Capítulo 6: Chapter 6
9th September
Margaret was sure that it was a crime to climb into the Pontifical Library, which was closed to visitors, but when Angel wanted to know something, he was a law unto himself. The mentor easily entered the building sealed by the police, and soon the girl was already showing him the place of the ensuing drama. Everything here was like yesterday - the upturned librarian's desk, scattered books, broken and charred bookcases, except that the corpse was taken out and the blood stains were not very diligently wiped away.
"If you hadn't fried the Baobhan Sith, the library would have suffered much less," Angel grumbled, kneeling in front of the ruined bookcase. "Burning books is barbaric!"
"Yeah," the girl said. If she was attacked by a pack of vampires, and not just two, she would have burned the entire library without hesitation. "Can we track down where they came from?"
"No. You burned one, and the fire completely destroys the traces of magic, and the second was incinerated after the shot. Have you cast cleansing spells?"
"No," Miss Sheridan sighed contritely. After chasing the blood-sucking filth, it completely flew out of her head. Angel looked up at her sternly through green glasses.
"So go and cast it, you careless girl!"
"Otherwise the ghosts of the departed authors will rise up and peck at the reader for criticism," Margaret muttered.
"What?" Angel asked sharply.
"Already going, going..."
In these glasses, he reminded her of a curly owl, and now - extremely angry, and she decided not to enter into the debate. Weaving a cleansing charm, Margaret noted with displeasure that the Ilarians were working sloppily - at home, at their uncle's, the crime scene would have been cordoned off, the police would have interrogated all bystanders and passers-by, Mr. Kennedy and his assistants from the medical school would be running around, not to mention the consultant with the dog... and then they sealed the building and confined themselves to half-asleep security. Pfur! Not like Angel, but anyone who wants to come in...
What if we're not alone here? Margaret thought and hurried back to the mentor. She didn't feel this watching gaze anymore, but you never know... suddenly an unknown sinister moved to eavesdropping?
"Angel, you don't think... My God, what are you doing there?!" The girl exclaimed, finding that she calls to Redfern's legs below the knee, while the rest of Angel disappeared behind a pile of books on the upper shelves. An inarticulate exclamation was heard from above, and Margaret impatiently tugged at her mentor by the trouser leg.
"Come here!"
The girl looked for the ladder, did not find it, and muttered "Volare mea".
"Well?" she asked when she had established herself on the upper shelves. It was very dusty there, but the mentor managed to isolate a certain white powder from the gray dust.
"Baobhan Sith was sitting right here," Angel traced his finger over the scratches on the shelves, "and that's what was left after her."
"What is it?"
"I think the compound someone covered her body with to protect her from the sun. Give an envelope."
A purse containing paper sample envelopes hung from Margaret's belt. The girl took out one and a sampling scraper. While they were busy with the packing of the powder, Miss Sheridan asked:
"Don't you think that he can watching us now?"
"I don't feel the surveillance yet. And the amulet too." Redfern nodded at the left cufflink. "I kicked him well, so this should discourage him from espionage for a while."
"But how did he manage to smear the vampire with this compound? Can they be tamed?"
"No," Angel replied, hesitating. "But a human can to control the primitive undead, if... if he..." the mentor frowned and fell silent. Margaret didn't demand more. She herself already knew that with due diligence (and if you spend a lot of time), a person can achieve very impressive results. The Hilkarn Strangler encroached on the ifrit!
We are not so defenseless if we are taught, she thought, and after Angel, she hopped off the closet.
Before leaving, Redfern collected several shards of glass in front of the shattered window, although most of them flew out into the street with the Baobhan Sith. When they returned to the carriage, Margaret put the specimen box on her knees. The crew started to move. Angel was silent for a long time, looking out the window at the sunny streets, and then asked dryly:
"What were you looking for in the genealogy section?"
Miss Sheridan contracted. She'd known this moment would come from the moment Angel had entered the Papal Library, but she hadn't thought how to answer.
"I wanted to read about the aristocracy of Riada."
"What for?"
"In your library there is nothing about it, but I was wondering..."
"What for?"
He was looking at Margaret now, and she stared at the box to hide from that piercing heavy gaze. Angel was rarely displeased with her, and never so much.
"We have an abundance of picture books at home," he said venomously. "You don't have to go to the Pontifical Library for them and rummage there all day in the genealogy section."
"I was looking for your family," Margaret whispered, in the faint hope that a quick confession would soften his anger.
"What for?"
"I... I thought..."
"You thought," Angel repeated and it would have been better if he'd been yelling and swearing. "Why didn't you think to ask me?"
