She let out a short, humorless chuckle. “Thank you for thinking that.”
Though she knew her gesture was genuine, Frank closed his eyes and let his head fall.
“I really do forgive you,” she said, patting his shoulder with her other hand. “I just think we didn’t get the chance to get to know each other before you decided not to like me.”
With a sigh, he glanced up at the ceiling and back down at her. “Weeee not getttt chanccce now,” he muttered. “Suzzzzette away—Frrrrank stay herrrre.” He frowned. “Lady ignorrrrre Frrrrank—mannnn upssstairs. Maidsss borrrrred with Frrrrank.”
Suzette couldn’t hide the pain she felt from the loneliness he poured out. She quickly dropped her head, forcing her features to remain chipper. Gulping her wavering emotions down, she looked up into his eyes and forced a smile. “How about I come down once a month?” she suggested. “Christmas is coming up, too. I’ll get you something nice. How does that sound?”
Frank looked hopeless as he pulled his eyes away.
Her nerves felt like they were on the fritz as she desperately tried to keep her cool and win him over. “And maybe, when I’m done doing my work, you’ll be as good as new. Then we can just hang out whenever. Be friends, you know?” She let out a shaky breath, surprised that she genuinely meant that. Just thinking about Frank used to come attached with dreadful thoughts of Dante. But now, sitting next to the odd creature, drawing close to his emotional struggles and his frustrations, Suzette no longer saw him as Franklin Stein, Dante’s older brother. He was just Frank, her friend, and Frank needed someone. “Maybe we can get that second chance.”
His whole form slowly began to sulk. His eyes closed as his misery became evident. Without a word, he shook his head.
The gesture stung Suzette. In that moment, she envied Jack and his abilities to see into people’s jumbled minds. She hoped Frank just felt overwhelmed by so many thoughts and emotions, but she also feared he meant to cut off the hope of their reconciliation. Disappointed, she leaned back in her seat and sat in silence with him for a full, agonizing minute. Then slowly, she grinned to herself. I won’t give up that easily.
—
The towering mansion was calm and quiet as it came into view, as usual. Even under the light of the full moon, it looked so pristine; a happy, welcoming place that may be found in the pages of a child’s fantasy book. But Zoltan knew better than to believe the façade, all too aware of the evil that lurked inside. As his car door opened, he paused a moment to take in the sight of such a malevolent beauty, fearing what might become of him. He dreaded bringing such unwanted news, but it had to be done; if the Countess found out the information elsewhere, it would be his life that would suffer.
Heaving out a deep sigh, he grabbed the small cardboard box from the seat next to him and got out of the car. He wanted nothing more than to run back to his vehicle, but he forced his feet to journey up the steps. When the butler met him at the door, he gave Zoltan a dismal glare. Remaining silent, the butler led Zoltan through the house toward the back where he abandoned the guest in the sunroom.
The lady of the house was seated facing away from the door, towards the gardens just beyond the glass. The only part of her visible was her long, white hair brimming over the top of the cozy chair in which she sat. She did not turn to acknowledge his presence—for she never deigned to acknowledge those beneath her station—though he had no doubt she knew he was there. She stiffly lifted a small teacup from the little side table next to her and took a sip. “For your sake, you better have news,” she said.
He fidgeted with the box in his hands. “I fear, Countess, that it is not news you would like to hear.”
She remained silent, taking another sip.
“She declares her resignation,” he continued. When his throat dried, he gave a small cough and a gulp.
The Countess laughed airily—an echoing, hollow sound—but he could not tell if it was from what he had said or if she could hear his discomfort. Knowing her, it was both. “Did you tell her that no one resigns?”
“We told her,” Zoltan said, trying to keep his voice as level as possible. He tightened his grip on the box to keep his hands from shaking. “We warned her, but she insisted, so we—”
The porcelain teacup shattered against the wall next to his head, splashing him with warm tea. After recovering, he glanced over at the elderly woman, her wild, piercing, and soulless blue eyes boring into him. Then suddenly, she gripped her frail arm and let out a grunt, releasing Zoltan from her death glare as she looked away. Gritting her teeth, she lowered herself back into her seat. The physical exertion of the outburst had clearly been too much for her old bones.
