Page 38 of The Dagger and the Flame
She was a flame.
And she refused to die tonight. But as for him… The teardrop sizzled at her throat, sharing in the hurricane of her adrenaline. With a thundering cry, Sera leaped at the Dagger. She sank the letter opener into his gut, gritting her teeth as she pushed andpushed, through skin and blood and muscle.
He crumpled over with a sucking gasp.
When the blade was buried to its hilt, Sera’s face was barely an inch from his, so close she could smell the wild mint on his breath. She twisted the handle, resting her forehead against his, so her eyes would be the last thing he saw. ‘Bleeding swan,’ she whispered.
He opened his mouth to respond, but blood poured out instead.
Sera reeled backwards, leaving the knife in his gut. ‘Keep the souvenir. Courtesy of Sylvie Marchant.’
Then she turned on her heel and ran.
Buoyed by the roaring surge of adrenaline, she slipped over the end of the balustrade and leaped for a nearby trellis. She caught a vine, dragging her body close to the wall. The lattice groaned, but she was slight and nimble, not to mention well used to climbing the ruins of old farmhouses.
Sera scrambled down the side of Villa Roman, listening for any sign of disturbance. A barking dog, a patrolling nightguard, another assassin waiting in the wings. But therewas only the gentle rush of the Verne and the fading groans of a Dagger who had fallen on his blade.
Good riddance.
When she was halfway down the building, Sera slipped, losing her footing on a cracked rung. But luck followed her down, and a lilac bush cushioned her fall. She rolled out of it, spitting petals as she headed for the iron railings.
It was only when her feet hit the cobblestones on the other side that she allowed her mind to reel. Triumph giving way to fear and confusion, as she tried to piece together what had happened up there. She stumbled towards the river, and only then realized she was still wearing her cloak. She wiped her bloodstained hands on it. Then, fingers trembling, she clutched the teardrop at her throat.
This strange, impossible thing.
She measured her breaths, trying to make sense of the magic that had just burst from her like a sunbeam and shredded all that Shade into ribbons.
In the distance, the Aurore guarded the city like a trusty soldier, casting its faithful glow across the slumbering streets. She gazed towards it now like it might hold the answer to this new mystery.
Mama’s voice echoed in the back of Sera’s mind.And when the time comes, you will rise far above this wicked city, and become a flame in the dark.The night wind kissed her cheeks, as though the saints were whispering to her too.You will be the Aurore, Seraphine.
The teardrop was no longer glowing, but Sera could feel the remnants of its magic humming in her bones. She sensed hermother’s presence in its simmering warmth. And something else, too. A secret, revealed from beyond the grave. There was more to Sylvie Marchant than Shade. So much more.
‘Thank you, Mama,’ Sera whispered. ‘For your love. For your magic.’
Wherever it had come from and whatever it meant, she would find out. But for now, she sighed with relief and pulled up her hood, disappearing into the dark.
Chapter 12Ransom
Ransom was half-dead by the time Seraphine disappeared. High on the balcony of Villa Roman, he lay slumped in a pool of blood and shattered glass, trying to fight the blackness in his mind. Beneath the serrated edge of his pain, he felt a ripple of anger. Worse,humiliation. For nearly ten years he had stalked the streets of Fantome, without fear of anyone or anything. He was a weapon, honed by Shade. Unstoppable, unbeatable. And in less than ten seconds, a mouthy farmgirl had brought him to his knees.
With a letter opener.
Fuck.
He had felt bad about having to kill her before – hesitated, even, and more than once – but now…Now, he really was going to murder her.
If he didn’t die first.
He braced himself against the bloody stones, feeling a twinge in his right hand. The skin of his palm was smooth, but a moment ago it had sizzled. Something had flared out of her at his touch, shoving against him. It had burned him.Shehad burned him. One moment, he was holding her up like a ragdoll, willing her heart to stop quickly and painlessly, and the next, she was glowing like the sun.
She had looked just as surprised as he was.
And then she had stabbed him.
His head lolled dangerously, his sight fading. The night had grown dark again. Seraphine and her little magic trick had scoured the Shade from his bones. He fumbled in the pocket of his coat and found another vial. His spare. He pulled out the stopper with his teeth and tipped it all down his gullet.
His teeth chattered as the cold set in, familiar shadows spreading out inside him. They filled his veins, staunched the flow of his blood, just long enough for him to remove the knife lodged in his lower right side.
