“Zach,” Lenoir called, “are you all right?”
“He can’t hear you,” Zera returned coolly. “He is well past the reach of this world.”
Zach’s screams seemed to echo anew in Lenoir’s brain. He shoved his way through the door. It was a reckless move, and he paid the price. Someone tackled him to the floor, driving the air from his lungs and pinning him beneath an enormous weight. Lenoir’s gun went off as it hit the floor. His attacker grabbed his wrist and twisted, wrenching the flintlock free and knocking it aside. Lenoir found himself staring up into the bloodshot gaze of the largest Adal he had ever seen. The man’s hands closed around his throat.
“Hurry, Los,” Zera called. “It’s almost daybreak.”
Lenoir was amazed at how cold the woman was. Earlier, in the salon, she had at least seemed regretful that they had been pitted against each other. Now, within sight of her goal, she cared no more for him than if he were a perfect stranger. How little we can truly know another person, he thought. Even someone like him, who made it his business to read people, had been completely taken in.
Focus, you fool!
His mind had already begun to wander as he was deprived of air; he struggled to stay alert. He pictured the boy: that was his anchor. He fumbled for the gun holstered at his waist. It was empty, but he doubted he would be able to get a shot off anyway. He had something else in mind.
Los did not realize what Lenoir was doing until it was too late. The Adal released Lenoir’s throat to grab at his hand, allowing him to gulp down a precious lungful of air before slamming the butt of his pistol into the side of Los’s head. The Adal reeled, and Lenoir rolled out from under him, coughing and gasping. He gazed frantically about for the other pistol. Los was reaching for it too. Lenoir grabbed the other man by the cuff of his trousers, and they struggled. The Adal was stronger by far, but Lenoir still had his empty flintlock. He managed to get another good blow in to the side of Los’s face before twisting away, his fingers grazing the hilt of his other gun.
He was just about to grab it when Zera kicked the pistol out of his reach. Lenoir snarled in frustration and grabbed her ankle instead, bringing her down. Los landed a solid punch against Lenoir’s temple, and his vision flared. Another like that and he would be out cold. In desperation, he brought his knee up under the Adal’s groin and found his mark.
Throwing Los off him, Lenoir scrambled on all fours to reach his loaded pistol. He got there just in time, spinning and firing just as Los leapt at him. The ball caught the Adal in the neck; Los was dead before he fell, collapsing on top of Lenoir in an inert heap. Lenoir lay still for a moment, catching his breath. As the dead man’s blood spread across his chest, so too did the realization of what he had done. Los was the witchdoctor. Whatever he had done to Zach, he was in no position to undo it now. For all Lenoir knew, Los was the only man in the world who knew whether Zach’s condition could be reversed.
But Lenoir could not dwell on that now, for there was a more pressing matter to attend to. He rolled the dead man off him and stood awkwardly, his injured foot making him unsteady. He did not see Zera right away; she must be somewhere on the opposite side of the bell cote.
He rounded the wooden frame and stopped dead, the barrel of his pistol lowering a fraction. “You would not dare,” he whispered in horror.
Zera’s eyes sparkled madly. “Wouldn’t I?”
Zach lay unconscious on the parapet, his hair ruffling serenely in the wind. He was inches from the edge. Zera had the collar of his shirt twisted in her fist; the barest move of her arm would shove him over the side. The fall was two hundred feet at least.
Lenoir leveled his pistol. “Let him go.”
“I don’t think you really want me to do that,” she returned smoothly, her voice a dark mockery of the cajoling tone she used at the salon.
“You know what I mean. Get away from him, or I will shoot.”
Zera only smiled. “You seem to be forgetting, my dear Nicolas, that you are empty.”
He had forgotten, or he might have been able to bluff his way through. But the dismay showed on his face, and her smile only widened.
“Don’t worry, Nicolas. I have a solution.” She paused to let that sink in. Behind her, dawn slashed the belly of the sky, a bloody red pooling on the floor of the horizon. It was a dawn Lenoir had not really expected to see, yet he felt no joy in looking upon it. Indeed, he resented its intrusion, for it stripped him of his only ally. Vincent could not come to him now. He was on his own.
“What is your solution?” he growled.
“You want the boy returned to you unharmed, yes? I am willing to do that, provided that you allow me safe passage out of Kennian. You will turn around and go back down those stairs. You will leave the cathedral and take the west road back to the center of town. I will watch your progress from here. When I judge you are far enough away, I will leave the boy here in the tower and disappear. You will never see me again. Is that simple enough?”
Lenoir considered. His gut burned in protest at the idea of letting Zera go. She should be made to pay for what she had done. Yet his mind told him it was the only way. He had no doubt Zera would make good on her threat. He could see it in her eyes, that look of an animal cornered, of a creature that will do anything to survive.
“If I let you go, how do I know you will not simply kill the boy anyway?”
“Why would I do that? I’m not a monster, Nicolas, in spite of what you may think. I am prepared to make sacrifices for what I want, but I take no pleasure it. I have nothing against the boy.”
“And what of his condition? How can I be sure he will recover?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m no witchdoctor. You’ll have to figure that out on your own, whether you let me go or not.”
Lenoir hesitated a few moments longer, but deep down, he knew he had already made his choice. She was right and they both knew it. Besides, Vincent would track her down eventually. Like him, Zera was marked for death.
“Very well,” he said, “I agree to your terms. I will leave you here with the boy and head in the direction of the station. You can watch me for as many blocks as it pleases you. I will return in three-quarters of an hour, by which time I expect you to be gone, and the boy to be alone in the tower, unharmed.”
“That is acceptable,” Zera said.
“No,” said another voice, “it is not.”
Zera hissed in anger and surprise as Vincent stepped around the bell cote. Startled, Lenoir looked immediately to the horizon. Dawn had already cast a thin blanket of light over the city. The only shadow remaining at the top of the tower was formed by the lee of the bell cote. Vincent’s left side was exposed. Looking back at him, Lenoir saw that his flesh had begun to turn an angry red; tiny tendrils of smoke rose from the surface of his skin. If the spirit felt any pain, however, he gave no sign. He stared at Zera, his absinthe eyes seeming to pin her in place like a stunned rabbit. “She cannot go free,” he said.
Fear clutched Lenoir’s heart in a cold fist as he realized what Vincent intended. “We must do as she asks,” he said, unconsciously raising his hand in a warding gesture. “The boy is in danger.”
“The boy is not my concern. This woman has sinned against the dead. She must be punished.”
“Her punishment can wait!” Lenoir’s voice was shrill with desperation.
“I have only moments left.” Emphasizing his words, the skin on his left hand opened and began to burn away. “By the time night returns, she will be gone.”
“She cannot escape you!”