Page 52 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)
Arthur looms before me, a dark figure dressed like a groom on his wedding day.
His tailcoat is perfectly tailored, crafted of the finest dove-gray wool. The white silk waistcoat beneath is richly embroidered with navy and silver threads, while his fine cotton shirt is adorned with an elaborately tied white silk cravat. His trousers are fitted, made of the softest doeskin, and tucked inside a pair of black Hessian boots, much like the ones Killian wears. But it’s his lapel that tells the real story: pinned to the peak is a single ghost orchid bloom.
“Drop the blade, Natasha,” he repeats, his obsidian gaze locked onto me.
Though his voice is commanding, imbued with authority, what he fails to understand is that the days of me taking orders from Arthur Blackstone are well over.
Besides, why would I willingly surrender whatever slim advantage I currently have?
My eyes dart toward Killian, only to find that amid all the confusion, he’s somehow managed to edge just beyond my immediate reach. Yet the distance between us is minor, one I could easily bridge should I decide to complete what I started.
An option I’ve yet to rule out.
Braxton’s father struggles to stand, wanting his son to think he’s in better shape than he is. But the steady stream of blood seeping from the cravat he’s pressed to the wound tells me he’s not long for this world if he doesn’t get help.
Meanwhile, young Braxton, a frightened boy of probably no more than five, struggles to free himself from Arthur’s grasp, in a desperate bid to get to his father.
“Drop the blade,” Arthur repeats.
“Make me,” I say, with my gaze locked on his as I tighten my grip, refusing to give up or give in.
“Drop the fucking dagger, Natasha,” Arthur barks, losing his cool. “Or else…” I watch in horror as he presses the sharp edge of his blade to young Braxton’s throat. “Or else this little boy will never live long enough for you two to meet.”
“Jesus, Arthur,” Killian manages to say. “Take it easy—he’s just a kid!”
If Arthur heard him, he shows no sign of it. He’s a man on a mission, with a single, unwavering purpose.
I look to Braxton’s father, leaving it to him to decide.
When he responds to the question in my eyes with a slight nod of his head, I turn to Arthur and say, “Please. Stop. Just…stop. It’s enough already. How many lives must be forfeited for this nonsense?”
“Nonsense?” Enraged, Arthur presses the blade closer to young Braxton’s neck. “You think my life’s pursuit toward a better world for all of humanity is nonsense ? Clearly, I’ve overestimated you.”
A small trickle of blood appears on young Braxton’s neck. Whimpering, he continues his struggle against Arthur, his gaze never once leaving his dad.
Only a madman would use a child as a bargaining chip. And there’s no negotiating with someone who resides in a place so far beyond reason.
“Okay,” I say, carefully placing the dagger on the ground near my feet. “I’m doing it, I’ve done it. See? I’m unarmed. Just—leave the boy alone, please.”
“You take me for a fool?” Arthur scowls. “Kick it to where you can’t reach it.”
Without hesitation, I do as he asks.
“Now,” he commands, “kindly hand over the Star.”
“I don’t have it,” I say, but we both know it’s a lie.
Arthur practically growls. “Make no mistake,” he says, “I won’t hesitate to end this boy’s life. He means nothing to me. The instant you set foot in Gray Wolf, Braxton became irrelevant, superfluous. The only reason I kept him around was to placate you, to ease your transition and help you come to terms with what was always destined to occur.”
“Yeah, and what’s that?” I ask. “What exactly is it that’s destined to occur?” I keep my gaze leveled on him, less interested in hearing the answer than in keeping him talking for as long as possible.
Mainly because I have no way of knowing if Braxton has managed to switch out the genuine Antikythera Mechanism with the fake that I gave him. And if Arthur should make good on his threat, and kill the nine-year-old version of him, then the adult Braxton will cease to exist, and all of this will have been for nothing.
“I was always going to win this game,” Arthur says. “I thought you were clever enough to realize that. What fun I had watching you select your rewards. The pieces you chose in an effort to send me subliminal messages.” He shakes his head as though greatly amused. “That last piece, Judith Slaying Holofernes , was a particular favorite. I enjoyed a good laugh about that one after you left.”
“Glad I was able to keep you entertained,” I say, keeping a close watch on young Braxton, his father, and Killian, making sure everyone remains in place, that no one decides to make any rash moves.
“Sadly, Natasha, despite what you think, you are no Judith,” Arthur informs me. “And from what I can see, you’re all on your own, no maidservant to help you. Just a frightened little boy, a man not long for this life, and…” He spares a look at Killian. “Well, I think we all know where Killian’s loyalties lie.”
In a move I didn’t anticipate, from the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Braxton’s father suddenly rousing himself, making a desperate dash toward Arthur.