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“I’ll show you my charm,” she said, lifting the knife and pointing the tip at his throat.
It wasn’t her knife, which was interesting. And she didn’t skewer him. Nor did she touch him with her magic. He knew she wouldn’t. She was there for blood, but for some reason, she wasn’t ready to draw it quite yet.
“To what do I owe this delightful visit?” he asked. He leaned forward a little, unafraid of her blade, but he kept one hand tight around the cane at his side.
Her eyes shifted to the silver Medusa, and he understood that she knew what he was capable of. He saw fear flicker in her expression—just a glimmer—before she shook it away and narrowed her eyes.
“I hope you’re here to accept my offer,” he said, knowing already that she wasn’t. “Perhaps you’ve come to repent of your sins and rejoin your family?”
“You are no family of mine,” she said through clenched teeth. “And I have nothing to repent, other than letting you live for so long. But I think that’s a mistake I maybe can be correcting. Adesso.”
He didn’t bother to conceal his amusement. “Don’t you think you have that backward? After all, I’m the one with control of the marks. You live by my mercy alone.”
“You aren’t worthy of the oath I made,” she sneered. She let her gaze travel around the room, and she spoke to the Strega now, to the Devil’s Own. “This one, this snake, he’s not worthy of any of your lives. He’s done nothing but take and take.”
She found Werner in the crowd and focused on him. “Tell them,” she commanded. “Tell them all how he sent you to die on a fool’s errand. Dolph would never have done such a thing.”
“Dolph did far worse,” James drawled. “I assure you.”
“I know what Dolph did,” she said, turning on him, as vicious as she ever was.
“And you forgive him?” James wondered. “He took Leena’s affinity, stole it without her knowledge or her permission, and in doing so, he destroyed her.”
His words had the effect he intended. The crowded barroom rustled as people murmured about this new information. Saint Dolph, the martyr. Not so saintlike anymore.
“All because he wanted power,” James added. “Power over us. Over you as well.” He stood then, bringing himself to his full height. He no longer needed the cane, but he kept it in his hand just the same. Sent a flash of energy through the silver Medusa until Viola visibly flinched. “He wasn’t worthy of this power.”
“And you think you are?” she mocked, still grimacing against the slight pressure he was sending through the mark.
Not enough to kill. But enough to distract her. Enough to remind her who was truly in charge.
She straightened. “Tell them what you do, Nibsy. Tell them how many of those who don’t wear the mark you’ve sacrificed to the Order’s patrols.” She turned to the barroom. “Dolph Saunders protected those who couldn’t protect themselves. But this one, he uses the weakest among us. How many are missing today because of him?”
Her voice broke on the last word as he sent another bolt of warning through the magic that connected her tattoo to the cane.
“Why did you come here, Viola?” James asked. “Clearly you didn’t come to make amends.”
She stepped toward him. Her shoulders were back, but he knew the stiffness in her step was because of the steady pain he was sending into her mark. Her ability to ignore it would have been admirable if she weren’t such a nuisance.
“I came for the ring.”
“You can’t imagine that I’d ever give it to you.” He laughed softly, amused despite himself.
“Then I’ll take it,” she growled. “Dead men don’t put up so much of a fight.” She lifted her blade, preparing to hurl it toward his heart.
Before she could, his eyes shifted to Werner. And Viola went down.
SHATTERING
Viola came back to consciousness racked with unspeakable pain. Terrible energy was flooding through her body, turning her blood to ice and making her feel as though she were about to fly apart. The pain went on and on, until suddenly it stopped and everything went dark.
She wasn’t dead. Not yet. But her body felt as though it had been run through with electricity, and she could imagine very easily wanting to die. She could imagine giving herself over to death without any regrets if that pain came again.
She was tied to some table. Her eyes were closed, because it was too much effort to force them open, but her lack of sight made all her other senses more aware. Her body ached against the unforgiving table, the smell of stale beer and tobacco made her stomach turn, and her mouth tasted of coppery blood.
Maybe it would have been easier to just simply give in. To relent and be dragged under by death. The end would have been a comfort compared to the terror and pain she currently felt. But she forced herself to draw in another shallow breath that made her ribs feel like they were being cracked open. And then another.
“Ah,” a familiar voice said. “I see you’re still with us… for now.”
