Archon (7 page)
“I am. Your naïveté is off the charts. Most of the female students know better than to walk with me alone in a dark alleyway. Most people in general know not to bother with me at all.” He turned on her, quicker than thought, pinning her back against a brick wall that scratched and tugged at her skirt. Kim’s hands met the wall on either side of her head, and he leaned in close, his honey-colored eyes catlike in the dark. Angela’s heart hammered, a thin trickle of sweat touching her blouse collar. His mouth was so close, its breath warmed her neck. “Haven’t you heard the news? What if I’m the serial killer that’s been murdering people in the city? What if I’m going to cut your throat this very second?”
The crow screeched in the background, frantic. Warning Angela away.
Even a bird had better survival instincts than she did. She grabbed Kim’s collar, pulling him closer. “Then do me a favor and get it over with.”
He stared at her. Perhaps trying to gauge how serious she was.
A second later, he let go, stepping away from her and back into his smooth, gentlemanly persona as if there’d never been a change. Too bad. She was hoping he’d actually follow through on the threat. Unless he was holding back simply to spite her. “Brendan,” he said gently, running a hand through his bangs again, “has been missing for at least a week. We were under the assumption he took a vacation at the start of the semester.”
“So you do know him?”
“Not very well. I’m somewhat of an outcast in his social circle. I can’t imagine then”—he sounded satisfied with himself—“why his girlfriend would cheat on him with me.”
“Just like I can’t imagine why the Vatican tolerates her witch sorority. That is, if what I’m hearing is true.”
Kim was silent for a short while, but at last he approached her more slowly, reaching out to touch her long hair. Angela let him examine it, softened both by his attractive eyes, and the delight of knowing that—at least in Luz—she might actually be a step above a typical beauty like Stephanie in desirability. Dating Kim was still a bad idea. And it was hard to figure out why she felt so guilty about this when Stephanie was also two-timing Brendan. Maybe it was because, despite being called a witch, the girl seemed somewhat normal. But there was always the chance that if Angela played the game well enough, Kim would give her information about Stephanie that could prove useful in the future. If Nina was telling the truth about her, it never hurt to threaten blackmail when the situation turned foul. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Angela said. “I might be insane, just like you said. I could be even crazier than a serial killer. It’s not smart to get involved with someone like me.”
“You said keep my eyes to myself,” Kim replied, “not my hands.” He tugged on the lock of her hair and let it slip through his fingers. “Stephanie told me you refused her invitation to join the sorority.” He shook his head. “That wasn’t very smart either, now was it?”
“Is that why you’re interested in me? Because I said no?”
“Your paintings helped,” he said, his tone cool. “I’d planned on asking you that night—if I walked you back to your dormitory—what your source of inspiration happened to be? Certainly no one you know?”
He was interrogating her. Perhaps just like he interrogated Stephanie whenever he got a chance. The only difference was that he and Angela weren’t in a bed. Yet. “Is there really any way of knowing them?” she said, taking the chance. “Angels, I mean?”
“Perhaps.” His smile laughed at her. “Although I’m not about to tell you here. I’ll be late for my class if you don’t let me go. Student teachers are bound by the general rules of the Academy.” He tapped his wrist, sighing. “There are penalties, none of them very fun.”
“Then why don’t you come to my dormitory tomorrow night?”
“Alone?” His face was even more handsome in the dim light, the shadows hollowing out the sharp angles of his cheekbones. “That’s not a smart thing to do either, Miss Angela Mathers. We could get into trouble, you and I. What would your friend think? I don’t believe she’s very fond of me.”
Whether he was talking about Sophia or Nina, it didn’t really matter anymore. Angela had made up her mind. “I’ll make sure that nobody bothers us.”
Kim examined her for the last time. Then, apparently deciding to take a chance himself, he took her hand and gave it a light kiss. “And I’ll make sure that you don’t regret it.”
His lips were as cool as his voice and soft.
“Now why don’t you follow me until we’re safely indoors?”
