Chapter 16 Seraphine

Chapter 16 Seraphine

Seraphine was no lip-reader but it was hard to miss the Dagger's threat. Or the hatred glittering in his eyes. His words were as clear as if he had whispered them directly into her ear.

She drew back behind the pillar, scrunching her eyes shut, as if she could make him disappear.

‘Who is that ?' hissed Bibi, from behind the column next to hers.

‘I have no idea,' she lied.

‘He's staring at you.'

‘He shouldn't even be able to see me.' She tugged her hood down until it brushed her eyebrows. He shouldn't even be alive . ‘The rules said no Shade.'

‘They also said no cloaks,' Bibi reminded her.

‘That's different. We're not technically part of the meeting.'

An hour or so ago, after Madame Mercure, Madame Fontaine, Albert and Theo set out for the Aurore, Bibi and Sera had the bright idea to secretly follow them and eavesdrop on the meeting. Val had told them not to go, but Sera had rebuffed her warning, thinking she was just annoyed that her sprained ankle meant she couldn't join them.

But now, cowering under the lights of the Aurore, far too close to the menacing Head of the Daggers, she saw that Val had been right. Coming here was a mistake. It was dangerous to get this close to Gaspard Dufort, the man who had made marks of Mama and her. Sera was terrified by his nearness, her heart hammering so hard she could hardly think straight.

And then there was the matter of the Dagger she had stabbed at Villa Roman. She had been a fool to assume she had got rid of him that easily.

‘Sera, this guy is obsessed ,' said Bibi. ‘He can't take his eyes off you. I can't tell if he wants to ravish you or murder you.'

The latter , thought Sera grimly.

‘What did Dufort call him just now? Ransom? More like handsome .' Bibi chuckled to herself. ‘I'm hilarious.'

Ransom. The Dagger's name was Ransom. Living, breathing, seething Ransom. What the hell kind of a name was Ransom?

‘If the Cloaks and Daggers are serious about working together, then I suggest you use the time to explore this sizzling connection…' Bibi waggled her brows. ‘If you get my meaning.'

Her meaning was as subtle as a sledgehammer to the face.

Sera shuddered. ‘I'd sooner kiss a corpse.'

Ransom was supposed to be a corpse.

Saints , she had really messed this up. She clutched her necklace – a world of impossibility clenched inside her fist – and felt its magic buzzing faintly against her fingers, as if to say, I am here . It brought her little comfort. Despite her constant prodding at it these last few nights, she still had no idea what it was, or how she could use it again.

It had rebelled against the Dagger's attempts to kill her, shredding through his Shade, but it seemed not to mind when she donned Shade in the form of a cloak to hide herself. This little teardrop had a mind of its own. Or perhaps, somehow, it had come to know Seraphine's mind.

She shook off her frustration, tried to shove away her fear. They had lingered long enough in the lions' den. Gaspard Dufort didn't have the answers they were looking for, and the longer Sera remained in his presence, the more danger she was in. Especially now his Dagger had seen her. ‘Let's get out of here, Bibi.'

She stepped back from the pillar, stealing one last glance at Ransom. His murderous eyes were still fixed on her, his jaw so tense it looked like stone.

Despite the disguise offered by her cloak, leaving the Aurore unnoticed was no easy feat. The glow of the firelight flooded Primrose Square, leaving shadows few and far between. The girls moved slowly and carefully, hopping from one to the next, like vines on a tree. Sera's heart thundered as she imagined Ransom tracking her, the Shade in his system blanching every speck of darkness in the square. She must look ridiculous to him, flailing and leaping about like a confused hare. But she would rather his ireful gaze on her back than his hand around her neck again.

At last, they reached the edge of the square, where the pale-stone promenade, Ambler's Walk, meandered south towards the heart of the city. Bibi slumped onto a bench and removed her hood. ‘I'm sweating. I need a breather.' She untied her cloak and bundled it onto her lap.

Sera slipped off hers too. She had been wearing it for so long, the Shade had become heavy. Exhaustion tugged at her bones and made her head ache. She raked her hair back from her face, tying it into a knot at the nape of her neck.

‘Gaspard Dufort is even more odious in person,' Bibi remarked. ‘Did you see all the gold in his mouth? It looks like he swallowed a coin purse.' She paused, no doubt noticing the vacant look on Sera's face. She was miles away, back in the plains, watching the flames rise to lick the blue sky and smelling that awful, choking smoke as she rounded the hill…

Bibi's voice went quiet. ‘Are you feeling all right? Seeing him tonight must have been really difficult. Especially after… well…' she trailed off.

