Torn 01 - Torn by Erica O'Rourke

Author:Erica O'Rourke [O'Rourke, Erica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Love & Romance, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Paranormal, Mysteries & Detective Stories
ISBN: 9780758273451
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2011-06-28T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

“The Vessel.” My voice echoed in the marble-tiled elevator. Even with everything I’d heard and seen, this seemed like a stretch.

“It’s an antiquated term,” Evangeline agreed. “But this prophecy—the Torrent Prophecy, as it’s known, is an ancient document, one of the earliest in our recorded history.”

“And it says Verity is a vessel?”

“Not ‘a vessel.’ The Vessel.”

“Well, that clears it all up. What is this prophecy, exactly?”

“Lucien didn’t tell you? He indicated you had formed a partnership. I assumed he had already explained. . . .” She trailed off delicately, as if she didn’t want to get him in trouble.

“He was a little fuzzy on the details.”

“Yes, he does play his cards rather close to the chest, doesn’t he?” She gave me a faintly sympathetic look, then drew a breath and began to speak in the same ponderous voice people used when reciting Psalms. “ ‘The Vessel for Three Talents must be bound to the last of the Fire-Marked House. So joined, she shall forge the lines anew at the hour the Torrent comes, else it shall sweep through the worlds and make as dust all who are unprepared.’ ”

I was still gaping, trying to make sense of it, when the elevator doors opened and she ushered me through the hall to a lushly carpeted showroom. “Quite dire, you see. Without the Vessel, there is no hope of stopping it,” she said as the man inside hurried to greet her.

They chattered in French for a few minutes, and she turned to me. “I need to examine a few pieces, but it won’t take long. Why don’t you look around for a bit? It never hurts to develop an eye for quality.”

Everything in the store looked old, and expensive. After one careful stroll around the room, I decided it would be better to sit quietly in the corner until Evangeline was done. I chose a chair that looked like it wouldn’t splinter into toothpicks, and settled in.

Evangeline circled the room, so intent I decided she’d forgotten me. The salesman, Fabian, trailed behind her, anxiously offering up nuggets of information. Evangeline would nod, never sparing him a glance. Finally they stopped. Fabian burst into rapid-fire French, clasping his hands and practically bouncing on his toes. Evangeline turned toward me.

“What do you think?” she asked, gesturing to a tall cabinet with elaborate carvings and faded flowers painted all over it.

“It’s fine, I guess.” It was rude, but musty old furniture wouldn’t help me find Verity’s killers. Still, years of training kicked in. “The flowers are pretty,” I said dutifully.

Fabian made a tastefully disapproving sound and slanted Evangeline a dubious look. He was slight and oily, with a sharp little rodent face and a greedy light in his shrewd eyes. “This is an eighteenth-century Parisian bibliothèque desk. Its provenance is exquisite.”

“Better still,” Evangeline said, “this piece hides its greatest charms.” She gently pressed one of the gilt-covered flowers along the back. With a faint click, the panels on either side of the rosette slid away, revealing two compartments, both filled with ribbon-wrapped stacks of yellowing paper.

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