Margaret licked her lips.
"But… but you rarely talk about… about your family, and it seemed to me that… you don't like it," she finished in a sinking voice. It got worse when it sounded out loud.
"That is, you knew that I didn't like it, and still go looking for scandalous revelations?"
"I didn't want scandalous..."
"Girl," Angel said coldly, and Margaret wilted. "Do you think this is how you should treat someone else's trust?"
Miss Sheridan lowered her head. Her eyes pinched, but there was no point in crying: Angel would decide that she cadge from for forgiveness and he would only get angrier.
"Why do I not allow myself to rummage through your things and search your rooms, and you found it permissible to dig into what does not concern you?"
Margaret cringed and babbled:
"Sorry."
"Do you want me to search?"
"I put copies in my bureau drawer in my bedroom," she answered quickly.
"Have I ever spied on you, asked you any questions about your past, about your family, or about something that you hate to remember?"
"No, but I'm not hiding anything from you and would answer if you asked..."
"Girl," Angel interrupted her prickly.
"No, you didn't," Margaret managed to say. The box on her knees was blurred because a wet haze before her eyes.
"Then why did you decide that I have no right to hope for reciprocal respect from you?"
The girl just shook her head, because she couldn't say anything because of a lump in her throat. Angel took the box and moved it to his seat. Margaret gave a strangled sob.
"I am sure that the satisfaction of idle curiosity brought you a lot of pleasure," the mentor remarked bored tone and turned to the window. Miss Sheridan huddled in a corner and wiped her eyes with her hand. The glove immediately got wet. The rest of the way to the house went in silence.
When the carriage stopped at the villa, the coachman flung open the doors and lowered the step. Angel came out first and held out his hand to Margaret. The girl shivered and grabbed onto the seat.
"Will you spend the night here?" Angel asked chilly. She forced herself to put her hand on his hand and slid down the step.
"I'll give you copies," she whispered. "Now or bring it to the office?"
"Enjoy reading as much as you want," the mentor answered indifferently. Margaret was seized with such a burning shame that she barely resisted the urge to rush away and never again catch Angel's eye. But he tenaciously squeezed her hand until they entered the house. Redfern left his cane, hat, gloves in the hallway and took the box to the laboratory without another word. The girl trudged to her room.
In her room, she tossed her hat and gloves into a corner, rushed to the bureau and emptied a folder with copies from a drawer. Damn it all, why did she go after them at all! Screaming in rage, Margaret threw the folder against the wall, fell onto the bed and buried her head in the pillows.
"Fool!"
When the shame and grief subsided a little, the girl lay down a little longer, curled up in a ball, and then went to wash. It is unlikely that Angel will want to see her in the coming days (or weeks ... and maybe months). But if he notices her swollen face, he will decide that she is trying to cry forgiveness for herself, and this is not only unworthy, but also and ignobility after everything she'd done. Margaret picked up the folder, shoved the sheets that had crawled into it and put it on the bureau to give to the mentor at the first opportunity. Then she took a textbook of alchemy, threw pillows and a blanket on the windowsill, climbed into this nest and began active repentance by studying the section of inorganic transformations.
Margaret raised her head from the book only when it was getting dark, and her stomach rumbled hungrily. Today she can hardly count on a joint dinner, and the girl was already reaching for the bell to ask for cold snacks in the room, when she suddenly saw that the door of the house had opened - a warm golden light lay on the white marble steps. It disappeared almost immediately, and Angel came down the steps with the small suitcase and the cane. He crossed the garden and out the fence. Margaret stood up in surprise. Where is he going to go on foot?
Fortunately, the windows of her rooms overlooked the road that led to a nearby grove, towards which Angel was heading. Margaret jumped off the windowsill, ran out of the bedroom and rushed to the window in her study. What does the mentor want to do that cannot be done in a laboratory or garden? She had no doubt that he was going to perform some kind of ritual, and if she hadn't been such a pig, she would have been walking towards the grove with him right now!
On the road, in the clouds of dust, a closed, mail-carriage-like, harnessed by a bay four appeared. They rushed so fast that Angel hurried to retreat to the side of the road. But as soon as the carriage swept past him, the coachman sharply pulled on the reins. Horses with a wheeze buried their hooves in the road dust, and before the carriage got up, its door swung open, a man jumped out and sprayed something in Angel's face from a large balloon. Redfern dropped his suitcase and bent over, his hand over his eyes.