‘He ordered my mother's murder and then burned our farmhouse to the ground?' Sera's voice was hollow. Difficult was not the word for what she felt.

Bibi bit her lip. ‘Perhaps we shouldn't have come.'

‘I'm all right,' said Sera, putting her arm around Bibi, grateful for her new friend. At least she was not alone in her recklessness, even if they hadn't gleaned very much from the trip. ‘Thank you for checking.'

They rolled to their feet, Sera tucking her cloak under her arm as they walked on. Despite the clear evening, fear hung like a thick mist over the city, keeping everyone inside. The monster attacks meant most of the restaurants and taverns were closed, and the few that dared to remain open would lock up once night fell in earnest.

‘We're almost at Ondine's,' said Bibi, pointing ahead to a small cobbled courtyard strung with garlands and paper lanterns. All but two of the black wrought-iron tables were empty. ‘Do you fancy a quick bite to eat?'

Sera frowned, her trepidation warring with her hunger. She was starving, and the air smelled faintly like onion soup. Her favourite.

‘We're miles from the harbour and it's barely dusk,' Bibi went on. ‘I've never seen Ondine's so empty. I'd die for a slice of their bread-and-butter pudding. We wouldn't even have to queue.'

Sera wavered. Deciding for both of them, Bibi strode ahead, waggling her fingers at the waiter.

Sera was about to follow her when something struck her from behind. A whip of shadow curled around her waist and yanked her off her feet. She dropped her cloak as she was swept into a nearby alley, a strangled cry catching in her throat. The shadow snapped and she stumbled from its grip. The teardrop warmed at her throat, that unknowable magic fighting back. She turned to run but real hands caught her this time, pulling her against a body much larger than hers.

She bucked and thrashed, and one of those hands found her mouth, trapping her scream. The voice in her ear rippled down her spine. ‘Hello, Seraphine.'

She knew that voice, that lilting promise of death. Fear roared in her ears. She kept fighting as she was dragged down the alley, hauled deep into the darkness, where water dripped from the peeling walls and the stench of refuse hung heavy in the air.

He spun her at the waist and pressed her back against the wall, a strong arm braced either side of her shoulders in case she tried to run.

Sera glared up into those all-too familiar eyes. The silver in them had faded, the last of it used on the shadow she had just shredded. Now, they were a perfect mix of hazel and rage.

‘You and I have unfinished business.'

Sera's body flooded with adrenaline, but there was nowhere to run. She tilted her chin up, reaching for the only weapon she had left: the shield of her bravado. ‘Yeah. I can't help but notice you're still alive.'

‘Unlucky for you.' He gave a mirthless smirk, his gaze moving from her face to the hollow of her throat. She moved like lightning, grabbing the golden teardrop. His fist closed around hers a half-second too late.

‘I'm flattered, but I'd rather not hold hands, Ransom. I don't think we're quite there yet.'

He frowned at his name in her mouth. ‘Show me the necklace, Seraphine.'

Now, with only one arm pinning her in place, an escape route had opened up. Sera lunged to the left, but he pivoted, trapping her into the corner of the alley. She opened her mouth to scream for her friend. ‘BI—'

He clapped his hand over it, stifling the sound. ‘I wouldn't do that if I was you,' he threatened. ‘Unless you want Dufort to come down here and personally pay you a visit?'

Sera squeezed the teardrop in her fist, willing it to do something – to fight him off her, to explode in another sunburst and help her resist his inexorable strength. It only flickered in her grasp, as if to say, do it yourself.

Her mind reeled, desperately trying to remember the manoeuvres Albert had taught her.

Ransom slowly removed his hand from her mouth, his fingers trailing along her jaw. ‘Here's what's going to happen,' he said, leaning in. ‘You're going to hand me that necklace. And then you're going to tell me how the hell it works.'

Through the mist of her rage, Sera remembered a move. He just had to come a little closer…

‘Or what?' she challenged. ‘You'll kill me?'

He cocked his head. ‘Maybe I won't, if you co-operate.'

Such a bold-faced lie. She looked down at the wound in his side. ‘Or maybe I'll kill you,' she said, trading a lie of her own.

His mouth twisted, stretching the scar that sliced his bottom lip. ‘What do you have on you this time, Seraphine? A paperweight? A fountain pen?' His gaze roamed the length of her body. ‘Do I need to pat you down?'

