“I will make use of…”– who talks like that?! It might be the cold, the constant sneezing and my nose running, but some things about this guy are pissing me off.
Another awkward pause stretches between us. Castien excels at awkward pauses, and he’s slowly infecting me.
I’m cold, tired, and my head is pounding. I want Garrick’s soup, a hot bath, and eight hours of sleep.
“Tomorrow morning, bright and early, we start,” I say. “I want to be in the tunnels before the sun is up.”
What sun? The metaphorical sun, perhaps. Stupid UK weather.
“I will be ready.”
Okay, I’m done with this. He’s made of steel, but he might as well have been made of ice. Bloody ice king. Ice angel, or whatever.
I turn and walk back through the dungeons, leaving him to study the heavy door to the Drowning Room. I don’t look back. I climb the stairs, cross the entry hall, and step out into the drizzle. It has turned colder while we were inside, and the wind coming off the cliffs cuts through my jacket. I pull it tighter and head across the overgrown grounds to the gatehouse.
Garrick has the door open before I reach it. The smell of chicken soup hits me, and I could cry with relief.
“Come in, Miss Holloway,” he says. “Before you catch your death.”
Chapter Four
Castien
Failing her is inconceivable, and it has nothing to do with my job.
This is programming, the commandments etched into my Aether Core five hundred and twenty-four years ago. The client’s life is paramount. Her survival matters more than my existence. I would let myself be torn apart rather than let harm reach her.
But it’s also something else.
One look at Jessa Holloway, and anyone with a shred of reason would want to do anything to please her. Those blue eyes, that sharp mind…
I catch myself mid-thought. This is wrong. Deviant.
I need to confess, but I can’t until the mission ends. The weight of unconfessed sins accumulates in my processors like corrupted data. Brother Tolliver tried to purge it in the Quiet Room, the Purge Protocol ran, the absolution command executed, but her face stayed imprinted. My Aether Core refused to release it.
I sit at the wooden table in the room Garrick Tremaine gave me. The space is cold, not that I mind. Bare stone walls that are two feet thick, and a single narrow window overlooking the cliffs. I can hear the Atlantic crashing below. The bed is unnecessary. The chair is barely adequate for my frame, but the table is useful. There were documents waiting for me when Garrick brought me here and declared this was my room.
The file from Yasmin sits on top, and I open it.
Name: Jezebel Holloway
I freeze.
Jezebel.
I know the Bible as well as I know combat protocols. I was built to serve a Pope, and scripture was etched into my Aether Core alongside the ten commandments. Every word, every saint and sinner, every story of divine judgment lives in my memory.
Jezebel, Queen of Israel, wife of King Ahab, daughter of Ethbaal, king of Sidon. She worshipped Baal and Asherah, false gods and abominations. She murdered the prophets of the Lord. She painted her face, adorned herself, and used beauty as a weapon, and when Jehu came to execute God’s judgment, she looked down from her window with kohl-lined eyes and mocked him. He had her thrown from that window. Her body hit the street below, and horses trampled her. Dogs ate her flesh until nothing remained but her skull, her feet, and the palms of her hands.
Her name became synonymous with wickedness, with seduction and the corruption of righteous men.
The Bible warns against women like her.
And this woman, this small, fierce creature with blue hair, carries that name.
This is a sign. A warning written specifically for me.
She is temptation incarnate. I must be vigilant.