“I should have known when he was gone, she would do this.” The Countess’s voice trembled through her clenched jaw. “I should have kept her in sight.” She cursed bitterly. “No, I should have just killed her the moment they put that man in his grave! No one leaves!”
Zoltan hesitated but slowly walked over to the tremulous woman. It was difficult to tell who shook more, though their reasons were much different. Facing her, he took in her fragile build and wondered how so much power could reside in such a weak vessel. He set the box on the table next to the teapot.
Her shaking hand came down from her face and her shrewd eyes glared at it. “What…is this?” It barely came out.
“She gives you this in hopes that you will spare her,” he said, trying to sound calm.
For a long minute, the Countess stared at it, visibly disgusted by its presence. But curiosity eventually got the best of her. The Countess inched to the edge of her seat and opened the flaps with an uncharacteristic tenderness, peering in cautiously.
Her shoulders fell, the tension replaced with disappointment. She pulled out a container of glowing, blue liquid and held it up in the light. “This is supposed to invoke my mercy?” she asked quietly, her words dripping with a subtle venom.
“Do you remember hearing about the American doctor and his experiments?” Zoltan said, taking a desperate step forward. “Jill’s master wanted the doctor’s chemical. He believed it could save his life. Jill took an extra sample while the doctor visited.”
As he spoke, the woman leaned back into her chair lazily and glared at the chemical. “And where is Jill’s dear master, now?” she demanded with a cruel, cynical sneer. A sparkle of glee touched her eyes, bitterly rejoicing in the fact that the man was rotting in the ground.
Zoltan saw the uselessness of his argument. So, instead, he said, “Dorian Gray has developed an ability from the chemical. He—”
“You think speaking of Dorian Gray will impress me?” She turned her glare to her lackey once more, her razor-sharp nails digging into the arms of the chair. “Do you think me a fool?”
Zoltan cringed, almost feeling those sharp nails digging into his own flesh. Glimpsing into her hateful eyes made him quake and he had to look down. There was only one last chance. This couldn’t go wrong, or there would be Hell to pay. He clenched his sweaty palms and exhaled shakily. Then he dropped to his knees before her and gathered up all the little courage he had. “Countess Báthory, Van Helsing is involved,” he whispered, his voice trembling. Finally, he looked up into her bitter face.
He watched as her expression morphed from fury into a deep intrigue.
“Jill believes Van Helsing wants the chemical out of your hands,” he went on. “She even had a run-in with him when trying to get more intel on the doctor and his work.”
The Countess’s wrinkled lips curved up into a smile. Chuckling, she asked, “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
Canto XX
Suzette hurried out of the police station break room and weaved through the busy building, careful not to spill the piping hot cup of tea in her hand on the working officers and detectives. Plus, she would hate to ruin her new outfit; it was more mature and businesslike than she was used to, but she still managed to keep some brightness with a pink blouse to accompany her gray pencil-sk
irt. She felt comfortable working among the cops, especially directly next to the police chief himself. Better than a fake personal assistant job, she thought, wishing she could throw the thought across the distance that now divided her and the Lady Augustine. But her heart sank at the thought, knowing that the more time Lady Augustine spent with the Baron, the less time she could possibly spend with Suzette visiting on the phone. Suzette had to remind herself that it also meant more time to develop her role as Beatrice Portinari. As she neared the back office covered in glass partitions and drawn-up blinds, her pace slowed, a foreign figure inside making her hesitate.
Officer Field stood with the Chief in his office, both of their heads hanging over the desk.
Here we go. Suzette let out a small sigh. Mentally prepared, she stepped up to the cracked-open door and peeked her face in, knocking on the glass window lightly. “Excuse me, sir. You asked me to get you some tea.”
