Her footsteps were muted by the party noise at first, but as she chased Victoria farther and farther from the crowd, the music and roar dimmed and her steps grew louder. She could hear a hint of movement ahead of her, down each corridor, around each bend—a scuff of a tread, a sharper sound as a boot heel connected with the ground—but those noises, too, began to fade.
She found herself alone in an unfamiliar part of the sprawling building with only her own footsteps and her own quickened breathing making any sound.
Kat slowed at the intersection of the hallway she hurried down and a larger corridor that had no sconces glowing. The whole length of it, this way and that, was devoid of light. She stood, undecided, straining her ears to pick up any hint of sound. Both directions were black as pitch with darkness so thick it seemed impenetrable.
How had Victoria found her way, and why had she run from a sister desperate to find her?
There.
Was that a sound?
Kat stepped toward the left, but stopped when the sound of a footstep approached instead of retreated. Closer and closer someone came. Instinct urged her to back away. But her desire to see Victoria and make sure she was okay warred with self-preservation.
And won.
She stood her ground. The steps came closer still.
“A strange place to hunt for daemons, I must confess. Yet there are so many at this fete that my problem is choosing where to strike first.” The voice was unfamiliar to her, but not so the robes that revealed themselves around the ruddy shine of a monk’s face that at first seemed to float toward her from the shadows.
One of Reynard’s men had found her, or else his stalking of l’Opéra Severne was a chance hunting foray that had proved crazily fortuitous to his master.
“Leave me and my sister alone,” Kat said.
He came toward her with his pale hands stretched to the sides as if in supplication. His gesture said he had no weapons and meant her no harm. She knew better. Even if he hadn’t been tall and broad and obviously scarred from his warrior training, his intent to harm was inherent in his quest to use her to harm others. She would never know peace or freedom as long as the Order hounded her footsteps.
And what of Victoria?
Her disappearance. The charred bracelet. Her almost haunting appearance near Katherine tonight, and now this sudden showing of their worst nightmare. Stalking, stalking, never stopping. Had Victoria been harmed, or had she finally decided to hide deeper than they ever had before?
“I’m no longer the Order’s bloodhound. Tell Reynard that. Tell him I’m finished. I won’t be his servant anymore. I want no part of his obsession,” Kat said.
The monk’s face hardened. His hands, still held out at his sides, fisted. His hands were a truer indication of his intentions than his words.
“His obsession. His? We all have a divine mission entrusted to us by Samuel himself. Your family was blessed by his kiss. Specially selected by him to lead us to our prey,” the monk said. He spat out each word as if it was a curse.
“Well, I refuse. You can tell Reynard. No more,” Kat said.
She couldn’t stop the tremor in her voice. The crowd from the party was so far away, there was no longer even a murmur from them. She and the monk stood completely alone. Isolated. Even the low hum she usually heard from the walls was silent.
“Where’s your hellhound when I need him, Severne?” Kat muttered, but only the walls could hear her.
She was alone with a trained killer. A man used to dispatching daemons easily. He was not so proficient as his master, perhaps, but still formidable. And deadly.
“You can tell him yourself. I’m sure he’ll be eager to see you again,” the monk said. “It is your duty to come with me. It will be my duty to father the next generation of daemon Seekers. I’ve beaten Simon to the prize.”
His anger had turned snaky and triumphant. His grimace turned up into a thin smile. He’d seen her glance around for help or a weapon. He’d seen her eyes go hollow when there was no help to be found. No witness for whatever he was about to do.
The monk stepped forward. Kat’s heart jumped, and she stutter-stepped back. In the heavy skirts of the ball gown, she could never outrun him. All the Order’s monks were as physically fit as soldiers, but this man was the largest she’d ever seen.
She wasn’t expecting the harsh laughter that erupted from the monk’s mouth or the wide grin that split his face. He was a serious hunter who rarely had the luxury of toying with his daemon prey. She, on the other hand, amused him. He thought she presented him with an opportunity to play.
Katherine stilled. Ball gown or not, she would make him regret that laugh. She could at least spoil his game.
She was a cellist.
Not a hunter.
Not a daemon.
But she was a fighter. She’d been fighting this battle her whole life.
When he saw her serious stance, his grin faded. “Come with me quietly and no one needs to get hurt,” he said.
His cajoling tone upped her anger exponentially.
“I won’t go quietly. You need to hurt,” Kat said. “You need to bleed.”
This time when he moved, he closed the gap between them without laughter. As he reached her, she dropped back in a defensive stance. She braced her body. She lifted her fists.
But a growl erupted from the shadows.
Unlike when the monk had stepped forward out of the shadows like a pale apparition, Grim brought the inky black of the corridor with him. Shadows clung to his fur so even when he leaped between them, it was hard to see where darkness ended and hellhound began.
“Samuel’s kiss,” the monk cursed. He fell backward in retreat, clumsily shuffling several paces away from the huge hound.
Grim bared his teeth. The white of his gaping maw startled, his giant teeth easily distinguished from the less distinct animal that bared them.
Had those teeth lengthened and thickened since the last time she’d seen them?
It was only then that Kat realized Grim had never truly threatened her. His ferocity had always been in check, muted for her benefit. He gave no such quarter to the Order of Samuel.
“Call him off. Tell him we’ll be married. We will work together to fulfill Samuel’s gift,” the monk ordered.
This time it was Katherine’s turn to smile. She did it sweetly. It turned out a cellist had no need for teeth and claws when such lovely ones were hers to borrow.
“I told you. I quit,” Kat said. “Grim.”
She didn’t have to say more. The monk had already turned to run. Grim disappeared after the panicked sprint of the man who would have gladly dragged Katherine back to his master...once he’d finished with her himself.
A waft of cold, crisp, forest-scented air washed back over her face. The atmosphere contracted as if the pressure had changed. Her ears popped. Then the dusty, close corridor returned to the way it had been.
Grim was now chasing the monk over pathways she couldn’t follow.
Instead, Kat turned and hurried in the other direction. She would try to find her sister all night long if she had to while Grim kept her stalker occupied elsewhere. A greater urgency now drove her search. If Reynard’s men were here, he wouldn’t be far behind. He’d sent his minions into the opera world to find her. Her time at l’Opéra Severne was running out.