a monster to fight the monsters. And I’m not talking about the powers.”
“After everything, you…” Paluska shuddered, the full body motion of a dog attempting to shake off water. Instead of water droplets, he sent a shower of sparks into the night. “There’s a voice,” Paluska said softly. “Inside me. I can’t…” Paluska scrubbed a hand over his eyes, and then ran it through his hair before tugging at the strands.
“The wisp. Why did you drink that? You have another soul inside you. It’s killing you,” Domek demanded.
Paluska twitched. It was grotesque, as though he were attempting to shake free of his own skin.
“Kill him,” Ora said from behind him. “It’s too late for him.”
“You have the power,” Domek told Paluska. “Surely you can put yourself back to normal. You’re stronger than this.”
Paluska looked up at him with pained eyes, and reached out a shaking hand.
Domek nodded and grasped it. “We can still stop this.”
Paluska surged upward. In one swift movement, he grabbed the dagger from Domek’s loose grip and jammed it into his chest. The breath was knocked from Domek’s lungs as a lightning-sharp pain lanced through him. “That’s always been your problem, Myska,” Paluska said, twisting the blade deeper. “You’re naïve.”
Ora appeared behind Paluska, pulling him off Domek and flinging him aside. Paluska skidded, but then clamored to his feet. His teeth were bared in hideous triumph. The dagger bounced across the ground, dark with Domek’s blood.
Domek tried to stand, to help, but fell back to the ground. The pain was blinding. He blinked against the rain, praying for Ora’s survival. She was the only one who could end this.
Ora snatched up the dagger and was on top of Paluska in a moment. He slammed a fist into her ribs, but she only backhanded him hard enough for the sound to echo across the square. There was no more banter, no more bright smiles. Moving with astonishing speed, she dragged the blade across Paluska’s throat.
Blood sprayed from the wound, and the skin around the gash turned gray.
Paluska’s face became a mask of horror just before his body turned to black ash in a swirl of fire. Ora lurched backward as the flame that consumed him grew taller and wider than his body, dancing in a spiral like an explosion that ate itself with every blossom. An ouroboros, the flame circled in to consume itself, and then vanished.
Black ash floated to the ground, and was washed away by the rain.
Ora tossed the dagger aside and ran back to Domek.
It was a cruel mockery of the scene with Sokol only hours before.
“No, no, Domek,” she said. She pressed down against his chest, but the blade had caused more damage when it had ripped free. She could hear the blood gurgling in his lungs.
“You did it,” he croaked.
Overhead, the rain stopped as quickly as it had started, leaving the square in surreal silence. Dawn was close now. The sky over the square was washed with gray at the edges.
“Hush,” she said. “Don’t talk.”
“I’m sorry. I made…so many mistakes.”
“You tried. That’s more than most can say.”
He coughed, and blood specked his lips. His breath rattled.
Ora was so damn tired of watching men die.
She stood up. “Don’t leave…” Domek whispered, but she ignored him.
She raced to the side of the column where she had left the jar and picked it up. Its ridges slotted against the new scars on her hands. “Kája,” she shouted. “Come out now.”
The wisp appeared silently beside her, flickering like a candle.
“Ora, no,” Domek whispered, watching them with pain-clouded eyes.
“Can you save him?” she demanded. “Can you help him?”
“They drained me of my power,” the wisp said, its voice a wavering rasp that had once been human. “I’m weak.”
“Damn it,” Ora choked through gritted teeth. Despair clawed at her throat. After everything they had gone through that night, she would still lose him.
“But he came back for me. I’ll try,” Kája said, drifting toward the fallen form. “Give me the order.”
“Kája,” Ora whispered. “Save him.”
The wisp floated over Domek’s chest, bathing him in a soft, warm glow. Under the light, it was clear how deep the blade had gone. The flesh was mangled, and dark blood pooled beneath him. Domek was no longer moving, staring with glazed eyes at the clouds overhead.
There was a long moment of stillness. The light pulsed, but the wound remained raw and ugly.
Then, slowly, so slowly, his flesh began to knit back together. When a pijavica healed, they pulled the life from the flesh they consumed to revert their bodies to their original state. The wisp seemed t
o speed up time. The wound scabbed over before her eyes, and then the scabs were shed for thick scar tissue.
The wisp’s light faded slowly, like a setting sun.
