Demon mentor. Crypt of the Seven Angels

Demon mentor. Crypt of the Seven Angels Natalie Yacobson Blaise lost all other than seven angelic statues in the family crypt, which according to legend are the demonic patrons of her family. Contrary to myths, they do not come to life to help her avenge the death of her family. But a beautiful crazy guy arises from nowhere and promises to help her in the planes of revenge. She must pay with her soul. Demon mentor Crypt of the Seven Angels Natalie Yacobson Translator Natalie Lilienthal © Natalie Yacobson, 2021 © Natalie Lilienthal, translation, 2021 ISBN 978-5-0053-4805-0 Created with Ridero smart publishing system Name for demon She expected to see a miracle anywhere, but not in this place. Not among the gloomy ruins. In a gloomy corner of the world, where it seems as if the world itself has long collapsed, and only heaps of rubbish remained, small creatures like rats crawling right under our feet and dirty peeling walls, on which raindrops and mold glistened. Not a good place to see an angel, but she saw him here and… was dumbfounded. It was not that dark angel, as in the pictures in the crypt of her family, but it was also impossible to call him light, although the sloppy hair around his head seemed absolutely etched, like modern guys. And he was dressed in black leather clothes, just like a modern guy, but she knew for sure that he was… an angel? Or a demon? Well, in general, an unearthly creature. She was well versed in such things, because she was from the Rosier clan. And who is better than them able to know the nature of the supernatural creature. They are damned, and they themselves are able to summon such creatures as this. But he came uninvited. Blaise narrowed her eyes in hostility as she peered at him. And he was handsome, too handsome. Bright blonde hair, as if in a mockery of the futile efforts of mankind, to become like angels with slightly grown black roots, blue-green eyes, like two precious stones gleaming from under long eyelashes, transparent skin, so transparent, as if it is about to begin to shine through inner essence. And yet on the cheeks were slightly noticeable stubble, thin and prickly. Thorns on the rose! The comparison came to mind by itself. No spirit whispered to her. Still, Blaise was alert. She wanted to touch these thorns. For the first time since those monstrous things from which she fled were done to her, she wanted to touch someone. No pain, no disgust, no fear… She just wanted to touch him to make sure he was real. He jumped down from somewhere above. She managed to notice this out of the corner of her eye. From somewhere from the high gables of the gloomy buildings that surrounded the small dead end in which they both now stood. There was nowhere to go. If he was sent to kill her, then she will not be able to fight back. Not now, when she feels so bad after all she’s been through. She simply did not have the strength to fight or defend herself. But he was in no hurry to attack. He looked at her for a long time and expectantly, as if communicating something without words, and sometimes the reflections of hellfire flashed in his eyes. But that didn’t scare her. Nothing could scare her anymore. After what happened to her, she just didn’t care, but inside her it was as if a sucking void was unfolding. The place around them in itself looked like hellish, an island of garbage dumps and brothels left far outside the city, it was worth looking around, and the feeling was as if the whole world had already collapsed, and only these dirty debris remained. As well as inside Blaise herself. She thought that even if the world outside of this place still exists, then her apocalypse has already happened. «Hello, baby,» an unfamiliar voice burned her like a hiss of fire. Not. It was not at all unfamiliar. Somewhere she had already heard it, but she could not remember exactly. A handsome guy, who seemed to her a little insane in appearance, walked around her like a demon, fancifully circling over the victim. He was looking her over so appraisingly. She wanted to ask what he wanted, but the words themselves stuck in her throat. He tried to touch her cheek with his hand, the same thing she had wanted to do to him a moment before, but for some reason she was dumbfounded by his impudence. «And you are not afraid to wander alone in such a dark place?» The question was clearly rhetorical. The stinging tone burned and at the same time flirted with her. Blaise didn’t know what to do: get scared, get angry, start bickering with him, or try to escape. For the first time in a long time, she suddenly felt completely safe with this stranger. Although the language for some reason did not dare to call him unfamiliar. She knew him for sure. I’ve seen it somewhere before. She could not call him an ordinary person, but he was definitely not an angel from the crypt. If one of the family statues had come to life and came to her, Blaise would have understood it immediately. Then the family curse would finally overtake her. But contrary to expectations, the angels from the crypt did not come to life. Didn’t come for her. They left her alone with her enemies, like a frightened animal. And this strange guy seemed to have fallen from dark skies to entertain her. He walked around her in circles, examining every detail of her appearance. And it seems that what he saw, he really liked. The worn-out boyish clothes on her could not hide the fabulous beauty. A pity, that meant that those who would persecute her would immediately recognize her. «And you’re very cute,» he said, as if playing. «So cute that many creatures are happy to declare a hunt for you.» He kicked the squealing rats away with his leg, and Blaise shuddered. «And not only them.» The shadow that darted in the alley so quickly that Blaise did not have time to see, completely caught his attention. It was a man, apparently an armed man, heading towards her. Did he see the guy talking to her? Even if he saw it, he underestimated it, because he immediately remained lying in the alley with a broken neck. Blaise shivered at the crunching of other people’s bones. And this guy is really crazy. Only a psycho can deal with someone so quickly, and as if playing. Mentally, she figured that even a few well-trained orderlies could not tame such a psycho. He is too clever, strong and cunning. If he wants to kill her now, he will easily do it. But for some reason she was not afraid. On the contrary, she looked at him somehow arrogant, as at someone who was too much interested in her and was ready to fawn on her. It’s like he’s an evil spirit who has come to tempt her. But what beautiful blue eyes he has. Now, in the reflections of distant lanterns, for some reason they began to seem exactly blue, such a rich color as the sky or the sea. The thought that one could drown in them for a moment distracted her from her own troubles. «Who are you?» the question broke by itself, but it meant much more than she could convey in words. «Not the one you were expecting,» the guy replied, still looking at her appraisingly. Well, there was an instant recognition between them, as if they had known each other all their lives… no, or rather all eternity. And beyond eternity. He should have known about the crypt and those she was waiting for. Blaise could tell from his face. It’s strange that she didn’t even think about the corpse he left a couple of steps away from her. The rats had already begun to eat it, but Blaise paid no attention to their feast. In a place like this, the smell of decay and refuse will easily mix with the stench from a rotting corpse. Unless they eat it whole before. In addition, lately she had seen enough of murders that another one did not bother her. Unless there was only one plus. This time they killed her enemy. And he did it. «What’s your name?» the question was asked instead of «thank you». «What?» he seemed astonished. «Your name,» she tried to explain to him as stupid. «A name?» playing with sounds, he held out. «Such a banality!» «But it must be, since you’re going to spend some time with me.» He shrugged. «Give me a name!» «What?» now it was her turn to be surprised. Blaise stood in the middle of the dumps where rats roam and looked at him like he was insane. Most likely, he was insane. And this was the first time in her life when she communicated with a madman. Maybe that’s why she felt so embarrassed. Out of habit. Even a jester or circus clown could not distract her attention from the fat rats running right under her feet right now, but this nameless person could. Still, there was something extraordinary about him. Blaise even chuckled indulgently at him. «Call me something,» he repeated his strange proposal. «As you wish!» One could joke and call him something, so that he was offended and, finally, began to behave normally. But what if he’s really crazy? Then it’s best not to tease him. And who knows what he is capable of. After all, the pursuer who almost attacked her, he easily killed. Only because this person wandered into the territory that he considered his own. Or is it something else? Blaise wondered if she had entered his territory too. More precisely, to the places that this abnormal called his own. But he didn’t kill her. He was still walking in circles around her, grinning as if he had found a rare treasure in the rubbish heap. So evil spirits wander next to the circle of light, inside which something priceless is hidden, but you cannot enter it. Otherwise you will burn your own skin. There really was something of a demon in him. Probably, she thought so because all insane automatons are considered the property of the devil. Their mind is already in his claws, and the body lives like a puppet, obeying the will of impure forces. For a moment, Blaise was even scared of her new so-called friend. But he had proposed to her. Something had to be answered. Familiar names swirled in her head, a whole list: John, Luke, Brad, Billy, Peter, Will, or maybe Jake. All of her old friends bore those names, but none of them suited him. Thinking, she just shrugged. «Do not know how…» «Well, I will find a compromise,» he looked at the corpse, which was already being devoured by rats not far away. «Damian,» he said suddenly, and the name sounded somehow more natural than anything she could think of herself. «Is that your name?» she was even delighted. It looked like the truth. It is better to start communication with it than with lies or inventions. «No,» he said seriously, and nodded slightly back at the corpse. «That was the name of the one I just killed. Given the circumstances, I may well take his name for myself. He doesn’t need it anymore.» «His soul has already flown away,» he slightly ran his fingers over Blaise’s bare shoulder under the torn jacket, and she shuddered all over. What a cold hand. He seemed to come out of the crypt. Although she knew for sure that he was not from there. It does not at all look like the creatures that, according to legend, should live there. And for a vagabond who is ready to spend the night on the graves, he is also too cocky. «What do you want?» «Help you,» such a simple answer, so why did it smell of treachery. «I do not need help.» «Need! You’re just embarrassed to ask for it. Therefore, I offer it as an offering to Your Highness.» «This is all too much of a joke,» she said aloud what she thought. Although she usually did not. But he didn’t laugh. «I like to joke with people, but not with you. You are too much like a creature that all the inhabitants of the night must obey. Plus, when it comes to fighting, things get serious. And you have such a power asleep!» «Only you can see it.» «But I can make others see.» Looking at her thin graceful fingers, clenched into fists, she could only laugh at him. «You’d better tell me, what is this creature that all the vagabonds in the night obey?» «All spirits,» he corrected. «Well, okay, spirits,» it’s better not to argue with a madman, Blaise decided judiciously. «The one who led them into battle before the first defeat. Our master. Dawn Angel. And the devil is simpler.» «Devil,» Blaise smirked dreamily. «If I were him.» Then she would take revenge on everyone. Who is stronger than the devil? Who is worse than him? It would not be worth the trouble for him to show strength and invention in order to make revenge cruel and sophisticated. «Angel of Dawn.» His whisper burned her ear, his hand slipping through her hair. «Fairy tales! All of these are fairy tales.» Blaise pulled away from her fingers, fingering her curls. «But your desire for revenge is not a fairy tale. It is so strong that it summoned me. And I just don’t come. I noticed your despair, your dream. We can say that you woke me up. Your desires are so strong.» «I want the blood of my enemies, but only in the moral sense of the word.» «And I’ll show you how to do it literally.» He held out his hand to her, on which a thorn gleamed. «But for this I will demand your soul. An agreement is an agreement.» She looked into his sea-colored eyes, at the stubble on his skin, like the thorns of roses, then at the strong fingers, squeezing the thorn so that she could not see. Blaise thought for a moment. And she sealed the contract with a handshake. «That’s all done,» Damian chuckled so that she was scared. She sighed quickly. A beautiful golden-haired girl in the dark, so slender and fragile that she can be mistaken for an illusion and what she does interestingly in a place like this, where it is full of not only insolent