Rooks and Romanticide (8 page)

My name be buried where my body is, and live no more to shame nor me nor you. For I am shamed by that which I bring forth, and so should you, to love things nothing worth.

William Shakespeare,
Sonnet 72

 

 

O
N
THE
night of All Saints', the rest of New London drank and danced to the bank holiday. Hallowmas was such a mockery to the saints in the modern age, but empty and at night, St. Vincent's in Romanov Square seemed a monument to all things dark and daunting. The November air was wet and deadly, and the railing around the cemetery was a sharp row of shadowy wrought iron teeth. The trees reached up into the black sky for salvation like gnarled hands.

Cain should have been at home, organizing mail and business files. Instead he was checking his guns. He'd managed to keep a straight face out on the street—but once he'd slipped through the heavy doors and into the orthodox and the cliché, chills had rattled through him, because it was like slipping through a rip in reality and into another world altogether.

A sinister world, a demented world, a place where bad men's faces danced in eternal mockery in the back of his mind, where morals and values were branded into the soul, broken and bruised, like litany after litany.

He was well aware of the state of his own spiritual being, but when his footsteps echoed on the smooth marble floor of the sanctuary, he couldn't help feeling small and helpless again. Vulnerable, at the mercy of some greater power—God, or something like it, he was never quite sure.

Cain stopped as the sanctuary doors shut behind him, and he stood in the candlelit dark, gawking down the aisle at the tall painted glass window over the pulpit. The crucifix beneath it, the sacred font, and the altar were all draped in the shadow of the night. A shabbily dressed stranger hunched quietly near a wealth of prayer candles. Cain considered shooing him out. Sharper instinct prevented it. It was good security to have witnesses. Moonlight filtered in through the skylights in the vaulted ceiling. His heart fluttered in a sick way.

There was movement off to the right, a little creak of leather, and just as he had done three or four times on his way to St. Vincent's, Cain whipped out his gun and waited, hiding behind the lifted barrel.

There was silence as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Silence, and maybe the sound of the night outside, the rustle of the wind, and for the umpteenth time, Cain thought about his plan should the evening be a trap. Aunt Ophelia and Mr. Renton were waiting outside on the street, patiently biding their time in the gloom for the signal from him, should he signal at all, and if he did…. Oh, St. Vincent's would be bloody tonight.

A body moved forth from the gulf of shadows near the confessional booths, and as it slipped into the meager swell of candlelight, Cain recognized the soft face of the young man who had hidden behind the black mask the night before.

“Good evening, Levi,” Cain greeted, evaluating him from behind his revolver.

“It's a pleasure, my lord,” Levi returned, and his smile was almost eerie in the dim light.

Cain's frown tightened. He shifted to the other foot. Levi held his hands up, innocent, as he moved forward a bit more, and Cain instantly retracted a step or two in turn.

“Please, Earl Dietrich, believe me,” Levi said, “I am not armed.”

“Bullshit!” Cain uttered a cynical laugh. “You're a gunslinger for hire and even civilians are armed these days, especially on the streets of New London. I think the first thing you should keep in mind if you want to work for me, Levi, is not to lie.”

“Duly noted.”

Levi's voice was clear in the hush of the church, the hush that was so timeless and alive. His words were almost frivolous, but not quite. He dropped his hands, discarding the act of mystery as he moved over to seat himself casually in the last row of pews. Cain followed him with the point of his gun, frowning. Levi raked stray blond hair out of his face and turned, draping an arm over the back of the pew as he met Cain's eyes in the dark sanctuary. His voice cut through the silence again, this time far more serious.

“Do you trust I've come alone?”

“I trust no one,” Cain replied with well-mannered contempt. “Did you really think
I'm
alone?”

“Will you join me?” Levi invited, smiling innocently and drumming his fingers on the back of the pew like a trouble-making schoolboy.