Angela strolled behind him, slightly aware of the crow dancing straight ahead, wings flapping. She was feeling sick inside, and a little queasy at how easily their little rendezvous had been planned. They were going to talk—that was all—but already it seemed defined as something taboo. Kim’s looks weren’t helping either. He was finely built, with a delicate nose and thin lips, and his eyes and skin contrasted artistically with the inky mess of his hair. His voice promised secrecy and savory things. How many female students—how many blood heads—did he investigate like this on a regular basis? Stephanie might have been the prime candidate to be the Ruin, but she could hear the priests granting Kim a special kind of dispensation to determine how well that theory held. They’d probably schooled him to be clever and charming.
“Are you keeping up?” he said, pausing to wait for her.
She caught up to him, watching him fiddle more with whatever was in his coat pocket. This time he pulled out a strip of paper. Its edges had curled in the humid air, slightly obscuring the Latin words written along its length, but Angela recognized a prayer of some kind. Kim tossed the paper at the crow, muttering something under his breath, his voice taking on that shaky, nervous quality she remembered hearing before they’d left the church.
The bird spiraled up and away, screeching in a fury.
It wasn’t until they turned the corner of the street that they saw the dead body.
Or saw what was left of it splayed in a large puddle near the corner of the Theology Center. The academic building was a tower so tall that it dwarfed most of the others in the Academy’s Eastern District—its walls all poorly set brick, stone, and the buttresses and gables one would expect of a cathedral. Lightning raced across the sky, webbing the clouds around its central spire, and at the peak rested heavenly shadows, the terribly beautiful statues of angels and demons, some grasping flickering lamps. One of the demons even seemed to shift position, though Angela was certain it was an illusion caused by the rain, the mist, and the difficulty of picking out details from such a distance. The corpse, though, rested in a dank corner of the alley opening out near the tower, the stone street eventually slanting toward a cliff that spoke of one of Luz’s older, lower levels.
The dead student was a young woman, one missing an arm and a leg.
Surprisingly, what Angela saw disturbed her less than the mangled rat at her bedroom door. Mostly because she was struggling with the disappointment that it hadn’t been her lying there, bloodless and ravaged. Dead at last. The crow Kim had chased away must have been picking at the body, warning them away from its meal.
“Aren’t you glad you had me for company?” Kim was saying. He sighed, sounding more angry than afraid. Sweat ringed his collar, and he brushed back a few drops from underneath his bangs. “Luz”—his tone was unforgiving—“tends to devour the naive. I hope you’ll learn from this.”
Actually, you wouldn’t believe how disappointed I am.
“Yes,” she said instead, very slowly. “I guess you’re not a serial killer after all.”
Kim grabbed her by the arm, pulling her out of the alleyway and into the stark lamplight near the Center. No one had noticed what street they’d used to enter, and a passing trio of academic officials nodded at them, smiling slightly as they entered the building. Once inside, Kim assumed his usual calm demeanor, the terse professionalism in his voice mixing well with the greetings of the other novices, most of them milling and spilling into various classrooms. A few students glanced at Angela but quickly sped off to their assigned rooms, while others sat beneath an elegantly carved statue—an angel holding up a lamp that resembled the sun.
“Until tomorrow,” Kim said to her, briefly touching her hand. His hushed tone was filled with more warnings. His gaze was cool and measured.
Obviously, there would be no discussion about going to the authorities and informing them of murder. With Kim so involved in Stephanie’s affairs, he probably couldn’t afford to be a suspect. That red splash in his bangs marked him as her property, of course. Besides his reputation, which could always be more lies than truth, it was the only safe thing he could flaunt.
“Until tomorrow,” Angela said.
But tonight, she was sure of it, there would be many guilty, bloody dreams.
There are some things worse than death. Pray you never encounter them.
—
B
ROTHER
F
RANCIS,
Encyclopedia of the Realms
T
he elevators had fallen into neglect long ago, forcing Kim to take the primitive, circuitous route up through a maze of steep and spiraling stairwells. By now his legs ached, their muscles no better than rubber, his every step more ponderous than the last. He’d been journeying through the upper fourth of the Academy’s infamous Bell Tower, its innards a dark, forbidding maze of smudged walls, cracking plaster, and grimy, lead-paned windows. Most of the Tower’s lower chambers were used as storage space, but the top three floors had the distinction of possessing three separate chapels, none of them in official use, but all of them used on a regular basis by Kim, by Stephanie, or by anyone who wanted to host a private ritual. Today, though, he was aiming for the Tower’s pinnacle, where the Vatican’s hundred-year-old brass bell had once rung out the hour on the hour, but fell silent after numerous seasons of harsh weather took their toll, crazing the bell and splitting it down the middle. Now it was a relic, hanging in shadows seething with bats and rats.
