Текст книги "The Raven"

Автор книги: Sylvain Reynard

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

Chapter Twenty

The motorcyclist was wearing a black leather jacket, black jeans, and black boots. His helmet, which had an opaque shield, was also black.

Raven wondered if he were a policeman, assigned to follow her.

She didn’t bother to find out. Breaking into a run, she skirted him in order to return to Bruno.

“We have to go. Now!” the driver shouted.

Raven increased her speed, fighting the pain in her leg, as she heard sirens approach.

When she came to the alley, she saw Bruno lying on the ground. She could see blood on his face and a dark pool on the cobblestones beneath his head. He wasn’t moving.

A police car turned into the alley several feet away, followed closely by an ambulance.

She was going to run to him, when an arm curled around her waist and pulled her back. The motorcyclist clutched her to his side, kicking and screaming, as he pulled away.

The driver was strong, but even so, it was nearly impossible to drive with one hand and hold a squirming woman with the other. He came to a halt near the Duomo.

“If you’re caught by the police, they’ll arrest you,” he hissed behind his helmet. “Is that what you want?”

“I didn’t do anything! A man attacked us.”

“They won’t believe you. And the boy’s blood is on your clothes.” The motorcyclist pointed to her dress.

“I have to help him.” She struggled. “I have to get my knapsack.”

He gripped her arms, his gloved fingers biting into her flesh.

“Jane, get on the bike.”

At the sound of her former name, she stilled. She couldn’t see his face from behind his helmet. Since his voice was muffled, she couldn’t swear that he was the intruder.

But a policeman wouldn’t want her to evade his fellow officers and, certainly, no one she knew ever called her Jane.

Before she could respond, the driver pressed a helmet over her head and tugged her to sit behind him. He pulled at her arms, but she resisted, favoring her right shoulder.

“Are you injured?” He turned in his seat to examine her.

“The man who attacked us wrenched my arm.” Raven massaged her shoulder, eyes screwed shut in pain.

“I’ll fix it after you’re safe.”

“Are you the intruder from my apartment?”

“Of course,” he snapped. “Who else would help you?”

“Let me go. I have to help my friend.”

“You can’t help him from a jail cell.”

Instantly, Raven thought of Amanda Knox.

She knew she would come to regret her decision, but, with a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around the intruder’s waist.

“Hold on,” he commanded.

The bike shot forward, almost toppling as it approached the Duomo and made a hard left to go around it.

The sound of a siren pierced the air as another police car, which was parked on a street nearby, began to pursue them.

Raven shut her eyes as the motorcycle wove in and around traffic, shooting through red lights and barely avoiding pedestrians.

Still the police car followed, now joined by a second one.

With a burst of speed, the motorcycle crossed one of the large vehicular bridges that spanned the Arno before darting up the winding road that led to the Piazzale Michelangelo. Trees and houses flew past them as they raced around the curves.

Raven felt sick, but the driver would not slow.

They raced past the piazzale and around a tight curve, losing the police cars for a moment. The motorcyclist shot into a hidden driveway and climbed another hill, putting them out of sight.

The sounds of sirens grew close and then far away, as the police cars sped past the driveway and continued along the main road.

Raven tried very hard not to throw up, swallowing down urge after urge to heave.

The driver slowed the motorcycle to a moderately quick speed, making several turns before stopping in front of a tall metal gate. He pushed a few buttons and the gate opened.

He entered the gate, which closed behind them, and drove along a paved driveway that led past trees and what appeared to be an orchard.

They came to a stop in front of a freestanding triple-bay garage.

Raven was clutching the driver so tightly, she couldn’t let go. He had to pry her fingers from his jacket.

“Inside. Now.” He jerked his head toward the large and palatial villa visible via the floodlights that illuminated the garden and driveway. “Ambrogio will attend to you.”

The driver helped Raven from the motorcycle and removed her helmet.

“Her right arm and shoulder are injured. See to it.” He addressed a man who hovered nearby.

The motorcyclist turned his back on her and rolled his machine into the garage.

“Signorina, please.” The man, who Raven inferred was Ambrogio, gestured toward a stone path that led through the garden and to the back door.

Raven took one tentative step and threw up the entire contents of her dinner on Ambrogio’s impeccably shined shoes and suit-clad legs.

Chapter Twenty-one

Ambrogio said not a word as Raven’s vomit splashed on his legs and feet. He merely placed an arm around her waist, supporting her.