Margaret screamed back from the window. Four more jumped out of the carriage and rushed to Angel - he, staggering and snatching a sword from his cane, backed away from them to the house. The girl did not look further - she jerked open the drawer of the table, grabbed the holster with the Meow revolver, the belt with a set of potions in flasks, opened the window and sat down on a chair.
"Volare mea!"
Levitating, sitting or standing on something, is always easier, especially at first, as Angel said - and now she didn't care that the neighbors would see her flying out of the window on a chair. Firmly clutching the back, the girl directed it towards the road. One of the attackers was already crawling into the bushes, clutching his belly, ripped open by a blade, and a scarlet strip stretched behind him in the dust. The coachman was lying motionless in a pool of blood near the carriage. On approaching, Margaret made out the scream:
"Mouth! Shut his mouth!"
"Razor!" Miss Sheridan shouted in fury: Angel, even half-blind, kept the critters at the distance of a blade. The girl's spell slashed one of them - a man in a blue jacket screamed in pain, turned around and roared:
"Here comes the bitch!"
His scream distracted Angel, and one of the attackers threw behind him, knocked him down on his knees and, pulling a black bag over his head, tried to simultaneously clamp Redfern's mouth and twist his hand with a sword. The second hit the mentor with a long stick, alternating with irrigation from a balloon. Angel struggled with a strength that could hardly be imagined in his lean body.
Margaret descended and kicked the third parasite in the head on the fly. It sounded like she'd poked a pumpkin - the man screamed and collapsed. Blue Jacket man tried to grab the girl by the hem, but she dodged and gained height. Angel let out a strangled growl and slammed his elbow into the enemy's ribs with all his might. The head blow to the nose, however, softened because of the bag: the scoundrel just hooted, but did not miss the prey. His accomplice hit Redfern in the stomach with a stick, and Blue Jacket man snatched the balloon from him and pointed it at the girl. Margaret flew up in the chair - the jet from the balloon barely brushed her hem.
"Amulet!" She realized in rage: the bone medallion dangling around the critter's neck greatly softened the effect of Razor. "Come on, try this!"
She pulled the third flask from her belt and threw it at the feet of the man in the blue jacket. He jumped back, but late: a swarm of white thorny lights escaped from the flask, instantly smelled living flesh and wrapped around the scum from head to toe. There was a wild cry of pain; the man fell to the ground and began to roll on it like a madman. Splashes of blood sprayed the road and had laid dust.
"In ignis!" Margaret hissed, pointing to the bottle. It blazed and exploded.
"Dam-hati calib!" Angel snapped. His voice was muffled by the bag, and the protective amulet prevented the spell from working in full force. But nevertheless, the scum that grabbed at him began to hiss, twitched, spat blood, and Redfern broke free, pulled the bag off his head and parried the blow of the stick with his sword. His eyes were closed, his eyelids were swollen and reddened, and tears were flowing from under them. The bandit with a stick threw at Angel's feet and knocked him down.
Margaret grabbed the Meow from its holster and fired: first at the one who was leaning on Angel, trying to get to his throat, then at the second, coughing up blood. The first bullet hit the aim in the arm, the second - whistled over the target's head, because he was very shaky.
Suddenly the man, whom the girl had punched in his head, woke up and wheezed:
"Go! Leave that bastard alone! Run!"
He jumped up and rushed to the carriage. Margaret threw a fireball at his accomplices, and they finally ran, leaving Angel. The nimblest man had already climbed onto the high-bench, slipping in the coachman's blood. The girl landed near the mentor. Angel, trembling, propped up on his elbows, and Margaret grabbed him, offered him her shoulder. Redfern leaned on her, scooped up the dust into a handful, muttered a long spell, and sent it into the wind.
Dust drifted across the ground, trailing behind the carriage as it sped away into the distance. The dust drift turned into a blizzard, caught up with the carriage and lifted it off the ground. The harness straps burst, and the four horses, screeching with fear, rushed away, dragging the shafts behind them. Angel clenched his fist. Dust blizzard squeezed the carriage, there was a crunch, several desperate screams, and the dust covered everything entirely. A few seconds later, the storm spat out a shapeless lump and dissipated. Angel exhaled quietly and leaned heavily on Margaret, eyes closed.
***
Miss Sheridan took off the compresses from the mentor's eyelids and asked:
"Can you open it?"
His lashes, matted with tears and half-liquid ointment, little lifted. The girl washed his eyes with a soft swab dipped in an infusion of herbs, dripped three drops of the reddish potion and applied fresh compresses.