And much, much worse.
He dragged himself up the last set of stairs, turning onto a rickety landing. Rain tinkled against a nearby window, dampening the sound of flapping wings.
Shadows flickered.
The crow paused on her newest perch, cocking her head sideways, peering through the pane. Kim listened to the notes of the falling water, half glancing at the bird, fingering the stolen keys in his pocket. Finding the right one at last, he slipped its metal into the keyhole. The door groaned as he pushed, nudging it open.
Two rats squeezed through the crack, scuttling over his feet and down the stairwell.
The smell was almost overpowering. Rodent urine and bat feces. Decaying meat. But the Bell Attic was in reality more cavernous than its outer architecture—and its smell—suggested, most of its vermin hiding in holes chipped out of the stone or nesting near the bell’s metal supports. The low, sloping roof was mostly to blame, as it kept the wind from entering and flushing out the stench. Kim picked his way around a mound of bat dung and a selection of hollowed-out bones. “Troy.”
Silence.
At least she couldn’t fool him. Light outside, no matter how scanty, meant Troy’s presence inside, and the sunbeams had at least another half hour before they disappeared completely. But standing exposed in her territory like this, alone, ignorant of where she was roosting, was far more dangerous. No matter how familiar his scent might be, her hunger could always overcome her common sense. Kim stared up into the darkness, barely able to discern the beady eyes of bats staring back at him. If he took a few careful steps, keeping the wall against his shoulders—
A human arm, shredded to the elbow joint, dropped at his feet.
Ten black fingernails reached down from the gloom, pinching into the stone near his head. Troy appeared soon afterward, and their faces were parallel, inches apart.
“It’s about time,” she said.
Kim bit back the scream in his throat.
Troy’s corpse-white skin, her large yellow eyes, those short, sharp teeth. No matter how many times he looked at her, the terror refused to die. And though Troy might have been somewhat typical of the Jinn, her stealthy silence was second to none. She had a horrific way of creeping up on him, on anything, without giving herself away. Often he’d find that she’d stay in the same position for hours, frozen as only a hunter could stay still. Watching him and waiting. Yet she’d chosen to ignore him again for the moment, instead swiveling a pointed ear in the direction of the rain. Water dripped from her chopped black hair, her sickle-shaped wings and layers of rags. One of her chilling hisses broke the silence, and she licked at the blood caking her bluish-white lips. They always seemed bruised to him. Punishing.
“Why so slow?” she said again, shaking the rain away. Her eyes flicked in his direction, cold and terrible.
Troy’s games could be infuriating. As could many of her other habits. “Your latest handiwork slowed me down. It took me an hour to cart the body to the sea.”
“It’s your own fault for interrupting my meal. Besides”—her voice held the hint of laughter—“Fury warned you well enough in advance. Although it was fun to guess how long it would be till you arrived here angry and depressed.”
“Stop stalking her,” he said. His voice sounded bitterly crisp.
Another hiss, as if in consideration. Troy descended from the wall, her body fluid and lean, her eyes seeming to glow like ghost lights. Cackles from outside announced Fury’s arrival before the crow glided inside, aiming for the severed arm lying on the floor. A Vapor, a soul-slave granted the shape and nature of a bird, Fury gave her true identity away through unusual size and eyes similar to her master’s. Whenever Troy couldn’t bless Kim with her unsettling presence, the Vapor was never too far away to take over the job. He’d already tried bonding with Fury, half hoping that years of tasty tidbits might trick the nuisance into letting her guard down, but to little result. Today, the bird found both his offered hand and its morsel distasteful as ever, choosing instead to hop onto Troy’s skinny shoulder. “You’re in no position to give orders,” Troy said, growling. “Didn’t the death of your favorite student teach you that?”
“It doesn’t change the fact that you need me, and that your petty snacks are only going to make this harder for everyone involved.” Kim grasped one of the prayer wards in his pocket, caressing the paper. He’d use it this time if she pushed him hard enough. “The priests,” he said, unable to hold back his triumph, “are on to you, Troy.”