rats that scampered almost on her feet, but also of all stripes of criminal types, already out at night to fish. Yes, nothing special, just going to die, because there is no point in living further. Although… even after what happened, there could still be one target. But how can you accomplish it with what you have? Blaise brought her hand up to the far-off light erupting from the boiler room grates, and tightly clenched her elf-like fingers into a fist. Too fragile to take revenge, she concluded, looking down dejectedly so that the only observer could not see the annoyance of defeat in her transparent blue eyes. Too fragile to give all her enemies what they deserve, even with the help of the demon, once more, like a sentence, she repeated to herself, too fragile to take revenge. But he thought otherwise. Dragon inside The house was old and abandoned. There was nowhere even to camp. There is almost no furniture left. The empty rooms stretched into the distance in some strange labyrinth, as if going underground. Blaise sat down on the edge of something that looked like a chest. Damian took a short break, leaving her to survey the gloomy space. He returned with a bottle of excellent wine. Where did you get it? Stole, perhaps. Blaise has never drank before. She used to feel sick from the very smell of alcohol. But now even he turned out to be not as bitter as the sediment left by life. And she kissed the bottle. «This is how friends become enemies, and enemies, on the contrary, become allies?» he looked out the window, as if looking back at the past. Her past. He didn’t seem to have his own. Unless he left him in hell. From where it seems and came. If you believe his words. To the words of a madman. «You mean the enemies of the whole human race? Demons? Because I won’t make peace with people.» «As, however, they are with you,» he aptly faked. «I know.» Her own neck suddenly seemed very vulnerable to her, as if it were about to be cut with a blade. «I hate them! Everyone!» It was worth a drink for it, and she took a long gulp. «How old are you? Seventeen?» «What’s the difference?» she felt one hundred percent. Or rather, she felt dead. After the experience, she simply was gone. The shell remained, but it did not have the same feelings. The cheerful young girl no longer existed. In this world, only a beautiful fragile body continued to exist, as empty inside as the statues from the crypt. Blaise took another sip. The alcohol burned like poison. Like dragon fire. She regretted that, having drunk it, she would not be able to open her lips and breathe a stream of fire into the face of her enemies. It would be stylish and beautiful. It is a pity that all the witchcraft remained only in the family chronicles of de Rozier. In life, magic, alas, did not exist. Although if you think about it… «Damian,» Blaise called out to him, for the first time using the name that she herself had given him. Well, at least something like that. «Would you like another bottle?» A voice from the darkness immediately responded. «Do you have a whole cellar here?» «Don’t look at how wretched this building is. Inside, in the dark, there is much hidden.» She did not expect, of course, that he would now unfold his palm and sparkle on it gems from the dragon treasure hidden in the basements, although given her current financial condition, that would be pretty good. She, the heiress of the family’s immense wealth, was suddenly left penniless. And as soon as she declares the rights to her property, it becomes clear that she survived, and then she will be killed. For sure already. The mysterious friend showed up at the right time. He was a thread of hope in total darkness. Most likely a madman, not a demon. But in his company, the feeling of complete hopelessness suddenly disappeared. Maybe she’s going crazy too. Match him. And psychos, they say, are very attracted to each other. So he began to pester her. He felt that she was as crazy as he was. But still… «Where did you come from?» Blaise flinched as if she were speaking a forbidden question. «Consider that from heaven. Or from hell.» He was as careless as ever. Blaise remembered that he had indeed jumped down from somewhere above. Yet the second answer seemed far more truthful. «And what do you want from me?» this question she asked, probably for the hundredth time. «What do you want yourself?» She shrugged her shoulders. «Don’t bother yourself with nonsense,» he suddenly said so calmly, as if the whole world around was nonsense. «Do you want to light a cigarette?» In addition to the battered pack of cigarettes, she noticed in his hands something like an old snuffbox or tinderbox, but stubbornly shook her head. «That won’t awaken the dragon inside of you, right?» He grinned guiltily and dismissed both. «Do you feel the strength inside you?» «Not?» Blaise remembered a painting that once hung on the wall in her room. A samurai woman, very seductive in a greenish-white kimono, with two swords in her hands: a long one and a short one. Around her was an ornament of frothy cherry blossoms, crumbled over her head. Nice picture. So beautiful that, looking at her, you think more about the charm of the warrior, and not about the danger hidden in the blades of her swords, made for battle. To become like her. The woman from that picture. Blaise stared at the empty wall in front of her, as if the image was still hanging there. She really had seen her before her. It was a hallucination, of course, but beautiful. And in her greenish-white tones were filled with bright red. Blood! Blaise unfolded her hand. Imagined in it the weight of an ancient sword and the sharpness of the blade. Recently, the blood began to fascinate her. But not so long ago, before the events of that night, when she lost everything, she fainted from one kind of scratch. Damian was suddenly there in the dark like a ghost. He seemed to have grown out of the ground near her feet, knelt down in front of her, and their faces were almost level. He did not breathe fire, like a dragon, but his breath, however, like his very appearance seemed somehow unnatural to her. This is probably what a modern demon should look like. There seems to be nothing special about him, but in his presence you feel as if you got inside a fire. It burns you all. «There’s a beast inside everyone, you know,» he whispered confidentially, actually just quoting a phrase from some book about psychology and dreams that Blaise had read a long time ago. «It only takes a little human cruelty to awaken this beast.» «And then?» she already knew the answer, read it in the same book, but she was curious how Damian would formulate the thought. His answer was unexpected. «Then there will be chaos.» Internal evil The beautiful girl was gone. Neil Jaudet woke up feeling a strange disappointment. That night, even the usual narcotics, which had previously caused pleasant hallucinations, did not help. Blaise disappeared from his visions. Maybe because she was dead. This means that his problem is also dead. If there are no more heirs from the de Rozier family, then their entire industrial empire goes to business partners. These are the conditions. He will receive the lion’s share. Those who helped him will move away from everything a little bit. From capital, from real estate. Everything except the old family crypt was stipulated in the will. And where this crypt, in fact, no one knew. Perhaps it was long gone. If you believe the family records, then it has existed for centuries. And since then a lot has happened. Wars, revolutions, fires, including several fatal fires, which were listed in de Rozier’s personal chronicles. World history was made every day, its events could have buried the crypt under the rubble of buildings destroyed during the bombing and bygone eras long ago. He has nothing to worry about. True, other members of his council felt somewhat differently. But isn’t he the head of the council? This means that the final word will always remain with him. Of course, now there was much in common between them. More than ten deaths at once. Blaise’s father, her family, her brother, even a close friend, who happened to be there that night when it was decided to remove the competitors. Preparations for this took a long time, but Rosier turned out to be somehow impenetrable. Don’t do anything against them, but some forces seem to have established some kind of immunity around the members of this family. However, using a knife, this illusion was broken. Blaise! She herself was like a knife. He’ve been cutting his thoughts with a knife since he grew up. It is strange that now, at the moment of his triumph, he thought not about having finally removed his sworn enemy, but about his daughter. Blaise! Doesn’t that name mean «blade»? She was the blade. Cold, silent, beautiful. He wanted one of her, like many. Before killing her, he wanted to enjoy her. Just one time. Before a beautiful body becomes a corpse. But who would then dare to kill her? So beautiful! At the decisive moment, he thought about this, and oddly enough, instead of using her, he raised a knife to her face. It was only necessary to make a couple of hand movements to make beauty disappear. He would have done it, but something happened that deeply shocked him. He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t believe in the supernatural. The book on summoning demons, which the accomplices strongly advised him to hide, remained on the table. Having performed a ritual yesterday and not having summoned anyone except a gust of wind that extinguished the candles, he became convinced that otherworldly forces simply do not exist. And to hell with the family tales that Rosier were sorcerers, like everyone who ever collaborated with them, including his family. Including even those who later took up holy orders, like his friend Alistair. They argued that this did not help them, but only sharpened their perception of otherworldly evil even more. Aloud he did not say anything to them about this, but mentally laughed at them. Personally, he himself considered both religion and divination to be nonsense. Yesterday’s experience helped him to be convinced of this to the end. The demon did not respond. The very demon he summoned to forget about Blaise. It was better to spend on a good dose of narcotic powder than on candles for the ritual. After that, however, he had a very strange dream. But aren’t dreams a kind of illusion? In this dream, Blaise was alive and winged like statues from her family’s legendary crypt, and she held a blade in her hand. She sat in the pose of a marble angel on his grave, embittered and beautiful. Bloody tears flowed from her eyes, and her eyes glittered with such hatred. Nemesis, not Blaise. His grave? He rubbed his eyes wearily. Dream the same! The crumpled bed in front of him has almost become a grave since the devil grew up. Then his bed became empty forever. He could not share it with anyone else. Because Blaise existed. A girl thirty years younger than him, looking like an angel sculpture from a crypt. And what was so sexy about her? She hasn’t even grown to the end yet. And it will never grow up. He didn’t want to kill her. But she was dead. The huge house with many bedrooms, rooms and servants was still completely asleep in the hour before dawn. Even the gardeners in the park below will be a long way off. But someone has already turned on the TV in the next room, opposite his office. Neil got up reluctantly and walked over there. There is no one around. The doors were bolted, but the screen glowed ghostly. The news bulletin was just broadcast. Pretty female reporter talked excitedly about the fire and disfigured bodies. It seems that she has never seen anything like that in her career, as, indeed, did everyone else who arrived at the scene. Neil recognized the facade of the gloomy building, even though it was completely burned. The de Rozier estate was not burned for the first time in the history of their family, but the reporter, of course, did not know about it. She was in a hurry to talk about terrible injuries, about mutilated corpses, and about one young body, on which a huge statue fell, as if embracing it. Angel statue. Neil noticed that the caryatids at the entrance were intact. It’s strange. They had to burn. He remembered that they were not there when he left. Maybe it seemed to him? The reporter’s annoying voice began to sound like a buzz. She kept talking about the young man’s body, which the doctors cannot free from the embrace of the statue that had fallen on him, because two bodies: a dead human and a half-destroyed marble one seemed to have grown together. She tried to explain this with fire and fire, and much more. It was assumed that some dangerous infection had settled in the building, and now no one would be allowed there. It’s for the best. Neil flinched when the report touched the found female bodies, so mutilated they could not be identified. Someone completely cut off their faces. He wonder who? Who finished that night what he could not? Alistair? Hugh? George? Angelo? Thomas? He went over in his mind had all his friends. Everyone who was now generalized by one secret. But couldn’t find the answer. They all acted in concert with him. How could he overlook something? In the field of the cell there were female bodies under the covers, which were taken out of the crumbling house. Neil wondered which of them belonged to Blaise during his lifetime. Perhaps, it is worth finding out to which morgue they will be taken and going