‘Maybe you should. Just to be safe.'

His eyebrows rose, but he took the bait. Moved closer, the heat of his body searing the space between them. She jerked her knee up, found her mark between his legs. He hissed a curse, doubling over. She slammed her palm up, thrilling at the satisfying crunch of his nose.

He released a roar of fury. Blood gushed, striping his mouth, his chin. Sera leaped to the side and bolted. Five paces passed in a blur, then five more. She was halfway to the street. Lamplight bloomed up ahead.

The air whistled, and a bottle clipped her ankle. She slipped, falling backwards. Her head smashed against the ground, causing a spiderweb of pain across her skull. She groaned. Bastard. She scrambled to her knees in a puddle of broken glass.

He was on her in the next breath, yanking her to unsteady feet, sealing the space between them with the hardness of his body. Immovable. Unyielding. Enraged. ‘Nice try, spitfire.'

Black spots swarmed her vision. Blood trickled from her scalp, warm and slick on the back of her neck. She pretended not to notice. ‘Nasty nosebleed you've got there, Ransom.'

‘Plenty more glass bottles where that one came from,' he said, licking the blood from his lips.

Saints , her head was spinning awfully. ‘Truce?' she said, weakly.

‘No.' But he stalled, as though considering his next move. For a moment, they stared at each other, the rattle of their breath punctuating the silence. And then, he said, ‘Let's talk.'

She raised her eyebrows. ‘I thought you wanted to kill me.'

‘Believe it or not, I'm trying really hard to resist.'

‘What was all that mouthing about at the Aurore, then? Foreplay?'

He blinked, then offered the slash of a smile. ‘Old habits.'

Too dizzy to attempt another escape, Sera curled her hand around her necklace, considering his words. The Dagger hadn't taken any more Shade. Here, in the narrow dark, he was just a man. Seething, but clear-eyed. Hesitant. She could sense it in the way he watched her, in how he let the silence stretch to allow her to speak. But why? ‘Are you afraid to break that shiny new truce? So tightly wound around Dufort's baby finger that you're terrified of pissing him off?'

His lip curled. ‘You don't know anything about me.'

‘I know you're a Dagger,' said Sera. ‘Which means you think the way Dufort tells you to. When he tells you to jump, you probably ask him how high.' Despite the blackness at the edge of her mind, she enjoyed the way he flinched, how the blood from his nose painted his lips crimson, the metallic tang of it mixing with his scent of woodsmoke and sage. ‘I hope you know your days in those catacombs are numbered, that all the Shade you devour will eat through you long before your conscience does.'

There – a flash of emotion in his eyes, gone as quickly as it came.

‘Perhaps it's foolish to assume you have a conscience at all,' she went on.

He inched closer, daring her to flinch. ‘For your sake, you'd better hope I do, spitfire.'

‘I'm not afraid of you.'

Lie, lie, lie. But he wasn't watching her eyes; he was watching her lips.

‘Then why did you try and squawk your friend's name a moment ago?'

‘I thought she might like to see the Dagger I skewered with my letter opener.'

He tapped the hand that clutched her necklace. ‘What's in that thing?'

She tightened her grip on it, her words coming in a whisper. ‘A tiny, ancient piece of paper…'

His throat bobbed, his expression hungry. ‘What does it say?'

‘It says, Fuck off, Ransom .'

He glared at her. ‘Are you always this immature?'

She smirked now that the Dagger's curiosity was plain to see. This was no longer a murder; it was a conversation, a careful trade of information. ‘I have a better question. Why did you kill my mother and burn our house to the ground?'

For the second time since she had met him, the Dagger bristled at that question. ‘I told you I didn't kill your mother. And I didn't burn your house.'

‘So, what? You were just there to warm your hands on the bonfire of my life?' She had seen him, that tall, broad figure flickering through the flames. When he said nothing, only glared harder, she went on. ‘Why did Dufort order my mother's murder?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Liar,' she hissed.

His attention returned to her own white-knuckled fist. It occurred to Sera that he probably believed she had discovered the magic herself, that she knew exactly how to use it. As far as Ransom was aware, she was a skilled artificer, a shredder of Shade, a force to be reckoned with. The thought made her laugh right in his face.

His frown hardened the edge of his jaw. It also dimly occurred to Sera that Bibi was right. He was murderously handsome. ‘Something funny, Seraphine?'

