Chapter 25 Katarina #2
She was right. Didn’t I know his name? It was on the tip of my tongue, but the damn brain fog made it hard to remember. He was familiar in a way that made my heart pound.
Lucifer. The light-bringer.
He walked right up to me, the crowd parting before him.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his deep voice sending shivers over me. His sooty hands closed on my face, cupping my cheeks and tilting my head back for his inspection. His gaze ran over my features, checking for injuries.
I just stared at him.
“What happened? Do you know?” he asked.
I shook my head slowly.
He turned to the crowd. Muttering to himself.
“It looks like everyone—wait, where’s your little shadow?”
“Who?”
“Tatiana. Have you seen her?”
Tatiana. Chubby fingers curled around crayons and knock-knock jokes. I didn’t get a visual of her, just an impression.
“I-I don’t know,” I admitted.
Lucifer narrowed his eyes at me and then tilted my face to see it better. He ran the backs of his fingers down my cheek. It was a surprisingly gentle touch for a such a terrifying-looking man.
“Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll find you.”
Then he faced the institute. Looking left and right to search the crowd, he spied a nurse. She ran toward him, gesturing wildly at the building, tears streaming down her face.
The demon nodded, clenched his tight jaw, and put his head down. He glanced back at me for a long moment.
I found my feet taking a step toward him before I could register even moving.
He shook his head once, forbidding me closer. Then he turned back toward the blaze and walked unerringly into the burning building.
See . . . I told you he was a demon.
I couldn’t breathe properly. My throat was tight and my lungs cramped. Something crawled up my throat as I watched the man stride back inside.
Fear?
A car horn sounded behind me, and I whirled around. Dr. Blackwood, sitting in the driver’s seat of a small black car. He pushed open the passenger-side door.
“Get in. I’ll take you into town.”
“What about the patients—the fire?”
“Emergency services are already on their way. The patients will travel into town as well.”
I hesitated. I was freezing cold, my limbs shivering in the snow, and there was nothing I wanted more than to get in a nice warm car, but . . .
It felt wrong. Leaving when everyone was standing outside felt wrong.
Leaving before that man had emerged from the fire felt wrong.
“Katarina, your mother is waiting for you. Get in.”
My mother.
I was moving toward the door before I could stop myself. I slid into the warm interior, and thoughts of my mom filled my head. Yes, I’d go home and see my mom. Comfort at the very thought filled my chest. Despite the fog in my head, she was clear.
Blackwood reversed the car, and that nagging feeling that I shouldn’t be leaving like this reappeared. If only I could think more clearly.
A chain around my neck threatened to strangle me, caught in my sweater. I tugged at it. It was long, with a pendant hanging far down my chest, caught between my breasts.
I pulled it carefully free from my tangled sweater.
Blackwood sat forward, staring intently at the dangerous roads. Fire engines streamed past us on the way to the institute, disappearing in the rearview mirror.
It wasn’t a pendant, I realized, when I uncovered the whole necklace.
Smooth flat disks, rectangular and printed with a name . . .
Dog tags.
I lifted them to the light and tried to make out the tiny letters.
Lucciano, Massimo.
Lucciano?
Blackwood swore. He steered the car through snowy streets.
Torino was beautiful under its thick, white layer of snow.
Arcades bracketed the road, with their elegant marble colonnades marching down the street, protecting the sidewalks from snow.
We passed the twin baroque churches of Piazza San Carlo, and I glimpsed the spire of Mole Antonelliana piercing the skyline in the distance.
I knew this city. I used to live here. It was clear, while everything else was murky.
We halted at a red traffic light. On the right was a train station lit up brightly in the darkness. Inside, people milled around.
It all seemed normal. A world that I had nearly left behind forever.
The dog tags felt heavy between my fingers.
Get out of here now, while you can. Go!
The voice inside my head was insistent. Maybe it made me crazy, but I listened.
The man beside me was tense and fidgeting.
Did I know him? Suddenly I couldn’t even remember getting into the car.
Then I saw the back of his hand. A fine spray of red decorated his knuckles.
There was no cut to explain it. I knew at that moment that the blood wasn’t his.
I yanked the door handle and unclipped my seat belt at the same time. Instinct drove me onward. I couldn’t explain it, and I couldn’t ignore it, either. I just needed to get away.
Blackwood shouted after me, but I left the car door hanging open and ran for the pavement. The light changed, and car drivers honked at Blackwood.
I didn’t dare look back. Something inside urged me to run away from that car and that man, and I didn’t have time to question it.
I hit the sidewalk and slid on the ice and snow, going down on one knee hard. But I didn’t have time to stop. I scraped my palms on the ground pushing myself up and staggering the last few steps into the train station.
Heat and humidity hit me as soon as I got inside. Some people gawped at me and then looked away. I must have seemed strange in my all-white sweatsuit and sneakers, bloody knee and hands, a frantic glimmer in my eyes. My face felt chalked with ash and soot from the fire.
