Lady Lazarus by Michele Lang

Author:Michele Lang [Lang, Michele]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9781429928533
Google: oVsafYQuFe4C
Amazon: B003P9XJSI
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 2010-09-30T07:00:00+00:00

The implications of Raziel’s decision haunted me all the way to Amsterdam. I had wanted our night in Paris to be a sweet farewell, a memento mori of a mortal girl to a celestial creature who belonged in Heaven. But not everything was up to me and my frantic machinations.

In any event, I hardly needed protecting on this leg of the trip. The borders between France and the Netherlands seemed porous compared to those of my native land; in Paris, before finding Capa, I had procured an official-looking forgery, a letter from the Hungarian consulate assuring the reader that my passport had been oh so innocuously lost in Paris, the follies of youth, etc., la la la. A few official-looking, sufficiently blurry stamps, and the border guards hardly gave me and my defunct, lying papers a second glance.

As for Raziel, his papers were flawless, and his gleaming, prosperous self gave me a reflected aura of respectability that helped to ease the way.

This new train trundled along the tracks from the Gare du Nord in Paris to Amsterdam Centraal, bathed in summer sunlight. But the way seemed dark to me. What battles awaited me in Amsterdam, what transgressions would I have to commit to prevail against an enemy such as the Staff? And how could I live with myself if Raziel damned himself to destruction because of me?

We pulled into Amsterdam Centraal, we alighted from the train and together we rushed through the station, the huge curved ceiling stretching like the heavens over our heads. After washing up in the ladies’ powder room at the station, I looked remarkably put together for a woman on the verge of madness.

Before leaving the station, I changed some money, then we took a taxi to Het Spui. The skinny houses congregated tightly along the narrow streets, right up to the edges of the byzantine tangle of canals, like sober burghers marching backward into time. I would have chewed off every last fingernail had I not worn my prettiest yellow gloves this morning.

The slap of rubber tires against cobblestones almost drowned out Raziel’s low murmur. “What next, Magda? Do you plan to take rooms?” Bless him. Raziel meant to protect me, not tell me what to do.

The thought of what next made my stomach churn. I took a deep breath. “No rooms, no need of them. At least not yet. We go straight to the bookseller, right now. If I fail to get the Book . . . well . . . I mustn’t fail. If I am delayed, I will look to Capa’s friend Lucretia for help.”

I wouldn’t let him interrupt the flow of my words, for if he did I would have to think about the implications of what I said. I continued, in a low, fast murmur. “Once we get the Book, we need to get out of Amsterdam as fast as we possibly can—I expect we will be pursued. With any luck, we’ll be back in Paris tomorrow morning.”

He took my hand in both of his, squeezed tightly, and said nothing.

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