Vincent turned his gleaming gaze on Lenoir. “You did.”
Lenoir could hear Zera’s terrified breathing from where he stood, a near-hysterical sound that rose in pitch with every successive breath. Any second now, she would bolt. Vincent would stop her. But by then it would be too late. She would push Zach before she ran, hoping the move would buy her a few seconds’ distraction. Lenoir saw it all as clearly as if he were watching a play he had seen before.
“Please,” he said, his voice scarcely audible even to his own ears. “Just let me save the boy.”
For the barest of seconds, the stained glass of Vincent’s eyes cracked. Lenoir saw the humanity behind, a frail and tortured thing that peered out like a prisoner longing to be free. “My will is not my own,” the spirit whispered, and the voice seemed to come from somewhere behind those eyes, instead of the cold, hollow depths of his chest.
Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the crack in Vincent’s gaze was gone, the smooth, imperturbable surface restored. He turned away, stepping fully into the sunlight.
His flesh withered and peeled back in coils of smoke. Raw muscle appeared, only to blacken and char, revealing the white bone beneath. Lenoir’s stomach heaved, but he could not bring himself to look away. Like Zera, he was pinned to the spot.
Zera swooned as though she might faint, but she retained enough presence of mind to jerk her arm, threatening Zach. Lenoir thought he saw Vincent’s step lurch, his stride momentarily broken, but he continued forward. Lenoir was helpless to stop him, and too far away to prevent Zera from doing what he knew she would. Still, he moved, his limbs feeling heavy and foreign as the world itself seemed to slow.
With a hateful shriek, Zera pushed Zach from the parapet. It happened so fast that all Lenoir saw was a flutter of clothing disappearing over the edge. He threw himself at Zera, roaring in fury as he drove her to the floor. He did not care if he was in Vincent’s way. He did not care if the spirit killed them both. He drove his fist into Zera’s face, again and again.
A scream snapped him out of his blind rage. It was Zach’s voice, and it was coming from just over the parapet. Lenoir scrambled to his feet, staggering at the sight that greeted him.
A charred and bloodied Vincent was hauling back on his whip like a fisherman with a huge catch, dragging something unseen over the parapet. His blackened flesh was kindled into flame, burning away what remained of his muscle. In moments, he would lose the ability even to move. Lenoir lunged at the parapet. Zach was dangling by his arm, the scourge wrapped tightly around his wrist. The boy was screaming as his flesh died in the grasp of the accursed weapon. Reaching down as far as he could, Lenoir grabbed Zach’s forearm and heaved.
They tumbled over the top together. Lenoir heard the air hum as the whip came free and found a new target, and then his ears were filled with Zera’s screams. He twisted his head to see what remained of Vincent drop to his knees, his bare bones cracking against the stone. Only scraps of flesh hung from him now, but he no longer needed any. The scourge did its work without his help, squeezing the life from Zera’s throat in seconds. Then, as Lenoir watched, Vincent disintegrated into a pile of ash. The scourge flashed once with a faint green light and vanished, leaving Zera’s blackened throat behind. Moments later, even the ash was gone, borne on the wind to God-knew-where.
Lenoir rolled Zach gently onto his back. The boy’s skin was deathly pale, but his eyelids fluttered. Suddenly, his body lurched, and he began to choke. Lenoir just managed to get him onto his side before he vomited. Instinctively, the boy’s arm curled up to his stomach, as though he could protect it from the pain he remembered, or the morbid sensation that had replaced it. He opened his eyes and gasped.
“It’s all right, Zach,” Lenoir said gently. “You are safe now.”
The boy’s eyes fixed on him. There was no recognition there, only lingering terror. Lenoir’s heart sank. He had seen that look before, in the eyes of the boy Mika, whose experience left his mind violently shattered.
“You are safe, Zach,” he repeated, more firmly this time.
Slowly, Zach’s gaze came into focus. Fear gave way to confusion, then relief. He tried to speak, but succeeded only in choking again. Lenoir helped the boy to sit until the coughing fit subsided.
“Where is he?” Zach gasped.
Lenoir hesitated. “Who?” He hoped Zach had no memory of Vincent. The boy had gone through enough without having a sight such as that to haunt him for the rest of his days.
“The other boy.”
Lenoir shivered. “You saw him?”
Zach paused, confusion returning to his eyes. “Sure I did. He was here. I mean . . .” He trailed off uncertainly.
“It does not matter. What matters is that you are safe, and we can go home.”
“Home,” the orphan repeated absently, as though testing a foreign word. Lenoir kicked himself inwardly for his thoughtlessness. But Zach had other things on his mind; he looked down at his arm, hefting it awkwardly as though it did not quite belong to him. “My wrist feels funny.” He took in the sight of his blackened flesh with surprising equanimity. Perhaps all his fear was spent.
Lenoir sighed. “Yes. That will never go away, I’m afraid, but you will get used to it. And yours is a small wound, hardly noticeable. It will not greatly affect your life.”
Zach nodded, accepting this appraisal without comment. He looked around, seeming to take in his surroundings for the first time. His gaze came to rest on Zera. “Who’s that?”
Lenoir looked over. She lay on her stomach, her face turned toward them, eyes fixed on some distant plane. Lenoir wondered whether she could see Vincent. He wondered whether Vincent was looking out at them through her eyes. He shivered again. “That is Lady Zera,” he said, surprised at the tinge of regret in his voice.
“She’s dead.”
“Yes, she is.”
“I guess I don’t need to work for her anymore, huh?” Zach looked up at him, and for the first time, Lenoir saw something like the familiar boyish curiosity blooming in his eyes. He could not help smiling.
“No, I don’t suppose you do.”
“I’m hungry.”
Lenoir got to his feet, extending his hand to help the boy. “Well, then, we should get you something to eat. But first, I think we had better find a place to wash up.”
They headed for the stairs, Lenoir limping on his injured foot, Zach wobbling on shaky legs. “Is it too early for steak?” Zach asked.
“I don’t think so.”
Lenoir held the door open. Zach paused on his way under Lenoir’s arm, looking up at him severely. “You took a really long time, you know.”
“I know,” Lenoir said softly. “I am sorry, Zach.”
The boy shrugged. “You can make it up to me later.”
Lenoir forced a smile. He could never make it up to Zach, not if he had a hundred years, let alone the single day that remained to him. But for the next few hours at least, he was damn well going to try. He could not think of a better way to spend his last day alive.
CHAPTER 26
“This place is small,” Zach said, scanning Lenoir’s apartment with an air of faint surprise.
“It is,” Lenoir agreed, “though it is surely more comfortable than your quarters at the orphanage.”
“Not much,” Zach said with the brutal honesty of the young. “You really live here?”
“You thought it would be grander, perhaps?”
The boy shrugged. “I guess so, yeah. I mean, you’re an inspector.” He pronounced the word almost reverently.
“Indeed. A poor public servant, alas.” Lenoir gave a mock bow. “I do not wish to blunt your ambition, Zach, but it is not so very glamorous being a hound. The truth is, we hounds occupy a modest rung on the social ladder. I suspect there are talented whores who earn more than I do.”