He heaved a sigh, no longer so eager to free the succubus.
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re considering just leaving me here. I guess Elizabeth’s memory isn’t worth as much as I thought. I saw what your father did to her, and you trample her memory in the dirt.”
Bitter regret curled around his heart like clinging vines. He would have to live with everything he’d done—die with the memory of all those he’d killed. “It’s not what I wanted.”
“Sometimes life doesn’t work out the way we want it to. My heart bleeds for you. Now can you take this iron off me?”
He dropped his head into his hands. “George is going to destroy me.”
“As soon as you free me, I’m going to suck out his soul.”
He peered at her. “Maybe I should let him destroy me.”
“Please. Save the self-loathing for when I kiss you. I’m really looking forward to it.” Something dark and ancient roiled in her eyes. “You know at some point, George will slip up. I’ll work him into a state of excitement, feed from him, and I’ll free myself. And when I do, I will go straight for Fiona, to send her soul to the shadow void. And then I’ll drag Elizabeth from her peaceful afterlife along with me. And you’ll have only yourself to blame.”
He gritted his teeth. “Fiona doesn’t belong in the shadow void.”
“Are you out of your mind? Darkness permeates her. Didn’t you know that about bats? But I can see you’re rather blind to her faults.”
“What are you talking about? Never mind.” Whatever she was on about, Fiona’s soul wasn’t worth the risk. He reached down to Amauberge’s neck, and she purred with excitement as he lifted the iron necklace from her throat. She threw back her head, inhaling a shuddering breath as she regained her powers.
45
Fiona
She lifted her blanket tighter around her shoulders and sipped a hot cup of tea. She ran through the murders in her head. It must have been Ives. She’d caught him over the body. And none of the Guardians would have slaughtered recruits. Nod wanted them alive; that much was clear.
Her head swam. Wasn’t there something called a fugue state? You could lose time. You could wake up on a train in New York City and have no idea how you got there. What if her monstrous side had been coming out and murdering the recruits? What if she’d dipped the sword in poison herself? Maybe this was what had happened to her dad.
She dug her nails into her palms. No. She could account for all her time here—all the early-morning runs, and the swims, and the late-night drinking sessions. She shut her eyes, imagining each second of the day. The only thing she couldn’t account for was the time she’d been asleep. But she’d been right next to Lir, and he was supposed to be superhuman, right? Surely he would have noticed her sneaking around at night.
Ives. It had to be him. Picturing his cold gaze, her pulse raced. People like him didn’t deserve to live. She hoped Dagon would tear his smug face off, she hoped he felt every second—
She rubbed her palms into her eyes. God, she was turning into her father. An agent of death.
A cold numbness spread through her, and one word played in her mind: Survive.
She had only two options: join the Picaroons, or die. And she wasn’t ready to die. That meant she needed to adapt. She’d have to become like them.
She threw off her blanket and strode down the hall. Shoving open the door to Lir’s room, she found him hunched over his desk, drawing in a notebook. Shadows from a flickering candle danced over pencil sketches of seahorses and seaweed.
He turned, his eyes widening in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“I want a tattoo. Like you have.”
He surveyed her with a lethal coldness, and her gaze swerved to the set of knives on his wall. He could be the killer, for all she knew.
His eyes were murky. “You want an octopus?”
“A bat.”
“They belong to Nyxobas, you know.”
“Fine. They belong to the night god. Can you put one on my back?”
“Are you rebelling against your parents, by any chance?”
Her chest flamed with frustration. He knew nothing about her parents. “Not exactly. If you can’t do it, I’ll leave you to your sketches.”
He sighed. “A whole bat? You want its wings spread across your shoulders?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“How do I know what sort of style you want?”
“I trust you.” No, she didn’t. “I mean, I trust your artistic ability, anyway.”
He lifted his head. “Is that all you trust about me?”
“Pretty much.”
“Fine. Take off your shirt and lie on the bed.”
At one time, she would have blushed, but when one faces death, modesty isn’t high on one’s list of priorities. As Lir shielded his eyes, she yanked off her shirt and lay on his bed, her chin resting on her hands.
“Are you ready?” he asked.