“Stop him before he dies,” Domek said. His voice was clear now, his lungs working steadily.
“Stop. You’ve done enough.”
Kája floated back, flame shivering. “He should survive. I…fixed the internal damage f-first.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Domek addressed the wisp, heaving himself into a sitting position. “Thank you, Kája.”
“I…” The wisp flickered, for a moment seeming like no more than the blaze at the tip of a match.
“He needs to go back in the jar. It will let him heal,” Domek said. “Right?”
“Yes,” Kája murmured.
Ora gave the order, and the small fire flowed back into the jar. “He wanted to save you.”
“Thank you for helping him.” He rubbed at his healed chest. “I thought that was the end.”
“That’s one powerful creature.” She held out the jar. “You should have this back.”
“I’ll take it, but I don’t want to be his master again. It’s time for me to stop making the decisions. I’m going to ask Kája what he wants me to do once he’s had time to heal. The wisps have been the victims from the beginning.”
“They have a lot of power,” Ora said mildly.
“So do you,” Domek said.
The protector of the innocent. Somehow, Domek’s designation of his enemies and friends had shifted, and she was grateful she’d seemed to end on the latter side. “Either way, take it back for now. I don’t have much longer tonight. Dawn is near.”
She helped him to his feet, and then Domek took the jar. Though she knew it hurt when his palms glowed, he didn’t flinch against the searing pain. Her own scars faded as though they had never been. He tucked the jar into his bag and held it tightly to his side.
Anton had broken free of his restraints and approached the column cautiously. Ora sneered at him, showing her fangs. He wasn’t paying her much attention. His voice was barely a croak when he said, “Domek. Are you okay? I saw you go down…”
“He will be.”
He stared at her mouth, eyes wide. She realized that her battle fangs were still extended.
“You’re not going to be an idiot, are you?” Domek asked him. He held a hand over where the wound had been in his chest, as though feeling the phantom pain.
“What happened to Paluska?”
He shook his head. “He drank the serum I took from the nest. Anton, you had to realize that Paluska’s plan was mad.”
“He was trying to change the world,” Anton said quietly.
“He saw power, and he couldn’t resist using it. He’s been manipulating you.”
“We needed strong, decisive action. We were finally going to be doing something, instead of fighting every night. He’s been telling me for months that I could follow in his footsteps.” He looked down at the ash smeared across the cobblestones. “I’m not sure I want to anymore.”
“Go home, Anton,” Domek said. “We can fix what Paluska broke. Don’t make it worse. It’s not too late for you.”
Anton nodded once. Domek frowned after him as he crossed the empty square alone.
Ora cleared her throat once he was out of earshot. “This would have been a good opportunity for you to set yourself up as the next leader of the lamplighters. That boy is desperate for someone to follow. You don’t have a political bone in your body, do you?”
“I don’t want to be in charge,” Domek said. “After all of this, I’m wondering whether our system is spoiled from the start. There has to be a better way. Someone who understands the shades of gray, and can make sure the lamplighters do too.”
Ora hummed. “I might know a candidate.” She looked at the ashes, barely visible against the mud. “What a disgusting man,” she said.
“The sun will be up any moment. What will you do?”
She glanced at him. He was still adjusting to the knowledge that she was a pijavica, but from his expression, the reminder that she couldn’t experience the sun didn’t bother him. “There’s a tunnel entrance nearby. The Old Town is full of them. I’ll use it to get somewhere safe for the day. I might not be able to make it home from here, but I’ll hole up somewhere.” He collected his fallen sword, wincing at its weight, and followed her out of the square.
“Can I help?” Domek asked.
“Once I’m somewhere safe, I’ll have a note sent to Lina for her to have someone collect me,” Ora told him. In the early morning, the main streets around the square were starting to see more activity. Most of those out were bakers and maids, up before the rest of the city to get everything in order. An older man gave them a second look as he passed, and she realized that after a night of fighting, her gown had been torn to ribbons. Again. She gave him a reassuring smile, which didn’t seem to alleviate his confusion. “I’m used to the hassles of daylight,” she continued. “The old underground sits beneath our feet. I’ve learned every tunnel and nook, like most pijavice do.”
“I’ve been down there. It’s not pleasant,” Domek said.
