The dread clawed its way up from my gut to my throat, constricting my airways as I rushed through the deserted halls out into the courtyard. Harrison and the others were keeping up. Having apparently picked up on my panic, they’d fallen silent, their cries for me to stop having ceased altogether.
The guards were still nowhere to be seen, the gate swinging softly against its hinges as it had been before. I pushed through the gate and was practically sprinting as my feet hit the stone beyond. I didn’t look back at the dark, silent house behind me, not once as I bolted across the ring toward Avus, breathing hard, panic choking me in its relentless fist.
Chapter Forty-One
Milo
Atticus had written off his father’s warnings just as I’d done with Nascha’s. Eximius had known, beyond a shadow of a doubt, there were other gods besides the Geist. There were real, true divine beings who had reigned over our world long before the Geist had begun to claim that divinity for themselves. It was still a fact I was struggling to come to terms with. It defied all logic, all history, all reason, but I didn’t want to be like Atticus. I didn’t want to push aside the beliefs of those closest to me until I lost them, and I certainly didn’t want to ignore the evidence I held right in front of me.
I’d read over the passage in Atticus’ journal Isla had brought me a million times since, marvelling at the story contained inside, shocked I’d missed it all along simply because I’d written off Eximius’ son as a man too burdened with the responsibilities of his House to properly see what was really going on with his own father.
There were other matters which needed my attention, I knew, but one didn’t simply uncover the mysteries of the universe and move on so easily. So I was reading Atticus’ story about hisfather’s encounter for the hundredth time when a knock on my door forced me to pull my attention away from the words.
“Yes?” I called out.
The door opened a moment later to reveal Jude standing in the threshold, frowning. Pax waited until I waved him in before glancing once more at the leader of the House of Harlowe and shutting the door behind him, leaving Jude and I alone.
“Jude,” I said in greeting, looking back down at the book in front of me. “I’m glad to see you. You’ll never guess what I’ve discovered. Or, rather, what Isla has discovered. It’s–Jude?”
I glanced up from the book to see that he’d come closer and was now standing in front of my desk, frowning down at me, but something was off. He was fidgety, eyes scanning the room, focusing for moments on the darkened corners before snapping back to me. He seemed to be unable to stand still, shifting his weight from foot to foot as his extremities, I noticed, began to tremble.
“Jude,” I said his name again and noticed the hand in his pocket the same instant.
It all happened so fast. One moment I was glancing up from my book, brow furrowed in confusion, the next Jude was lunging across the desk with a dagger aimed at my heart. I screamed, pushing off of my desk in time to avoid the blade, though I tumbled backwards, chair and all, for my efforts.
“I’m sorry,” Jude said from somewhere above.
He rounded the desk in a few moments just as I managed to scramble backwards on the ground, kicking the chair so it was between my assailant and I as I clawed desperately for safety. His hand trembled as he approached but his jaw was set with determination and the blade was still pointed toward me. His intent was clear. There was murder in his eyes.
“Pax!” I screamed as I got to my hands and knees and crawled around the corner of the desk, keeping as many obstacles in the space between Jude and I as I could. “Help!”
The doorknob jangled a moment later and then Pax was pounding on the door from the other side, furiously calling for help. Gods. I was on my own. I flipped over another chair, the one my visitors sat in when they came up to my study, and saw it tumble in front of Jude. He tried to side step it but faltered. I used that moment to leap to my feet and spin around in search of a weapon, anything.
“Why are you doing this?” I shouted at Jude as he managed to extricate himself from my trap and step over the chair to advance upon me once more.
“I’m sorry,” he said again without further explanation.
I looked at the door. Pax was pounding on it so hard the whole frame was shaking. I could hear him calling for Nick or Cleo beyond, screaming for help. I could run for the door but Jude would follow. There was no way I’d make it to the lock in time. Pax would be too late.
Resigned to my fate, I narrowed my focus on the knife in Jude’s hands. The leader of Harlowe was a scholar, not a fighter. If I could get his weapon away from him, I stood a chance, but the only way to catch him off guard enough for the possibility of getting that knife would be to surprise him. Without taking another second to consider it, I rushed him. He was so surprised he lifted his hands to protect himself from a blow he thought was coming. Instead, I used every bit of my strength to slam a fist into the wrist holding the blade. He shrieked in pain and the dagger fell to the floor beneath us.
I lunged for it, but he recovered quicker than I’d hoped, reaching for my legs and dragging me down before I could attain the blade a few feet away. Then we were rolling across the floor, clawing and scratching at one another in an attempt to get to theweapon first. I had it at my fingertips once before he spun his body around and booted it beneath the desk.
I leapt up, wrenching free of him, and ran around my desk to where my chair was toppled over, where the dagger would be lying beneath it. But there was no time. I couldn’t crawl under there without him dragging me out. As it was, he was running toward me. I saw the glint out of the corner of my eye and reached out in blind panic as Jude’s boot connected with the desktop and he launched himself toward me.
I slashed the letter opener out in a wide arc.
Blood sprayed.
Jude hit the floor with a loud thud, a wheeze escaping him as he clawed at his torn throat. His eyes were wide as he rolled to stare up at the ceiling. Blood spurted from the wound around his neck, soaking into his clothes and gushing in a spray over the fallen chair and bookshelves nearby.
I stared down at the letter opener in my shaking hands.
“Why?” I demanded again, screaming it this time, as I whirled back to watch him struggle for life, struggle against death.
“I–I sssss–”
Jude’s last breath was a hiss. His body went limp, head lolling back against the floor, as sightless eyes fell with turning head to meet my own.