there… It is strange who whispered this thought to him. Does he really think so? Is this really what he really wants? Go and kiss her mutilated body with his lips in the last kiss, as Alistair advises the parishioners to kiss the shrines in which he himself does not believe. How could he think that? But the thought was already firmly stuck in the brain. Let Blaise forgive him. But did he do it alone? And if he had another chance, he would have pity on her? Of course not. Neil was always devoid of any sentimentality. What is done is done. And if he was given a choice, he would repeat everything. No fear, no conscience, no regrets. He turned off the TV, not wanting to hear more about the events, and went to his office. It’s time to throw away the candles and hide the book away. However, someone has already done it for him. There were no candles. Bunches of rare herbs for the ceremony too. Only the book remained on the table, still open, but without the page needed for the ritual. It was torn out, leaving only a charred, scorched spine. Who dared? Neil was about to call some of the servants, don’t care if you have to wake them up. Let them give a report. Who was here yesterday? But then another strange thing struck him. There was something lying next to the book. He did not immediately recognize this object, although it had previously belonged to him. Just yesterday. But today it was broken. The handle has disappeared somewhere. There was only a broken blade, on its edge the chipped places resembled serifs. Seven. He ran his finger over them and counted again. After all, there were seven of them yesterday, when they were deciding other people’s destinies. In his mind, he repeated the names of his friends. Serif for everyone. What does it mean? Destiny? Nonsense. Of course, it was unpleasant for him that this particular knife broke. It was valuable, not only for its value, but also for the fact that it represented the historical heritage of its family. A knife that kills evil spirits. Now a broken knife with a broken blade. The same knife he brought to Blaise’s face yesterday. Blaze means blade. The blade that will cut him. But the blade in front of him had already been cut by itself. The art of fighting Just a stick in her hands. Long and lightweight. The same as his. At first, Blaise thought Damian was joking about her. But his face was serious and in the semi-darkness it seemed somehow unusually focused. They walked in circles in some gloomy room, like an empty hall, and no one dared to strike first. «Is it so difficult to fight someone with whom you could make love instead?» as if his eyes were mocking. He probably would like something different now. His coldness was only external, behind it could be a fire. But she felt cold in the literal sense of the word. It was as if she had been frozen, and she became like a statue. «Stronger hand, but not too strong,» he quietly admonished. «Imagine that the weapon is a part of you, whatever it is.» «I can’t,» she meant that she couldn’t do what she personally thought was absurd, but he understood her in his own way. «You can do anything, you just need to want.» And again a moment of silence. They looked at each other, as if asking prices. Blaise did not slow down in a circle. They walked here like animals in a cage. And each either did not dare to attack first, or gave the other the opportunity to assess the situation. For a moment she thought she saw right through Damian. It was a moment of feeling of some kind of absolute power over him, as if he was her puppet, and not a mentor. Everything was decided by the coldness in her. It was he who prevailed over the creature that entered this world to teach her. But what about physical strength? Blaise was pretty sure Damian had it huge. But he wants her to defeat him. Not because he can succumb to her, but because in the end she will be stronger. Blaise had no idea how this could be achieved. But she wanted to be strong. Very strong. So strong that no one dared to attack her. With her eyes, she appraised the enemy. Blue eyes sparkled dangerously from beneath ash brows, graceful fingers curling around the stick. «Anything can be a weapon,» Damian taught her. «Anything you want to use as a weapon.» Now it was time to move from words to action. But she did not dare. Although Damian had not for nothing brought her to this gloomy basement hall, where the ceiling, though propped up by a column, was enough free space to feel like on a training arena. Like in the ring. As in a vicious circle. Blaise experienced all sensations at the same time. It was both the battlefield and the enchanted ring. Both physical strength and spiritual. Both realism and a fairy tale. She needed to combine two principles in herself to win: the present and the desired. Although if the desire is too strong, it conquers everything around, even you. These were also Damian’s words. She wanted him not to be wrong. His parting words became her dark prayer. For a moment. She could no longer pray either to God or to the angels who did not answer her. Only strength. «Come on, bolder,» he finally encouraged. And she attacked. A couple of hits. The stick clinked on the stick. Blaise suddenly felt the power that even such a simple weapon in her hand gives. Even it can become overwhelming. Damian had explained to her the general techniques of this type of fighting a few minutes ago, and she tried to practice. Pretty good. He praised her mentally. She could almost hear. And she liked the very feeling that she was doing it. Fights! Then at the decisive moment, when her family was being killed, she could not, but now everything worked out. It’s too late. It’s too late. She seemed to rise from the grave to do what she could not before. Determination, concentration, accuracy. That’s all she needs. And to hell with empty prayers to the angels. Blaise finally felt like herself. There is nothing to believe and pray for, you can just pick up something simple like this stick and feel yourself in battle as if your wings really opened up behind you. Everything was going well. Even fine, but suddenly she felt like she was trying to take a breath underwater. Her throat was tight. The room they fought in was not a crypt, but Blaise felt as if the insistent wings of marble angels were flapping over her. The feeling is from a dream, not from life, but it has never been so real, even there, in the crypt. It seemed that one of the marble statues had come off the pedestal right now and was trying to wrap it in its crushing embrace. For just a moment, Blaise lost control of herself, and the stick slid past, hitting Damian across the face. He swore. It seems she nearly knocked out his eye. She, too, accidentally touched herself with the other end of the stick, and now there was an abrasion on her cheek. Did Damian sense the presence of the marble creature nearby? She did not dare to ask him about it. «How do you?» «Nothing.» For a moment, she noticed a large abrasion above Damian’s eyebrow, but a thick bang almost immediately fell on it. «It heals quickly on me,» he boasted. «So don’t be shy and don’t lose control of yourself.» He lightly touched her shoulder, and the feeling of pressing marble embrace immediately disappeared. There was only an unpleasant sediment from them, as if they tried to freeze or drown her in the cold ocean, but they could not. The touch of his hand was warm, and alive, and quite pleasant. This is what people call friendly support. Blaise stood motionless for a minute. She didn’t know what struck her more: dark illusions about the angels from the crypt or a completely unexpected reaction to physical contact with him. She noticed that the abrasion on his forehead had really disappeared somewhere, or it was impossible to see it in the semi-darkness. Blaise didn’t even ask him why they were learning to fight in the semi-darkness: because of the lack of electricity in this old building, or because of the danger that someone might notice them here. It was better not to ask questions about which she did not want to think at all. There was too much to watch out for. Until… Until she learns to stand up for herself. The first lesson seems to have failed. The oppressive sensation of marble statues where they are not and cannot be instead of the usual crypt, slightly warped her. «Did you feel it too?» she finally decided to ask, looking around the room in search of something unusual left of them. «Pain?» He grinned, running his hand over his forehead. «Cold,» she prompted. «Grave cold.» Damian stopped smiling. «There’s a cemetery not far from here,» he explained. «A very old cemetery, if that’s what you mean.» «I am not talking about that.» Blaise shook her head stubbornly, and luxurious blonde strands fell over her eyes. She pulled her long hair into a ponytail so that it would not get in the way during class, but it got in the way anyway. The wild, silky strands were so rebellious. She would have cut them, but Damian would not let her. Taking the scissors from her hands, he began to whisper to her some biblical nonsense about the power of Samson, hidden in her hair, and about the consequences of cutting them, drawing frightening associations between her and him. And then the scissors disappeared somewhere. True, they were already stupid. In general, there were not so many things left in this old house, and almost all of them were unsuitable for the household. In any case, Blaise could cut her hair with a knife, but Damian managed to intimidate her. She remembered that she really hadn’t cut her hair in a very long time, because it seemed to her that this should not be done. Or it was his words that had such a narcotic power on her. They were intoxicating like sweet poison. All barriers were destroyed. He said that she would fight with truly masculine dignity, and she started to get it out. It’s a shame that the golden hair, which had grown below the waist, was a good omen by which she could be recognized in the crowd. No one else has such luxurious hair. And she is the heiress of de Rozier. The only survivor of all the heirs. Only her inheritance has most likely already been divided among others. «The cold that follows you from the crypt will disappear by itself if you stop going there,» Damian said finally. «I don’t go,» she snapped. «Mentally, you are there.» He was right. She had nothing to say to that. Blaise turned sullenly away from him. It still seemed to her that an angel was hiding behind one of the surrounding columns, chilling everything around her and embittered by the fact that she had thrown him there, in the crypt with his brothers. The hand still gripping the stick began to shake slightly. «They rob you of your strength, they don’t give you. Forget them, «whispered her strange friend, leaning low to Blaise’s face as if for a kiss. «I can’t,» the words escaped her lips with difficulty. She wasn’t surprised how he even knew about them. After all, he, like anyone else, could have followed her when she went to the crypt. Then it’s strange why the vagabonds haven’t made a shelter for themselves in it. If it’s so easy to get in, anyone can sleep there. However, falling asleep there, among the statues and graves, last night, Blaise somehow felt completely safe. Every time she came there, she knew that no one slept there anymore, did not even go there. The statues seemed to be guarding their space. But sleeping among them turned out to be a terrible test. If she had somewhere else to go, she would never have stayed there overnight. She was still scared. They said that over time this feeling goes away. As a child, she and her brother even tried to spend the night there to check… Blaise shook her head again. There is nothing to remember about the past. The tangled labyrinth of memories led her only to new pain, because all the paths in it led to the center – the evening when she was killed. They killed in the literal sense of the word, because after the experience she had ceased to be herself. And no angels from the crypt intervened in all this. So is it worth believing in them? Or is it better to trust Damian? But he had never said that they were not there. He just said that it is better not to think about them. And these are different things. Curiously, if you look into his eyes and ask him directly, does he have the courage to say they don’t exist? «Learn to be invincible,» he whispered softly. «Do not think about anything that can provoke defeat. Just don’t think and that’s it. Close your mind to them.» And his whisper seemed fiery again. In this darkness, there was no one but the two of them. Rivals. Accomplices. Lovers? If he becomes her lover, will those seven in the crypt leave her? The inner cold prevailed again. The thought of love and intimacy triggered a memory of abuse. About the knife that was brought to her face. He wanted what the attackers wanted from her yesterday, and Blaise involuntarily winced. How easy it is to cripple a person psychologically. Yesterday she knew what love is, today it was a feeling that locked in a cage and, in general, disgusting. She imagined how he felt and felt a slight contempt for him. That’s all, marble closed around her. She is a statue herself. And if she becomes alive again, then she will die from the wounds inflicted on her. Therefore, it is better to remain stone, even if it offends someone. Life decided for her. And the mind stubbornly returned to the gloomy crypt for help to them. Those who have already refused it. Damian was right. We must forget