Heartless: The Parasol Protectorate: Book the Fourth (45 page)
Read Heartless: The Parasol Protectorate: Book the Fourth Online
Authors: Gail Carriger
Tags: #FIC027120
My hands curled into claws and dug into his eyes. Distracted by pain, he covered them with his palms. Gaining the advantage fueled my adrenaline as I flipped him onto his back. My knees straddled his hips, and I belted him in
the nose with the base of my hand. Blood spurted from his nostrils, streaking his lips and chin.
“Bitch!” Like an animal, he sank his fangs into the fleshy part of my palm. I shrieked, backhanding him across the cheek with my uninjured hand. He growled and shoved me. I flew back several feet, landing on my ass with a thud.
Before I could catch my breath, his weight pinned me down again. Only this time, my gun stared back at me with its unblinking eye.
“How does it feel, Sabina?” His face was close to mine as he whispered. His breath stank of blood and fury. “How does it feel to be on the other end of the gun?”
“It sucks, actually.” Despite my tough talk, my heart hammered against my ribs. I glanced to the right and saw the shovel I’d used earlier lying about five feet away. “Listen—”
“Shut up.” His eyes were wild. “You know what the worst part is? I came here tonight to come clean with you. Was going to warn you about the Dominae and Clovis—”
“Warn me?”
David jammed the cold steel into my skull, tattooing me with his rage. “That’s the irony, isn’t it? Do you even know what’s at stake here?” He cocked the hammer. Obviously, the question had been rhetorical.
One second, two, ticked by before the sound of flapping wings and a loud hoot filled the clearing. David glanced away, distracted. I punched him in the throat. He fell back, gasping and sputtering. I hauled ass to the shovel.
Time slowed. Spinning, I slashed the shovel in a wide arc. A bullet ricocheted off the metal, causing a spark. David pulled himself up to shoot again, but I lunged forward,
swinging like Babe Ruth. The metal hit David’s skull with a sickening thud. He collapsed in a heap.
He wouldn’t stay down long. I grabbed the gun from his limp hand and aimed it at his chest.
I was about to pull the trigger when his eyes crept open. “Sabina.”
He lay on the ground, covered in blood and dirt. The goose egg on his forehead was already losing its mass. Knowledge of the inevitable filled his gaze. I paused, watching him.
At one time, I’d looked up to this male, counted him as a friend. And now he’d betrayed everything I held sacred by selling out to the enemy. I hated him for his treachery. I hated the Dominae for choosing me as executioner. But most of all, I hated myself for what I was about to do.
He raised a hand toward me, imploring me to listen. My insides felt coated in acid as I watched him struggle to sit up.
“Don’t trust—”
His final words were lost in the gun’s blast. David’s body exploded into flames, caused by the metaphysical friction of his soul leaving his flesh.
My whole body spasmed. The heat from the fire couldn’t stop the shaking in my limbs. Collapsing to the dirt, I wiped a quivering hand down my face.
The gun felt like a branding iron in my hand. I dropped it, but my hand still throbbed. A moment later, I changed my mind and picked it up again. Pulling out the clip, I removed one of the bullets. Holding one up for inspection, I wondered what David felt when the casing exploded and a dose of the toxic juice robbed him of his immortality.
I glanced over at the smoldering pile that was once my
friend. Had he suffered? Or did death bring instant relief from the burdens of immortality? Or had I just damned his soul to a worse fate? I shook myself. His work here was done. Mine wasn’t.
My shirt was caked with smears of soot, dirt, and drying blood—David’s blood mixed with mine. I sucked in a lungful of air, hoping to ease the tightness in my chest.
The fire had died, leaving a charred, smoking mass of ash and bone.
Great,
I thought,
now I have to dig another grave.
I used the shovel to pull myself up. A blur of white flew through the clearing. The owl called out again before flying over the trees. I stilled, wondering if I was hearing things. It called again and this time I was sure it screeched, “Sabina.”
Maybe the smoke and fatigue were playing tricks on me. Maybe it had really said my name. I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t have time to worry about that. I had a body to bury.
As I dug in, my eyes started to sting. I tried to convince myself it was merely a reaction to the smoke, but a voice in my head whispered,
“Guilt.”
With ruthless determination, I shoved my conscience down, compressing it into a tiny knot and shoving it into a dark corner of myself. Maybe later I’d pull it out and examine it. Or maybe not.
Good assassins dispose of problems without remorse. Even if the problem was a friend.
PROLOGUE: P Is for Preternatural
CHAPTER ONE: In Which Lady Alexia Maccon Waddles
CHAPTER TWO: Wherein Alexia Will Not Be Flung
CHAPTER THREE: Matters Ghostly
CHAPTER FOUR: Where Tethered Specters Meet
CHAPTER FIVE: The Lair of the Octopus
CHAPTER SIX: In Which Mrs. Tunstell Proves Useful
CHAPTER SEVEN: The Werewolves of Woolsey Castle
CHAPTER EIGHT: Death by Teapot
CHAPTER NINE: In Which the Past Complicates the Present
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Wherein Hairmuffs Become All the Rage
CHAPTER TWELVE: Formerly Beatrice Lefoux
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: The Octopus Stalks at Moonlight
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: In Which Lady Maccon Mislays Her Parasol
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Where Dirigibles Fear to Tread
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: A Clot of Vampires
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: In Which We All Learn a Little Something About Prudence
Praise for The Parasol Protectorate Series
Y
G
AIL
C
ARRIGER
The Parasol Protectorate
Soulless
Changeless
Blameless
Heartless
Timeless
“Carriger debuts brilliantly with a blend of Victorian romance, screwball comedy of manners and alternate history. . . . This intoxicatingly witty parody will appeal to a wide cross-section of romance, fantasy and steampunk fans.”
—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)
“Spectacular debut novel . . . a real page-turner.”
—
Romantic Times
“
Soulless
is a character-driven romp with great worldbuilding and delicious rapier wit that recalls Austen and P. G. Wodehouse.”
“A delightfully fun supernatural comedy of manners, with a refreshing romance thrown in—and a highly promising first novel.”
—
Locus
“
Soulless
has all the delicate charm of a Victorian parasol, and all the wicked force of a Victorian parasol secretly weighted with brass shot and expertly wielded. Ravishing.”
—Lev Grossman,
New York Times
Bestselling Author of
The Magicians
“I was enchanted from start to finish.”
“Lighthearted and fast-paced,
Soulless
will please fans of fantasy, historical fantasy and paranormal romance alike.”
—
The Miami Herald
“Carriger has created a wonderfully detailed world that is just one step to the side of our own.”
“A tapestry that is simultaneously witty, charming, exhilarating and downright fun.”
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 by Tofa Borregaard
Excerpt from
Red-Headed Stepchild
copyright © 2009 by Jaye Wells
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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First eBook Edition: July 2011
ISBN: 978-0-316-17995-9