She heaved until she could do so no more.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, wiping her mouth shakily with the back of her hand.

“Signorina, come inside.” His tone was calm, too calm, as if the sight of blood on her skin and the vomit was not only unsurprising, but expected.

Raven gazed at him curiously.

He was about her height, with gray hair and dark eyes. He looked as if he were in his sixties and was carefully dressed in a well-cut dark suit. Raven found something troubling about his demeanor, but she could not articulate what.

She tore her eyes from his impassive expression and looked toward the garage. “My friend Bruno is hurt. He may be dead. I have to go to him.”

“Everything will be attended to.” Ambrogio deftly turned her to face the villa.

“I don’t have my cell phone. Or my wallet. My knapsack is in the alley, where Bruno is.”

“This way, please.”

Raven turned toward the garage, hoping to catch sight of the intruder. “But—”

“It would be best if you came into the house.” Ambrogio interrupted her with a tone that held a warning.

With one last, vain glance, Raven allowed herself to be led on shaky legs to the back door.

She was escorted through a modern, eat-in kitchen and a large, opulent dining room to an immense central foyer. A wide wooden staircase led to the second floor, while a huge antique chandelier sparkled overhead.

But it was the artwork that captured her attention.

The walls were painted a deep red and hung with oil paintings that varied in size and composition, all encased in glass.

Raven gaped at the sight and muttered a few stunned oaths.

She’d spent years studying Renaissance art and art restoration. The collection on display was of works from that period she had never seen. Paintings by Raphael, Botticelli, Caravaggio—and something that looked surprisingly like a Michelangelo—stared at her from their ornate frames.

She lifted a trembling finger and pointed to a medium-sized painting on the far wall.

“Is that—? It can’t be. Is it?” she stuttered.

“Michelangelo, yes. Adam and Eve before the Fall.” A gray-haired woman, wearing a smart navy sheath dress and jacket, strode across the floor.

“But Michelangelo is thought to have completed only one painting and it’s in the Uffizi. An uncompleted work that may be his is in the National Gallery in London.”

The woman ignored Raven’s protest. “I’m Lucia.”

“Raven,” she murmured, crossing the floor so she could get a better look at the alleged Michelangelo.

“I thought your name was Jane. Jane Wood.” Lucia followed her with a frown.

Raven kept her eyes fixed on the painting. She looked at it from the side, trying to discern the brushstrokes.

“The intruder calls me Jane, but my name is Raven.”

The couple seemed taken aback by her remarks but commented no further.

Ambrogio apprised Lucia of Raven’s injury. He bowed, declaring he would find out about Bruno’s condition and attempt to locate her knapsack, before disappearing into the dining room.

Lucia gestured to the staircase. “Your room is upstairs.”

“This painting,” Raven managed to say, fixated as she was, “where did it come from?”

“It’s part of Lord William’s extensive collection. But the best pieces are in there.”

The woman nodded toward a closed set of double doors to the left of the staircase.

Raven reluctantly tore her gaze away from the painting and stared at the closed doors.

She shook her head, as if to clear her mind.

“You said Lord William?” she whispered. “William York?”

“Of course.” Once again, Lucia seemed puzzled.

“The intruder is William York?”

“I don’t know anything about an intruder. The gentleman who owns this estate is Lord William York. He brought you here.” Lucia took a step closer, examining Raven intently. “I will send for a doctor.”

“No, I’m fine. I was just a little—motion sick.” She wiped her mouth self-consciously. “Can you tell me if Lord William recently acquired something in the style of Botticelli? Such as a set of illustrations?”

“You were bleeding.” Lucia ignored Raven’s question, pointing at the dried blood on her shoulder and dress.

“No, it’s Bruno’s. My friend.” Raven fought back tears. “I’m worried he’s dead. I need to see him.”

“Ambrogio will attend to it.”

Raven stared at Lucia suspiciously, wondering why she was repeating the intruder’s rote remark.

“I really need to go. If you could just call a taxi for me, I’ll leave.”

“It’s past one o’clock. His lordship would like you to clean up and rest.” Lucia’s expression brooked no argument.

Raven began moving toward the front door, which was a few feet away. “I don’t want to impose. You’ve been very kind.”

“Stop.” Lucia’s polished demeanor dropped for a moment and an icy coldness filled her eyes. “His lordship’s orders are always obeyed.”

“I just want to go home,” Raven whispered.