Cain narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. He didn't drop his guard entirely yet, but in the silence, the sounds of metal and movement were cold and sharp, footsteps echoing as he lowered his gun and moved to the pew across the aisle from Levi. He sat down, leaned forward on his knees, and cradled his revolver between them, watching the young man with lashes lowered on a critical glare. Ah, he was still as good-looking and cool as the night before, unfortunately. Cain had been hoping for a reason to detest him, but even in the tense dark of the sanctuary, he wanted to be near him.
Fuck.
The hymnals and scripture were yellowed and dog-eared, tucked neatly in shelves on the pews before him, and the smell and the chill of the vast room rank with bad memories.

Cain shrugged idly. He glanced at the man across the sanctuary, still praying alone. What if he was no stranger? What if he was undercover backup? No. A gunslinger needed a contractor more than backup. Cain was overthinking things. He would die before letting the Ruslanivs turn him to paranoia. Without looking back to Levi yet, Cain murmured, “It's an unconventional setting, but it's still a meeting you requested. Speak.”

“Yes, sir,” Levi complied gaily, and Cain grunted, unable to determine if it was mockery.

Again Levi became suddenly and drastically serious. The shadows danced from the candles in the prayer corner as the stranger wandered out of the church, tucking a small cross necklace back into his pocket. He nodded to Cain and to Levi on his way out. Judging by his faded and dreary appearance, he was a working-class man. It was uncomfortably obvious he'd been crying over the prayer candles.

“To be honest,” Levi said in a low and ragged way, his stony eyes hooded, “I wish the feud between houses didn't place such a margin on who is trustworthy and who is not. It makes for a rather difficult living as an arbitrary citizen.”

There was a pause. Whether he was thinking carefully over what he said or building the courage to say it, Cain couldn't tell. Then Levi drew a breath and went on, eyes flashing as they met Cain's bitterly.

“I'm no more a follower of you than I am of the Ruslaniv family. In truth, I'm not sure I have a purpose on this earth beyond my guns and who pays me to shoot them. I was trained, you see, from a young age, and I don't really know any other kind of life. But recently, I've decided to follow
my
whims and see where they take me. I've been praying again, you see—”

“Ah. Thus, we meet in a church.” Cain's heart gave a greedy little jump. A nonpartisan, huh? Trained from a young age?
Praying, you see….
God, Levi was lovely in the worst way.

“I'm a poor excuse for a man, I know.” Levi offered a tiny chuckle of chagrin, face darkening. “I suppose I'm a little
different
, for a gunman. Look, the other day a man dropped his invitation to the Dietrich ball out on the street, and…. Well, I wasn't going to just give it up. And I'm glad I went, because you and I became acquainted….”

Acquainted
, yes, through tongue and teeth and gently groping fingers. The ghost of Levi's kisses still flitted across Cain's mouth.

“I confess now there is just this constant nibbling at my mind and soul,” Levi continued. “It won't let me move on. So I thought, perhaps it's the strings of fate I feel moving?
Following my whims
and all. And there you have it. That's my pathetic deposition, my reasoning as to why I should like to work for you. I just
want
to.”

When he spoke, it was careful and calm. Maybe too collected, too composed—but there was something in the shadows of the young man's face, a muted kind of honesty, the look of someone who had lived a life full of suppressed opinions and subdued thoughts and was finally speaking his mind, as uncomfortable as it was. Cain felt himself giving way to that subtle pinch to Levi's brow, and whether he believed Levi more out of pity or sympathy or something more shameless, it didn't matter.

That wasn't to say he could trust him completely yet. Oh no, not at all. In a world such as theirs, nobody was innocent. He shrugged, face twisting in a tart frown. “Well, Levi,” Cain countered, “as endearing as you are, I already have a capable team working under me, and plenty of private hit men, and I'm afraid I'm not in need of anyone new.”

The words hung in the air like poison. It seemed fate had already decided things for itself.

Cain sighed.

“But perhaps I
could
use someone with different experiences, or if I need counsel from someone of your, ah… status. If you understand what I mean,” he added hastily. “Maybe you could be a street runner. If you're as unsided as you claim to be, your anonymity could be highly beneficial. You could dance the border between Ruslaniv and Dietrich. I could send you into places that are too risky for even my armed agents—Ruslaniv territory, the seediest pits of the city. You'll be my spy, my double-hander. My connection to the dregs of society that just skitter away into hiding when we scout the streets. Levi, how does that sound to you? Would you be willing to be that, my ace in the sleeve?”