about them. Belief in them makes her weaker. But Blaise couldn’t. Childhood’s beliefs that they were there were still too strong. They cannot be eradicated. They are rooted in the soul along with family traditions. Angels must come to life for the descendants of one family. So why are they marble? After all, she’s not a foundling. And not a changeling brought in by faeries to replace a stolen child. She is no stranger to her family. She’s definitely from Rosier. If she cannot inherit material wealth, then the bloody and accursed heritage in the crypt belongs only to her. No one else would dare to claim it. A curse is a curse. But it did not touch her. How did it happen? Blaise was tormented by reflections. Damian still leaned towards her, as if this closeness helped him read her mind. And his expression turned grim. Blaise tried to pull away. «Is there a clock in this house?» She asked casually. «Why do we need them?» He also moved slightly away. Blaise looked down at her feet. The round floor, lined with lines and symbols, somehow reminded her of a dial. You need to count the columns, probably twelve. Before the fight. They moved in a circle like the hands of a clock, and there was something inexorable about it. Like time. Like fate. «I want to know how much time is left before revenge.» In fact, she wanted to count how long the angels would be silent and sum up the crushing results. «Then leave serifs in your mind,» he threw down the stick and wanted to go, but, having reached the columns at the exit, for some reason turned around. «Do you know how many there are?» Blaise shook her head. «Thirteen.» «In honor of the devil’s number?» «No, in honor of twelve o’clock in the afternoon,» said Damian. «Then why thirteen?» Her voice sounded in the empty dark space, like a faint golden echo. «One of them symbolizes something that doesn’t seem to exist. The thirteenth hour, which is not taken into account by people, but which is in order to admit into this world those who are called from the other side by your desire to get to know them. Creatures like me. Pure thirteen is just right for us. The thirteenth hour, which is not there, but it is there for us to come. The thirteenth year in the calendar of signs would be the year of the demon or angel you call… that’s up to you. Which wings are better: light or black. Thirteenth day…» He stood far away, but she felt the touch of his hand on her cheek, as if he were near. A teasing touch. «This circle is for me…» Damian laughed devilishly. «Are you kidding? Or do you want to intimidate me?» «What do you think yourself? He suddenly became serious.» Blaise looked around. It no longer seemed to her that marble angels were hiding behind the columns. Such a feeling could only be an illusion. «It’s too early to think,» she said suddenly and firmly. «I will think about it when you teach me everything you promised. Then the time will come to evaluate you.» He nodded, acknowledging her conclusion. And he didn’t even repeat: «Remember the contract.» Revenge plans Blaise stuck the knife into the map spread out on the table. She drew this map herself on paper from a torn package, which she found in the house. In its center, of course, the crypt was marked. The place from which the whole history of her family began. Although purely symbolic, this place always had to remain in the middle. Because the crypt is at the head of everything. All paths lead to it. At least that’s what her family taught her. The family chronicles said so. Such a lesson was taught by heavenly or hellish forces to all generations of her family. And from the fact that in her own history there was a failure with this, nothing has changed yet. Perhaps the time has simply not yet come. Maybe on her next birthday a miracle will finally happen. To do this, she needed a watch. To measure every minute. She never found the watch, as if there had never been one in this house. But she began to draw a map. Starting at the crypt, she moved on to the rest of the city. The shooters retreated from the center along the narrow streets to the houses of her enemies. To the places where they often go. To the establishments that they own. The whole map consisted only of those places where she was to visit, tracking them down. Here, only the main goals and workarounds were noted. Below are the names of her enemies. «There are seven of them,» she said aloud. «Seven?» Damian, busy assembling some kind of homemade weapon, perked up slightly. «My enemies,» Blaise explained slightly offended. As if he himself didn’t understand. «And it seemed to me much more.» «What are you talking about?» Blaise frowned. Did he know something that she did not know. «Well…» he drawled, as if she herself should have understood everything. «They have families, bodyguards, accomplices…» «Families… not all,» she recalled three, whose relatives were carried away by accidents, disasters or infections, which in itself looked somehow strange, as if planned in advance. «So you cannot take from them what they took from you.» «But what have their families to do with it…» «And what did you and your brother have to do with it? Why were you touched?» The picture of the crypt and the seven statues came into her mind again. «I don’t know,» she shook her head. «There are several explanations, choose any. First, if someone in the family does harm to others, then his relatives are usually no better. One root, one filth. You can only eradicate everything as a whole. Second: there is rock and there is no escape from it, it is on everyone, on you, your dead brother, your distant relatives… Third: if you don’t want to take revenge on you, it’s better to destroy everyone at once.» «I think all three explanations are fine with me.» She bent over the map again. «You know the names of my enemies,» she secretly already knew that she was right, but she started repeating it aloud anyway. «Neil is the oldest and most influential. He is the head of everything. The rest always obeyed him. He was almost my father’s equal before he decided to strike. Now he probably feels like in heaven, having received everything.» «The skies can be dark and empty, especially after the biblical war that took place there,» Damian remarked, as if expertly. Blaise ignored his remark. «Then comes Alistair. Not so long ago, he left everything for a church career. And now he is a cardinal.» She plunged the knife into the map, now in a new place. The Church of St. Catherine is his parish. She imagined going there one night. «Holy scoundrel.» «All scoundrels have always aspired to religion. It is so convenient to do evil under the guise of something ephemeral that hovers in the sky.» «Yeah,» Blaise thought for a moment. «Etienne is in command of the mafia. But for society he is a prestigious gentleman,» she named the third. «Gerald leads the police, so any crime committed by his friends is so easy to hush up.» «Your company of seven is comfortable.» Blaise nodded. «Angelo is a famous actor. Star and idol of the public. Recently he surrounded himself with such bodyguards that it would be difficult to reach him. George and Thomas are the stars of the ring. Whatever I give to break all their bones. But is it really possible to do this?» «Anything is possible, baby,» Damian postponed his class for a moment. «Even with your bare hands?» «You can crush a wall with your hands, you’re just afraid.» «I’m not afraid, it’s just that everything you say seems a little fabulous to me,» she raised her eyebrows, already knowing his answer in advance. Anything is possible if you believe in it. «I want revenge, but look how high these people jumped. The cream of society. Important persons. Cones. And I am nobody. If I say my name now, they’ll think I’m crazy. It is easier for them to believe that I am dead.» «Don’t call it that. Everything can be solved differently.» «How?» She raised her tone reluctantly. Damian shrugged lightly. «First, it is worth observing them from afar. Rather from the shadows. You see them, they don’t. You tease them, they think you are a ghost and they start to be afraid.» «Boldly, but how to implement it.» «It’s simple,» he touched her hand, folded into a fist. «Such graceful fingers, but even boxers from the ring would not be as strong as this hand, if you wake up with an obsessed power. Do you know what obsession is?» «This is when an evil spirit infiltrates a person. Demon. And the person becomes not humanly strong.» «That’s it. And I am your demon.» Blaise glanced at him. What is he hinting at? Do you have to sleep with a demon in order for it to take over your body? Or can everything be solved in a much simpler way? The gloomy abandoned house that surrounded them seemed to be keeping some secret. But the only real secret she saw in front of her was Damian himself. The sight of him was slightly hypnotizing. As if he was not human at all. «You let the demon in of your own accord. Your anger does everything for you,» Damian whispered to her. «The awakened anger is an obsession.» Blaise felt an unexpected surge of energy. «Do you want to continue your studies now, already without weapons, with your bare hands?» Did he play with her? «Why don’t you leave me alone?» «Because I have no one but you. You’re the only thing I’m hooked on in this world. Your anger is what makes me exist.» «It would be better if my anger gave birth to a monster that will take revenge on everyone.» «It’s still ahead,» he grinned, somehow too mysterious and cruel. «Who else is among your enemies.» Blaise considered. The evening before the fire, there were seven of them, but she knew who else was inciting them. «Sister Angelo is also an actress,» she drew her name alongside, almost squeezed out. «Evangeline. She was ready to die to kill me. Although I do not understand the reason for such hatred, but now I also hate in return.» «Great, more…» «The son of Etienne Ivan, he always wanted to be the only one and at the head of everything. Since my brother did not survive, there is nothing to keep him alive for.» «Correctly. Your pretty head proves that it has a claim to intelligence and ingenuity. She pulled away from his hand, which touched her hair. «Also Gwen, Hugh’s wife, she wished death for all of us. She and her children.» Poisonous smiles, dyed hair, oily eyes. Everything came to mind so vividly. What a strong desire to kill always came from this woman. You always know who will strike, but you don’t know when. Blaise had been taken by surprise, now she wanted to take them by surprise. «Do you know these people?» He shrugged casually. «I know a lot of people, but they all don’t know me.» «It’s probably convenient. Know everyone and remain a ghost to them for everyone.» «Soon you yourself will find out how it happens.» «I do not understand you.» «If you believe what you yourself say, then for all of them you are now a ghost.» In this he was right. Untold Secrets Luciana Jaudet woke up late. The bright sunlight penetrating the window through the parted curtains completely erased the memories of a recent nightmare full of horror, statues and blood. The girl glanced at the park paths below, the manicured flower beds and the neatly trimmed boxwood bushes. Her father’s park has always been perfect. She never thought about the cost of keeping it in that order. Like any daughter of very rich parents, she did not think about money at all, but today for some reason she did. The father is to blame. He started talking about receiving some kind of inheritance. He had never spoken to her about business before. Is it time to get serious. Luciana glanced in the mirror. Magnificence! Here is one word that came to mind at the sight of such perfection. The beautiful reflection did not differ slightly from its copies on the covers of glossy magazines and posters advertising expensive perfume. She’s the perfect model. But here in her father’s mansion she should feel more like a princess. the house compares favorably with both expensive hotels and luxury hotel apartments. This was where she should have stayed. Her pretty blond head and arrogant face were as exquisite a decoration for the home as the priceless originals of ancient paintings in heavy frames. Speaking of priceless things. Today they brought her an exquisite jewelry box with inherited jewelry. «Until recently, the most beautiful girl in the world wore them,» her father explained to her. «Treat them like some kind of relic.» She didn’t understand why he said that. And who was this girl? Jewelry inheritance. But from whom? Luciana did not know those relatives who, according to her father, died in the accident. But she dreamed of the disaster itself today. The girl closed her eyes, bordered by beautifully curved eyelashes. She dreamed of a fiery explosion in some temple with statues, chaos, blood and… the statues came to life. It was creepy. She felt sick from the chaos and blood. That is why she tried not to watch the news or read the newspapers. Any bloody details almost drove her crazy. Glossy magazines were all she looked at. And that was salvation. It is better to think about the beautiful, and not remember how much pain there is in the world. She herself, too, was as beautiful as an exquisite porcelain doll, with which the curls were stabbed and dressed in a foam lace peignoir. It was time to call the servants for morning tea and croissants, but Luciana hesitated. On her dressing table, among the bottles of lotions and perfumes, lay a box, which seemed to her to be a stranger. It would be better to put it in the safe. Jewelry