“I’m almost done with Chief, Bea,” Field said in a deceptively patient voice. But as he looked up at her, his glare said the same thing it usually did: “Buzz off.”
“It’s fine, Warren,” the Chief said instead, straightening his back. He waved Suzette in.
Officer Field leaned closer to his boss. “Sir, do think that’s wise?” he asked quietly.
“She’ll be fine.” The Chief held out his hand.
Suzette hurried over and gave him his tea from across the desk, catching a glimpse of a map of the north part of the city on a small, printer-sized piece of paper.
He took a sip and pointed at the paper. “Now, you’re the only one who knows this route, Field,” the Chief explained. “I want it to stay that way.”
She took a step away from the desk but her boss drew up a hand to stop her. Hiding her surprise, she obeyed.
“I understand, Chief.” Field glanced up at Suzette darkly and quickly back down at the map.
“Good.” The boss took up the map. “I’ll get a copy of this to you in a minute.”
“Yes, sir.” With a nod, Field started around the table and brushed past Suzette, his brown eyes boring into her until he was clear out the door.
The Chief scanned over the paper and then handed it to Suzette. “Go make a copy of this for Field, will you? Bring me back the original. Be discreet.”
She blinked, surprised by his trust, and looked down. It didn’t take her long to figure out that “point A” was the station and “point B” was the psychiatric hospital where Hester was to be relocated. A long, complicated line showed a route between them.
“Something wrong, Beatrice?”
She gulped and looked up at the Chief, knowing that her anxiety must have been written all over her face. “It’s a bold move,” she tried to say steadily, “placing Hester under the care of just one officer. She has some people who want her dead.”
“Better than making a spectacle,” he replied casually. “If I put her in an armored truck and hauled her out with a line of cop cars, it would paint a bigger target, don’t you think?”
She shrugged, hoping to mimic his coolness. “Or it might just be a chance for a really ticked-off mobster to snatch her up easier.”
“They’d have to be pretty ticked to chance going up against Warren Field.” He sat back in his chair and enjoyed his drink.
“Don’t you think the death of Ceasario Acerbi’s son is motive enough to make Ceasario chance it?”
The Chief rested his cup on his desk. His eyes narrowed at her.
She gulped and flexed her fingers away from the paper before gripping it again, embarrassed by how bold and insubordinate the question had sounded. She hadn’t intended it. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“It is motive enough to make him chance it,” the Chief admitted. “That’s why I’d rather send Mrs. Prynne over quietly than lose any of my men in a big display that draws Acerbi out.”
“Of course.” She waved the paper up. “I’ll go do this now.”
“That would be wise.” He sipped his tea.
She turned abruptly and hurried out, head low. She made her way over to the tiny copier room and stood behind one of the detectives as he busied himself at the machine. As she waited, she held the map against her chest, trying to hide it inconspicuously. Curious, she peered down at the map and frowned before hiding it again. She knew her dad would never have trusted a newbie assistant with such information. But then again, she used to live in a small town. Maybe it was different up in the big city.
When the detective walked away, she stood in front of the machine, opened the lid, and set the map in place.
She quickly drew back her fingers as another’s hand came down and heavily closed the lid. “Hey there, Bea.” Officer Field leaned against the top of the copier and glared down at her.
“Officer Field,” she said, sounding as cordial as she could. She pressed the copy button and let the machine gurgle before spitting out a duplicate by his side. “Chief asked me to make you a copy.”
“Listen, kid, I don’t like how you just weaseled your way into the Chief’s trust after just a few weeks,” he snarled through barely-moving lips. “It makes you look suspicious. Maybe even a little intentional.”
She maintained a calm attitude. “Sorry you think that way.”
He stood straight and snatched up the paper, his harsh eyes never leaving her face. “If you’ve got anything to hide, you’ll be more than sorry.” He slowly made his way over to the door. “See you ‘round, Bea.” Then he disappeared around the corner.
