The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [185]
The train gets louder in the distance. There’s a whisper over my shoulder. I turn back to follow the sound, but the only thing there is my own reflection in the red and blue stained-glass doors of the crypt. Inside, behind the glass, I swear something moves.
“You’re hearing ghosts now?” The Roman teases.
As the whispers get louder, I continue toward him on the path. I’ve got barely twenty feet to go. The rain lightens overhead as I reach the cover of the tree. Its tendrils dangle from above like a puppeteer’s fingers. I’m so close, I can see Lisbeth’s body shaking . . . and the First Lady’s pinkie flicking her umbrella strap . . . and the hammer on The Roman’s gun as he cocks it back with his thumb.
“Perfect,” he says with a wry grin. Before I can even react, he turns to the side and raises his gun. Directly at Lisbeth’s heart.
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No—don’t!” I shout, already running.
There’s a high-pitched hiss. But not from his gun. From behind me.
Before I even realize what’s happening, a burst of blood spurts from The Roman’s right hand, through the back of his palm, just below his knuckles. He’s been shot. At the impact, The Roman’s own gun goes off.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lisbeth slapping her shoulder like she’s swatting a mosquito. I can make out something dark—blood—leaking out between her fingers, like water seeping from a cracked well. She pulls her hand away from her shoulder and holds it up in front of her face. When she sees the blood, her face goes white, and her eyes roll back in her head. She’s already unconscious.
“Shit, shit, shit!” The Roman yells, bent over, jerking wildly and holding his shattered right hand to his chest. On his right, the First Lady takes off, running back toward the main entrance and disappearing into the darkness. The Roman’s in too much pain to stop her. On the back of his hand, the hole’s no bigger than a penny. But the signature with the stigmata is unmistakable.
“You lied to me! He’s an angel!” Nico howls from the back of the graveyard, up by the shrubs. He plows toward us through the darkness, his gun straight out, ready for the kill shot. He’s in silhouette. I can’t see his face. But his arm is steady as ever.
“Y-You’re going to Hell,” The Roman whispers as he anxiously throws his own personal Hail Mary. “Like Judas, Nico. You’re Judas now.”
The way Nico flinches, it’s clear he hears it. It still doesn’t slow him down. “God’s laws last longer than those who break them!” he insists as he gathers his strength. “Your fate is rewritten!” Up the path, he grips his rosary with one hand and aims the gun with the other.
“Nico, think of your mother!” The Roman begs.
Nico nods as the tears again stream down his face. “I am,” he growls, but as he takes aim, there’s a loud whoosh from behind the back fence of the cemetery. Up on the train tracks, a silver passenger train bursts into view, moving so fast it almost appears from nowhere. The clanking is deafening. My ears pop from the sudden vacuum in the air. For Nico, it’s fifty times worse.
He still fights it, gritting his teeth as he squeezes the trigger. But the noise is already too much. His arm jerks for half a second, the shot hisses from his gun, and as the bullet zings past The Roman’s shoulder and shatters a hunk of bark from the nearby tree, Nico Hadrian actually misses.
A dark grin returns to The Roman’s face as the train continues to whip by. Barely able to hold his gun with his right hand, he tosses aside the umbrella and switches the gun to his bandaged left. The way his right fist is shaking, he’s clearly in pain. He doesn’t care. His shoulders straighten. His knees steady. As he raises his gun and takes aim, I’m already running at him. So is Nico, who’s at least thirty feet behind me.
The Roman has time for just one shot. There’s no question who’s more dangerous.
Bam!
As the shot explodes from The Roman’s gun, it’s drowned out by the still-passing train. Behind me, just over my right shoulder, there’s a deep guttural grunt as Nico