I twisted but couldn’t break the hold, so I did the next-best thing and threw my attacker against the wall. He hit with a thud that had more dirt dropping down on top of us, but he still didn’t let go. Instead, he spun me into his arms, and somehow got a grip on both wrists. So I stomped on his foot, trying to get enough leverage to—
“Please do not hit me below the belt again,” a man said, sounding heartfelt. “I have not yet recovered from the last time.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, relaxing back into Louis-Cesare’s arms.
“I followed Anthony. I wanted to know what was important enough to keep him away from the challenge of the century. Why are you here?”
“I followed you.” I twisted in his grasp, and he let me go, a little reluctantly, I thought. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. “Everyone is looking for you. The consul’s about to have a fit, Marlowe’s tearing his hair out and Mircea . . .”
“I know. I called him an hour ago, informing him that I will return for the trial. I never intended to do otherwise, but I had to be free to gather evidence, if such existed.”
“I think Marlowe is already doing that.”
“Yes, but there are places even he cannot go.”
“Such as?”
“Such as Anthony’s private rooms. I wished to search them for the stone—”
“You searched my rooms?” The outraged voice drifted faintly through the rubble.
Louis-Cesare’s head jerked up. “What was—”
“Anthony,” I said sourly. “I found him a little while ago.”
“You found—” He looked at me incredulously. “But he could drain you from here! If he is the killer—”
“I don’t think he is.” I wanted to ask how Louis-Cesare had managed to search Anthony’s rooms when Marlowe himself couldn’t do it. But I decided it could wait. “Did you find anything?”
“No.” He looked frustrated. “But he is dangerous nonetheless!”
“Not so much at the moment,” I said drily.
“He killed Geminus!”
“He says not.”
“I saw the body, Dorina. There are very few opponents who could have done that to a fighter of Geminus’s caliber.” It was the same thing I’d been thinking, but it still didn’t make sense.
“He was attacked, too.”
“By Geminus, no doubt attempting to defend himself.”
“I’d think the same, but those weren’t defensive wounds. Anthony said something killed Geminus and then attacked him.”
“Something?” Louis-Cesare’s expression spoke volumes.
“That’s what he said, but he isn’t completely coherent at the—”
The scream that tore the stillness caused us to jump as one, tensing against attack. But it wasn’t on our side of the fall. “Anthony!” Louis-Cesare called, as I scrambled back up the slope.
There was no answer, but an odd scent suddenly flooded the air, sweetness on the verge of putrefaction, hard and sharp-edged. I’d smelled it somewhere before, but I couldn’t place it. But there was something off about it, something wrong.
The tiny tunnel at the top of the landslide was even harder to get through quickly. By the time I’d managed it, I’d lost what skin remained on both my elbows and cracked my head on the ceiling a few more times. Which was why I just stared at the scene on the other side. For a moment, I thought maybe I’d hit my head a little too hard.
Anthony was slumped against the wall, staring upward with an expression of stark terror. Half a dozen stakes had been pulled out of his chest, and lay scattered on the floor, their bloody tips pointing at the creature stroking red hands over Anthony’s torso. The tiny, delicate fingers slid through slippery blood, teasing the edges of mortal wounds almost playfully.
But they were stronger than they looked. One of them suddenly backhanded Anthony, the manicured nails tearing into his cheek and snapping his head around, smashing his face into the rough wall. He forced his head back up, working his jaw absently. A trickle of blood made its way down his cheek before he began sluggishly to heal.
This seemed to enrage his tormenter, who gave another of those unearthly screams. Another slash of nails laid open his chest, but although he jerked against the pain, he kept his teeth clenched on a scream. With a digging twist the nails gouged deeper, until he twitched helplessly against their merciless grip, his head tossing back and cracking against the unforgiving bricks.
“Rotting carrion. How many times do I have to kill you?” his tormenter hissed.
“A few more, it would seem,” Anthony said, grimacing. And then he had to grit his teeth again as those knifelike nails started tearing downward in sharp, hard tugs.
The movement galvanized me out of my shock. A moment later, I was slip-sliding down the tumbled mass of dirt as Anthony’s nightmare looked up, snarling. I tensed, gun in one hand and heavy-duty flashlight in the other. But then the lips that had been pulled back in a rictus softened into a smile, and the glittering hate in the eyes melted away, as if it had never been there at all. If it hadn’t been for the blood smearing her pale blue gown, she would have looked completely normal.