Rapture's Edge

53

Eliana heard Mel’s scream, and she heard another voice she recognized as Silas’s, but mainly she heard the furious snarls of Caesar as he beat her with iron fists and booted feet and called her every filthy name she’d ever heard, and many she hadn’t. She doubled over, too stunned to comprehend what was happening, too exhausted to do more than twist and roll on the hard floor, covering her head to avoid the more violent of his blows.

“Stop!” Silas shouted, dragging Caesar away. “My lord, stop!”

White dots danced in her vision. It had suddenly become very hard to breathe.

Mel’s face swam into view, hovering above her, pale and horrified. “Ana! Ana, can you talk? How badly are you hurt?”

Eliana inhaled a breath that felt like fire, and she coughed. Pain shot up her right side where Caesar had kicked her, and she moaned.

“So help me, Caesar,” Mel hissed, staring at him, still restrained in the circle of Silas’s arms, “one of these days—”

“One more word and you’re both dead!” Caesar shrieked, veins popping out on his neck. He twisted and fought Silas’s hold, kicking, but the older man was stronger and taller and held him fast, murmuring soothing words into his ear. Caesar settled after a few moments, and Silas allowed him to shake free, bristling but no longer spitting in rage.

“You ruined everything! You led them right to us! Now everyone knows we’re in France, in Paris. We’ll have to move before we’re ready. We’ll have to change all our plans—”

He shouted on and on, pacing back and forth over the stone floor, wild-eyed, red-faced, held back from attacking her again only by the outstretched hand of Silas, who seemed able to dissuade him with only that.

Mel helped her to a sitting position, her hands firm around her back while she gulped in lungfuls of dank air.

“My lord,” interrupted Silas smoothly, still with that outstretched hand, “perhaps you could allow your sister a moment to collect herself so we can find out exactly what happened.” He glanced at Eliana and Mel, still crouched together on the floor, and then turned his gaze back to Caesar. “I would be happy to speak with her and report back to you as quickly as possible.” His voice, still soothing, turned velvet. “In the interim, I’ll arrange for a girl to be sent over. Your favorite, perhaps? The blonde?”

Still breathing hard, Caesar stopped pacing and shot a black glance at Silas. After a moment, he nodded curtly and then looked back at Eliana. His upper lip curled. “You’re lucky he’s here, sister.” He spat the word as if it tasted evil in his mouth. “If he wasn’t, you wouldn’t be breathing right now.”

He turned and strode from the room, and as soon as he was out of sight Silas swept over and knelt down beside her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, gently touching her shoulder. “He felt your approach. It was all I could do to keep him from bringing his gun.”

Their eyes met. She saw the genuine concern, the sincerity of his apology, and she also saw the unspoken I told you.

“You were right.” She tried not to inhale too deeply because it caused too much pain. “I didn’t believe you, but you were right.”

“Right about what?” Mel asked as she and Silas gently helped her to her feet.

Silas gave her a look—probing, intense—and Eliana glanced away.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and we’ll talk,” he murmured, allowing her to lean on his arm as he led her toward the door. She felt his penetrating gaze slant down to her. His voice dropped even lower. “Thank Horus you’re back. When I heard you’d been captured by the police, then the explosion at the station, I felt…” He left it unsaid, the thought unfinished, and it hung there between them, louder than any spoken word. His voice turned harder. “And don’t worry about your brother. I won’t let this happen again.”

Neither will I, Eliana thought bitterly, but she only nodded and allowed herself to be led away.

Silas knew she was lying. What he didn’t know was why, or what exactly about.

Eliana had rested and bathed and dressed, and now she stood staring at a crumbling eighteenth-century headstone, the winged angel perched atop, mossy and blackened with age. They stood in the little decrepit cemetery beside the old abbey, its rows of leaning headstones with faded inscriptions ringed by gnarled plum trees who decades ago had stopped bearing fruit. It was late afternoon; the sun was slung low in the sky and cast long, sinister shadows that crawled hungrily over the dead grass and up their legs.

He thought it best to be outdoors, away from any interested ears, so they could speak openly.

“…so I hid in a drainpipe until I was sure they were long gone.” Eliana’s voice was utterly emotionless.

Silas studied her. Clad in her usual black leather ensemble, she looked even more somber than usual. There were faint blue smudges beneath her eyes, her lips held a downward curve, and every once in a while she would give a small, unconscious shake of her head, as if she were answering the same unasked question, over and over again.

“And you didn’t know these men…” he prompted.

“No. They weren’t from the Roman colony. It wasn’t the Legiones, or”—she hesitated for an infinitesimal second—“the Bellatorum. They were obviously sent by one of the other colonies. Or all of them, I suppose.”

Silas narrowed his eyes. The way she’d hesitated was worrying. Very worrying indeed. But why would she withhold anything? What could she gain? Or lose?

“You were in that drainpipe a very long time. It must have been awful.” He watched her hawkishly, scanning her solemn face for any hint of what she might be hiding, but she gave nothing away.

She didn’t even blink when she murmured, “You have no idea.”

“And you’re certain you weren’t followed here?”