"Thanks," Angel said. He was lying on the couch in his office, where Margaret brought him with the help of the silent Jose, the coachman, gardener and the only servant in the villa, who had already taken care of three corpses while the girl was busy with her mentor. He fidgeted at first tensely and almost displeased, but then gradually relaxed. Margaret thought that earlier Angel had to take care of himself in such cases, but here - someone else's concern, he is not used to... Maybe it would be more tactful to leave him alone?
"As it is now?"
"Better," Angel replied. "But it'll be great if I put my head on something softer than a pillow."
The girl did not immediately realize what he was talking about until Redfern caught her by the hand and pulled her to the sofa. Margaret blushed embarrassedly, but hurried to sit next to him, as that meant she was forgiven (or that at least he wasn't so angry). Angel rested his head on her chest as she held the compresses over his eyes and sighed in satisfaction.
"Little warlike fury," he said with a good-natured grin, and pressed his warm lips to Margaret's hand, giving her a dozen very immodest kisses. Angel was still shaking weakly, and his movements were not very confident - the effect of the nerve potion affected.
"You need to treat the rest of the injuries."
"Want to help?" he raised an eyebrow over the compress, and Margaret wanted not to help, but to hit.
"You've been hurt..."
"Self-esteem suffered, girl, no more. I haven't been beaten with a stick for a long time," after a pause, he added ominously: "Someone will pay dearly for their momentary pleasure."
"Do you think it was done for pleasure?" Miss Sheridan asked skeptically. "In my opinion, they simply tried to kidnap you, no matter how wild it sounds. Who is kidnapping adult men today?"
"So if I were a blond virgin, you wouldn't be surprised?"
"I wouldn't be surprised if they tried to kidnap me. Even the Baobhan Sith in the library had chances."
"With a much better chance than these idiots. Some hoped that I would collapse in complete paralysis and blinding from one breath, and messed up big. And the hired bandits knew what kind of rubbish in the balloon, so they tried to stay away when spraying, so that basically this dirty trick settled on clothes."
"Look," Margaret frowned, "don't think that I'm nagging, but isn't it stupid to give the mercenaries a potion, amulets against spells and forget about the most ordinary protective masks?"
"They covered their faces with scarves..." Redfern began and fell silent. The girl wanted to notice that the scarf is not very reliable protection against the potion, especially since it strives to slip with every movement. And the point is to save on such trifles as masks, if you have already hung the bandits with amulets?
"They expected you to come," Angel said suddenly. "Judging by the exclamation with which you were met, they very much even hoped for it."
"Why?" Margaret was surprised. "If they caught you, why would they want me?"
Angel snorted in annoyance.
"It looks like we were just poked with a stick. They provoked, checked what we are capable of and how dangerous."
"But why? What's the use of that? Or did they want to kidnap you for fun?"
"No," Angel said through set teeth, "that would be a nice bonus. If only they succeeded. But, I think, the customer did not count on this. He watched us to his heart's content and decided to see if we bite hurt."
"So he didn't give his bandits any protective bandages because they're, well, consumables?" Miss Sheridan said uncertainly.
"Exactly," Angel pushed his elbow off the sofa, sat down and winced. The blows of the stick were clearly still felt by him, although he tried not to show it. He took off the compresses, tossed them on the tray and dabbed his eyes with a soft napkin. They were still inflamed, though they no longer watered.
"Angel, are you sure..." Margaret began anxiously.
"I'm not going to wait for him to drop a bomb on my house. He decided to climb – so let him eat a full spoon."
His gaze flashed fiercely, and Margaret, instantly remembering her fault, looked down.
"Frightened?" Angel asked unexpectedly softly. The girl shook her head uncertainly. "In vain. Now this vampire tamer knows exactly what kind of relationship we are in."
"And in which ones?" it almost escaped Margaret, but she bit her tongue in time.
"Is it so important?"
"Important. You would be much safer if the customer thought you were just my mistress."
Margaret blushed. She knew only one thing about this part of life - to be someone's mistress is shameful for a self-respecting girl. But there was a subtle hint of something else in Angel's words - something that threatened her personally.
"But am I not… not your mistress?" She squeaked timidly.
"What?! Of course not!" Angel laughed. "Of course, in the eyes of the world, since we live together, your name is discredited, but... why do you ask?"
The girl blushed deeply and could not find words for an answer, especially when he stared at her with a steadfast mocking look, which, however, immediately softened. Angel ran his hand over her cheek.
"Go to your room, rest and eat at last."
"And you?" Margaret took his palm with both hands. "Do you need help?"
"I'm going to search the bodies. Are you sure you want to participate?"
