“I thought you said that your will was not your own?”
“I chose,” Vincent repeated, as though to himself. “I decided to act, and it worked. It has never worked before. I stopped trying centuries ago.”
“Well,” said Lenoir, for lack of anything better.
Vincent looked back out over the square. Lenoir waited. When several minutes had passed in silence, Lenoir said, “Should we go somewhere else to do this? Can you make it quick?” His voice betrayed him at the last moment, choking off the final word. He just wanted to get it over with.
Vincent shook his head, and for a moment, Lenoir thought it was in response to his question. Then Vincent said, “It no longer seeks your death.”
Lenoir stared, certain he had misheard. “What did you say?”
“You are no longer marked.” He did not elaborate. His expression was once again inscrutable, his eyes reflecting the world around them without offering a hint of what lay behind.
Lenoir looked into the face that had haunted his nightmares for a decade, and for the first time, he found nothing to fear. Neither did he find anything to celebrate. He was so stunned, so drained, that he could not even rejoice. All he could do was nod, indicating that he understood. That seemed to be enough; Vincent stood.
“Will I see you again?” Lenoir heard himself ask.
Vincent’s lip quirked into something just short of a smile. “Let us hope not.”
Lenoir started to thank him, but the spirit was already gone. Lenoir sat dazed for a moment. Then he began to shake. He felt weak, as though his bones were melting, leaving only a sack of flesh. He slid onto his side, lying down on the bench, his breathing sounding thickly in his ears, as if he were underwater. He closed his eyes against the harsh glare of the streetlamps. He slept until morning.
Epilogue
Kody, idiot that he was, was trying to stand.
“Just take it easy, Sergeant,” the physician said worriedly, reaching out to grab Kody by the arm. “You’ve been in that bed for a week. Your muscles aren’t going to be—”
Kody’s knees buckled, forcing Izar to lunge in and catch him. Lenoir did not bother trying to help; there were too many people around the bed as it was. “Don’t be a fool,” he said irritably. “Hardin’s family will understand.”
“I’m going,” Kody repeated firmly, leaning against the wall as he tested his balance. “I just need a minute.”
“You need rest,” the physician said, “and plenty of it.”
Kody scowled at him. “Didn’t you just finish saying that I’ve been in bed for a week?”
“This is a waste of time,” Izar put in with his customary brusqueness. “If Kody says he’s going, he’s going, so let’s get on with it.”
“You don’t miss a fellow hound’s funeral,” Kody said. “It’s just not done. Even my parents are going. They’re with Hardin’s folks right now.”
Lenoir rolled his eyes, but Izar was right—there was no point in arguing. Such sentiments were rife in the force. Brothers in arms, or some such drivel.
“You will return to the clinic, though, won’t you?” the physician asked, fixing Kody with a stern look.
“What for?”
“Observation. There might be brain damage. Or the wound in your stomach could become infected.”
Kody gave an impatient wave. “I know how to look out for gangrene.”
“The brain damage may be harder to detect,” Lenoir said wryly. “But you have my word, sir, that I will keep an eye on him.” He jerked his head over his shoulder, indicating that they should go.
When their carriage pulled up outside the church, Lenoir saw that Kody was right: the entire Metropolitan Police force was there. Even Crears and a couple of the other constables from the outer villages had turned up. Combined with relatives and friends, the little church turned out to be inadequate for the numbers, and many were left to gather in the courtyard, awaiting the burial. Surveying the crowd, Lenoir could not help wondering how many of these same colleagues would have turned up for his own funeral. Even the legendary solidarity among hounds would probably not have been enough to inspire much of a turnout. Hardin might not have been terribly competent, but he had been well liked. Lenoir, on the other hand, had few friends, and no family. He was forced to acknowledge that his death, so narrowly avoided, would have gone largely unlamented.
He hovered awkwardly at the back of the church. There was a place reserved for him up front, along with the chief and the other inspectors, but he did not want to sit among Hardin’s family and close friends. He did not belong there; he had barely known the man. Instead he posted himself near the doors, watching the proceedings at a distance.
The priest droned on, as priests do. Lenoir’s thoughts were elsewhere, and he did not realize until halfway through the ceremony that Kody was standing right beside him. The sergeant stood rigidly tall, his features set in grim lines. He barely seemed to register what the priest was saying. Perhaps his thoughts were elsewhere too.
“Why were you not seated with the others?” Lenoir asked after the ceremony had ended and they were heading for the courtyard.
Kody glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “No reason.”
Lenoir snorted. “It would have been difficult for you to stand for so long, in your condition. You would not have put yourself through that without a reason.”
“What do you want me to say?” Kody growled. “That I feel guilty? Well, I do. Satisfied?”
Lenoir stopped. “Not remotely, Sergeant, for that is a foolish sentiment. You are not responsible for what happened to Hardin.”
“Of course I am,” Kody said in a heated whisper. “I’m the one who dragged him out there without proper backup.”
“He was supposed to be your backup.”
But Kody was not really listening. “I led him straight into the wolf’s den. He didn’t even know what he was getting involved in.”
“Sergeant, if anyone is responsible for Hardin’s death, it is I.” Unlike Kody, Lenoir did not trouble to lower his voice. What did he care if someone overheard? It was the truth, spelled out in indelible ink on a sheaf of parchment in Reck’s office. “The apothecary told us everything we needed to know. I should have put it together. I would have put it together, had I really bothered trying. So if you want to be angry with someone, be angry with me.”
Kody’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Lenoir could read his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken. He was angry. Bitterly so. But as always, his discipline won out, and he said nothing.
Lenoir nodded. “Good. And while we are clearing the air, Kody, let me say this: the next time you charge off without informing your inspector where you are going, it will be your last day on the force.” He paused, adding more gently, “I should not like to have to listen to that priest drone on about you.”
Kody blinked, taken aback. He opened his mouth as if he would say something, but then closed it again. Rather than stand there while the sergeant cast about for some soppy reply, Lenoir moved off in search of the chief.
People were scattered throughout the courtyard in groups of twos and threes, swapping stories about the deceased, or, if they had not known him well, making generic conversation about the state of criminality in the city. The hounds seemed particularly disposed to this line of thinking, the general consensus being that Kennian was going to the dogs. Just as well, Lenoir thought dryly. Otherwise, you slobs would have to find real work.
He spied Izar brooding alone near the outer wall, and made his way over. “Why do you not mix with the others?” Lenoir asked.