Silk Over Razor Blades (18 page)

‘I killed him.’

She pressed her hands to her
mouth. The sob escaped anyway, a single burst of sound that filled
the room and seemed to bounce back at her.

Footsteps outside the door
stole her attention. Her head snapped up, gazing through the gap in
the curtains. Had Mrs Ferdinand really called the police? Were they
here?

Lenina rushed to the glass and
squinted out. The moon hung low on the horizon, beginning its
ascent through the blue-black sky behind the houses and trees.
Nick’s bike stood on the drive beside her car and a vaguely
man-shaped mass lurked near one of the flower pots.

The moment she noticed it, the
back of her brain fired to life. A powerful rush of thoughts flowed
through her mind and spilled over like a river in spate. Not like
the memories of Nick or Pauline Lock, but more personal.
Controlled. Selective. Immediate.

She knew without looking that
Jason stood on the driveway. He stared at the house with poorly
suppressed excitement, laced by a single thread of nerves. Lenina
ran for the door, fingers fumbling with the chain and deadbolt.
Before she could use either, the door burst off its hinges and
slammed into her face.

She fell. A rush of cold air
and rain whistled through to meet her. By the time she shoved aside
the heavy hunk of wood and scrambled to her feet, Jason stood
before her, damp hat hanging sideways off his tangled hair. The
cool grey of his eyes assessed her, gaze sliding up, then down
again with slow consideration.

‘I’m too late.’ He inhaled,
deep and long. ‘You gave your first tribute.’ His voice
trembled.

‘How did you find me?’

Jason tapped the side of his
head. ‘I’ll always know where you are, love. I just gotta
concentrate.’

‘You can’t be here.’ She backed
up. ‘Leave me alone.’

He gave a wry smile and stepped
through the doorway. ‘Can’t, love. I gotta do this.’

Lenina closed her eyes, as his
thoughts intruded on hers. Worries of failure and torture spun
through her mind. Long wooden stakes. Starvation. Burning.

The different methods of
ritualistic torture made her pity him until she remembered that his
success depended on her death.

She put her hands to her head,
rifling through the tangle of panic until she found a gap in the
back of her mind. It hung open, and through it marched Jason’s
fear, like the charge of eager football fans breaching the
pitch.

For the first time, Lenina knew
what to do: she stuffed up the gap with a mental wrench of will,
like slamming a door in Jason’s face. It blocked his mind from hers
and immediately shut off the flow. Panic faded instantly. Though
sweat continued to bead on her forehead and slide down the side of
her face, this level of fear seemed manageable without the added
weight of his on top.

The vampire flinched. ‘You
can’t do that.’

She straightened her shoulders.
‘Get out of my house.’

He hesitated.

‘Don’t you need an invitation
or something? You can’t come in here.’

‘Invitation? Who told you
something stupid like that?’

‘Get out!’

Without the benefit of an open
link between them Lenina could no longer tell what he planned to
do. But when she saw him shift his weight and reach into the grubby
folds of his jacket his objective became plain. He pulled out a
long dagger with a gold handle and filthy blade the length of his
forearm. The sight of it made Lenina’s lips curl back from her
teeth. She glared at the weapon and felt a surge of hate so strong
that her knees buckled. Before she could consider what it meant,
Jason lunged.

Lenina threw her weight
sideways and slammed into the wall beneath the coat hooks. Jason’s
clumsy charge shot past her, taking him to the foot of the stairs
where he spun around and repeated the motion.

His arm arched high, then down;
a blinding flash of motion with the dagger at its tip.

Lenina saw the descent of the
blade in slow motion, the rust-encrusted point aimed for her chest.
It seemed she had plenty of time to twist aside and save herself
from certain death, but she knew no human would stand a chance
against such speed. She ducked down the wall, side-stepping across
the narrow hallway to straighten on the other side. Her own speed
blurred the walls and dangling coats into a streak of browns and
blacks. Jason’s arm swiped over her head.

Fast. Inhumanly fast.

He was faster.

Before she reached the opposite
wall, Jason adjusted his aim, cutting back with his wrist cocked to
deliver a devastating backslash.