As if on cue, Ambrogio returned. He stood in front of the door, effectively blocking Raven’s escape.

Her eyes moved from him to Lucia.

“You must obey his lordship.” Lucia gestured in the direction of the staircase. “He has been expecting your return.”

“My return? I’ve never been here before.”

“This way, please.” Once again Lucia ignored her comment. She walked toward the staircase.

Raven lifted her right foot surreptitiously, trying to figure out if she could outrun Lucia and Ambrogio and make it to the back door. Of course, it was more than likely that the intruder was outside and would come after her.

She didn’t want to think about what he’d do to her if he caught her.

She forced an artificial smile and joined Lucia on the stairs. “A shower and a rest sound like a good idea. Thank you.”

Lucia’s frosty attitude thawed marginally as she ushered Raven up-stairs. She brought Raven down a long central hall, pausing in front of a tall wooden door. “In here, please.”

She opened the door.

In keeping with the rest of the house, the large bedroom boasted dark hardwood floors that were covered by elaborately woven antique carpets. A massive four-poster bed hung with wine-colored velvet curtains stood at the center of the wall to the left.

The walls were painted to match the curtains and all the other furniture in the room was dark, polished wood, with the exception of a large divan near what looked like the entrance to the bathroom en suite. The divan was covered in wine velvet and held a single gold damask cushion.

When Raven crossed the threshold, she felt a prickling at the back of her neck. Something about the room seemed familiar.

Ignoring Lucia, she walked to the bed, noting that a white Turkish cotton bathrobe had been placed at its foot, along with a pair of slippers. A blue silk slip-style nightgown rested on top of the duvet, which was covered in gold damask.

“If you sit down, I’ll examine your shoulder.” Lucia gestured to the divan and Raven lowered herself to its edge.

That was when she saw the painting.

On the wall opposite the door, and therefore hidden from initial view by the bed curtains, hung a large oil painting behind glass.

Raven turned to her right, craning her neck so she could see it.

Her eyes widened in shock.

Without a word, she pushed past Lucia to get a better look at the painting.

The composition was similar, almost identical, to Botticelli’s Primavera but on a smaller scale. There were three notable differences: the figure of Flora was absent in this version, and Mercury and Zephyr featured radically different appearances than their Uffizi counterparts.

This Mercury had gray eyes and a wreath of short blond hair.

In gazing at his face, Raven immediately thought of the drawing she’d done a few days earlier. The drawing that had mysteriously disappeared after the intruder’s first visit.

Then there was the figure of Zephyr, on the right-hand side of the painting.

Zephyr was clothed in blue garments, but his face and body were decidedly flesh colored, if not a bit paler than the other figures. He, too, had blond hair.

Raven glanced from Zephyr to Mercury and back again. The two figures were almost identical, except that Zephyr had paler skin and a more muscular body. There was also a refinement in his facial features that made him more beautiful than Mercury.

Whoever painted this picture had used the same model for Mercury and Zephyr. And his face was not unknown to her.

Adding to her confusion was the fact that this Mercury, with his short blond hair, largely resembled the ghost she’d found in the radiograph of Primavera. It was almost as if Botticelli had seen this painting, copied Mercury’s appearance, then painted over it, changing his hair from blond to brown.

Raven felt light-headed.

“You should sit down.” Lucia pulled her back to the divan and proceeded to prod her right arm and shoulder.

“I don’t understand,” Raven murmured, her eyes glued to the painting.

“The shoulder isn’t dislocated. Would you like an ice pack?”

Raven peered up at Lucia, who was staring at her with a distrustful look.

Raven shook her head. She tried to remain calm, but her mind was racing.

How could William York have a reproduction of Primavera that I’ve never heard of? And how could it be a reproduction if Botticelli’s original Mercury matches this one?

“I could run a hot bath or you could shower. Perhaps you should wait until you have something in your stomach. I’ll bring some tea and toast.”

Raven’s attention was drawn back to Lucia.

“I should get out of these clothes. The smell…” Her voice trailed off.

“I’ll be back shortly.” Lucia pointed to a long, thin piece of tapestry that hung from the ceiling at the right side of the bed. “If you need me, pull the cord.”

Raven nodded, her eyes moving to the painting again.

As Lucia approached the door, Raven spoke.

“You prepared this room for me?”

“His lordship wanted you to stay here, in his room.” Lucia disappeared through the door.

Chapter Twenty-two

Although Raven would have liked the opportunity to examine the faux Primavera and the alleged Michelangelo in a leisurely fashion, she was not about to put her passion for art above her safety.

