were like him. Brightwell believed you were a fallen angel, a rebel against the Divine. You had forgotten your own nature, or had turned against it, but you might still be convinced to turn again. He saw in you a potential ally.’
‘Or an enemy.’
‘That’s what we’re trying to establish.’
‘Really? It feels like a kangaroo court. All that’s missing is the noose.’
‘You’re being overdramatic.’
‘I don’t think so. There are a lot of guns on show, and none of them belongs to me.’
‘Just a few more questions, Mr Parker. We’re almost done.’
I nodded. What more could I do?
‘The woman said something else about you. She said that your name had recently come up again, that there were those within her organization who considered you to be important. It was why she chose to send that particular list of names to us.’
Epstein reached out and took my hands in his. The pads of his index fingers pressed against the pulses on my wrists. To my right, I felt the intensity of Liat’s regard. It was like being hooked up to some kind of human lie detector, except this one would not be fooled.
‘Did they ever approach you with an offer, or a bribe?’
‘No.’
‘Did they ever threaten you?’
‘People have been threatening me for a decade, Brightwell and his kind among them.’
‘And how have you responded?’
‘You know how I’ve responded. I have their blood on my hands. In some cases, so do you.’
‘Do you belong to this Army of Night?’
‘No.’
I heard a buzzing to my left. A wasp was bouncing against the mirror above my head. From the sluggishness of its movements, it looked like it was dying. The sight of it recalled another meeting with Epstein, one in which he spoke of parasitic wasps that laid their eggs in spiders. The spider carried the larvae as they developed, and they in turn altered its behavior, causing it to change the webs that it spun so that, when the larvae finally erupted from its body, they would have a cushioned web upon which to rest while they fed upon the remains of the arachnid in which they had gestated. Epstein had told me that there were entities who did the same to men, dark passengers on the human soul, carried unawares for years, even decades, until it came time to reveal their true natures, and then they consumed the consciousness of their hosts.
I watched Epstein follow the progress of the dying insect, and I knew that he was remembering the same conversation.
‘I’d know,’ I said. ‘By now, I would know if I carried one of them inside me.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘There have been too many opportunities for it to emerge, too many times when it could have changed the course of events by doing so. If it dwelled within me, it could have shown itself and saved some of its own, but nothing came to save them. Nothing.’
Again, Epstein’s eyes flicked to Liat, and I understood it was her response that would determine what happened next. The gunmen watched her too, and I saw them ease their fingers beneath the trigger guards in anticipation. A tiny bead of sweat leaked from Epstein’s scalp, like a tear from some hidden eye.
Liat nodded, and I felt myself tense to receive the bullets.
Instead, Epstein released his hold upon my wrists and sat back. The guns vanished, and so did the remaining gunman. Only Liat, Epstein, and I stayed.
‘Let us drink, Mr Parker,’ said Epstein. ‘We are done.’
I stared down at my hands. They were trembling slightly. I stilled them with an effort of will.
‘Go to hell,’ I said, and I left them to their wine.
III
I rage, I melt, I burn,
The feeble God has stab’d me to the Heart.
19
Darina Flores sat in an armchair, the boy sitting, unmoving, at her feet. She stroked his thinning hair, the scalp damp yet curiously cold against her fingertips. It was the first time she had left her bed since what she now thought of as the ‘incident’. She had insisted that the dosages of pain medication should be decreased, for she hated the wooziness and the loss of control it brought. Instead she was striving for a balance between tolerable pain and a degree of clarity.
The doctor had come again that morning. He had removed the dressings from her face and she had watched him closely as he did so, seeking some clue in his eyes to the damage that had been inflicted upon her, but his expression remained disinterested throughout. He was a slight man in his early fifties, his fingers long and tapering, the nails professionally manicured. He struck her as mildly effeminate, although she knew that he was straight. She knew everything about him: it was the main reason why he had been chosen to treat her. One of the great benefits of having detailed personal knowledge of an individual was the way in which it deprived that person of the ability to decline an invitation.
‘It’s healing as well as can be expected, under the circumstances,’ he told her. ‘How does your eye feel?’
‘Like there are needles sticking in it,’ she replied.
‘You’re keeping it lubricated? That’s important.’
‘Will my sight—?’ Her throat felt very dry, and she had trouble enunciating her words. She thought for a moment that there might have been some damage to her tongue, or her vocal cords, until she realized that she had hardly spoken more than a few words in days. When she tried again, speech came more easily. ‘Will my sight be restored?’
‘I expect so, in time, although I can’t guarantee that you’ll ever have perfect vision in that eye.’ She resisted the urge to lash out at him, so casual was his tone. ‘The cornea is also likely to grow opaque in the long term. We could, of course, examine the possibility of a corneal transplant. It’s a relatively commonplace procedure now, generally done on an outpatient basis. The main issue is securing a suitable cornea from a recently deceased individual.’
‘That won’t be a problem,’ she said.
He smiled indulgently. ‘I didn’t mean that we should do it right now.’
‘Neither did I.’
His smile faded, and she noticed a slight tremor creep into his fingers.
‘I haven’t looked at myself,’ she said. ‘There are no mirrors in the room, and my son has kept the ones in the bathroom covered.’
‘Those were my instructions,’ said the doctor.
‘Why? Am I so terrible now?’
He was good, she gave him that. He did not look away, and he did not betray his true feelings about her.
‘It’s too early. The burns are still raw. Once they begin to heal, we’ll have options. Sometimes, patients will look at themselves in the immediate aftermath of an . . .