was not uncommon for Luciana. She owned many expensive things, but these jewelry seemed so priceless that it was scary to even touch them. As a matter of fact, she got the smallest share of the jewelry of that most beautiful girl who is no longer alive. Most of the jewelry was taken by Aunt Evangeline. She even squeezed out theatrical tears, lamenting how she loved her deceased relative. The tears looked so fake, however, so did the assurances that the jewelry was only for her as a reminder. Luciana suddenly realized that she felt a sharp dislike for this woman. Not because she is petty with expensive things. No, because of these tears. Evangeline tried to cry, but her lips seemed to be laughing by themselves. Luciana almost lost her question: Why did you hate her so much? It’s good that she didn’t say anything. This would sound too blunt, if not shocking. But the question still kept rolling in her head. She once again looked at her face in the mirror – according to numerous fans, the only true jewel. Then her hands reached for the box. Under the polished lid, decorated with a cameo, the print of an angel’s wing was carved. Jewelry shimmered on the inner velvet upholstery, as if taken from the dragon’s treasury. Luciana’s eye was drawn to a heart-shaped sapphire pendant. He looked like a piece of shattered heaven. She wonder if the eyes of the former mistress of this pendant were as pure blue as this stone. If so, then it is really difficult to imagine something more beautiful. Luciana gripped the stone with her fingers, and suddenly she was overcome with such longing that it became even scary. Suddenly, the dream came back to her. Blood, screams, a statue coming to life. A statue that moves straight towards her to crush her in his arms. Isn’t this a real nightmare. But the face of the statue was beautiful. Can the beauty of the one who kills you make death pleasant? Luciana sat motionless, clutching the stone in her hands, and it seemed to her that very soon someone would come to kill her. A strange friendship Demon companion. Demon lover. Is there a demon friend? Blaise was spreading the deck of cards she had just found in front of her. According to legend, all Rosiers perfectly mastered the art of the card game, like witchcraft. They have always won. And this talent passed on to the family by inheritance. If he had passed on to her in the past, Blaise would have sat down with her enemies at the card table and, in a couple of tricks, would have brought them to complete ruin and suicide. But now times were different. Family legends have slightly lost their relevance. However, learning to cheat at cards would be useful. Could Damian teach her this? He was there all the time, like a shadow. Even if she did not see him, he was present nearby. Suddenly appeared right from behind, brought some things that could be useful to her, in his own way tried to cheer. It was as if he had never slept, always watching her. He tried to get as close to her as possible. That is why the cards now occupied her. For the purpose of fortune telling, not a game. Can you trust him? She asked the cards exactly that question. They fell out at random. The answer was one or the other. Only Damian himself remained unchanged. He was just there. And from him there was nowhere to escape, as from his own shadow or reflection in the mirror. Her strange friend. Her companion. Her mentor. Or her jailer, who is waiting for the moment when he can rip her soul out. It was said that a strange companion always appeared next to those who made a pact with the devil. Unobtrusive like a shadow. He seemed to be waiting for his moment. People usually feel dislike and suspicion towards him, and he waits. And waiting for his own. Blaise, the thought was unpleasant. However, what is her soul worth? What is the soul? Does it exist at all? Or is it just an illusion? A beautiful metaphor invented by people to give divine meaning to every simplest life? The soul is nothing. At any rate, Blaise seemed to be more interested in Damian’s body. Even when he taught her to fight, something inviting flashed in his gaze, as if he was trying to lure her into bed by roundabout ways, which, however, was not in this house. On a narrow couch, covered with a meager blanket, the two of them would not have fit. He probably slept on the floor, if he ever slept at all. When they weren’t fighting, his gestures were inviting, like the call of a lover. It seemed strange to Blaise that she herself did not feel any sexual feelings towards him, although he was very handsome. Much prettier than all the young people she has seen so far. Damian got food and drink, and other necessary things somewhere. And she didn’t even ask him where. It is possible that he just stole them. You could expect everything from him. There was indeed a lot of demonic behavior in his behavior. Crazy. Cool guy. Rip off your head. Whatever you call it, but it still contained some kind of mystery. Blaise did not undertake to solve it. It just didn’t bother her. The strange friend who took care of her was just an unexpected gift from fate. She took his services for granted. If someone had cared about her this way before, she would at least say thank you. But not right now. Quite recently, everything inside her was somehow surprisingly empty. The world has become empty. Now she took everything for granted: almost without emotion and without gratitude. Events moved in front of her slowly or dynamically, like on a movie theater screen. And she just watched, as if she had become just an outside observer in her own life. And at the same time, the sensations were unusually heightened. Sometimes she slept and felt like some kind of supernatural being able to catch the quiet fuss of rats in the basement and in general every movement in a radius of miles around. Perhaps this was not surprising, because around the gloomy house where they settled, complete emptiness reigned. It’s strange how such a place was found anywhere in the world. People didn’t seem to have wandered here at all: even criminals and homeless people. But according to Damian, there was a rather large cemetery somewhere nearby. He loved to talk about strange things: death, resting places, revenge, the laws of harm inflicted on others. If you have offended, then you must offend in return even more, that was his morality. Blaise loved it, but as she clenched and unclenched her fist, she didn’t feel the promised strength. «Try to attack me,» Damian taught her. «Try to hit with all your might, as if you’re ready to kill. Do not be shy, imagine in my place someone else, for example, your worst enemy. There are seven of them, like the angels in your crypt. Which one do you hate the most? Who would you like to kill first? Imagine that he is in front of you and strike. Stronger, baby!» She was embarrassed to hit, but the last word pissed her off. Damian said it as if he was playing with her rather than trying to teach her something. His voice sounded so teasing. And she hit. Something suddenly crunched under her hand. His jaw seems to be. Or so it just seemed. Blaise was scared. But Damian just laughed like crazy. «We can’t hesitate,» he commented. «You will be frightened of the consequences of your own blow, you will not have time to inflict the second one in time. And they can hit you already. Do you understand? Let’s try again.» «But isn’t it hurting you,» she wanted to ask. However, the blood on his lips disappeared somewhere, as if it was consumed by darkness. «Don’t be afraid, it heals quickly on me,» he repeated his favorite phrase. He used to say that a lot, and Blaise began to make sure it wasn’t just bravado. There really were no scars or bruises left on him. They passed so quickly. Still, she didn’t like the way of making a punching bag out of an opponent. Damian only laughed at her indecision. He advised that one should not be timid in a fight. «You still have that lady in you who tried to kill seven feigned friends one night,» he concluded. «The princess did not die, but an iron character woke up in her. You could be the princess of the ring, the assassin, the warrior… but you are shy about something. Really me? I’m just your property, until the contract expires. Your personal demon.» His eyes often laughed and he seemed like a maniac. A real complete nutcase. You get scared even at a distance, and Blaise was very close to him, and for some reason she was not at all afraid. Because he taught her to fight? Because he believed that the rights to her soul already belonged to him? Did that mean he wouldn’t want to hurt her? Is there such a guarantee? Even if not, she had no choice either. In the whole world around, distraught and became hostile in an instant, only this abnormal supported her. He liked her desire for revenge. Her looks? Or something else? No matter. Blaise tried to learn his lessons. Of course, the chances of her learning how to fight well were exactly the same that one day she would be able to unbend iron with her bare hands. However, she tried. Scratches and abrasions on her would not have healed as quickly as on him. and in the house, of course, there would not be a first-aid kit with fresh medicines and bandages. But Damian managed not to hurt her face and not even inflict minor injuries. He did not touch her at all, only taught her how to direct her hand, how to clench a fist, how to strike. It was so simple, but it took strength, and Blaise felt she was at a loss. Seven patrons They seemed to be sleeping in a crypt: cold, silent, empty. But so beautiful. The sight of their icy splendor hurt the eyes. Even in the darkness they shone ghostly. Grave-white, immersed in eternal slumber, insensitive, indifferent and at the same time some kind of threatening. Blaise hadn’t come to see them in over a week. The last time she cried sobbing and prayed in despair to them, they did not answer. They never answered. At least to her. And from this she felt the most deprived. The stone had to come to life and come down from the pedestal, the wings had to open wide and open for her alone the crushing marble embrace, as for all Rosiers. She was no longer even jealous of all those who had been in this embrace before her, and there were countless of them. All in due time they accepted their gifts and their death here. But Blaise was suddenly redundant. Those who were supposed to take care of her, this time only remained silent. They seemed to be afraid to answer her. As if they were ashamed of her impulses, her passion, her prayers. They seemed to hide inside their marble larvae. From her. From a simple young fragile girl. They couldn’t be afraid of her. They were able to crush the whole universe. Blaise alone, unarmed with nothing but her stubborn nature, could harm them. Besides, she always adored them. From early childhood. Since she remembered herself. Relatives instilled in her that they should be worshiped, and she tried as best she could. Now it’s time for disappointment. But she still believed hard. You just need to light the lamp at the entrance, pronounce their secret names one by one, from the first angel to the last, and wait. She waited. But nothing happened. Blaise wondered if it might be too early. Perhaps it is on her eighteenth birthday, and not on the seventeenth, the power that connects her with them will have to awaken. For this, she needed the watch that she asked Damian. She wanted to measure every minute until that fateful moment when they came to life. They will revive for her alone, because no more of Rosier’s descendants have become. The angels simply had no choice. Either they will accept it, or they will lose their last link with this world. But they were silent. And she began to give in to despair again. Although now she had Damian. And he knew about them. It’s so good when there is someone with whom you can share your secret. Her secret did not frighten him. And he, too, knew that her prayers were in vain. The marble remained motionless and Blaise waited. For others, they would have come to life long ago and crushed all their enemies. But not for her. Blaise persisted in believing that these were not just family legends. One had only to come to the crypt, light the lamp, look into the beautiful frightening faces and imagine the death of their ill-wishers, and in the morning everything would have happened by itself. They died at the hands of unknown persons, as at the hands of God himself, crushed by his marble messengers. Blaise saw a strangled Hugh, Neil burned alive, Angelo mutilated, Gerald and Thomas mutilated. She thought how nice it would be to rip open Alistair’s fat belly, and then destroy that parish where he deceived and destroyed people. And yes, Damian was absolutely right, she would be very pleased to know that all the descendants of these villains are also eradicated. All filth must be ripped out at the root, so that it does not give new shoots. A curse on everyone. They wished death to all the relatives of their enemies. She was even going to bring it herself. Only the angels were in no hurry to help her. They slowly drove her crazy with their appearance, their silence, their emptiness. Inside the space they surrounded, it was as if space existed, but Blaise was not allowed into it. She remained on her own. And they just watched her, embarrassing her by the fact that they are. Instead of helping, they even interfered with something, suppressed her will, her mind. Damian, whom she thought was insane, showed an unexpectedly sharp mind, telling her