Page 30 of A Breath of Life
Again, I worked on opening my eyes, but only partly succeeded. The sting of bright lights made me squint, and it worsened my headache. The effort to lift my head failed until a gentle hand under my chin aided me. Before I could focus on the owner of those careful fingers, a cool, damp cloth swiped a path over my swollen cheekbones. I sucked in a breath at the sting and squeezed my eyes shut as I tried and failed to move away.
The person’s grip on my chin tightened. “Hold still,” another voice commanded, this one deeper than the previous, wearing less authority and more concern.
I tested my restraints, but the ties around my wrists were too secure for my severely compromised strength. Instead, I worked on clearing my vision to see where I was and who these people were.
Another dab of the cloth pulled a growl from my chest. The wielder apologized but didn’t stop the assault.
Hazy angles and shadows danced in a kaleidoscope of light. Shattered images formed an abstract picture of a room. The more I blinked, the clearer it became. Burgundy and wood-paneled walls. Gaudy gold trim. Heavy tapestries. Vintage furniture that seemed to date back a century or more.
A man stood by the doorway, dressed in an elegant pinstriped suit, mahogany hair coiffed, features flat and unreadable. His unwavering attention told me nothing. He wasn’t familiar, and my confusion deepened.
Poised with his hands behind his back, the man possessed a casual, relaxed air as he observed the second man, the one with the abusive washcloth, who insisted on cleaning my face.
I assumed, based on the tangy metallic taste inside my mouth, that I was covered in blood.
Shifting my gaze, I focused on the second person. A Black man, sharply dressed in black from head to toe and with a white collar that reflected his faith. Was I in a church? Had these dutifully religious men of faith pulled me off the street after finding me beaten?
No. Wait. I was bound to a chair. It made no sense.
Eyeing the second man warily, I tried to form words, to ask what the fuck was going on, but my throat was too dry, and all I managed was a hoarse grunt.
“Get him water,” the clergyman said.
“When you’re finished, you can get it yourself,” said the elegant man by the doorway. His tone carried a flavor of aristocracy. Its warm edge contradicted its sharp bite and told me he was in charge.
To me, the clergyman said, “Stay still, lad. I’m cleaning the worst of the blood. Ace gets queasy otherwise, and he might want to see you.”
Lad?The man couldn’t have been more than six or seven years older than me.
“Who’s Ace?” I rasped, the words scratchy and indistinct.
The man eyed me once, pityingly, but continued to move the cloth over and around my nose without responding. I growled and attempted to pull away as pain lanced through my face and behind my eyes. The abrupt movement radiated lightning across the back of my neck and down my spine.
I cried out.
The clergyman’s gaze darkened as he roughly adjusted his hold on my chin. “I told you not to move. Your nose is broken, and you took a solid hit to the head. I do apologize for the whopper of a headache you must have as a result. Subduing you was no easy task. However, in all fairness, the broken nose was an accident. You weigh a lot more than me, so I couldn’t exactly catch you when you fell. You landed on your face.”
What the fuck was happening?
I worked at clearing my throat so I could voice those thoughts, but the clergyman went on.
“I’m known as the Bishop. The healer, the fixer… and the messer-upper.” He grinned devilishly as he wet the cloth somewhere out of sight and reapplied it to my face, gently patting my chin. He shifted my head ever so slightly as he worked, his amber eyes glinting with humor. “I’m whatever Ace needs. I was sent here to do God’s work, which includes punishing sinners or mending those unfortunate enough to wind up in a place they don’t belong.” He seemed to be suggesting I fit in the latter category, but I had no fucking idea what he was talking about.
Finished scrubbing, the man sat back and examined his work, tilting my face from side to side, making me grit my teeth. “You aren’t a sinner, are you, Diem?”
“How do you know my name?” I rasped.
“I know a whole lot about you. More than you think.”
I was about to tell him to fuck off when I registered barking again. My hackles rose, and I jerked my attention to the man at the door. “That’s my dog. What the fuck did you do with my dog? Echo. Echo!” I shouted.
She barked rapidly, but wherever she was, it was far away.
I tugged at my restraints and threw my body forward, trying to dislodge from the chair. “Untie me, asshole. Let me go.”
“Calm him down,” the man at the door said.
The Bishop—or whoever the fuck he was—pressed a palm to my chest and shoved me so I sat fully upright on the chair. A jolt of pain made me suck in a breath.