I put my head down and moved to the wall, walking quickly along it. Should I hide out in the ladies’ room? Wouldn’t that be the first place Blackwood would look for me?
What if I was overreacting and the man was just trying to take me to my mother’s house? Despite how much I tried to believe that, I just couldn’t.
There was a small kiosk at the end of the waiting hall with stands of magazines and newspapers outside. I dove between the rails and paused. I had to get a grip. I didn’t even know if Blackwood was following me.
I lingered there, pretending to choose a magazine, peering over the top of the rail whenever I dared. My heart sank as Blackwood entered the station.
I scuttled farther back, my breath rasping painfully. I couldn’t seem to catch it.
He glanced this way and that, and then started in my direction.
He was going to find me here.
Suddenly, someone touched my arm and I nearly screamed. I spun around to find a young woman, maybe my age, maybe younger, standing beside me. She had draped a heavy, fashionable puffer coat around my shoulders. The thing nearly hid my entire institute uniform.
“Here,” she said quickly, and pulled a woolen beanie hat with a pom-pom onto my head. Then she stepped between me and the rest of the station and tugged me over to a display of gardening magazines.
“What are you doing?” I murmured, confused and mistrustful.
“Just looking at magazines with my friend,” she said back quietly.
“I-I don’t know you?” I asked, more of a question than a statement.
“Not yet.” The girl gave me a half smile and then glanced forward. “Keep your head down, he’s coming.”
I stared at the magazines, my eyes swimming. This sudden act of kindness from a stranger was all it took to make me tear up, apparently.
I swiped at my eyes, tension beating through me. I waited to see if Blackwood would find me despite my makeshift disguise.
After a few minutes, the girl beside me relaxed.
“He’s gone out the emergency exit at the back. He must think you came in and went right back out to confuse him.”
I stepped away from her and stared around. She was right. Blackwood was gone.
“Thank you so much for your help. I don’t even know what to say—”
“You don’t have to say anything. You see someone in trouble, you help, right?” The girl studied me with concern. “Do you have somewhere to go right now?”
I shook my head. I could go to my mother’s, but it was bound to be the next place Blackwood would look for me. He’d been on his way there, or at least had been pretending to be. My mind was so cloudy, it felt dangerous to wander around while I didn’t remember what the hell was going on.
“I think I need to find this person.” I lifted the dog tags from my sweater.
The girl eyed the name thoughtfully. “Lucciano, Massimo.” She dropped the tags. “You don’t know who he is, but you wear these?”
“I know, it doesn’t make any sense, does it? I can’t make much sense of anything lately, to be honest.”
She stared at me, clearly puzzled, but not afraid.
“Lucy,” a sharp voice said beside us, and I nearly dove to the floor.
“It’s fine, Nina. I’ve got it under control,” the girl who had helped me said quickly.
A woman stood beside us, alert and professional. Something about her screamed security. She wore all black and had her deep-red hair in a severe bun. Her gray eyes were watchful and full of assessment. She took me in from head to toe, a frown creasing her brow at the odd sight I made.
The girl, Lucy, turned back to me. “Well, I’d invite you home with me, but I’m only here on a work trip. I’ve got a hotel room for a few nights, though, and you’re welcome to hide out there.”
“Lucy, no!” the woman in black protested, clearly alarmed.
“Yes, Nina,” Lucy argued back. She had an air of confidence that was at odds with her age. Maybe she was rich? Or maybe she was just used to having her say.
“You see a woman who needs help, you help,” Lucy repeated her words from earlier.
“My job is to keep you safe, no one else,” Nina argued back softly.
Her job was to keep her safe? Was she a bodyguard? Why would this girl need a bodyguard?
“Yeah, and she’s with me. Enough arguing about this in public, you’re drawing more attention than anything else. I’m done talking about this,” Lucy said abruptly, then turned her attention to me.
“Do you want to go to the police?”
I shook my head. Not until my head cleared. I had no answers for their questions.
“I don’t think I can make myself understood right now. I’ll go tomorrow, when I’m calmer. But why are you helping me?” I blurted out.
Lucy shrugged. “People have helped me when I needed it before. People have even helped me when I didn’t deserve it. You never know what someone is going through . . . I’ve learned that the hard way. I’m Lucy, by the way.”
I’d learned that there were two types of people when it came to helping others. The ones who walked away, afraid to be dragged into someone else’s issues, and the ones who ran toward the trouble to help. To find the latter felt like a miracle.
“Katarina,” I said, and stuck my hand out to shake hers. I waited for a bad feeling or a tingle of intuition that I shouldn’t trust this kind stranger, but it didn’t come.
She seemed genuine. And I had no alternatives. I’d have to trust her for now, at least.
“Katarina. Can I call you Kat?”
I nodded.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said decisively.
I nodded. “Let’s.”