Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Petra had worried that the day would drag, each second prolonged by the torture of grim anticipation, but that wasn’t how it went. Instead, the hours seemed to flash by. They whirled past her in gusts of activity, last-minute preparations, nervous questions from her staff, and the uneasy feeling that losing sight of Silas gave her.

He’d watched her from the front row during her service, his lips curled in that arrogant, mocking smile as worshippers gave him a wide berth. Though he didn’t seem to care that no one wanted to sit close, the sight of empty spaces on either side of him sent a lightning bolt of irritation through her.

Who were they to think a demon didn’t belong in her cathedral? The sight made her wonder just how many other demons might have wanted to attend her services but felt unwelcome. San Francisco’s demon population was small, certainly, but it wasn’t zero. And yet she couldn’t recall ever seeing a demon in the pews before.

That pissed her off.

She didn’t have any time left to make a proper statement about who was welcome in her cathedral, but that didn’t mean she did nothing. Without thinking it through, she altered her prepared service and blessings about Glory’s gifts — a term she absolutely could never use again — to speak, with a touch more vehemence than normal, about how all were welcome in her divine light.

She’d staunchly refused to look at him then, but she could feel his amusement from his seat in the pews.

Petra couldn’t decide if it was a boon or a bad omen when he simply disappeared after the service. On one hand, she appreciated the lack of fires. On the other, she got nervous when he wasn’t in her direct eyeline.

Not because she’d grown used to his steady, if vexing, presence, but because today was not the day for him to get up to shenanigans.

Unfortunately, there simply wasn’t the time for her to try and track him down. There was too much to do. On top of her regular duties, the staff was in a frenzy as they hurried to make the cathedral and themselves as presentable as possible.

They also wouldn’t leave her alone.

If she wasn’t answering questions or giving orders, she was constantly fielding anxious, even pitying looks. A few of the higher ranking priests and priestesses had been so bold as to assure her in the vaguest of ways that everything would be well and they hoped the visit would go smoothly for her.

Not them. Not the cathedral. Her.

Even if no one but Robert dared ask her directly what the Protector wanted from her, they all seemed to have a good idea. Even the initiates, mostly kept out of the loop of Temple politics until they were sworn in as acolytes, fluttered nervously around her. Eventually she’d been forced to give them extra craft study — the worship of Glory through artistic pursuit — in order to get them out of her hair once and for all.

Through all of this, Silas lingered in the back of her mind, his presence there its own type of specter. That wasn’t helped by the constant reminder of their time together: the soreness between her thighs.

Despite the fact that there’d been no penetrative sex, technically speaking, every step sent a little twinge up her spine, an echo of every tiny, stinging slap he’d given her until he forced not one, but two orgasms just before her back-up alarm rang.

On any other day in her previous life, she might have found that satisfying, but in this one, it only reminded her of what she would no longer have.

By the time the Protector’s entourage was due to arrive, Petra had a tension headache, she never wanted to hear the words ‘do you think we need a…’ again, and she really, really wanted to know where Silas was.

Every hour that passed without a snide comment, a proprietary touch, or the weight of his shadows doing something they shouldn’t made her nerves ratchet up another notch.

No, his presence wasn’t what she would call traditionally reassuring, but he was the only one who knew what was really going on, and he was the only who knew her, and?—

Damn, I just want to see his smug face.

Something about him not being by her side as she faced the predator from her nightmares made her feel deeply unmoored. Not because she worried about what he was up to unsupervised, but because she’d come to actually like the man. He made her feel safe.

Good gods.

It was very much against her will, but it was there: a thread of something warm and a little prickly tying them together.

There was no time left to examine that, nor the curdled feeling that settled in her gut at the thought that the thread would never have a chance to grow into something stronger, warmer, fiercer.

It’s for the best, she thought as she took her place by the grand bronze doors of the cathedral’s entrance. We would have been a disaster, anyway.

Her staff fanned out around her as three sleek black town cars pulled into the courtyard. Normally no one was allowed to park there, but nothing was off-limits to the Protector. Certainly not the landscaping.

Robert nearly vibrated with tension from his place beside her as he watched one of the cars swing a little too close to the large, extremely expensive marble fountain in the center of the courtyard.

Petra didn’t bother sending him a reassuring look. They all knew that the Protector would do exactly as he wanted. If that meant taking out a million dollar water fixture donated by a long-deceased worshipper, then he would do so and there was absolutely nothing any of them could say about it.

This was her cathedral, but they all understood that as of this moment, she didn’t have the power to protect them from anything, let alone the entourage’s carelessness.

