Archon(15)
Nina went silent for a while, and the rain continued, gentle, droning.
Angela stared at her own reflection in the glare on the glass, startled to find that her eyes looked larger, warped by the optical illusion. And in that illusion, she was standing in front of the ominous, black clouds, and their lightning and rain was part of her fine hair, now tangled by a sharp and relentless wind. Her forehead held a crown of fallen stars—candles, flickering in some nearby windows.
“They’ve been saying that She’s coming,” Nina said at last.
The words sounded too soft. Whispers that were more like shadows.
“You’re talking about the blood head in the prophecy,” Angela said. “So it’s a woman? I guess you should tell the priests. They’d be grateful.”
“No. They’d cut out my voice box.”
“So they know already?”
“Some of them.” Nina left the bed and pressed a hand against the glass next to Angela. Maybe she could also feel the sudden cold out there, leeching through the pane. “There have been rumors that this bad weather, the killer in the city, the unstable sea—that it’s all an omen that She’s finally coming and the darkness in the world is welcoming the Ruin. That it’s on the move. Which means people like you and me will continue to suffer, seeing and hearing all sorts of nightmares. We’re just symptoms of the world’s sickness. Get it?”
“So . . . the priests know this. Is that why the Academy humors witches and blood heads?” Angela couldn’t bear the idea that her suspicions were correct. If Nina wasn’t lying, and if the dead were complaining, and if she was dreaming of angels and unable to die, then maybe the Ruin really was coming into Her dark heritage. Maybe the Vatican was simply waiting for Her to make the move that would define Her once and for all—hopefully at the Academy—and then stamp Her flat before everything got out of hand.
But would it really be so easy? Someone like Stephanie, a person used to privilege, wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Then again, neither would I.
“Is that,” Angela said, “why Kim is dating Stephanie? Sleeping with the enemy. That kind of thing?”
“You don’t think she’s the One?” Nina said, horrified yet again.
It was doubtful, but— “Maybe I should ask him.”
Nina rounded on her fast. “You’d have to be a fricking moron, Angela. He’s not like the other novices. If we’re right, he’d probably cut out your tongue just to shut you up.”
“So? What do I care about that?”
They stared at each other.
Nina was the first to speak again. “Talking about this stuff is one thing. Acting on it’s another. I told you. Don’t go near him. Stephanie will have your head.”
“Then she already wants it. That Lyrica Pengold saw us talking.”
“Oh, God. Don’t. Don’t do it. He might even use you just to piss Stephanie off. Their relationship isn’t exactly ideal—”
The thump on the door startled them both.
“Hold on a second,” Angela said, walking over to the door and grasping the knob. It rattled as she turned it, echoing the irritable twist of her wrist. “Who is it—”
A dead rat lay at the threshold of the door, its throat torn open. Blood, maybe even redder than the blood on her blouse, drooled from the hole near its head, seeping between the floor boards. Angela realized she was still staring at it as the student with the silver slippers stepped out of the shadows and in front of the doorway. She was holding a box, stuffed with fabrics and sewing materials. Either she hadn’t seen the rat—
Or she killed it.
“My belongings,” she said to Angela, setting the box down on the floor. She glanced at the rat, impassive. “How messy.”
A soft scuttling sound echoed from the rafters in the hallway.
Angela poked her head out of the door, peering up into the musty gloom. The student looked up with her, but there was no one above them. No one that could be seen, anyway. Only shadows, and an old drapery swaying beneath a draft. What sounded like breathing could just as easily have been wind, entering through spaces in the roof. Angela ushered her inside, shutting the door behind them, sick of feeling watched and hunted by everyone. Even invisible fears and creepy statues.
“I’m afraid,” the student was saying, “I interrupted someone’s dinner.”
“It was an animal that did that?”
“Did what?” Nina turned from the window, looking sick to her stomach. As if she already knew.
The student rearranged the curls of her hair, silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was softer. “They were rather quick. It’s easy to mistake what you see on evenings like these. Though I would suggest”—she picked up her belongings again—“that you both stay indoors a little longer.”