‘I told you I'm not scared of you,' she said, pressing her hand against his chest. She was surprised by the gallop of his heartbeat beneath her fingers. She shoved him back, and he let her do it. ‘I'm laughing because you should be afraid of me .'

Maybe it was the wariness in his eyes, or perhaps it was the teardrop warming in her hand, but Sera really didn't feel afraid just then. She felt in control, so she made a blade of her fury and drove it home. ‘You see, Ransom, you kill for coin. For praise from a rat like Gaspard Dufort. For a cold bed in a stone room far beneath the city. But me? My spirit – my fight – comes from my mother. And so does my magic.' A huff of breath at that word – magic . A dent in his composure. She went on, emboldened. ‘My strength is your weakness. My secret is your nightmare. And that makes me a lot more dangerous than you.'

He nipped at the scar on his lip, his gaze never leaving her knuckles. She couldn't tell if it was fear or hunger that drew him closer, but she knew the balance of power between them had shifted to her.

‘Even now, you can't take your eyes off it.' She knew she should stop – that taunting a Dagger was like waving a red rag at a bull – but she couldn't help herself. She wanted to frighten him just as he frightened her. She wanted him to cower at the thought of what she could do with Mama's magic, to scare him so badly that he left her alone for good. ‘You're afraid of my magic. And you should be. Because sooner or later, it's going to—'

He pushed her back against the wall, his hand resting at the base of her throat. Her senses were scrambled, her breath punching out of her in sharp, shallow bursts. It was a threat – a demonstration of how easily he could choke the life out of her if he wanted to. He had knocked her from her pedestal with a casual sweep of his hand.

‘Now who's afraid, spitfire?' he crooned, gazing down at her through a veil of black lashes. ‘Look at that smart mouth tremble.'

She drew a shaky breath.

‘Let's clear one thing up,' he said, his breath on her lips. ‘I don't fear your magic, Seraphine. I want it.'

‘Then let's talk,' she rasped. ‘I'll talk.'

‘Nice to see you return to your senses.' He slid his hand around the back of her neck, into the knot of her hair. It came loose, the long strands threading through his fingers. ‘Must be the concussion,' he said, frowning. ‘So much blood…'

Sera looked down and saw that he was right. The blood from the back of her head had run down her neck, staining the top of her sweater. There was blood on the cobbles too, his and her own, mingling in the dark grooves. The sight of it made her woozy. She closed her eyes, fighting the sudden tremble in her knees.

Get a grip.

She heard a soft click. Her eyes flew open as the clasp on her necklace opened beneath his deft fingers. Her hand dropped, and he grabbed her fist, working the teardrop free.

‘ No .' Sera would sooner lose her hand than the magic inside it. She struck out, slamming her fist into the wound in his side.

He cursed, grabbing her jaw.

She spat in his face.

He jerked backwards. There was a sudden clatter of footsteps, then a warning shout. A figure hurtled through the dark, tackling Ransom at the waist. They careened into a trash can, their fists flying so fast, it took Sera a second to spot the glint of silver hair. When they finally fell away from each other, Theo scrambled to his feet, his wild eyes finding hers.

He looked her over. ‘You're bleeding.'

‘I'm fine,' she said, shoving her necklace into her pocket.

Ransom leaped to his feet, rounding on Theo. ‘Who the fuck are you?'

Theo spat out a glob of blood. ‘Your worst nightmare.'

Ransom laughed. ‘OK, Drama. The theatre is two streets over.'

‘Keep laughing, tunnel rat.' Theo pulled a switchblade from his pocket just as Ransom brought out a vial of Shade. It was like bringing a toothpick to a swordfight.

‘Leave him,' she said, pulling Theo away. ‘Let's get out of here.'

‘Go on, Drama.' Ransom bit the stopper off his vial. ‘I'll give you a head start.'

They bolted for the mouth of the alley, then across the street to where Bibi was running towards them. ‘Merciful saints!' she cried. ‘I've been looking everywhere for you. I thought a monster took you!' She swept her hair from her face and Sera saw that her cheeks were blotchy, her eyes swollen from crying. ‘When Theo found me, we ran up and down the river, shouting your name. Didn't you hear us?' Bibi looked at Theo, who was dishevelled and panting, then back at Sera, noting the blood on her sweater and in her hair. ‘What happened to you?'

Sera's gaze darted back to the alley. ‘I'll explain later.'

Sensing the urgency of the situation, Bibi reluctantly stayed her curiosity. They turned for home, their footsteps quickening as night fell and a gathering chorus of howls echoed through the city.