She shook Fury away, snapping at him more than speaking. “On to me? Let them try and rid this city of my presence. I’ll gut them myself—”
“Although they still suspect the demon over you. She’s keeping a low profile, but it’s only a matter of time until they exorcise you by mistake, maybe through her instigation. It would be wise to stick to rats for now.”
“I see a rat I’d like to stick,” she spat back at him.
Kim noted how her ears folded back against her skull and gripped the paper more tightly. Fury continued to listen to their exchange, tugging on sinews near her toes. “Angela is different, striking. But that doesn’t mean she’s the one we’re looking for.”
“Oh? And how many times have I heard that?” Troy glanced at Fury, looking annoyed at the continuing loss of her meal. Her teeth bared in a new, but still angry, smile. Blood had stained them to a dull shade of pink. “Sometimes, I think you’re toying with me, Sariel—”
It was never a good sign when she used his Jinn-given name.
“—that all of your searching for the Archon and determining that this one isn’t suitable, and that one isn’t right, is all a ploy to keep my teeth out of your heart.” She shifted slightly, the muscles in her wrists bunching together. “That makes me question your usefulness, you see. How many years have you spent, mating with one female after another to find what we’re looking for? And meanwhile, the seconds of your life pass away, always moving you closer to my jaws.” Troy spread her wings, stretching their tips into the darkness. Bats fluttered out of the tower, escaping into the evening fog. “You can only hold off the inevitable for so long. So do us both a kindness and make up your mind. This dimension is too unstable for us to wait on your instincts, however dull they might be.”
Thunder cracked overhead, so close to the Bell Tower that Kim’s ears hurt. Lightning blinded him, and Troy must have smelled the electricity in the air, had been hoping for the distraction, because Kim was startled for a single second. And that was all it took.
She pounced at him, all violence and the intention to hurt.
Fury flapped out of the way, cawing in alarm.
Kim threw the prayer ward into a maelstrom of feathers. “
Abnocto,
” he whispered, his voice shaking with echoes of his own fear. The Latin hurt Troy even more than the paper. She snarled in frustration but landed on all fours, her eyes glowing from a nook near the rear of the chamber. How could any creature move so fast? Bones crunched beneath her hands and feet as she wandered nearer to him again. “You bitch,” he said to her, brushing at the cut on his cheek.
It was shallow, but the blood still wet his fingers.
“The Tongue of Souls.” She grinned, excited by their little battle. “But what will you do when your mouth is finally sealed shut? I’d venture a guess . . .”
She crept out into the open again, seemingly unaware that her posture revealed the Grail.
Lucifel’s fabled Grail. It was an emerald that looked exactly like the legends said—a great eye with a miniature abyss for a pupil—but of all places it swung from Troy’s neck on a crudely hewn chain, perpetually teasing Kim with its mysteries. Usually, she kept the treasure hidden beneath her rags, but their skirmish had temporarily forced it out of hiding. And much like Troy, it gave off an aura of watchfulness that filled him with horror. The sight of its beauty was as nightmarish as it was desirable. Only the Jinn could protect such a gem without going mad.
Would Stephanie react the same way, recoiling with a fractured mind?
Or would she prove herself to be Raziel’s worthy vessel and clutch this relic of his to her heart? Kim wanted to try one last test before he took the chance. Angela seemed too softhearted underneath all her recklessness to be the Archon, but her paintings spoke of memories more angelic than she realized. It never hurt to test a theory.
“Like what you see?” Troy wasn’t smiling anymore.
“Before I go,” Kim said, fighting back the urge to lunge and throttle her, “give me Telissa’s arm back. I want her ring.”
Fury croaked from a gutter below them, protesting. But Troy reached up into the mess of her hair, untying a knot that held a glistening Academy ring amid specks of teeth and bones. Trophies from her older kills. This gift was her way of declaring a shaky truce. “The ring,” she said, “but not the arm. I’m still hungry tonight.”
She tossed the metal at his shoes, returning to what was left of his student’s remains, disdaining his presence. The ring clattered to a stop, jaundiced in the poor light.
Kim wouldn’t cry, but at the sound of the first bite, he turned from the scene and retched.