“It keeps us off your streets,” Ora said. They reached the side of the Old Town Hall, and the door that would lead downward. The city staff tried to keep it locked, but had not found any bars strong enough to keep out a determined pijavica. Hopefully the storm earlier had been short enough not to flood the tunnels. As she didn’t need to breathe, a waterlogged tunnel was more of an inconvenience than an impediment, but Ora wanted to get dry as soon as possible. “Consider it a gift. It keeps most of the monsters out of sight. You can avoid those of us who are just trying to get by.”
Domek turned to her. “What if I don’t want to avoid certain ones? I haven’t forgotten waking up to a kiss earlier. And you did help save my life. Does it mean you have forgiven me for how I reacted last night?”
It seemed he truly was not bothered by her monstrous pijavica form any longer. She had always known there was more to Domek Myska than his humble appearance. Smirking, she said, “I suppose I could find mercy in my heart, if you had a way to make it up to me. I—”
She saw his eyes widen just as she felt a shift in the air behind her. She turned, already ducking. Hands snatched the empty space where her head had been, but before she could react, her attacker followed up with a sharp knee to her chest. There was enough force behind the blow to send her flying backward. She landed on the cobblestones, the breath punched from her battered lungs. Snarling against the pain, she scrambled into a crouch, teeth and claws emerging with enough force to rip her skin.
Mayer was on the dark, pre-dawn street in front of them. Half of his face had been scorched in the tunnel explosion, leaving his skin blackened and blistered. With his pijavica regeneration speed, he would not have so much as a scar within the fortnight, as long as he consumed a few pints of blood. His clothes had fared even worse, leaving him in the tattered rags of a once posh outfit.
“You,” he snarled, pointing at Ora. “You ruined everything. You destroyed my research, everything I had built.”
Ora’s entire body was tense, still as a gargoyle. This was the monster who had killed Sokol, who had fallen to Czernin’s charms and betrayed his humanity. The grief she had been holding at bay suddenly threatened to overwhelm her, drag her into its depths.
Domek, standing between them, didn’t run. “You’ve lost. Leave now.”
“You’re a fool. The lamplighters have always been blind soldiers. The secret of immortality was right in front of you and you wasted your time trying to eradicate it,” Mayer said.
Pain had a distinctive scent, sour and bright as lemon. It lanced through the air as Domek lifted his sword with a shaking hand. Kája clearly had not been able to heal all of Domek’s injuries. Blood dripped from his arm. “Your experiments killed a friend of mine.” He tilted his head toward the center of the square, not taking his eyes from the scorched monster.
“And pushed several more to their own deaths.”
Mayer glanced at Ora. “Let’s see if this one dies as easily as Sokol did.”
Finally, the painful grip of grief released her, and she gratefully accepted the flood of fury in its place. “Sokol was twice the man you’ve ever been,” Ora spat. “Domek is mine. You won’t touch him.”
She leaped forward and tackled him to the ground. Her body screamed with protest, the myriad injuries of the week joining forces to slow her down. She fought against the locked muscles and clawed him across the face. It was a weak hit, especially since she was forced to use her non-blackened left hand, but her nails met the flesh mangled by the explosion and he hissed up at her.
She lashed out with her fangs, aiming for his neck, but a set of claws latched onto her shoulder and pushed her back. His fingers dug into the bullet hole Hackett had left in her skin. The world seemed to shrink to that glowing spot of pain. She groaned when Mayer used the grip to toss her aside. She skidded across the muddy cobblestones, wheezing. She fought to her hands and knees, and collapsed back down when her shoulder protested the weight.
Mayer leaped to follow her, but Domek stepped between them. He held the sword in one hand, keeping the jar cradled to his chest. “You fight to protect a pijavica,” Mayer said, swaying in the gray morning and watching Domek through narrowed eyes. “The lamplighter and the monster. And you both thought I was corrupting the natural order.”
“How many wisps did you kill in your experiments?” Domek challenged.
Ora fought to find her feet, hissing against the pain lancing through her body. Mayer may have been distracted by Domek’s posturing, but she could see his unsteadiness. The sword lolled in his grip, too heavy for a single hand.
“As many as I had to,” Mayer said. He lunged forward, mouth agape. Poison glinted from dozens of needle-sharp teeth.
Ora raced to intercept him. Using her full weight, she grabbed Mayer’s collar and jerked his gaping jaws to the side. They snapped closed beside her ear with the force of a rabid dog.
The Lights of Prague Page 33