Page 33 of Terror at the Gates

“Respectfully, Mr. Zareth,” said Burke, “we would liketo confirm the blade is in hand before we depart.”

“There is nothing respectful about your request,” said Zahariev.

Silence followed his reply. The air around us grew thicker.

“What about Mr. Caddel?” asked Koval, jumping to change the subject.

“I’m afraid Mr. Caddel did not survive his night in Nineveh,” said Zahariev, turning his attention to his second. “Cassius.”

It was a command and a dismissal. Zahariev was finished entertaining the enforcers.

“Gentlemen,” said Cassius. “If you will be so kind.” He directed them to walk in front of him.

Their gazes lingered on Zahariev for a moment. I wondered what they wanted—perhaps to extract the same promise he had asked of them, though that would be both insulting and futile. Unless they gave Zahariev a reason to disclose their secrets, he wouldn’t.

Finally, they relented, and Cassius followed them out.

Once the door was closed, I turned to Zahariev. I had so many questions about so many things.

“Ephraim is dead?” I asked.

“We found him in a canal early this morning,” said Zahariev.

“Why didn’t you tell me when I asked you earlier?”

“I’m telling you now,” he said.

“What happened to him?”

“I suspect he fell,” said Zahariev. “If Abram died like you said—”

“He did,” I snapped.

There was a beat of silence, and then Zahariev continued.

“Blood was pooled in his eyes.”

I frowned, brows lowering. I didn’t understand. As far as I was aware, there were only two common denominators between Ephraim and Abram: me and the dagger. I hadn’t killed them, so there was only one possibility left, but why them?

Or rather, how had Zahariev and I survived?

“What is that knife, Zahariev?”

“Not our problem,” he said.

“Zahariev—”

I wanted to argue with him, because itfeltlike our problem.

“Not ours, Lilith,” he repeated, his tone stern.

I stared back at him, confused by my own feelings on the matter. He was right. The blade was with the enforcers now. It was theirs to deal with. I guessed what I really needed help with was the guilt. I felt responsible, at least for Abram’s death. I had brought him the knife, but that still didn’t explain what happened.

I startled when Zahariev’s fingers grazed my skin as he brushed a few strands of hair out of my face.

“Let it go,” he said. “You had a close call, but never again. Arrive with Coco. You start tomorrow.”

Zahariev

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