Page 50 of Eternal Surrender

“How dare you speak to me like that!” she said.

“She’s dead!” Zachary’s voice trembled. “Master, please help her.”

“Out,” I ordered Penthea.

“She’s mine to save,” she hissed back.

I glared at her. “You’ve done enough.”

Gasps echoed behind me and though I didn’t turn to see them, I knew the others were leaving and that even for them this was too much.

“I want you gone from Belshazzar’s,” I told Penthea.

Her lips curled in a scowl. “How dare you!”

“Do as he says,” Marcus said.

“Who is he to order me?” Penthea demanded.

“A Status Regal,” he answered.

“Then he can bring her back?” Penthea’s voice cracked with guilt.

I raised my right hand and imagined squeezing Penthea’s throat and she choked, gasping for air, her eyes widening in surprise, proving I was making my point.

She fled, leaving a whirling breeze.

Marcus stroked Anaïs’s forehead. “Is it too late for her?”

Lying before me was a rail thin girl, her flesh blue and blotchy like a dead rag doll with all life gone from her.

I glanced back up with my answer.

Chapter Ten

The towering four-faced clock kept perfect time.

I slipped passed the lone security guard and headed through the low doorway, ascending the winding staircase toward the tower, trying to think of anything but how high I’d be going.

Or how I was going to achieve anything when I got up there.

Counting at least one hundred steps of the three hundred and thirty-four to the belfry so far, I peered down the way I’d come at the wrought iron staircase, marveling at how Big Ben was still boasted as one of the largest clocks in the world, recalling its construction in 1859 when Queen Victoria had ruled; this darling of landmarks having since survived two world wars, including the Blitz.

I climbed higher, keeping to the dark. I needed the height, but not the eyes it drew.

There it was, the other side of the huge clock face made up of stunning cast iron circle sections with twelve or so white pieces of glass perfectly designed within. It was well over twenty feet across, the faint shadow of the small hand inching its way every two seconds closer to the fourth roman numeral.

The minute hand was carved expertly in solid bronze and beyond the glowing clock face was a spectacular view of the grey city skyline, the grand metropolis below showing signs of life stirring.

Attached to the wall was a brass stairwell that I assumed led to the rooftop and I reached for the first rung and began the short climb upward.

With a nudge, the skylight lifted, and I rose onto the roof; my long coat flapping.

There, leaning precariously over the edge with his back to me, was the man I’d followed up here.

The handsome, dark complexioned young man, pulled his tatty jacket tight around him, trying to shield himself from the cold. His jeans were dirty and ripped. He peered over, seeming hypnotized by the drop.

I’d found his name among fifty or more Stone Lords stored on the flash drive stashed in Belshazzar’s safe. I’d been tracking him for just over an hour and was initially annoyed with his choice of locale until I realized his intentions.