Chapter 11 Seraphine

Chapter 11 Seraphine

The Dagger came from nowhere, stepping out of thin air as if Sera had conjured him with the strength of her own fear. He towered over her now, dressed head to toe in black. No cloak, but he didn't need one. Shade moved inside him. In the moonlight, she could see it writhing beneath his olive skin. A black whorl breached the collar of his sweater, and she cursed herself for not spotting the shadow-mark at the marketplace. A white scar sliced through his bottom lip. She had been too distracted by his eyes to notice that either.

Those eyes were quicksilver now, and hard as steel.

‘Dancing swan,' he said, flashing his teeth. No sign of the warm, honey-gazed curiosity he had shown at the Rascalle. He cocked his head. ‘Or is it dangling swan?'

She squared her jaw, summoning a mask of defiance. ‘I'm not going to make this easy for you.'

His smirk grew. ‘I like a challenge.'

Sera wanted to punch the smile off his smug face, then spit in it for good measure, but she was too busy clinging onto the gargoyle for dear life. ‘My friends are coming for me.'

He tossed her a pitying look. ‘Don't you know? There's no honour among thieves.'

‘What would you know of honour?'

‘You'd be surprised, Seraphine.'

She hated the way he said her name. Like a deadly caress. ‘How long have you been following me?'

He narrowed his eyes, as if he was deciding whether to kill her outright or continue the conversation. A shadow curled around his arm, waiting to strike. More swarmed at his feet, straining to taste her. ‘Quite a while,' he said. ‘But you already know that.'

‘For a Dagger, you're not exactly subtle.'

He leaned forward and plucked a shard of glass from her hair. ‘For a Cloak, neither are you.'

She glowered up at him. ‘Stalker.'

‘I prefer the term assassin,' he said, tossing it aside.

‘What about gutless prick ?'

He stroked his stubbled jaw. ‘No, I don't think I like that one.'

Sera's eyes darted. Above her, the dogs were still barking. Below her lay the cobbled street and beside it the rushing waters of the Verne, too far down to reach. And even then, the current would sweep her away. Or she could hop down onto the narrow walkway beside the balustrade, but she'd have to fight him for a foothold. And he had every advantage. He was a foot taller than her, broad-shouldered, with strong arms and long legs. Then there were those violent quicksilver eyes and the arsenal of shadows at his disposal.

He was Death itself.

But she was not dying tonight. No. She refused to let it end like this.

She just needed a second to think.

He flexed his fingers, shadows wreathing his knuckles as he stepped towards her. ‘Now that we've dispensed with the pleasantries, we should come to the matter at hand,' he drawled.

‘Wait.'

To Sera's surprise, he halted, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. ‘What for?'

‘You killed my mother.' The words burst from her in a rush of desperation. ‘You burned our home to the ground. You destroyed everything. Why ?'

‘That wasn't me.'

‘So, you're a liar and a murderer.' She curled her lip, recalling all too easily the memory of him standing over Mama in the smoke. ‘Aren't you proud of it?'

Shadows swelled at his back, blotting out the stars, and she could have sworn she'd managed to piss him off. ‘I don't play with fire, Seraphine.'

‘Stop saying my name.'

‘What would you prefer, dancing swan? Angry swan, perhaps?'

He seemed to be enjoying their conversation. Or at the very least, indulging in it. But the more she talked, the longer she lived. ‘Tell me, Dagger,' she said, jutting out her chin. ‘Do you have a name?'

That prompted a low chuckle. ‘You haven't earned it.'

‘And what will my death earn you? A pat on the back from Dufort? A kiss on the forehead at bedtime?'

He stiffened, smirk vanishing. ‘Enough stalling. You're wasting time.'

Sera carefully released the gargoyle. ‘And you're going to hell.'

‘Maybe,' he said with a shrug. ‘But not tonight.'

She shot to her feet and stumbled backwards along the narrow ledge, fighting for balance. He watched her struggle with mild interest.

‘What can you be thinking, dancing swan? Are you really going to jump?'

She briefly considered it. ‘Would that ruin your fun?'

‘What part of this makes you think I'm having fun?'

‘That stupid smirk on your stupid face.' The river wind rippled up Sera's cloak, reminding her of the drop below. She swallowed, thickly, reaching for another strand of courage. ‘I am not dying tonight. This is not my destiny.'

‘I think I'll decide that.' Shadows kissed her boots, rising to stroke her ankles.

‘What right have you to decide anything for me?' she said, voice wavering as she watched them. ‘To hurt me?'

The shadows stilled, as though pausing to consider her question. ‘Don't drag this out, Seraphine,' the Dagger said, in a voice that was almost kind. ‘I'll make it quick.'

She jumped, landing on the narrow walkway between the balustrade and the house. Her knees crunched upon landing, her teeth singing. He stepped down after her, filling up the space like an avenging angel. She backed up until she hit the end of the balustrade. Nowhere to run now. Overhead, the dogs had stopped barking. They had given up. She grabbed the letter opener from her pocket.

‘I wouldn't do that if I was you,' he said, without breaking eye contact.

‘Why? Don't monsters bleed?'

He gave her another pitying look. ‘Only when you can actually strike them.'

‘You shouldn't underestimate me.'

‘What are you going to do, open me and read me?'

‘Maybe I'll stick it in your eye.'

He barked a laugh. ‘Go ahead, Seraphine. Do your worst.'

Sera brandished the letter opener. The Dagger struck, lightning fast, and before she could even blink, his hand was around her throat. Darkness swarmed around them, swallowing the moon. He lifted her up until she dangled like a marionette. Time slowed to an agonizing pace, his shadows closing in on her until she could see nothing beyond those silver eyes, gleaming like fallen stars. All too soon, it was here – the last moment of Sera's life, the finality of her own death rising to meet her like a great and terrible wave. There wasn't even time to be afraid.

Ten heartbeats, and she would be dead.

One. An agonizing coldness invaded her body. Frost filled her lungs, chasing away the last of her breath.

Two. Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn't blink. Didn't dare betray a hint of the dying plea that now ravaged her heart, Help me, help me, help me. Instead, she held his cruel silver gaze, determined that her death would haunt him.

Three. She opened her mouth, the word soundless on her lips. Monster.

Four. His grip wavered, dark brows knitting. Perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight or the addled thoughts of a dying brain, but he looked unsettled.

Five. A sudden shock of heat surged through Sera's body. For a heartbeat, it felt like her bones were bursting into flame. But the fire brought no pain. Only warmth.

Six. The Dagger's eyes went wide. Colour bloomed inside them, a soft autumnal glow swallowing the menacing silver.

Seven. He cried out, the air rippling with the scent of burning. And just beneath it, the faint tang of lemon blossom.

Eight. Sera gasped a new breath. With this strange warmth, came light. The shadows inside her fell away like ashes in the wind.

Nine. He released her, stumbling backwards. His gaze fell to the teardrop at her throat. It was glowing so brightly, it burned tears in her eyes. Seared every last shadow between them.

Ten. Emboldened by the shock of fear on the Dagger's face, Sera smirked.

‘You're not dead,' he rasped. He stared, horror-struck, at her necklace, and it took everything in Sera not to do the same. ‘ How ?'

She had no answer for him. Whatever this strange fire inside her was, it had sprung up at his touch and ripped through his Shade.

Now the Dagger was just a man.

She was a flame.

And she refused to die tonight. But as for him… The teardrop sizzled at her throat, sharing in the hurricane of her adrenaline. With a thundering cry, Sera leaped at the Dagger. She sank the letter opener into his gut, gritting her teeth as she pushed and pushed , through skin and blood and muscle.

He crumpled over with a sucking gasp.

When the blade was buried to its hilt, Sera's face was barely an inch from his, so close she could smell the wild mint on his breath. She twisted the handle, resting her forehead against his, so her eyes would be the last thing he saw. ‘Bleeding swan,' she whispered.

He opened his mouth to respond, but blood poured out instead.

Sera reeled backwards, leaving the knife in his gut. ‘Keep the souvenir. Courtesy of Sylvie Marchant.'

Then she turned on her heel and ran.

Buoyed by the roaring surge of adrenaline, she slipped over the end of the balustrade and leaped for a nearby trellis. She caught a vine, dragging her body close to the wall. The lattice groaned, but she was slight and nimble, not to mention well used to climbing the ruins of old farmhouses.

Sera scrambled down the side of Villa Roman, listening for any sign of disturbance. A barking dog, a patrolling nightguard, another assassin waiting in the wings. But there was only the gentle rush of the Verne and the fading groans of a Dagger who had fallen on his blade.

Good riddance.

When she was halfway down the building, Sera slipped, losing her footing on a cracked rung. But luck followed her down, and a lilac bush cushioned her fall. She rolled out of it, spitting petals as she headed for the iron railings.

It was only when her feet hit the cobblestones on the other side that she allowed her mind to reel. Triumph giving way to fear and confusion, as she tried to piece together what had happened up there. She stumbled towards the river, and only then realized she was still wearing her cloak. She wiped her bloodstained hands on it. Then, fingers trembling, she clutched the teardrop at her throat.

This strange, impossible thing.

She measured her breaths, trying to make sense of the magic that had just burst from her like a sunbeam and shredded all that Shade into ribbons.

In the distance, the Aurore guarded the city like a trusty soldier, casting its faithful glow across the slumbering streets. She gazed towards it now like it might hold the answer to this new mystery.

Mama's voice echoed in the back of Sera's mind. And when the time comes, you will rise far above this wicked city, and become a flame in the dark. The night wind kissed her cheeks, as though the saints were whispering to her too. You will be the Aurore, Seraphine.

The teardrop was no longer glowing, but Sera could feel the remnants of its magic humming in her bones. She sensed her mother's presence in its simmering warmth. And something else, too. A secret, revealed from beyond the grave. There was more to Sylvie Marchant than Shade. So much more.

‘Thank you, Mama,' Sera whispered. ‘For your love. For your magic.'

Wherever it had come from and whatever it meant, she would find out. But for now, she sighed with relief and pulled up her hood, disappearing into the dark.