Chapter Fifty-Five. The Acceptance.
Fifty-Five
The Acceptance.
Thale freezes for a moment. Then his laughter rumbles around the room and he breaks off from me, returning to the decanters.
“You know, I was surprised when your husband visited one of my ladies earlier today.” He looks over at me as he pours himself another measure. “But I am getting a very clear reason why. You are beautiful, but delusional—and tedious with all this misplaced self-possession.”
He drinks some of his second whiskey, and comes back with the glass. “I doubt sex with you is very much fun.”
I think of Merc leaving the bed we shared and choke up that this stranger may be telling the truth. But now is not the time to fall into my own emotions.
When I make no response, he shakes his head. “You are serious, then.”
“You have heard of me,” I say softly. “I am whispered of in the darkness, the one who knows when the time for dying comes, the one who brings the bairns back from death, the girl who can harness the magic that should not be used. You know who I am.”
This time, as Thale goes still, he doesn’t even breathe. I know this because that diamond that’s twinkled even in this low lighting to the beat of his respiration offers no flashing. Then he jerks the glass to his lips and throws his head back.
“I don’t believe you.” He goes to the bar once more and puts the glass down. When he turns back around, his right hand is tucked in close to his hip. “There is no such female.”
“Then why do you have your hand on your firearm.”
Gone is all trace of joking in him now, as well as any sexual impulse: He becomes utterly serious. And I truly know I’ve put my life on the line.
“You’re smart to have this lair to retreat to.
” I glance around the room. “With the amount of money and power you have? You’re the king in this den of iniquity, but you’re also the prime target.
If you know what your death is, you could prevent it.
Protect yourself. And I’m the only person who can provide you with the how and when. ”
Abruptly, he leans back against the bar and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll say it again. I don’t believe you.”
“Then meet my gaze.” I shrug. “Whatever do you have to lose? A big, strong man such as yourself, surely you’re not afraid of a little woman like me.”
“Of course not.”
Except he comes no closer. He stays where he is.
He will not be able to resist, however. He will have to know—or at the very least, hear what I have to tell him, even if he thinks it’s a lie.
With an elegant flourish, Thale takes off his top hat and puts it aside by the decanters. His hair is black and wavy, but has a white streak in front. Pulled back and tied with a black thong, his hawk-like features announce exactly what he is.
A man who rules by the fist and the firearm.
“Nothing will come of this,” he announces.
“So there is naught to worry over, is there. Meet my eyes.”
“You are the one dodging mine.”
“Are you saying you’re ready?”
With three long strides, he plants himself before me and bends down so that our faces are on the same level. In a derisive voice, he says, “Should I brace myself.”
“No, that’s what I must do.” I put my hand out to shake. “Have we a deal?”
“You’re a trusting sort.”
“Not at all. The working women here are very well cared for. They’re healthy, comfortable, and confident as they move around. Given your clientele, I know this is because you protect them so—”
“I am done talking. The time for games is over.”
Taking a deep breath, I shift my eyes up and meet his—
The gasp explodes out of me, and I go for my throat as I taste copper.
Staggering to the side, I put my hand out as the air going down into my lungs bubbles through the blood that rushes out of the open slice running nearly from ear to ear.
As I suddenly pitch forward, I head for where the decanters are, to the table.
Slapping my hand down, the glass he drank out of goes flying and shatters as my fingers shove to the edge and seek a specific spot under the top.
Where there’s a hidden latch.
Still gagging and weaving, I free it, and a drawer shoots out from under. Without looking inside, my palm locks on some kind of grip and I pull out a silver pistol. Swinging the heavy weapon around, my legs splay out and I fall back against the table, the bottles rattling—
It’s the man with the beard. He’s standing over me, but what’s in his hand makes no sense. I guess it’s a knife, but it’s unlike any I’ve ever seen before. An icicle? Like the ones that form on the roof edge in winter?
Surely I’m not seeing this right—
The bearded man’s mouth is moving. He’s taunting me as I struggle to hold the pistol up. My strength is declining fast—the silver weapon drops from my grip, and I put both my hands back up to my throat. I look down. The diamond pin on the tie is a ruby now from my blood, which is puddling under me.
“You bastard,” I hear myself say in Thale’s voice.
The bearded man kicks the silver pistol out of the way. Then he straddles my legs—
I groan and try to put an arm up to defend myself. He slaps it away, and lifts his fist over his shoulder. The wound across the front of my throat is deep enough to be a mortal one, but the death occurs when the man plunges his arm down.
The pain is so sharp, but it doesn’t last.
Or rather, my inability to breathe becomes the only thing I know. I can’t draw a breath, and my lungs are burning so badly, I retch to try to clear the blood out of my mouth. The bubbling froth that erupts from my lips is hot, my skin feels cold, my chest goes numb.
The last thing I see, as my vision recedes to a pinpoint, is the man leaning down and plucking the blood-soaked diamond from my tie—
All at once, the vision is over.
The death is done.
I come back into my body, and have a moment of confusion as I realize I’m on the floor and there’s broken glass shimmering all around me.
Looking up, I expect to see Thale standing over me. He’s not.
He’s stumbling back from me, and when he bumps into the bed in the middle of the room, he lands in a bouncing sit.
His face is drawn into a mask, and he is pale as milk. “Get out. Get … the fuck out.”
As I go to rise to my feet, I must be careful with all the glass, and when I’m standing, he shrinks away from me and covers his eyes with his hands. Like a child.
Then he reaches down and touches something on the side of the footboard.
As the panel we came through slides back and reveals the dim hallway, I look at him. “Where is the other release? To get me all the way out.”
He curses.
Then he surges to his feet and marches out past me into the hall. In a low voice, he says, “Don’t ever come anywhere near me again.”
Thale stomps his boot in another place, and the first panel we went through retracts to reveal the trestle table and the group of men.
I walk out alone, and things are immediately closed up behind me.
He’s smart. He needs time to recover from the shock, and he can’t be around anybody who knows him well until he has.
I’m very aware of the eyes that follow me as I step around the empty throne. Before I disappear into the pub proper, I glance back. The bearded one, the one who will murder him, is the only member of that private guard who isn’t looking in my direction.
He’s turned around and is staring at the wall.
Walking into the crowd, I weave my way in and out of the round tables, heading for the staircase. The entire time, I focus on the kitchen door and wonder how I could get in there and check to see if the maid is still alive.
It’s as I decide that I can’t, at least not without endangering her, that the cook himself comes out.
In a bloody apron that’s marked just like it had been in my vision.