The echo of his offering was cold. The silence that followed was thick and daunting. It seemed Cain could hear the crackling of all the wicks on all the candles, the world was so quiet in the wake of his admittedly brilliant plan. Well, it was brilliant to him, at least. Was Levi offended? Was he unconvinced?

“I'll pay you, of course,” Cain offered, and he wasn't sure why he was so desperate, “but don't expect a sum of money as large as you might have gotten when contracted by certain others—well, never mind, I suppose we can
discuss
it.”

Levi leaned back on his arms and kicked a foot up to rest his heel atop the pew in front of him—and then he laughed. It was a dry, rustling chuckle under the breath, but it was laughter, and Cain was a little perplexed by the way Levi shifted from embittered to cocky again, all in the blink of an eye. Clearly he was the type of man who did what he wanted, how he wanted, and when he wanted. It was almost sly, like a fox. Cain shifted, tapping an impatient finger on the butt of his revolver. Levi didn't exactly
look
like a whimsical killer either, in his sable-collared jacket, loose shirt and leather weapons belt. God, that blond hair, that dimpled smirk, and the silvery sound of belt buckles and buttons hidden along his body. His eyes sparked with the worst kind of intelligence, and Cain wanted to kiss him again already. Ah, this was bad. He couldn't mix business and pleasure, but damn it, he really wanted the pleasure.

“Oh, I don't need money,” Levi insisted, almost cavalierly. His kind smile seemed patronizing in the throb of candlelight. “Rather… I won't accept it for an odd job such as this.”

“Are those your
whims
talking?” Cain cut across the aisle, hatefully. Really he was just angry at himself, because he couldn't not like this Levi fellow. He despised it, and yet he was relieved by it, and he kept seeing the way Levi had moved through the crowd the night before, black mask and gold brocade waistcoat.

“Maybe.” Levi grinned, and his fingers twitched in the air, his elbows propped on the back of the pew.

Cain wondered if he was a smoker or simply fidgeting.

“You could always… pay me with your company, my lord.”

A chill zipped through Cain, sharp and fast. He blushed. He didn't know why he blushed. There had to be a catch here. He scoffed but had no words right away, so he just glowered at Levi and wished hard that he could feel more insulted. He could not. He was bewitched and ready to be selfish.

“I admit that I'm a little suspicious now, Levi,” he spat. “That maybe you harbor clandestine intentions here, that you're trying to trick me. You're too charming, my friend. Too good-looking, too collected, too clever. Christ, even ‘following whims,' who in their bloody right mind would refuse recompense from one of the wealthiest old families in New London?”

Levi laughed again. This time it infuriated Cain—for a moment, a brief moment, because then he was just too distracted by the way the candlelight pooled in Levi's face to really care about being offended. With an air of ready apology, like he'd expected to be so direly misunderstood, Levi husked, “Oh, no. Please, Earl Dietrich, if you don't trust me on my word,
shoot me right now
. Right here. End your doubt, and be troubled by the empty threat nevermore.”

Cain was rendered speechless again. Damn the man and his unwavering charm, straight to hell. It was just too much. But really, he had to consider it in a realistic way. If Levi was a man with no personal loyalty in New London, who became who he was required to become upon assignment, contracting himself out to stay alive on these streets… wouldn't he be a master charmer too? That was dangerous—dangerous, and a little alluring.

Levi stood. Cain bristled and tightened his grip on his gun. But Levi just dropped into a low, respectful bow in the aisle outside Cain's pew. Cain scowled at him. He hated feeling transparent, especially before strangers, and that was exactly what Levi made him feel. Transparent, and childish, and utterly torn up inside.

The light from the vaulted windows hit Levi just right. It struck Cain motionless. Levi's dark eyes pierced into him as if they could see every filthy secret of his damned soul. His stare was sensual and flustering, but Cain didn't really mind, and he couldn't say why. It was thrilling, like a game. Again he felt the nascent suspicion that this lure was bound to stay for a while. It was like witchcraft, Levi's stare, because Cain could feel himself bending to it, willfully, ready to lay the rocky depths of his soul bare before Levi barged his way in.