Suzette gulped and waited a moment, making sure he wouldn’t return. Then she turned back to the machine and pressed the copy button again. The mechanism roared and she cringed at the sound, tapping her foot as she impatiently waited for the copy. Finally, the machine spit out the paper. She quickly snatched it up, folded it sloppily, and stuffed it in her shirt. If the Chief didn’t want Hester to have more protection, the Onyx Fox would have to compensate.
—
Suzette moved from rooftop to rooftop, using the grapnel on her belt for a boost. City traffic kept Officer Field’s car from moving too fast down below, but just fast enough to get her lungs going. As a stitch developed in her side, she grew desperate to get to Bram, who waited at the halfway point. He would be able to pick up a lot of the slack. Jack was at the finish line, waiting eagerly at the hospital.
“Bram, do you see them yet?” she asked, sniffing back the effects of the cold, winter air.
“No,” he said.
She groaned.
“Wait, I see them now.”
Breathless, she rolled to a halt, made sure her mask was still in place, and glanced down again, keeping low to the rooftop. Ahead of the line of cars in traffic, a few people stood out around a hotdog cart or sat at the outside tables of the diner that sat at the corner of the intersection up ahead. Sitting at one of the tables was a large man, hiding behind a fanned-out newspaper. Bram’s aviators peered out from over the top, reflecting a ray of the fleeting sunlight up into her face. Then they disappeared again behind the paper.
She darted forward again, fighting her aching muscles as they cried out in protest. You’re almost there! she told herself. Just keep going!
A loud crash rang through the air and screams erupted from the crowd.
Suzette stopped and looked down again.
The police car she’d been tailing sat upside-down in the middle of the intersection, a huge, black dent in its side. The figure of a man was running toward it, his arms ablaze.
Suzette leaned forward over the roof’s ledge. “Bram, what happened?”
“A ball of fire hit the side of the car and flipped it. Neither of them seem responsive.”
The man on fire jumped on the car’s undercarriage and threw his arms out, rivers of fire snaking from his hands. He slowly and deliberately turned, encircling himself and the car in almost a full ring of high, flickering flames, blocking off three of the roads and leaving the small, non-busy road behind him untouched, but igniting sections of all four buil
dings in the intersection.
“Bram!” she said. “Bram, you’re closer! Help her!”
“It’s too public,” he said. “I can’t. I’m sorry”
Her teeth gritted together in frustration as she watched him hang back outside the diner, one of the many faces in the city crowd that had gathered to escape the flames of the surrounding buildings.
She watched as the flames on the man’s arms died away. He hopped down off the car and reached into one of the shattered windows. How did he do that? she wondered. She could make out his dark hair and his white t-shirt, but she didn’t see anything in his hands capable of causing such a big flame. “Bram, please!” she begged.
“I can’t,” he repeated.
She groaned again and anxiously bounced on the balls of her feet, watching intently for a moment to intercede. The man began to pull away from the car, tugging out a figure with long, light brown hair.
Now!
Suzette stood back, aimed her grapnel at the building across the way, and jumped off without a second thought. The moment her feet left the roof, a fluttering sensation filled her stomach; she had never crossed such a big gap before. Hurtling down toward the flames, she let out a squeal but forced her mind to focus. As the man began to round the car, dragging Hester’s limp form, Suzette brought her legs up and aimed with care. Her feet connected with his body and he flew sideways, away from the car, and landed hard on the pavement a small distance away.
Suzette softly landed on top of the car, hopped onto the ground where Hester had been dragged out, and checked for a pulse. When Suzette felt the steady rhythm in the woman’s neck, she quickly darted to where the man rolled painfully on the asphalt, trying to find his bearings. He let out a groan and started to push himself up.
“I’m sorry,” she said snidely to the man, standing up straight. “Too dramatic of an entrance for you?”
He’d barely gotten off his feet before he threw his arm up at her, sending a fireball zooming toward her. Suzette jumped out of the way, letting the flames barely miss Hester and knock the back end of the cop car. When she turned back to him, her blood went cold.
Blind World (The Onyx Fox Saga Book 1) Page 45