The tip of the dagger caught
Lenina’s left cheek, a hair’s breadth from her eye. A last-second
jerk of the head saved her vision, but the sharp weapon sheared
through flesh and scraped bone. Blood gushed down her face,
staining the air with its scent and colour.

The world returned to normal
speed. Lenina clutched her cheek.

The wound burned, as if the
blade had delivered a deadly dose of poison.

Jason whirled to face her, once
again blocking the way out with his grubby, foul-smelling bulk.
‘I’d ask how you did that but it doesn’t matter. You need to
die.’

‘Wait!’ She raised her hands
palm up. ‘You don’t have to kill me. You don’t have to do
anything.’

His lower lip trembled. ‘You’re
a mistake. I gotta fix it.’

Lenina struggled to respond in
a way that would secure her life. ‘Everyone makes mistakes. Even
vampires.’

He moaned softly, pressing his
fists to the sides of his head. ‘She’ll kill me.’

‘She won’t. Whoever it is, she
doesn’t have to know. It’s just you and me.’ The whole time she
spoke Lenina kept the dagger in her peripheral vision. The point
turned towards the ground. She kept talking. ‘This is our secret.
Just walk out that door. No one else needs to know.’

‘You don’t know what she’s
capable of. She’ll kill me but it’ll take weeks to die. Months. She
learned torture with Saar in—’ Jason stopped talking, glancing over
his shoulder with a wild look in his eyes. The source of his
distraction remained a mystery, but when he returned his gaze to
hers, Lenina knew the damage was done.

She ran into the living room,
aiming for the kitchen. On the way she saw Nick, still lying on the
carpet, his wound darkening in the oxygen-rich air.

Jason followed. His heavy
footfalls thudded across the carpet. The hot gust of breath hit her
neck before she got near the door. Spinning round, Lenina meet his
charge with an upthrust hand, her fingers pressed together to make
a fleshy blade. His momentum drove the side of her hand into his
throat, a crushing force against his windpipe.

He dropped the dagger. Doubled
over. Clutched his neck with both hands.

Without thinking, Lenina
followed the jab with a powerful thrust of her knee into Jason’s
stomach. She heard air rush out of him and swung her fist around to
club the back of his head.

Jason fell on to his face, his
fingers twitching. ‘How?’ he wheezed.

Lenina had no answer but she
knew that the fight had escalated well beyond her own sheltered,
middle-class skill set.

Dabbing her fingers to the left
side of her face, she traced the line of the wound. The burning
sensation faded, but in its place came an intense bristling, like a
tide of itching powder from her face down through the rest of her
skin. The shrill wail of approaching police sirens soon broke the
still of the room and she knew then what had coaxed Jason to
move.

He stood, retrieved the dagger
and tucked it back into his coat. She watched him, hands loose by
her sides, ready to match any move he made.

The pink tip of his tongue
flicked out to catch a spot of blood on the side of his mouth.
‘I’ll be back,’ he whispered. ‘I can’t let you live.’ Without
waiting for an answer, he ran past her, a blur of speed that took
him back through the hallway and out the pulverised front door.

Seconds later the rumble of
several car engines arrived on the drive. Loud shouts broke out
followed by a crunching sound. A man screamed. Something heavy hit
the floor. Then a set of pounding footsteps took off into the
night.

Lenina reached the door in time
to see a uniformed police officer on the floor clutching his
bleeding nose. Jason, a small smudge in the distance, crossed the
road, rounded the corner and vanished from sight.

A second officer rounded the
stationary police car and crouched beside his companion. After
satisfying himself about his condition, he looked towards her. ‘Are
you okay, Miss?’

She knew what she had to do.
Sinking to the floor, Lenina put her face in her hands and conjured
a fit of hysterical sobs. ‘He attacked me,’ she cried. ‘He killed
Nick.’

8 May 36 BC

Despite the hood shielding his face,
Saar stole glances left and right before entering the building.
Inside, he saw a woman, round through the stomach, with blue and
green smudges around her eyes and a long string of green beads
around her neck. She hauled her heavy body off a pile of silks and
cushions and bowed to him.

‘
Good evening, how may we entertain
you today?’