Neither was she going to spend the night in his lordship’s room.

She was clever enough to realize she needed to wait until the appropriate time to make her escape. The intruder’s staff was disturbingly loyal.

After her short confrontation with Lucia and Ambrogio downstairs, Raven decided her best strategy was temporary compliance. Her knapsack had been returned without her cell phone and without the relic. She elected not to press the issue, intending as she was to slip out of the house after everyone was asleep.

She was relieved to learn that Bruno was still alive. She was told he was in an induced coma at the hospital while the doctors waited for the swelling in his brain to go down. It was too early to tell if he would survive.

At this news, Raven cried. She shed her tears in the shower, where no one could hear.

Lucia had stationed herself in the bedroom while Raven used the bathroom, as if she were standing guard.

Raven scrubbed her hair and body with a finely milled Florentine soap that smelled of lemon. She’d found the soap in a decorative box on top of the vanity and recognized the scent as being that of the intruder. Since it was the only soap on offer, she couldn’t be bothered to care that it was his.

After drying her hair and changing into the silk nightgown and plush bathrobe, she dutifully drank mint leaves steeped in hot water and choked down dry toast and a couple of aspirin.

She feigned exhaustion and declared to Lucia she was going to bed. Thankfully, the housekeeper departed, bidding her good night.

Raven was sure to lock the bedroom door from the inside.

At four o’clock in the morning, she padded over to the closet. Divesting herself of the nightgown, she pulled on a green wrap dress that was exactly her size. She bent to reach for a pair of black ballet flats and stopped cold.

Sitting on the closet floor, next to several pairs of shoes and boots that looked to be of her size, were her own sneakers. She picked one up, inspecting it. They were the black Adidas sneakers she wore almost every day and had been unable to find since Gina’s party.

Why would the intruder steal my sneakers?

Raven lifted the other shoe, turning it over in her hand. A couple of rust-colored spots decorated the toe.

A sick feeling came over her as she wondered whose blood was on her shoes.

She shoved the sneakers in her knapsack and slid on the ballet flats. She’d worry about the blood spatter later.

She pulled her knapsack onto her uninjured shoulder and crept down the dark hallway to the stairs.

Her plan was to escape the estate as quickly and quietly as possible. She’d walk down the hill to the Arno, even if it took hours. Then she’d go to one of the hotels, borrow a phone, and call the police.

There wasn’t a telephone in her room. In fact, she hadn’t seen one in the house.

No doubt Ispettor Batelli would be glad she’d located William York and that she’d seen his vast and secret art collection.

No, she hadn’t seen the illustrations, but, given his other treasures, it was possible he had them. It was also possible other works in his collection were stolen. Surely this was enough information to place the police’s suspicion where it belonged—on the shoulders of Lord William York.

She descended the stairs slowly, trying not to make a sound. The foyer, like the hallway above, was bathed in darkness, although lights at the front of the villa shone in through the glass of the front door.

As she reached the first floor, she noticed that the doors that led to the more extensive part of William’s collection were open.

Curiosity tempted her. If she could see the stolen Botticelli illustrations with her own eyes, it would make her testimony much more valuable.

She padded lightly to the entrance.

The room was pitch-black.

She placed a hand on the door frame and leaned inside, willing her eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness.

“Psyche awakes.” A low voice spoke to her from inside the room.

She startled, jumping back.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to try to make your escape.” The intruder continued speaking Italian.

Raven turned, intending to run.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

She paused. For the moment, at least, her arm and leg were only aching. But she knew she couldn’t evade him on foot.

The realization discouraged her.

“I’m already furious with you,” the voice announced. “Don’t anger me further. Come inside. Now.”

“Why should you be furious? I’m the one who’s been kidnapped.” Raven clutched her knapsack more tightly.

“You’re the one who’s been rescued. You’d have been charged with attempted murder and be rotting in a jail cell by now if I hadn’t dragged you from the scene of the crime. I should add that the police station is only a short ride away, if you’d prefer their company.”

Raven huffed. She didn’t want to deal with the police. It seemed an audience with the intruder was her only option at the moment.

She lifted her chin and walked through the doorway.

The room gave the impression of being large, but she couldn’t see for sure. Like the foyer, it was bathed in darkness.

The intruder had the advantage of being able to see in the dark.

She took another hesitant step forward and stopped. “So you’re William York?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What manner is that?”