That’s not entirely true.

In one secret way, she had power. She had Silas.

Petra had to believe that things would work out — even if she didn’t live long enough to see it.

Drawing her shoulders back, she watched the middle vehicle come to a slow stop in front of the stone steps. A cool breeze, a summer in San Francisco specialty, threatened to tear her hair from its carefully crafted chignon and sent her robes of office fluttering around her legs.

Silas’s necklace hung heavy and warm between her breasts, tucked safely beneath her silk blouse. Not too far away, a cable car rumbled along its track and dinged its bell as it passed between the cathedral and the stately mansion grounds on the other side of the street.

Breathe. You’ve got this.

A man she didn’t recognize left the front passenger’s seat to open the back door of the car. He wore a sleek, wine-red uniform and was clearly a member of Antonin’s entourage, but she didn’t recall seeing him during the last visit.

Not that it meant much. She’d been flying by the seat of her pants and surviving off of pure adrenaline last time, so there was every chance that she simply didn’t recall every member of the Protector’s personal security unit as well as she thought.

There was no forgetting the man himself, though.

When Antonin Vanderpoel climbed out of the car, one shiny designer shoe at a time, it was as if the world around her held its breath.

He was slight of build, handsome in a finely aged, old money way, and wore an expression that could only be described as benign. His three-piece suit was perfectly pressed, the fabric a dark charcoal with barely visible pinstripes. A deep crimson tie and simple gold chain were the only pops of color on his person.

Antonin’s hair, once dark, was streaked with more salt than pepper and swept back into a classic style. Not a single strand was out of place. His beard was similarly well kept and colored, giving him a mature attractiveness that might have been devastating on any other man.

The smile that creased his cheeks when he locked eyes with her was blinding. Bile crawled up her esophagus.

Petra had no proof that Antonin killed Maximilian with his own hands, but her intuition screamed when he climbed the steps, his movements lithe and graceful for a man approaching his elder years, and extended his arms to her.

You took the only family I had left, a wounded thing in her moaned, too hurt to carry the fire of fury. You took everything from me.

But she was more than that wounded creature. She was more than a starving child. She was more than a witch with no name.

She was a woman with steel in her spine and a demon on her side. Petra would see this to the end, no matter what that was.

So she summoned her practiced smile, just as false and shining as Antonin’s, and slowly descended two steps to meet him. A hug was too much to bear, but she was able to smoothly move into clasping his hands. They burned with sickly heat against her own — the unnatural meeting of two luminists with Glory’s light in their souls.

“Welcome back, your eminence,” she murmured, leaning in to feather a kiss to both bearded cheeks.

Antonin’s fingers curled around hers, holding tight, as he reciprocated the gesture. The only difference was that his lips actually touched her skin. “It’s a pleasure to see you again so soon,” he replied, voice as smooth and warm as a sunbaked river stone. “I regretted how short my trip was last time, so I’m looking forward to savoring your company, my dear.”

Petra swallowed the bitter tang of bile as they pulled back, hands still clasped. “You’re a busy man. I’m honored to get even a moment of your time, let alone this much.”

“Ah, but who could resist the siren’s call of High Priestess Zaskodna?” He cast his gaze over her shoulder, as if he wished to commiserate with her staff over how irresistible she was. “And in such a beautiful city, no less. I’m afraid it was too much for even my schedule to compete with.”

Desperate to get his hands off her, Petra stepped back and to the side, as if to show off her pale-faced staff to the predator at their doorstep. “You didn’t get the chance to meet them properly last time, so I’d love to introduce St. Emaine’s staff to you, your eminence.”

Forced to release her, Antonin instead held his hands out, palms forward, to her staff as she rattled off names and titles he almost certainly already knew. When she was finished, he greeted them with a fatherly smile. “I look forward to speaking with you all during my stay. May Glory’s light shine on you for welcoming me and my entourage so warmly.”

Going by the way several staff members flinched, Petra wasn’t the only one who heard the threat woven into the polite response.

Before an awkward silence could settle in, Antonin clapped his hands together and turned his smile back on Petra. “Now, my dear, how about a tour?”

“Would you not like to get settled first? I’m sure you and your entourage could use a moment to decompress from so much traveling.” She glanced over his shoulder under the pretense of concern for his entourage, but really she was counting the number of guards that had climbed out of the vehicles. It was hard work keeping her expression smooth when she realized he’d brought more than she anticipated.

All of them were blank-faced, their mouths set in neutral lines and their eyes a little… off. Just looking at them made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

One’s missing. Petra did another quick count, but the somber face of Antonin’s assistant didn’t appear in the rows of red-clad guards.

“Ah, that’s very kind of you,” Antonin replied. “I’m used to all the travel, but my entourage will get settled while you guide me on a tour. I’m sure they’d appreciate a hearty meal, too.”

“Of course. That shouldn’t be a problem.” She glanced at Robert, who was already turning to scurry across the courtyard and, she had no doubt, the kitchens.

Gods bless that man. Petra looked back at Antonin. “Is your assistant coming?”

Stepping closer, he hovered a hand over the small of her back. Unnatural warmth radiated between the skin of his palm and her spine. “Nicolas is on sabbatical,” he answered as he guided her up the steps and into the womb-like darkness of the cathedral.

Keenly aware that sabbatical could be code for anything, including rotting somewhere in an abandoned building or chained in a top secret Temple dungeon, Petra chose the mildest possible response. “I see. I hope he’s well?”

Antonin tossed her another charming smile. “I’m sure he is. Speaking of sabbaticals— I heard you’re planning one for yourself quite soon.”

Their steps were soft on the marble floor of the cathedral, but to her the beat sounded like a funeral march. “I am,” she answered evenly, her mind racing with all the different ways he could interpret her decision. His expression gave nothing away. Antonin’s mask was as good as hers.

Choosing her words with the utmost care, she explained, “I’ve been enormously privileged to be given this seat by the High Gloriae and try to earn it every day, but I can’t give Glory’s worshippers the guidance they deserve if my well is empty.”

“You haven’t missed a service in three years,” he pointed out. “Most High Priests do one or two a week. I’m quite sure you’ve more than earned a month or two off, my dear. I doubt it will put a dent in your shining reputation amongst the EVP’s populace.”

Violently uncomfortable with his smooth praise, Petra demurred, “I am lucky to serve so many good people, your eminence.”

“Aren’t we all?” Rather than let her guide him as he claimed to want, the Protector steered her toward the high altar. She had to work very hard to not glance in the direction of the sanctuary.

His hand settled more firmly on the base of her spine, just above the divots of her tailbone. “Though I heard you had a mishap recently. Something about a fire after a service?”

Petra’s mouth went painfully dry. He doesn’t know about Silas. He doesn’t. “An accident. An over-eager worshipper bumped into one of the votive stands and our runner unfortunately paid the price. We’ve temporarily fixed the issue with a few discreet sandbags, so hopefully there won’t be incidents like it in the future.”

She could just see Silas’s smug face when she said that. His imagined voice, low and taunting, drifted through her mind. “It’s cute that you think that’ll stop me.”

“Ah, that explains it,” the Protector murmured, his voice dropping to an intimate drawl. “Someone was just trying to get a closer look at your radiance. That’s an urge I understand completely.”

A cold trickle of dread ran down her spine. “You’re too kind to me, your eminence.”

“Hardly. But I do believe I asked you to call me Antonin last time we spoke.”

Was Max on a first name basis with you too, asshole?

“My apologies,” she murmured. “With your position and responsibilities, I’d hate to imply favoritism.”

Antonin stepped lightly onto the dais, his hand sliding away to grasp her elbow and guide her up as well. The sun shone through the great stained glass masterpiece of Glory’s window, casting them and the dais in a thousand different colors of light. Glory’s statue, towering but lifeless without a sacred fire lit within it, stared out sightlessly over their heads as Antonin inspected the offerings on the altar.

For half a second, she thought she spied a flickering shadow out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t dare turn her head to see what lurked in the gaps between shafts of colored light.

For once, the thought that something might be in the darkness watching her didn’t unsettle her. She wanted it to be Silas. He couldn’t save her from Antonin, but having him there made her feel less alone.

Without thinking about it, she lifted a hand to run her fingertips over the delicate gold chain of her necklace. Wild magic thrummed against the sensitive nerves in her finger pads. She could almost hear his southern drawl in her ear.

Thinkin’ about me, baby?

She wished for one awful moment that she could rewind time and go back to the previous day, when he unknowingly chased away her fear with brutal touches and slithering shadows and barked commands.

It was a taste of bliss, letting him take control and wipe away her worries.

But she couldn’t go back. All she could do was hope that he’d do exactly as he said he would, that Elise would get the information, and that something — anything — would come of this.

Petra stood beside Antonin, her heart thundering, and held very still when he leaned in close to whisper, “My dear, there’s no harm in implying favoritism when it’s the truth.”