Saar lowered the hood. ‘Good evening,
Gyasi.’

‘
Back so soon?’ She smiled. Rather
than enhancing her beauty, the gesture nulled it, highlighting the
wrinkles around her eyes and the teeth missing from her upper
jaw.

‘
What happened?’

She sighed. ‘One of the men became
violent.’

He arched an eyebrow.

‘
We dealt with him.’ The stubborn
set of her jaw dared him to question how.

Saar advanced, grasped her chin and
angled her face to the light. A bruise hid beneath the blue and
green paint.

‘
He hurt you.’

‘
We hurt him more.’

A stab of concern tightened his
stomach. ‘How fares the child?’

Gyasi cradled her stomach. ‘I have some
pains, but no more than usual.’

‘
Let me bring you to the palace,’ he
began.

‘
The queen would never allow
it.’

‘
But I can—’

‘
No. You can’t save everyone.’ She
tossed her hair and fisted her hips. ‘Now . . . are you joining us
today?’ The arch of her eyebrow let Saar know what she really
meant.

In answer he pulled off his cloak and
slung it over one arm.

Gyasi grinned. ‘Good. I have a surprise
for you.’ Passing through an arch on the right, she led him through
the building.

As he walked, Saar glanced into various
rooms. On high tables and pedestals, beautiful girls pranced and
swirled their trailing gowns. Acrobats, often seen outside at
festival time, played with leather balls, long ropes and chimes. In
other rooms, men and women beat drums and plucked sweet-sounding
strings.

Many faces he didn’t recognise, but
those he did belonged to high-ranking officials in law enforcement,
finance and construction. Most ducked away or tried to hide their
faces, but Saar felt no scorn. He knew what it was to need more and
require less than savoury means to get it.

Since returning from the Pharos, his
appetite for many things, including flesh, had blossomed to the
point that Kiya complained of fatigue and soreness. He needed more.
Of everything.

Gyasi chose a room at the rear of the
building where few of her customers ventured. It was plain but for
a low bed and a window in the far wall.

‘
Wait here.’ She darted out once
more.

Saar sat on the bed, stripping away his
dagger and sword. He heard Gyasi return long before he saw her.

The white hangings in the doorway
twitched, then pulled aside, revealing his host who wore a smug
smile. ‘This is Kontar,’ she murmured.

Saar’s breath caught in his throat.

Looking up through thick black lashes,
Kontar flashed a bright smile. ‘The great Captain Saar. At
last.’

Gyasi continued. ‘When I mentioned your
last visit, Kontar insisted on joining you, should you return. I
hope that suits you?’

Struck dumb Saar simply nodded.

‘
Good. Then I’ll leave you.’

The room seemed even smaller with Gyasi
gone.

Kontar was tall and slim. Long black
hair, held back with a plain strip of leather, fanned down his back
until it brushed the top of his narrow waist.

‘
I’ve never seen a man with hair so
long,’ whispered Saar. He stood. ‘May I touch it?’

Kontar stepped so close that a deep
breath would cause their chests to touch. He flicked his head and a
thick section of that beautiful hair swung forward and brushed
Saar’s arm. He closed his eyes and let his skin translate the
silken whisper of those strands into a teasing caress. The hair
swept over his other arm. His face. His neck. The backs of his
legs.

When Saar reopened his eyes, Kontar
crouched in front of him, using his hair to stroke his calves and
shins.

He licked his lips. ‘I’ve never seen
you here before.’

‘
Gyasi allows her customers to see
only those they may enjoy spending time with. When she understood
you might appreciate my company, she took the risk.’

‘
A fine risk.’ Gripping Kontar’s
shoulders, Saar pulled him up to face height. No kiss – that was a
pleasure for later – but he did rub his face along the side of
Kontar’s neck to bury his nose in the hair at the back. The smell
brought to mind fruit and hot spices.

‘
You asked to serve me today.
Why?’

For the first time, the younger man
looked unsure. He stepped away and leaned against the wall. His
fingers fiddled with the knot of rope holding his robe closed. ‘I
want to be a soldier.’

Saar became very still. His mouth
dropped open. ‘Then you must enlist.’