“It’s a name I use, in certain circles. But York is where I’m from, not my surname.”

“Then what’s your name?”

“Do you really wish to waste time on such inconsequential questions?” He sounded impatient.

“The questions aren’t inconsequential to me.” She lifted her knapsack higher on her shoulder. “I want to go home, please. Will you call a taxi?”

He laughed and it was not a happy sound.

“Do you think I went to all this trouble only to send you home in a taxi? Hardly.”

Raven felt her heartbeat quicken. “The policemen investigating the Uffizi robbery are already looking for you. If you let me go, kidnapping won’t be added to the charges.”

“Kidnapping is the least of my worries. And the least of yours.”

Raven tensed. “You brought me here. You must have been planning to reveal yourself. Why won’t you show me your face?”

“Oh, Psyche.

“‘Fortune doth menace unto thee imminent danger,

wherof I wish thee greatly to beware… . thou shalt

purchase to mee great sorrow, and to thyself utter

destruction… . Beware that ye covet not… to see the

shape of my person, lest by your curiosity you deprive

your selfe of so great and worthy estate.’”

“You’re quoting Apuleius?” She sounded incredulous.

“It seemed appropriate. Psyche wasn’t satisfied with what she had and she wouldn’t do what she was told.”

Raven straightened her spine. “I’m not a dog to be told to sit or stay.”

“Obviously,” he said dryly.

“Besides, Psyche loved Cupid. She wanted to know the person she loved.”

The intruder seemed to move closer. “She was a human who fell in love with a god.”

“Are you saying you’re a god?”

“Are you saying you’re in love with me?” His tone was mocking. “I suppose you love that boy who’s lying in the hospital.”

Raven flinched.

“I know better than to fall in love with a man who’s attracted only to beautiful women.”

“If he’s attracted to beautiful women, ergo he must be attracted to you.”

She scowled. “That isn’t funny.”

“You’ll discover in short order I am never humorous. Did he say you weren’t beautiful?”

She squirmed. “Not in so many words. I’ve known him awhile and he only paid attention to me when my appearance changed.”

“If he’s foolish enough to think beauty is in the skin and not the heart, then I hope he dies quickly and rids the world of his stupidity.”

“How dare you! He’s my friend!” Raven took a blind step forward.

“Clearly you should rethink your choices in friends.”

The sound of a match striking caught Raven’s attention.

She turned to see a single candlestick illuminated. It was standing on a table in the center of the room, next to a large, burgundy chair.

Behind the table stood a man.

Raven stared.

When she regained her composure, she blinked a few times, her eyes struggling to become accustomed to the dim light.

The man was younger than she’d expected. She was nearing thirty and he looked to be a few years her junior. He had blond hair and gray eyes. His face was attractive, even beautiful, with full lips and a straight nose.

It was difficult to tell more about his appearance, since he was clad all in black and the room was still dark, but in size he appeared to be of medium height and build.

Raven already knew his clothes hid muscles that were deceptively stronger than their size led one to believe.

Her eyes fixed on his face.

A strange dryness filled her mouth and she struggled to swallow.

He was the mysterious man she’d sketched earlier that week. She surmised he’d stolen her sketch for that very reason.

She fanned a hand to her throat as she tried once again to swallow. The intruder’s face was familiar not only because she’d drawn him. He bore more than a passing resemblance to the figures of Mercury and Zephyr in the painting upstairs.

She puzzled how that could be.

“Sit down.” He spoke English with a British accent, pointing to the now vacant chair.

Something about his voice speaking English nudged her memories.

She sat in the proffered chair, clutching her knapsack in her lap.

William gestured to a bottle of wine and a single glass that stood on the table. “Would you care for something to drink?”

She shook her head, lifting her eyes to examine his appearance.

He was wearing a black dress shirt with the top two buttons undone and black jeans. He’d removed his motorcycle boots and was now wearing black shoes. For some reason, he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves, exposing muscled forearms and pale skin that was lightly dusted with fine, blond hair.

In short, he was probably the most attractive man she’d ever seen.

“Shall we begin our discussion, or would you rather examine my collection?”

He gestured to the room proudly.

It was difficult to make out all the works by the light of a single candle, but Raven took her time scanning the space. There were Renaissance paintings on the walls and marble sculptures positioned at different points in the room.

On the far wall, directly in front of her, was an elaborate display of illustrations, under glass.

Raven pushed her knapsack aside and marched over.

