She grabbed the book and ran out the door. Horrible sounds echoed through the hall. Long coils of purple lightning spread throughout the ship, changing everything it touched. Timber snapped and splintered apart. Metal twisted and groaned. Glass shattered. The ship was being torn apart. She ran. She had to get away before—
“Oh, Sherlyn,” a familiar voice said through a radio device.
She froze.
“Sherlyn? Where are you running off to?”
Her blood turned to ice.
“Is that how you treat a loved one?” he asked. “After all I’ve done for you?”
She turned around. Moreci’s twisted, misshapen form pulled itself into the wide hallway. His skin had been turned inside out. His feet were writhing tendrils of flesh, and his powerful hands gripped the walls. He seethed hunger and hatred.
“Oh, there you are! My little cuppy cake. My sweet, adorable Sherlyn. Oh, how I’ve missed you.”
She stepped away. It wasn’t the monster talking. The voice was coming through the speaker-box on Moreci’s chest. A red light blinked wildly near the black circle. But she recognized the voice. She would always recognize his voice.
“Oh my goodness.” He laughed hysterically. “I wish... I wish you could see the look on your face.” His laughter was manic, uncontrollable. Diabolical.
Fear and trembling and anger and wrath coursed through her blood. The voice came from the one she had been searching for all this time.
“Ronan.”
Chapter 35
Lower passenger deck
Dawn’s Edge
Fang had killed the remaining guard, slipped into a servant’s dress, and helped evacuate the passengers and crew to the emergency skiff. Less than two hundred remained. She stood at the door and escorted them one by one, keeping an eye out for Moreci’s guards, the Turned and, of course, Coyle. The ache in her arm was almost unbearable and her strength waned considerably. She leaned against a doorframe, panting. If she didn’t get treatment soon, she would most certainly succumb to its effect. It made her weak, not just in the physical aspect but also in the carnality of her vampiric desires. A deep-rooted hunger grew inside her, one she could barely resist.
Her eyes searched for men and women who had stains of guilt on their conscience. As yet, none of these people were murderers or rapists, but the hunger grew still. She closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to stop the floor from moving underneath her. She had to get these people to safety. She hoped Coyle would make an appearance soon.
The skiff was roughly half the length of the Dawn’s Edge but only one level. It was equipped with gnomish technology: short, stubby wings would slip out from underneath the craft and, coupled with something the gnomes called a propeller system, bring passengers safely to the ground.
A bell rang. The ship would leave soon. The bridge was full of activity. A few automatons were stationed throughout the bridge, checking on gauges and pressure settings. Men in gray-and-tan uniforms busied themselves with instrument panels. Other servants helped with minor wounds, food and drink, making the passengers as comfortable as possible.
With a dizzy head, Fang kept her eye on the hall. The crowd of passengers was thinning, and she knew they were running out of time. She wondered if this was the best way of doing things. It certainly seemed so. But who leaves a friend—
Were the two of them friends? Embeth certainly thought so. Coyle was brilliant, sharp and brave. Fang felt as though Coyle could handle herself with Moreci. She trusted her to. And yet, Fang knew she was staying away from Moreci because his blood, his very aura, was toxic to her. She wouldn’t survive two minutes in his presence. She almost hadn’t when she’d visited Trevin. She shook her head. Coyle should be on her way.
Soon.
The giant airship groaned. Fang used her sharp senses and listened. Cracks of timber. Shattered glass. Tearing metal.
Not good.
The skiff shuddered, and the crew shouted for all doors to be closed. It was leaving. Fang used her Reach. Coyle was terrified, confused, but close enough to make it to the ship. She would make it. Fang leaned against the doorframe and stared at the hall. And then she heard them.
The Turned were coming.
***
Coyle stepped backward. “What’s... what’s happening?”
The monster took a step forward. “Oh, really now. What kind of a question is that? What’s happening. A more interesting question would be, what’s been happening?”
She raised her pistol and fired. A red cloud of blood exploded on the creature’s chest.
“Now you want to kill him,” Ronan said. “A bit late for that, don’t you think? I mean, look at him.” The creature grunted.
“What do you mean, what’s been happening? I don’t understand.”
“Ah, much better. Let’s take a walk down memory lane, shall we? I challenged you to find me, didn’t I? Yes, and you became a constable until you tried out for the detective spot. But you were disqualified. Remember why?”
“I punched—”
“No, no.”
“My pad of paper was—” Oh, no!
“Yes.”
“You pickpocketed me.”
“You were so delicious that day! Your busy mind fixated on the tests—and me, probably. Right? Always thinking of me. And you never noticed your old lover standing so very close to you, never noticed me bumping into you and taking your little pad of paper.” He laughed. “Oh, it was such a fun game to watch you solve Fang’s little murder mystery, and trust me, I was rooting for you the entire time.”
“Why—”
“And then little Fang introduced herself to you. Did she tell you how she got locked in the clink?”
“No.”
“Me! I was responsible for putting her there. Goodness, I have my hands in a great many things. It keeps me very busy. And here you thought I was only involved in dismemberment and evisceration. Did she tell you how she was broken out?”
“You?”
“Me again. I paid some hooligans to get her out, only I knew Fang would be more than a handful for those putzes. Oh, she’s splendid,
