Assassin's Heart (Assassin's Heart, #1)(83)

He shifted, tugging me closer. Something clattered to the ground beside us. We pulled apart. A mask.

Les turned it over. Black slashes covered the left side, like the claw marks of a tiger, but like mine the color was embedded in the bone, not dyed. He ran his thumb over the marks, then rubbed his unscarred forearm. “I don’t understand.”

“It seems you finally belong. Welcome to the Family, Alessio Saldana.”

He laughed, a short bark of joy. He slipped the mask over his face. He nodded and we got to our feet. I pulled my own mask over my face.

“Time to get to it?” he asked.

“Yes.” I nodded. “Time to face the Da Vias.”





thirty-five


THE TUNNEL WAS DARK AND EMPTY AND STILL. WE made our way toward Marcello’s home, neither of us speaking. It didn’t seem there was anything to say. Either we’d find Marcello, or we wouldn’t, and our next direction would depend on that.

Les climbed the ladder, carefully lifting the grate and peering through. It didn’t seem like we’d been dead for long, but it could have been hours.

Les pushed the grate open, and it banged loudly against the stone floor. I flinched.

“Sorry.” He pulled himself up.

Their home was dark and cool, the fire in the hearth extinguished. A fight had taken place: shattered glassware, shredded tapestries, furniture moved or destroyed. I stood in the center of the mayhem. My uncle had given the Da Vias more than they’d probably expected.

Les hurried to the bedrooms, then around the hearth, searching all the different areas.

He stopped. “He isn’t here.”

“I don’t see much blood. I think they took him.”

“To Lovero?”

I nodded. “To Estella Da Via, the head of their Family.”

“We have to catch them. If we can catch them, we can save him.”

“The new plan is the same as the old. Get to Lovero, break into their house, kill them all.”

Les rubbed his eyebrows. “All right. They’ll head for the southern city gates then. They won’t be able to cross the dead plains until morning. Not unless they want to face the ghosts.”

“If we hurry, maybe we can catch them on the plains or at a monastery. Save my uncle before they reach Ravenna.”

We left Marcello’s home behind, pulling ourselves out of the tunnel and into the alley. A pink blush brushed the sky. The sun would be up soon. We’d been dead longer than I’d thought. Once it crested the horizon, the Da Vias would cross the dead plains, but the Da Vias thought we were dead. They had no reason to rush. It was our only advantage.

“We’ll have to collect the rest of our things,” I said. “And we’ll need some horses to make it to a monastery before the sun sets.”

“I’m not a great rider,” Les mumbled behind his mask.

“Well, it’s either that, or take your chances on foot.” I looked over my shoulder at Les as I turned the corner.

I slammed into something and stumbled. Les placed a hand against my lower back, keeping me on my feet.

“Well, well, well.” Lefevre and more of his men blocked the street. “I’ve been looking for you, Lea.”

Lefevre approached and his men followed, grim expressions on their faces. None of them wore lawmen’s uniforms, which meant this was personal.

“How convenient that I find you on the streets again,” he said, “skulking in the dark.”

I unsheathed my sword. “I don’t have time to deal with your petty grievances. You missed your bounty. Now get out of our way.”

I heard a noise behind us, but I couldn’t risk taking my eyes off Lefevre and his men. Les looked over his shoulder, then tensed.

The men behind Lefevre shifted eagerly. Lefevre smiled, his teeth white and straight. “Oh, you’re going to make time for me, little girl.”

Les faced Lefevre again, cutter in hand, his expression hidden behind his new mask. “If you value your lives, you’ll flee.”

Lefevre laughed. His men joined in. “I’ve brought more men this time. And we’re better armed. We won’t fall for the same tricks as before.”

“Last chance,” Les said. I kept my eyes fixed on Lefevre, watching for the slightest movement that preceded an attack. Last time he’d let his men do the fighting. But this time he had a rapier strapped to his hip.

“I don’t know where she found you”—Lefevre pointed a finger at Les—“but you’ll die as easily as she. Kill them both.”

Les grabbed my arm and spun us against a building. Our backs pressed against the rough stonework, my sword held before me.

Where we’d stood floated an angry ghost. It was small, the remnants of a child taken from this life too young. It could have been my nephew, Emile. Its ghostly form glowed with internal light as it stared at the men in front of it, a forlorn expression on its face.

It had been behind us the whole time, too small for Lefevre and his men to spot behind our bodies. Les had only seen it when he’d checked our backs. Now it blinked its dead eyes, shrieked loudly, and charged the group of men, its childlike innocence gone.

The men screamed in terror. Consumed by panic, they pushed and pulled, trampling one another in their haste.

Lefevre, originally in the front of the pack, now found himself at the crowded rear. No matter how much he bellowed for his men to make way, they didn’t listen.