Мелисса де ла Круз - Misguided Angel

Jack had called the Venator by his angel name. Schuyler sucked in her breath. She felt guilty for everything--all this killing--it was all her fault. She had been the one who convinced Jack they should seek refuge with the Countess. She was the one who had brought them to Europe. This quest was her legacy, not his--her responsibility she'd latched on his shoulders. She was the one who had planned their escape--no one was supposed to be hurt. She hadn't realized that the Countess would take it so far--the black sword--dear God. If Jack had not bested the Venator, then he would be the one whose immortal life was finished.

He drew her closer to him and whispered fiercely in her ear. "It had to be done. I gave him a choice. He chose death. Death will come to all, sooner or later." Jack pressed his head against hers, and she could feel the veins throbbing below his skin.

Death will come to all? Jack of all people should know that wasn't true. The Blue Bloods had survived for centuries. Schuyler wondered if he was thinking of Mimi--Azrael--just then. Death will come to all. Would it come to Jack? Would Mimi exercise her right to a burning and extinguish Jack's spirit forever?

Schuyler wasn't as concerned about her own mortality as she was for his. If he died, there would be no life for her. Please, God, no. Not yet. Give us this time still. This small sliver of time that we have together, let it last as long as it can.

FIVE

Breaking Bread

Schuyler had fallen asleep in Jack's arms, but she woke up, blinking her eyes, when she heard a rustling noise. The fire in the lamp was still flickering, but the rain had stopped. The only sound was the lapping of waves against the hull. Jack placed a finger to his lips. Quiet. Someone's here.

"Signorina?" A dark figure hovered by the doorway.

Before Schuyler could answer, Jack had sprung from his seat and held Ghedi by the throat.

"Jack! Wait, what are you doing? It's Ghedi--he helped me! He was the one who got me out of the water, Jack! Let him go!"

Ghedi's dark face had turned several shades of gray. He was holding a basket in his hands, which was now shaking slightly.

"Bossing . . ." he protested. "I bring food. Bread. Dinner."

"You serve us well, human," Jack said coldly. "Maybe too well. Tell us, who do you truly serve?"

Schuyler felt indignation burn her cheeks. "Jack, please! You're being ridiculous!"

"Only if he tells me who he really is and who he's working for. A Somali pirate wouldn't give a rat's ass about two American kids, especially once he was paid. Why did you follow us? Are you a servant of the Countess?"

Ghedi shook his head, and looked them straight in the eye. "Have no fear, my friends, for I am a friend of the professor."

Schuyler was surprised to hear the Somali speaking perfect English, and no longer with the African intonations he'd affected before.

"The professor?" Jack asked, relaxing his grip slightly.

"Professor Lawrence Van Alen, of course."

"You knew my grandfather?" Schuyler asked. "Why didn't you mention it earlier? At the market?"

Ghedi did not reply. Instead, he reached into the basket and brought out sacks of flour, salt, and a small jar of sardines. "First we must eat. I know you do not need it for sustenance, but please, for the sake of companionship, let us share a meal before we discuss."

"Hold on," Jack said. "You speak the names of our friends, yet how do we know you are truly a friend to us? Lawrence Van Alen had as many enemies as allies."

"All you say is true. Yet there is nothing I can show or say that will prove I am who I say I am. You will have to decide for yourself whether I am telling the truth. I have no mark, no papers, nothing that may attest to my story. You have only my word. You must trust your own judgment."

Jack looked at Schuyler. What do you think?

I don't know. You're right to be cautious. But I feel in my heart he is a friend. But that is all I have. A feeling.

Instincts are all we have in the end. Instincts and luck, Jack sent.

Jack said, "We will trust you tonight, Ghedi. You're right, you must eat, as must she. Please . . ." He released his hold and motioned to the fire.

Ghedi whistled while he pounded out the injera dough into small circles in the small galley kitchen. He found a metal skillet and fired up one of the gas burners. With the other, he grilled a few sardines on an open flame. In a few minutes, the bread began to rise, puffing with small indentations. The fish began to smoke. When it was ready, Ghedi prepared three plates.

The bread was a bit sour and spongy, but Schuyler thought it was the best thing she had ever eaten. She didn't even realize until she smelled the fresh, delicious aroma filling the room that she was hungry. Starving even. The fish was excellent, and along with a few fresh tomatoes Ghedi had unearthed, it made a satisfying meal. Jack had a piece or two, to be polite. But Schuyler and Ghedi ate as if it was their last meal.

So it wasn't a coincidence, then, their meeting Ghedi at the market, Schuyler thought, appraising their new companion as she dipped a piece of bread into the small pool of ghee on her plate. When she thought about it a little more, she remembered that it was the pirate who had approached them.

And now, on further recollection, it seemed that he was waiting for them. He had practically ambushed them when they had walked past his stall, asking if there was any way he could be of service. He had been quite persuasive, and somehow Schuyler had managed to communicate the specifics of their confinement, and they had finally agreed to trust him with getting them a motorboat.

But who was Ghedi after all? How did he know Lawrence?

"I know you have many questions," the Somali said. "But it is late. And we must all rest. Tomorrow, I will return and tell you what I know."

SIX

Motherless Boys

I was six years old when they took my mother," Ghedi told them the following morning with their breakfasts--cups of espresso and fresh bread in a brown paper bag.

Schuyler raised her eyebrows while Jack looked grim. They sipped their coffee and listened. Outside, the seagulls were greeting the dawn with their mournful screeching. Fishing season was over, so there was no worry of the boat's owner finding them, but they wanted to move on as early as possible.

"The raiders had never come so close to the coast before, but we had heard about them from neighboring villages. They always took the womenfolk-young girls, usually." Ghedi shrugged his shoulders as if to apologize. "I was told my mother was getting water by the creek when they took her. She was very beautiful, my mother. When she came back, she was different." Ghedi shook his head, a hard light in his eyes. "She was . . . changed. And her belly, swollen."

"She had been raped, then?" Schuyler asked gently.

"Yes and no . . . She did not remember any violence. She did not remember anything, really. My father had died in the wars, a year before, and when the baby came, it took her life with his. Neither survived. I was the only one left. My uncle took me to the missionaries. They ran an orphanage in Berbera. It was full of lost boys like me--war orphans, motherless boys.

"One day Father Baldessarre came."

"Baldessarre, did you say?" Schuyler asked, looking startled. "How did you know him? We are looking for him as well." When she had left New York she'd taken Lawrence's notes with her. The papers that she carried from his files named a Father Baldessarre in conjunction with the Gate of Promise, and finding the priest seemed a good place to start their own journey.

Ghedi explained. "Father Baldessarre was the head of the Petruvian mission. He was very kind, and he chose several boys to take back to Italy, to send to their school in Florence. I was one of them. At first I did not want to leave. I was scared. But I liked going to school. And I liked Father B. He taught us to speak English and sent most of the boys to new lives in America. I thought that was where I would end up as well. Somewhere in Kansas. Going to community college." He smiled ruefully and rubbed his shaved head.