to forget about them. However, she continued to visit them as before. Only now her prayers were no longer as passionate as before. She began to realize that they were unlikely to ever respond. It was worth calling them idols and leaving here. Only that would mean lying to herself, because for her they always meant more than just statues. They really contained something like space inside them, only she could not penetrate there. She had a lot of questions for them. How could they admit what happened? Why didn’t they protect her parents and her brother? And why is she the only one now alive? Was something special assigned to her? Some kind of mission? Revenge? Or were the higher powers just curious to see how several damned families would destroy each other? They already knew the answer to everything in advance, but Blaise did not know it. She remembered that her brother came here at night. It was he who told her that the statues were alive. Now one might think that his impressions were just a consequence of some kind of hallucinations or highs. But how then to explain the marks that remained on his body in the morning, as if the statues touched him, leaving bruises and burns. He said something about sex with marble angels. Blaise wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t. Well, they chose him first. Then she had to become the second. Especially now that he’s gone. It was only after his death that there was some amazing calm in the crypt. Are the statues trying to honor the memory of the dead? As if one living descendant was not left at all. As if there were no survivors of those who should be avenged. Blaise did not understand their silence. And when she looked up into the marble faces, a lonely tear rolled down her cheek. They were so unshakable. The shadow of the winged figures fell on her, and the glare of the lamp did not seem to reach here. These beautiful motionless figures were supposed to inspire fear. And yet she was not afraid next to them. She was in pain. It hurts that they don’t want to see her problems. And apparently they do not want her herself. She would never have the courage to admit that they simply do not exist. They did exist. They stood in a marble semicircle in the dark, shone with regularity and did not answer her prayers. Not one of all her prayers. And it seemed to her that they simply did not want to answer. Self destruction She came home late. Rather, to the place that is now used to call home. It was actually a refuge. No one except her and Damian had the right to cross his threshold. So why did she think there were intruders inside right now? Such darkness reigned all around that it was difficult to see anything. And yet she saw them. Three ragged nasty guys. One of them struck a match, trying to light the shattered lamp. They must have thought the house was empty and uninhabited. So it was not so long ago. But not now. Now they settled here: Blaise and her strange comrade. She didn’t even have time to wonder why he had not yet broken all the bones of the intruders. One of the guys noticed her and shouted something at the other two. For a moment, incredible amazement was reflected on their faces. They hardly knew her, so none of them could consider her rising from the grave. But her appearance clearly made a strong impression on them. But they did not have time to pay attention to her wretched, rather boyish outfit, perhaps because they themselves were poorly dressed. And such a beauty is alone here. There is no one around. Blaise saw in an instant what rushed through their thoughts. Those who killed her entire family looked at her in the same way, only, perhaps, with a little less desire in their eyes. It was not difficult to understand what they want, even without having the ability to read other people’s thoughts. «Go away!» Blaise ordered coldly. Quite unexpectedly, she felt like the rightful mistress of this place. And also a strange determination awakened in her, which had not been there before. An almost overwhelming self-confidence. «Otherwise what?» The nastiest of the guys insolently asked, and a folding knife flashed dangerously in his hand. «What will you do?» He stood a little closer to her than others and, it seems, was a little older than his comrades. Blaise darted towards him with lightning speed, intercepted the hand that was gripping the knife and jerked, not even calculating the pressure. The result came as a surprise even to her. His bone cracked. The knife fell out of the fingers, which could no longer grip it. Looks like she broke his arm. Blaise was not embarrassed for a moment. She wanted this, but how easily she managed it was a pleasant surprise. The other two guys came to their senses almost instantly. Blaise knocked in the groin with the first one who lunged at her. He bent over for a long time in pain. The third guy was the easiest to deal with. He turned out to be the most lethargic and fearful. Blaise hit him hard, knocked him to his knees, and suddenly succumbed to a strange instinct. The lamp in the broken lampshade was just on fire, and the victim in her hands was weak. At that moment, as if marble angels whispered in her ears what should be done. The same as what the enemies were going to do to her. She squeezed the prisoner hard on the neck, so that the bones and upper vertebrae almost crunched and tilted his head over the fire. Let him be mutilated, as the enemies wanted to mutilate her. Rather, angels demand sacrifices, even if meaningless. But these guys didn’t come here by accident. The area was full of other abandoned buildings where they could make themselves a den, but fate brought them here. If she was not destined to test her strength on someone, they would not be here. As if in confirmation of her words, Damian jumped from somewhere above. It turns out that he watched everything from somewhere from the ceiling beams, but prudently did not laugh, so as not to interfere with the natural development of events. He appeared just in time to finish off the guys who had already come to their senses and only slightly crippled by her. Blaise was unpleasant to hear the skulls crunching, but Damian could not do otherwise. He loved blood and death, he only liked a fatal outcome. Otherwise, he disagreed. Moreover, it was dangerous to let the witnesses live. They could tell someone that they saw her. Blaise unwittingly released the guy she was holding by the scruff of the neck. He sobbed softly, because he could no longer scream. She burned his face, lips and tongue. He had collapsed from his knees to the floor and was now lying on his back. It was she who disfigured him, and yet a minute ago he was a rather handsome blue-eyed blonde. Not anymore. «Did you bring them here?» she could not hide indignation. Damian shook his head. :They came themselves, looking for something to steal, this sometimes happens in unlocked houses.» She didn’t believe him. Even if not on purpose, he wanted this to happen. He had long planned to urge her to test her strength. So how could this happen by itself. «So why don’t you lock the door?» «I don’t have a key,» he smiled slightly and shrugged his shoulders carelessly, as if he hadn’t just killed anyone. «This is not my home, I just came here first…» «And you didn’t even try to expose them.» «I chose to leave this privilege to you. After all, you want to be in charge here.\\\\\» Was it a reproach or a mockery? Blaise glanced reluctantly at the floor. «And now we have three corpses here.» «Two,» he corrected her and pointed to the crippled guy. «You will make the third corpse. «No,» she was suddenly frightened. Not that. It’s one thing to fight, even to break somebody’s bones and disfigure their faces, but it’s quite another to kill. Until now, she has only watched him kill, but she has not yet taken the life of anyone herself. Even the thought of doing it with her own hands was unpleasant to her.» But Damian will not help her forever. Someday you will have to do everything yourself. But it’s too early. After all, these guys, no matter how mean and unpleasant they were, were not the ones who were her target. «You have to practice on someone,» her personal demon whispered to her, and his eyes flashed dangerously. «Otherwise, when you reach the decisive moment, your hand will tremble too.» He caught her fingers in the darkness and squeezed them reassuringly. «Prove that you’re not lying to yourself when you think you’re capable of killing out of hatred.» He left, whispering that he himself would get rid of the corpses. As far as Blaise knew him, he was probably hiding somewhere to watch her. For a moment Blaise didn’t know what to do, and then she noticed a short iron bar on the floor and picked it up. Probably, one of the three hooligans brought it with him, in order to use it in case of something like a weapon. This means that she can fully use it against one of them. Blaise glanced at the blond back of his head without any regret, threw away all sentimental feelings and dealt one strong blow. Fight me Damian didn’t lie, the bodies really disappeared pretty quickly somewhere. How did he deal with three at once? Does he really possess such superhuman powers? She did not torment herself with such questions. Blaise laid out newspaper clippings and summed up statistics. «My enemies. Three of them are leading in the ring, two are heads of powerful and influential organizations, one became the head of the mafia. Yes, even the holy spirit could not cope here. «But I could.» «Yeah,» she drawled with a sneer, but he was not offended. He didn’t even get upset. He just pushed the papers aside and gently touched her chin. «You underestimate me,» he looked into her eyes. «And yourself.» Since then, a devilish force has opened up in her. Since she met him… Damian caught her eye and squeezed her fingers lightly, as if a single current passed between their touching hands, charging the whole world with a stream of energy. He taught her, but the power comes by itself. Will this power be enough? Blaise turned her gaze back to the neatly arranged newspaper clippings. Her last night of normal life flashed through her flashbacks and Blaise winced. There was a crime that night, but everything that appeared after that in the press and news was at odds with the real events. The journalists faked everything like an accident. Or someone arranged it for them. Whatever was there, but everything went wrong, as it should have. Justice was silent, and she is going to take revenge by force. «I want to learn how to fight better than anyone, so that they fear me.» «It is possible,» he has already grown up behind her back, like a ghost, «it is not at all in strength, in rage, that is why I chose you, your desire to take revenge will be enough for the whole world and you are right, evil cannot be left without retribution, otherwise our the world will turn into God knows what. «Our world? You’re not one of him.» «But I am a guest here and I see that the house is not hospitable, what can I do, leave or change everything?» «Teach me.» «What if for this I demand your soul?» «What is my soul, I want to live, but you cannot live in defeat. I want revenge, I want to kill them all.» «Okay, I’ll teach you, Blaise, you deserve it, and before I take your soul, I’ll give the whole world to your power.» With one hand he grabbed her around the waist, and it seemed to burn her, with the other he squeezed her thin fingers into a fist. «To kill, you must hate,» his whisper rang out over her ear, like the fiery breath of a dragon. He seemed to open the gates of hell in front of her. And she had already seen fire, blood and pain. The pain of her enemies. With his first touch, she suddenly felt ready for battle. A miracle happened. Weakness and fragility disappeared. She felt strength. But what if he disappears? He seemed to breathe this iron power into her, along with the breath of fire. Being with him, she felt as if she was standing next to a fire-breathing dragon and he could burn her in an instant, but instead, on some whim, he was having fun with her. Teach her your techniques. Isn’t it all a joke. Is it the influence of drugs. Not a mental breakdown that paints these pictures in front of her. What if she wakes up and he is gone. The demon who demanded her soul. He admonished her, spurred her on, awakened skill and rage at the same time. «Hit harder! Forget you’re a girl.» He showed her how to make a fist and where to hit. She started to go out, but she was still a little shy. After all, he is not her opponent, but a mentor. However, he only laughed at her timidity. «Come on, stronger, it quickly heals on me… until you hate me, you cannot kill me.» Hatred! She had this beyond measure. She struck with all her might, but her fist sliced through the void. Damian moved elusively. «Concentrate,» he advised. «Don’t forget about accuracy. The one you are fighting with is also moving. And he can be behind you. Hurry up to warn his movements. Watch the enemy as if it were in your hands. Be more calculating, aim and strike.» Blaise turned, but it was already empty behind her. Damian stood in front of her. «Put all your strength into the first blow, because it can be the last for you. And be faster.» She tensed, although he moved around her very quickly, calculated the speed of his movements, clenched her hand into a fist and hit. She managed to hit him hard. «Well done!» he seemed not to feel pain at all. There was something insane in his grin. If one angel from the crypt, revived, completely lost