She Walks in Shadows(54)

I stumbled, yearning curdling in my gut. Before I made it more than a pace, my shoulder was seized.

“How dare you disrespect me so before the General? I should whip you ….” The Doctor’s gaze ticked down, past me, to the body in the garden. “Gods above ….”

“Above is Rome,” intoned a fearsome voice. The General’s shoulders stooped as he stepped into the light, a bull bracing for a fight.

Were it not for the breathless heave of his plated chest, I might not have guessed he’d been in a battle at all.

“And that man was a coward.”

“He fell,” I protested.

“He jumped. The North acquaints men with their fear.”

Marcus shook himself. “But — what of the battle?”

“Won.”

“So soon?”

The smile on General Antonius’ mouth was cruel. “Vermin dare not approach this house. Hallowed ground, my wife calls it. Speaking of whom ….”

“Sh-she will be well enough to travel by morning. The potion I administered will help.” When he spoke, the Doctor’s voice shook badly. He had yet to look away from the corpse.

Noticing this, the General gestured to two of his men to tend to their fallen brother.

“Good. Then you will take the adjoining bedchamber and rest. We leave at first light.”

I waited for my master to ask how many of my own people had died, how many lay wounded in the fields outside the settlement, but he did not.

He seemed so eager to leave that I wondered if we should have come at all.

That night, Engatius snored blissfully on the sleeping couch, impervious to our eerie surroundings.

The steady rise and fall of his chest filled me with aggravation. While the Doctor drifted off into the arms of Morpheus, I was charged with keeping watch. There was no telling my master that I was ill-suited to the task, or that I jumped at every shadow.

Once, a crow alighted on the lip of the ornate fountain at the heart of the peristylium and I slammed my head against the wall in fright.

I rubbed the tender spot, keeping the pain alive, and strained my ears.

Gratiana’s words rang in my skull like the echo of a howl in a cave. Did I believe her? Yellow-eyed daemons suited the legends of my childhood and I could not shake the feeling that more than foul weather and barbarian skirmishes were at play here.

A rustle of movement pricked my ears. I dug my knuckles into the bedroll and shifted my weight. I was uneasy around soldiers, but with only a handful left, I doubted they’d venture far from their post to seek me out.

The shadow of a man drew itself sharp onto the tiled floors, putting paid to my hopes.

I flattened my back to the wall, blood pulsing in my temples, and fumbled for my short dagger, the only weapon Engatius permitted me when we were away from home.

An hour or an instant passed as I waited to be attacked or ravished, Roman impunity sure to prevail on my innocence. It took what little courage I had left to chance another glance into the courtyard.

My gaze found the figure at once. It was shambling away, gliding more than walking, a sword held aloft.

The guardsman in the atrium must have sensed the same frisson I had. He squinted into the shadows between the colonnades, features smoothing into a mask of recognition when he made out the source of the disturbance.

“Oh, it’s you —”

The shade drew back its gladius and swung it in a clean, decisive arc.

I buried a shriek into my palm.

Swords killed. That much I knew from the day my village was attacked. But it had been years since I’d witnessed their prowess. I could not look away. Blood spurted from the soldier’s throat, spattering painted tile and staining his uniform. He was beyond caring, a nearly headless amalgamation of raw meat and split skin, bone protruding glaringly from his jaw.

The figure stood over him a moment, naked hunger in its gaze. Though my vision was unimpeded, I could hardly make out its features. It was not human. It could not be. Yet, as I watched, it crouched down with a creak of human knees and reached a long-fingered hand into the soldier’s face.

My gut churned.

The jelly-white of human eyes gleamed in the moonlight, lustrous like marbles. Gratiana’s opium-addled blather slammed into me with startling clarity.

He said the eyes aren’t mine.

As I looked on, the swordsman brought first one eye and then the other to his mouth, and bit down as though into a grape. Then, satisfied, he rose and turned his steps to the front of the house.

I was paralyzed with fright, but knew I had to move — now and quickly, before the creature returned. I stood on shaking knees, half-stumbling and half-bolting the short distance to the Doctor’s bed.

“Master. Master, wake up ….”

He mumbled something indistinct and batted at my shaking hands.

I knew I would regret my impudence tomorrow, but in that moment it seemed desperately more important to rouse him. With trembling fingers, I pinched his nostrils together, the way my mother would do to my siblings and I when we were small.

His eyes fluttered open. “What ….”

“We must go,” I gritted out. “Now. The General —”

Before another word could pass my lips, the villa erupted with a shrill and sudden bellow. It was a cry of anguish. Another guard dead, I thought, reaching for the Doctor’s arm.