"N-no, but I meant... well, that is..." she was confused, not knowing how to express her fears so as not to make him angry again, and with a helpless gesture she circled his ribs, which got pretty bad in the scuffle.
"It's not fatal," Angel replied with a grin. "Go. I won't bother you until tomorrow morning. Although," he said sarcastically, "I should still be angry with you. But we will discuss this later. After I rip out the eyes of a peeping tom."
Thank God, Margaret thought cowardly. She didn't want to discuss it again. Moreover, she did not dare to voice one more thought, tormenting her, - how did the person who ordered the abduction know about Angel? Have they been watched for so long and unnoticed? But does this person know who Angel really is?
***
"Margaret..."
An insistent whisper penetrated her sweet midnight dream, and the girl stirred restlessly.
"Margaret, wake up..."
She shuddered half asleep and buried herself deeper under the covers. A hand fell on her shoulder and shook her hard.
"Margarita! Roll out!"
The girl jumped up and nearly smacked the top of her head into Angel's chin. Half-awake, she didn't even immediately realize that the mentor sitting on the bed was not a continuation of sleep at all. Redfern threw a newspaper and a dirty pendant onto the bedspread, and then Margaret finally woke up.
"Angel!" She cried reproachfully, pulling the blanket up to her eyes. In the hot Aventine, she wore for the night a translucent shirt almost sleeveless and with a deep neckline, and if even the edge of the blanket slips...
"No time to sleep," Redfern declared adamantly, defying all decency. "I searched the bodies and this is what I found." He swung the pendant in front of Margaret. The girl rubbed her eyes and looked sideways at the clock. Half past one at night!
"You didn't go to bed at all? Stop poking me with this filthy muck!"
"I have no time to go to bed," Angel waved; his eyes, still puffy, nevertheless burned with predatory excitement. "This filthy muck, by the way, is the same amulet that the hands of our mysterious mudslinger touched."
"You were able to track him down?!" Margaret got up in bed, almost missing the blanket.
"No, of course, he's not an idiot. The amulet burned out as soon as its bearer died, which is a pretty good way to cover up your tracks."
"That's why you woke me up," Miss Sheridan said dryly.
"Little sleepy marmot," Angel purred, beaming with self-satisfaction. "It would be better if he blew his mercenary's head off."
"Why?"
"Because our memories are stored there, in the brain.
"You got them?! But this guy died!"
"Yes, recently. So the brain was fresh, completely untouched by decay. Three brains. I dissected all three dead."
"Wait, but this is necromancy! You yourself said that human cannot use it, that it is wrong to awaken the dead!"
"To awaken - yes, but you cannot use it, because you are completely inexperienced. And I can, especially for the sake of knowledge. Plus, if this worries you so much, I have not awakened anyone, and the rising dead will not disturb your sweet sleep. I took out his brain and, um, temporarily revived it with pulses of magical current. It's not even fully functional."
"All the same, it sounds terrible. What have you found?"
"More precisely - I saw," Angel lay down on the pillow next to her and closed his eyes. He looked rather tired, and Margaret wondered with dismay if he was poisoned more than he showed. "Of course, no one really saw the employer. He used the most reliable charm to hide his appearance - a wide cloak with a deep hood. He also made typical offers - money, power, luck, cast-iron constitution, long youth. He showed several tricks, and they believed. Well, he paid money, moreover, a lot."
"But to whom did he offer all this?"
"Oh, this is the most relish! He was leading astray the sailors of the Dorgern fleet, or rather, a bunch of bastards from the frigate of His Majesty "Kaiserstern", Angel took the newspaper and opened it. Margaret stared at the editorial in amazement. The Dorgernian sailors were the last thing she thought of.
"Then why did they speak Ilarian?"
"They were ordered to speak the language I understand."
"So he thinks you are an Ilarian?"
"Well, girl, think a little with your head - here everyone considers me an Ilarian."
Margaret chuckled - in Ilara, the few people Angel deigned to talk to in person knew him as Eneo Morante. Why would a sailor employer think otherwise?
"Which brings us straight to Breswain — the ship that sank there after they deserted to serve another master."
"Do you think it has something to do with it?"
"I think that, judging by the description of the disaster, it was not without magic. Ships, Margaret, don't sink like that. This ship was well helped."
Miss Sheridan scanned the article and asked gloomily:
"Don't you think they're just trying to lure you out of the house and into some trap?"
"Even so, trapping me is damn dangerous. And I'll try," Angel hissed fiercely, "so the bastard realizes that before he dies."
Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder