Silk Over Razor Blades (23 page)

Jason’s smile faded. ‘How?’ He
stared at her and, though his eyes narrowed with concentration,
Lenina felt nothing. She slumped against the wall, panting.

Slow claps came from Tristen’s
direction. ‘When you’re quite finished, we all need to have a—’ he
broke off. Thrust out one hand. ‘Wait!’

The order came just in
time.

Breathless and dizzy from her
mental acrobatics, Lenina didn’t see Jason move until he stopped,
the tip of his rusting dagger quivering an inch away from her
chest.

His wild expression matched the
rasping breathing making his chest rise and fall. She smelled old
meat and fresh blood on his breath. The sight of the weapon brought
on another wild surge of hate and fury. It bubbled up within her,
threatening to overcome reason until an answering stab of pain from
her left cheek drowned it out. She shuffled sideways and when
equidistant from the two men, she shared her gaze between them.
‘Why are you doing this to me?’

‘Yes, it’s always about you,
isn’t it?’

Jason’s grip tightened on the
dagger. ‘She’s not allowed to live. I gotta kill her.’

‘Then you should have done it
properly instead of cutting up her face.’

‘I tried—’

‘Shut up.’ The light in
Tristen’s eyes flared, then dropped back to its creepy white glow.
‘And give me that before you do more damage.’ He raised one hand in
a scooping gesture. The dagger jerked from Jason’s grip, flying
through the air to land on Tristen’s outstretched palm.

Lenina clutched the wall.
Dizziness came and went in waves. ‘How did you do that?’

He smiled, but didn’t
answer.

She sank to the floor. That
seemed preferable to falling. She bit her lip. ‘If you made—
Kissed
him, then you knew what I was. You knew what really
happened in the park.’

‘And what really happened to
Nick,’ he added.

She stopped breathing. Just for
a second. When she started again, the breaths were short and fast.
Too fast. Dizziness welled up again. The hallway blurred before her
eyes.

‘I can still do it.’ Jason’s
voice held a note of desperation. ‘Before Kallisto finds out. No
one will know but me and you—’

‘Shut up.’ Tristen didn’t raise
his voice, but Jason broke off as though slapped. ‘It’s too late
now. I can’t go back to the police after tonight. I need something
to satisfy Kallisto and the other Majestics.’

‘But then she’ll know
I
did it. Please don’t. She’ll kill me.’

‘Not my problem.’

Though unsure, Lenina thought
she saw the hint of a smile on Tristen’s lips. Bemused, she glanced
at Jason, watching him shuffle his fingers.

He stared at her as though
seeking answers, his stare performing that same slide over her
features. They stopped on the stitches across her left cheek.
Colour drained from his face. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His
lips trembled. ‘That’s the
Neeva
,’ he whispered.

Tristen’s lips flattened.
‘What?’

‘On her cheek. Look at the cut—
the way it curves. The
Neeva
.’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

Jason crawled across the floor.
Though she tried to scramble back, the walls blocked her passage,
forcing Lenina into stillness as his hands grasped her chin. Firm
but gentle, he turned her face to the light. His fingers were warm,
a peculiar energy prickling between his skin and hers.

‘It is. I’d know this sign
anywhere.’

‘Not possible,’ Tristen
snapped. ‘It’s a myth.’

Jason ignored him, shuffling
back and dropping to his knees. He leaned forward, holding Lenina’s
gaze until his forehead touched the floor in a clumsy, prostrate
bow. He turned his hands palms up to expose the wrists.

‘I didn’t know, love,’ the
cocky nickname died on his lips. ‘I wouldn’t have touched you if I
knew. You gotta believe me.’

Lenina narrowed her eyes.
Though she scrabbled through her memories, nothing could account
for this abrupt display of reverent respect and fear.

‘Get up and bring her.’ Tristen
moved towards the living area. ‘We don’t have time for this.’

‘Master, I serve you,’ Jason
spoke right over him. ‘I didn’t know it was you. Please.’

Inching her toes away from his
fingers, Lenina looked at Tristen. ‘What’s Neeva?’

‘It’s an adapted form of the
Hebrew word “niv”.’ His voice was tight, his lips pursed. ‘It means
fang.’

Then she heard it. Like an echo
or a whisper directly between her ears. She heard Kiya’s voice from
one of her visions, picking the name of Saar’s army in honour of
the birthmark on his right thigh.

All great men have memorable
titles. Saar . . . leader of the Red Fang Army.

With that memory came another,
this one more recent.

Passages from the crazy
autobiography on the Internet. Xerxes’ account of the vampire known
as Saar and his promise to return following his death at
Waterloo.

‘The Vessel.’

Tristen’s eyes widened. ‘How do
you know about that?’

‘I read about it.’ She backed
away again, trying to keep both men in her line of sight. Jason
didn’t move, but Tristen followed, backing her along the hallway
until her spine met the front door. Like before, the locks clicked
into place.

She licked her lips. ‘The
Prophecy is true?’

‘No.’ He almost shouted it, his
hands bunched into fists at his sides. After a deep breath he
continued. ‘Some believe it. I don’t.’

Lenina glanced at Jason. She
had no need to ask what he believed.

‘It doesn’t mean anything. Most
God-Touched can’t even agree on what it involves. Who the Vessel is
supposed to be. When he shows up. It’s like the Second Coming of
Christ— not happening.’

Turning to the mirror, Lenina
looked again at her reflection.

The stitched up wound looked
red and angry. A smooth curve across her left cheek, reminiscent of
a large fang.

Even the colour matched.

Jason made a sound like a
kicked dog. He crawled across the floor and touched her foot.
‘You’ll protect me,’ he said, lifting his head at last. Gone was
the terror of moments ago. In its place was hope, so raw he
appeared childlike. ‘I made a mistake, but you’re the Vessel, yeah?
Kallisto and the others have been looking for so long . . . she’ll
forgive me if you tell her to. She’ll thank me for finding
you.’

Snarling, Tristen stretched
past Lenina and grabbed Jason by the scruff. He heaved the other
man off the ground and shoved him against the wall, pressing the
point of the wavy dagger to the base of his throat. He held the
position for long seconds, breathing hard through clenched teeth.
When he looked up again the white light faded from his eyes.

‘She’s not telling Kallisto
anything. There’s nothing to tell. She’s not the Vessel, she’s not
Saar and she isn’t saving anybody. She’s just a girl
you
Kissed when you should have known better. Kallisto’s going to eat
you for breakfast.’

‘But . . .’ Jason’s slate grey
gaze flicked to Lenina. ‘Tell him. Tell him you’re the Vessel.’

From the expression on
Tristen’s face, she didn’t think it would help.

Instead she said, ‘I don’t want
to die.’

Jason mewled, deep at the back
of his throat. ‘But it
is
you. Your face— how can you not
see it?’

‘You cut me with your dagger,
that’s all. There’s nothing special about it.’

‘Saar’s dagger!’ he insisted.
‘And it would have healed if it were a normal wound. Vampire powers
manifest after your first tribute and you’ve done that now. You
drank. So why hasn’t it healed?’

Lenina watched the point of the
dagger shift away from Jason’s throat. She saw him sigh and sink
down the wall, but her own chest tightened when the blade swung
towards her face. She froze as Tristen laid the weapon against her
injured cheek.

‘He’s right,’ he whispered. ‘I
saw you outside the house . . . any other wound would have healed
before we got to the hospital. Before we even arrived at the scene.
Why not this one?’

Words clogged Lenina’s
throat.

Tristen pressed closer, leaning
his body into hers, his heat a stark contrast to the cool metal
against her face. ‘What are you?’

The point pricked her skin. A
tiny drop of blood ran down the blade.

With it, Lenina felt another
scalding rush of hate and anger, this time accompanied by a memory.
She saw the same dagger through Saar’s eyes, admiring its gems and
wavy blade. He handed the weapon to Mosi with a smile, a kiss and
the words, ‘A gift, my love. From the gods to me, from me, to
you.’

Shaking her head cleared the
image in time to see Tristen staring at her, his mouth hanging
open. ‘What did you say?’

Until then Lenina hadn’t
realised she’d spoken aloud.

‘Say it again,’ he snapped.
‘Say
exactly
what you just said.’

‘A gift,’ she whimpered. ‘He
said it was a gift from the gods. “From the gods to me. From me, to
you”.’

A gust of peppermint-scented
air billowed over her face. ‘This dagger did belong to Saar. He
gave it to Mosi and he passed it down the line to me. I gave it to
Jason. It always passes with those words. Those exact words.’

Lenina fought to keep her voice
steady. ‘I saw him give it to Mosi. They were standing in
Cleopatra’s palace in a room filled with pillars like an entry
hall.’

The moment she said the words,
she saw what had followed not long after.

Saar lay on the sand, crippled
by the pain of his dying soldiers and the agony of watching Kiya
die. Bleeding, helpless, he watched Mosi crawl closer, holding a
rusted dagger with a wavy blade. It plunged down. Hit his chest.
Pierced his heart.

‘Oh, God.’ Lenina’s voice
trembled.

‘Saar took the dagger the same
time he took the gods’ gift,’ Tristen tightened his grip on her
face. ‘No one knows the exact details, but some say it once
belonged to Set. Legend says it has the blood of Horus and Set in
the metal, from when they fought over Osiris’ death.’

Jason gave a small moan.
‘That’s proof. It
must
be her. No one else
sees
Saar
or gets his memories when they join us. She knows the ritual words.
Where else would it come from?’

The point of the dagger left
her cheek and trailed down the front of her borrowed
sweatshirt.

She held her breath, watching
the rusty metal leave tiny flakes on her chest. It stopped between
her breasts.

‘You can’t be the Vessel.’
Tristen stared into her eyes. ‘You’re just a spoilt brat with bad
luck. Jason wasn’t even interested in you. He loiters outside
bridal boutiques waiting for the
grooms
to show up.’

Scrambling off the floor, Jason
rushed over and put a trembling hand on Tristen’s arm. ‘Think. Even
if you distract Kallisto with my cock-up, you’re dead if she knows
you killed the Vessel. We both are.’

‘She’s
not
the
Vessel!’

‘Then test her. The dagger will
know. Give it blood and we’ll know for sure.’

Lenina held Tristen’s gaze. She
watched the battle behind his eyes and felt the tension through his
arms and shoulders as he shifted his weight on the dagger.

‘Fine.’ His expression never
changed, but an instant later Tristen’s hand plunged forward,
driving the sharp point of the dagger through Lenina’s
sweatshirt.

The breath she held rushed from
her body, propelled by the terrible impact. Pain tightened her
lungs and she struggled to draw a fresh gulp of air. Then the
dagger slid out, blade red and dripping. Blood followed in a slow
ooze, rapidly soaking the sweatshirt.

Lenina cupped her hands around
the entry wound, as if she might be able to catch the precious
fluid.

Eyes wide, hands shaking, Jason
lunged forward and caught her as her knees gave way. He lowered her
to the ground, apologising over and over.

Tristen watched, the dagger
hanging loose in his grip. Crimson drops rained from the tip. ‘If
you
are
the Vessel, this shouldn’t be a problem for you to
heal.’ His voice softened, his gaze darting left and right as
though unsure of the outcome he wanted. ‘A stab to the heart would
kill a normal God-Touched as young as you. But this dagger won’t
kill the Vessel.’

Lenina had just the time to
catch the scent of cinnamon on the air before darkness swept in and
swallowed everything.

Saar placed the fish into the cloth
sack slung over his shoulder and added a loaf of bread. Fresh from
the clay oven, it warmed his hip as he strode through the market.
The smell of it, sharp and slightly yeasty, put up a valiant fight
but was quickly overcome by the scent of the street.

The heat of the day enhanced many of
the less savoury smells, meaning that the occasional waft of
rotting food still caught his senses. Rubbing his nose with his
free hand, he kept walking, now seeking beer. He bought four jugs
from a vender beneath a red and blue striped stall, bartering hard
before finalising the price.

A woman greeted him at the corner of
two bisecting streets. ‘Captain Saar, are you well? Been visiting
the palace?’ She spoke using the language of the Greeks. ‘Battling
for our safety again?’

‘
We’re safe for the moment,’ he
responded in kind, the foreign words awkward on his tongue. He
masked his discomfort with a smile for the veiled compliment. ‘I’m
visiting my mother. I have food for her.’ A quick gesture to the
bags and jugs.

‘
You’re such a good man,’ she
simpered. ‘Little wonder the gods smile on you.’

Saar lowered his gaze. ‘You’re very
kind.’

‘
I look at you and the hundreds of
other men who go to war. They’re injured or killed and yet here you
are. Untouched by it all.’