his mind, he would look like Damian. Mad Angel! In his appearance there was a lot of heavenly and at the same time he seemed absolutely earthly and completely abnormal. If not for his crushing inexplicable strength, she would have considered him just a nutcase. Probably, for the most part, she considered him so. But now she was beginning to get used to it. He would have been very sweet if it weren’t for that crazy fire in his eyes and an obsessive grin that almost never left his seductive lips. Damian could seduce anyone with almost no effort. But inside her, for some reason, the cold prevailed. She wanted neither intimacy nor seduction. Although their fights in themselves did not resemble battles, because in these moments such a strange closeness was established between them that no one would understand. They became like one being. He wanted to transfer his power to her when he taught her. Blaise was struck in the head by this feeling of surprising closeness, not confrontation, every time they went against each other, preparing to fight. Fight me, he repeated aloud and with a glance, he called her, but he also wanted something else. His gaze called for more than just hand-to-hand fighting. He wished for another encounter. Another closeness. But he didn’t talk about it. Although it was easy to understand him without words. He was so complex and yet so open. He seemed to want to receive not only the soul, but also her. The body is a pledge, and the soul for later. Why would he? Blaise didn’t quite understand. Live with grandiose plans for revenge and with a demon behind your back. Blaise chuckled. She never dreamed of that. «That’s enough for today,» Damian noticed that she was tired, although Blaise didn’t want to show it, but he somehow immediately noticed it and stopped classes. «Wait!» She objected weakly. «We can continue tomorrow, as well as on any other day.» «Are you saying we have plenty of time?» she ironically raised her eyebrows. «What if tomorrow I already decide to strike someone? At least to test their own strength.» «Well, then I want to show you something,» he found himself nearby so quickly, as if there was no space separating them in the semi-darkness. More often than not, he preferred to stand behind her, as he is now. A comfortable position to hit, but that wasn’t what he was going to do. There was something in his hand. He squeezed it neatly, like a bouquet of flowers about to present to her. «What is it?» She unclenched his hand and looked. «Some kind of grass?» «Clover,» he corrected. «Or rather, a green sprout of clover. Take a closer look at him.» «So what?» instead of the usual three, she counted four leaves, but this did not almost surprise her. «Four-leaf clover,» Damian told her. «Many people say that four leaves is a mistake of nature, which is simply too rare, but those who are far from botany believe that the plant is magical. That it will fulfill any of your wishes, if you found it or accepted it as a gift.» Yielding to persuasive speeches, Blaise almost closed her fingers on the tiny sprout, even though it did not seem so wonderful to her. «Is our garden full of that?» she found the audacity to argue, and it was true. «In the garden of the estate de Rosier. And it all belongs to me.» «Maybe because no one can find a way into it,» Damian obligingly prompted. «Just do not hint that you tried it. This has been the case for centuries. No one can find their way into the estate unless someone from Rosier points it out.» «Then why oh why, you can invite me to visit?» He chuckled, seemingly really asking for it. «I do not know. The estate is pretty neglected.» «If you remember, I lived in landfills.| Now she was grinning. «Not really.» Blaise remembered something flying off the high rooftops of the nearby buildings, and only then he appeared. Just grew up behind her. But he was not an angel from the crypt, however, she did not dare to call him just a man. Although at first he seemed to her like a hooligan or a criminal who was about to kill her. Then she was ready to defend herself, now, it seems, she was not averse to making friends with him, but life taught her that you can not trust anyone. «You, too, were ready to settle there, just not to return to your estate,» he insinuated. «I wonder why. Are you afraid of something?» He struck some painful string in her. «I’m not afraid of anything,» Blaise said immediately. «Prove it.» He dropped the tiny clover into her palm. «Make a wish! The sprout is a symbol, it will embody for you what you ask for, as well as for everyone. It will become your personal sign. I know you have one black desire. So make a guess. Suddenly it will come true.» This time he didn’t grin. Her desire was indeed black. Blaise thought that even the magic plant that fell into her hands should also turn black, because she would ask him to kill someone. Her desire is someone else’s death. She did not believe that clover was magic. Most likely, Damian ripped it off in the de Rosier estate, which had long been locked and abandoned, because it was almost unbearable to live there. They said it was built in a place where climatic conditions and an unusual type of land themselves give rise to various errors of nature. For example, in the garden there were enough thickets of clover with four leaves, but it still did not fulfill anyone’s wishes. Or she just didn’t notice it. If she could now choose her coat of arms, then it would be a four-leaf clover. Not because of the magic, according to legends, associated with it, but only because the first desire that came to her mind at the sight of it was revenge. The flower of evil. Whoever wanted evil will receive it. She imagined a four-leaf clover sprouting on the corpses of her enemies, gradually devouring them, and for some reason she felt surprisingly calm. As if the wish had already come true. Ghosts of war Alistair himself did not remember falling asleep on the floor of the chapel. This had never happened to him before. He always maintained control of himself, even when taking a hefty dose of opium. No one should have noticed anything bad behind him. Reputation is the main thing. If it is flawless, then no one has noticed the vile deeds hiding behind it. Alistair long ago learned to fully exploit his fame, covering up everything that he did unseemly with it. It was thanks to these difficult drinking practices that he chose the church service. When you are considered a protege of God, then all the evil you have committed remains in the shadows. Nobody dares to blame you because you are who you are. You are beyond suspicion. He always had the mind not to deny the existence of a God in which he does not believe, but to ardently condemn others for the lack of very strong faith and self-sacrifice. And now he is a cardinal. Who dares to accuse him of something, even if he did it? Even so, his word will be above all others. However, tonight he dreamed of a judging angel. Living angel made of marble. It sat directly above him on a flat slab at the altar and looked with such a stern, condemning look that, it seemed, was capable of incinerating. But at the same time, the pose of the angel was something erotic. The half-naked marble body bore traces of wounds. Unusual wounds, no blood. If it were a male body, then Alistair would feel a fit of desire, usually leading to violence, but the body was female, young, not yet formed. And the face… He remembered that face. The face of his victim. Blaise! Her eyes were bleeding profusely, and this made her look even more terrible. The gaze directed at him, as if from hell, where he directed her. Her and her brother, after using it, of course. But why was Blaise the only one to condemn him? He couldn’t rape her. She was a girl. Others wanted it. It was they who dreamed of doing to her what he did to this cute boy, her brother. He didn’t touch Blaise. So why is this eerie bleeding gaze directed specifically at him? Empty and inexpressibly stern eyes of the angel looked into the soul, making it freeze. Framed by ruby tears, they looked especially cruel. They reminded of some ancient and crushing, nameless biblical evil. But Alistair believed neither in God nor in the Bible, even serving at the altar. For him, everything connected with higher powers is just a routine of promotion and, in general, an empty phrase. He cannot be afraid of what he does not believe in. So why is he so scared then? He tried to get to his feet from the cold stone slabs, but he did not immediately succeed. The whole body ached, the limbs ached, as if recently they were trying to tear them off. It was as if he had been beaten at night, in a dream, in a locked church. The beautiful image of the holy princess Catherine on the fresco at the altar always seemed to him personally more like a witch. In his dreams, she took suitors from young maidens instead of giving them. Although lately, more often than not, young men have begun to come here to pray to her for good luck in love. Like brother of Blaise once did. He came here to pray for a meeting with a virgin who resembles his secret love, his sister. Alistair lured him here, promising to calm his mental anguish. Here he would gladly make his victim any other who liked him. Some drugs in wine for the sacrament and more persuasion. He always lured his victims to communion, so it was much easier to get them drunk. Communion is a terrible ceremony. It can be of great service to any of the most unrighteous suggestions. The blood and body of Christ. And some opium. And the person is ready for anything… But now it was the bloody tears of an angel that did not leave his head. On the one hand, this is even good. In those narcotic visions that occasionally visited him, he no longer needed any special interpretations. Alistair knew what these vivid, dreamlike pictures meant. If in his visions someone cried blood, then this meant the imminent defeat of this person. But Blaise was already amazed. She was defeated and buried under the rubble of a destroyed building. Everything is already in the past. However, the vision has been so intrusive so far. As if an angel crying with blood, after his defeat, again went to fight and punish those who defeated him. Alistair could not help thinking about who became the winner precisely after his defeat. Devil! He was defeated before becoming himself. Those who the world knows him. And who he would never have become if he had not lost that first battle. They said the devil had a beautiful face. Like Blaise. He wonder what it will be like if he reappears. Patrons and enemies She dreamed of evil. This is not the first time. Everything was repeated almost as in life. Only in dreams did evil become overwhelming. The events that recently took place in reality were supplemented with details, as if drawn by the hand of an unearthly creator. Nothing so incredible could actually happen. But the dreams lived on their own. In her dreams, she returned to the events of the night when she was deprived of everything. She now had seven patrons and seven enemies. The even numerical ratio was slightly striking. Only in reality there were only enemies left. And there really were seven of them, not counting those who are in any way connected with them. But there were no patrons. Only something symbolic remained of them – the statues in the crypt. But there were no statues inside the dreams. The angels were alive, hiding in nothingness and persistently inciting her to something. They were present somewhere nearby. You could feel them, hear them, even catch a glimpse of them, but they remained elusive, as if they had nothing to do with her in a dream. In a dream, they were like air, and you know that it is all around you, but you cannot catch it with your hands. Dreams lined up in an amazing world, like a pyramid. His staircase went up somewhere. And Blaise could almost feel her steps. Well, one step, one more, almost all the steps of the narrow stone staircase are already behind. Even turning back was scary, but she was not afraid to look down even from a dizzying height. Probably, this was passed on to her from her ancestors – the feeling that the wings of an angel are about to grow behind her back and, as a result, she is absolutely fearless. Well, okay, even if all family legends are a legend, and still she sometimes felt absolute power over the motionless frozen world lying below, all buildings and people will remain forever there chained to the ground, and she seems to be able to take off. Blaise threw her head back and burst out laughing so that her sonorous, hysterical laugh echoed from the stone walls in frightening echoes. If anyone wins the bet, it will be her. After all, there was some kind of bet? What exactly, in a dream she did not remember. Even before the banquet begins down there in the great hall, she will already be upstairs, in that bastion where you cannot climb, because soon it may collapse. So they said… for many years, and he still stood, dangerously tilted, but so unshakable in his unattainable height. Clock Tower of Angels, Blaise read the name from the battered pages of family chronicles and now called the tower just that. It seemed to her that the title had a meaning. Who if not winged creatures were able to build a building that would surpass even the modern skyscrapers located nearby in the dark ages long ago? And also this tower, as if no one except the rare chosen ones noticed, so they were in no hurry to demolish it, at least Blaise wanted to think so. She wanted to believe in