Her suspicions were correct. He had the missing Botticelli illustrations, unashamedly arranged.

“You stole them,” she whispered.

“I most certainly did not.” He sniffed.

She turned to face him. “Semantics. You hired someone to do it.”

He gestured to the display. “They were stolen from me years ago. I simply took them back.”

“Dottor Vitali said they belonged to a Swiss family for generations before the Emersons bought them.”

William’s eyes narrowed. “The story is a long one and I’m not interested in telling it. Sit down.”

Raven stubbornly remained where she was.

“How did your people get past the security systems?”

He made a sweeping gesture, as if to brush aside her question. “Stop wasting my time with trifles. Tell me why you aren’t wearing the relic I gave you.”

“I told you I don’t believe in that shit.”

“That ‘shit,’ as you so ignorantly put it, would have saved your precious boy from being injured. He’s in the hospital now because of you. In addition, the police found your knapsack next to his body, making you a person of interest.”

“You put a lot of faith in inanimate objects.” Raven glanced over at her bag. “If I’m a person of interest, how did you get it back?”

“Bribery and threats. I should note that I’m tired of expending energy and manpower on your account.”

William’s tone was credible and Raven believed him, momentarily stunned into silence.

He regarded her with narrowed eyes.

“I warned you about going out after dark. You caught Maximilian’s attention tonight and it was only through the miracle of Sanctuary that you escaped.”

“What do you mean by Sanctuary? I didn’t go inside the church.”

“Where do you think the efficacy of Sanctuary comes from? From the holiness of ground. You stood on holy ground and they couldn’t follow you.”

“How do you know there was more than one?”

He scowled. “I make it my business to know what’s going on in the city, especially concerning you.”

Raven exhaled loudly. “I never asked for your help. I don’t even know you.”

William approached her. “We met before. You simply don’t remember.”

“I would have remembered,” she mumbled, her cheeks beginning to warm.

William noticed her reaction and tilted his head to the side, as if he found it curious.

“Do you find me handsome?”

“I’m physically disabled, not visually impaired,” she snapped.

Anger moved across William’s face.

“No one ever speaks to me as you just did. No one who retains his head.”

Raven’s cheeks flamed again and she avoided his eyes. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I was in trouble and you helped me. Thank you.”

She pushed her long black hair behind her ears. “I’m sensitive about my disability.”

William’s gaze dropped to her right leg. “Are you in pain?”

“Just a dull ache.” She flexed her foot and rotated her ankle, as if hoping the movement would soothe the discomfort.

It didn’t.

“Wait a minute.” She paused, examining him closely. “How did you know which of my legs was injured?”

“That is a very good question.” He gave her a knowing look.

“Are you going to answer it?”

“Perhaps.”

Raven was about to say something insulting but she caught herself. She tried to adopt a conciliatory expression.

“The man you mentioned, Maximilian, he asked me who my master was. He said something about blood.”

“I can explain that,” William said quietly. “And if you were to ask me politely why you lost your memory, I’d tell you.”

He gave her an expectant look.

She took a step closer. “I’m asking politely—please tell me what happened. I’ve been going crazy trying to figure it out.”

“As you wish.” He thrust his hands in his pockets.

He paused, as if he were trying to figure out where to begin.

“A week ago, I was downtown after dark. I came upon a young woman who was being attacked by three men. They’d beaten her and dragged her into an alley in order to rape her.

“I’d come across similar scenes in the past. I always ignore them.”

Raven gave him a censorious look.

He returned her gaze. “It isn’t my job to rid the world of such animals.

“This was different. I knew she was good. I knew she hadn’t led an easy life, but she’d led a brave one. Later, I would discover that the reason she’d been attacked was because she’d seen a homeless man being beaten and she’d intervened.”

Raven felt a piercing pain at the back of her head. The pain was so great and its onset so sudden, she failed to notice the strangeness of William’s claim to have moral perception.

But she would notice it later.

Raven heard the sound of quick, sure footsteps, which stopped about two feet in front of her.

“Are you all right?”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “My head aches.”

“Here.” He took her by the elbow and led her to the chair. “Do you want a drink?”

“No.” She sat down heavily. “What happened to the girl?”

“She was dying. They’d smashed her head against a wall and caused a brain injury.”

Raven fought back bile.

“Did they rape her?” she whispered.

“I killed them before that happened.”

An expression of horror flashed across her face. “You killed them?”

“Yes.”