magic in a world in which no one else believes in it. It might not be true that if the tower collapsed, winged creatures would pick her up and pull her out, but she wanted to believe it. And she believed with all her heart. So self-confident! Yes, she was just that. Why can’t she clench her thin fists and break through even a monolithic wall with them? Isn’t she from the Rosier family? Better yet, consider that she is not one of people, but of angels. In any case, her appearance seemed to confirm it. With such a beauty as hers, it is difficult not to fall ill with megalomania. Botticelli’s paintings faded in front of her truly angelic appearance, living people could not take their eyes off her. And besides, she is also a rich heiress. Rosier’s heirs. Well, does she have little reason to be proud and consider herself invulnerable. Beauty and innumerable capital, slightly darkened by the shadow of age-old secrets, gold and curse, all this was so inspiring. But now she was going to prove her courage, climb the tower, signal to the friends who remained below from the very height and return back even before the banquet began. They are already preparing snacks, champagne and some special golden-red wine, the secret of which is known only to Rosier. Today her father is going to tell her and her brother something special, but Blaise did not know for sure whether he would do it right at the banquet or whether there really were those dark secrets in their family that could not be told to anyone except the heirs. Well, in any case, today is the right day, the day of her seventeenth birthday. Her birthday and her beloved brother. And it took it into her head to throw out such tricks on this very day. But when she was offered a bet, she could not resist. She simply had to prove that she was bolder than everyone, bolder than her brother, braver than her father, bolder than those mysterious and clearly hostile people whom her father invited for some reason to this holiday, although she had never seen them before among his acquaintances or partners in business, nor among its competitors. Competitors, Blaise scoffed at her, barely remembering that word. She herself was out of competition. When she inherits her share in family affairs, she will have no rivals. She just won’t let them show up. In addition, she is absolutely sure that no one living on earth can compete with her, just as she is sure that only she alone had the recklessness to climb a crumbling tower. Today, here in the height among the ancient stone walls and stairs there is only one, and also the proximity of the collapse and the memory of the past. Not a single living creature can be here. Perhaps she should have turned back when she heard voices. However, Blaise did not turn. On the contrary, it rushed upward with such speed that it stumbled over a step and almost flew downward. She was able to hold on and restore balance. And death was so close, as if someone whispered in her ear, but there was certainly no one behind her, only somewhere above, around the turn of the stairs, other people’s voices sounded more and more insistently. Is it possible that someone other than her dared to climb up here. The answer was obvious, and yet worth checking. According to rumors, a ghost can also be found in the tower. The voices were indeed muffled, conspiratorial and mysterious. She stepped higher and stopped abruptly. Now she could hear well, and she was alarmed by the words spoken somewhere above. She lingered in the flight of the stairs, it seems, she knew who was speaking, although she did not see their faces. «Beautiful as elves, they have no place on earth,» said a vaguely familiar voice, as if it had escaped from her childhood dream. «But to let down the most reliable partners…» objected another, not too confidently. «And to become twice, no, hundreds of times richer than we are,» finished the thought of the first, it seems, the most advantageous turn, at least convincing. «Kindness is not a business concept, sympathy, too, but even if it were, then it would be wiser to show it to people, I mean, to normal people, and these are all their damned clan… Yes, you just have to look at them, that’s all immediately becomes clear. Such filth is cleaned from the ground. As in a fairy tale, all the gold should be combed out of the elf’s hair and destroyed. Today is the right day. Just.» She stayed where she was, but instinctively she wanted to step back. Dimly, as if through a haze of sleep, snatches of phrases could still be heard to her: «all orders have already been given,» «soon down there …", «no one would have suspected us,» and finally, the ticking of the clock with a quiet sigh is time. Blaise scrambled and ran before she could fully understand what had happened. For so long and with difficulty, she climbed up, and now, without fear of stumbling, she rushed back down. It’s easy to break your neck, but it didn’t bother her now. If she got it right, her neck would be broken in one way or another today. And not only her. Beautiful, like elves… this phrase defined everything, only one people were called that. And she was from their family. Evening. Banquet. Her birthday. The day of his birth, her brother, who is even more beautiful than an elf. Their father’s proposal. She rushed headlong along the narrow high steps, but never stumbled. Maybe fear helps to mobilize all strength and dexterity. One fear overshadows the eyes of another. Now she was afraid not to fall down and get hurt, or perhaps to survive and understand that no one else had survived except her. And so it happened. If she had known earlier. But she found out only now, and a few hours after the incident, she no longer wanted to remember it. She didn’t want to remember anything at all. But memory, as if painfully shrank around the same events. Here is the banquet hall, here is the entrance, the open doors, in front of which she stops indecisively and realizes that the worst has already happened. Blood, confusion, broken objects, dead bodies, evidence of violence and devastation. She came too late. She was no longer expected. Probably, the intruders thought that one of their allies had twisted her thin neck on the way here, and therefore she did not appear. However, her arrival was a pleasant surprise for them. Someone grabbed her. She remembered the pain, the breath of fire, and her hope that the statues would help her. She saw the statues of angels in front of her. But they remained motionless. They could do anything with her: beat, kill, rape, and the statues would not even interfere. No otherworldly force intervened until Neil Jaudet brought the knife right to her face. He could hold this very knife over her throat, and the statues would remain motionless. But the fact that he wanted to disfigure her had an unexpected effect on them. One of the statue fell, crushing everyone who was nearby with its weight and fragments, except for the escaped Blaise. At the same time, an all-destructive fire broke out. For some reason they were afraid for her face. Trial lunge Blaise woke up with a hard feeling that something needed to be done. On the low table in front of her were scattered newspaper and magazine clippings that she had recently picked up from a junkyard. It is difficult to imagine why people spend money on glossy magazines just for the sake of barely looking through, then throw them in the trash. Are the stars really interested in the population just enough to wrap dirty garbage in their images or simply toss them into the tank along with used paper handkerchiefs and pads? It is evident that everyone who came out of the mud is valued by people no more than the mud itself. This is natural. And it doesn’t matter how much they paid as a journalist for the praises of the press to be sung. The audience cannot be fooled. Even people tired after work, looking for a distraction in tabloid gossip in the evenings, forget about them very quickly. Not to idolize anyone just for a few false lines in a magazine. It’s for the best. After all, Blaise was going to take revenge on the star. Angelo. He really was handsome. But how he became a star, Blaise remembered perfectly. Her father’s money helped a lot in this. Probably, this was the first time in all generations before, the calculating de Rozier family warmed snakes on their breasts. More precisely, even a whole nest of vipers. Blaise imagined a ball of slimy bodies wrapped around a crucifix that would crush them. She is their cross. How they became her before. She tore the cover of a glossy magazine that a passerby threw into the trash can yesterday. Angelo’s face in the centerfold evoked unpleasant feelings in her. He’s got some kind of premiere right now. Surely, today’s advertising campaign for her was paid for by her own family long ago. This is how, with a complete minus of acting talent and any capable mediocrity, they become celebrities. She hadn’t given much thought to it before. If the father wanted to help the friends of some of his colleagues with money, it was his business. But now she was disgusted. The character of the film was immoral, it seems, intended to hurt the feelings of some nations recently affected by the war. If it were not for her father’s money, then Angelo would have been in prison for a long time, even before the shooting ended. But money and connections work wonders. No international scandals hurt him. And why? Indignation arose in Blaise. After all, he undermined with his ideas not only people’s trust in cinema, but also in his entire country. Why should scoundrels go unpunished? He wanted advertising. He will get it. Advertise your self. Blaise crumpled up the cover and held it over the fire. Few people came. Angelo was displeased. The handsome face, recently secretly corrected by the best plastic surgeon, twisted with indignation. In addition, the audience did not applaud him too loudly. He even regretted standing in the heat for so long to attract attention. It wasn’t worth it. The flashy colorful posters for the film and those caused more enthusiasm than his persona. Or does he just think so? After all, this is the day of his triumph. He must have waited, when he could be on his own. His success, someone else’s death, the envy of others – it is worth rejoicing at everything. And he put on a weary smile. The plane that brought him here carried him to triumph. His bravado did not last long. Until someone handed him an autograph pad. Some girl. In any case, at first it seemed to him that it was a girl. He couldn’t tell with certainty. She was too different from all the girls whom he had glimpsed until now. In fact, it was some kind of absolutely unearthly creature, from the presence of which nearby he was immediately doused with a grave cold. – Blaze! – he didn’t even dare to say her name, but his lips folded into a sound, which, however, got stuck somewhere in his throat. From the outside it might have seemed that he looked very stupid. The ballpoint pen shook in trembling fingers. Although why was he so scared that he began to tremble? After all, there are guards and bodyguards nearby. It is enough just to give them a hint. that someone bothers him… But what can they always do against the ghost? They won’t even see her. What if only he sees her? Angelo suddenly felt remarkably lonely and isolated in this noisy crowd. Around the whole sea of his admirers, but he is alone… alone with his own demon. Heat reigned all around, but he suddenly felt so cold, as if he were right at the North Pole. It’s Blaise. Dead Blaze. Or is she not? If she is, then she has changed so much that she cannot be recognized. However, after all, he recognized her, which means that people, and representatives of the press, and operators around – everyone also sees her. They shoot on cameras, constantly click cameras, just watch and can become witnesses, spreading the rumor around the world that the heiress is alive. He was the only one who panicked in the crowd. Both pen and notebook fell out of his hands. He stood and, opening his mouth, looked at one of his supposed fans as if it were an incredible miracle. Which did not go unnoticed by others. Even before the session began, Angelo had time to notice how much the interest of the audience in him had cooled. But in the crowd they began to whisper about who that beauty who had just left. She just flickered and disappeared, along the way ruining his career. Angelo swore to himself, realizing that today it was no longer worth talking about new contracts with employers. All agents were already actively inquiring about the golden-haired girl who had disappeared somewhere. Someone sitting next to him even inadvertently mentioned that it was time to choose a new star. Much brighter and more self-confident. It was a shame not even the way it sounded, but the fact that it was said by the very people on whom getting new roles depended. Angelo suddenly felt defeated for the first time, because a ghost had come to him to steal his life. Romantic nature Luciana could not understand her father, who increasingly began to talk to her about how he would like to see her wedding. While he is still alive… But is there anything threatening his life? He is not sick of anything, he has no dangerous enemies, he is rich. And, in the end, in the yard now is not the nineteenth century, when the females had no choice but to get married. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/pages/biblio_book/?art=64576142&lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.