scanning for the two key Latin phrases “Stalker of Skins” and “Stealer of Souls,” but there seemed to be no further mention of either. She weighed her options, wondering if she should mention the phrase to Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf. As it turned out, the preceptor brought her meal that evening, so she figured she might as well go straight to the source.
She took her time working around to the subject. First she asked him politely about his day and listened to the recitation of his routine—really, who would want to attend matins six times?—as she ate her pasta in its obligatory bright green sauce. The preceptor had called the long skinny pasta “spa-giggle-tee” or some such silliness. Alexia didn’t rightly care, so long as there was pesto on top of it.
Finally, she said, “I found an interesting tidbit in your records today.”
“Oh, yes? I had heard Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf brought them to you. Which one?”
She gestured airily. “Oh, you know, one of the scrolls. It said something about a soul-stealer.”
That got a reaction. The preceptor stood so fast that he knocked over the little stool he had been sitting on.
“What did you say?”
“I believe the other term used in the document was ‘skin-stalker.’ I see you have heard of these creatures before. Perhaps you would care to tell me where?”
Clearly in shock, the preceptor spoke as though his mouth were moving while his mind still coped with the revelation. “Soul-stealers are known to us only as legendary creatures, more dangerous than you soulless. They are greatly feared by the supernatural for their ability to be both mortal and immortal at the same time. The brotherhood has been warned to watch for them, although we have not yet encountered one in our recorded history. You believe that is what your child is?”
“What would you do with one if you caught it?”
“That would depend on whether or not we could control it. They cannot be allowed to roam free, not with that kind of power.”
“What kind of power?” Alexia tried to sound innocent as she inched her free hand down the side of her small stool, preparing to grab it out from under her to use as a weapon if need be.
“I only know what is written into our Amended Rule.”
“Oh, yes?”
He began to quote, “‘Above all this, whosoever would be a brother, you and your profession and faith must deal out death in the name of holy justice against those creatures that stand against God and lead a man unto hellfire, the vampire and the werewolf. For those that walk not under the sun and those that crawl under the moon have sold their souls for the taste of blood and flesh. Moreover, let no brother relax in his holy duty of pure watchfulness and firm perseverance against those unfortunates born to sin and damnation, the devil spawn in soulless state. And finally, the brothers are hereby commanded to fraternize only with the untainted and hunt down the sickness of spirit within those that can both walk and crawl, and who ride the soul as a knight will ride his steed.’ ”
As he spoke, the preceptor backed away from Alexia and toward the prison door. She was taken by his expression, almost hypnotized by it. As had happened during the battle in the carriage, his eyes were no longer dead.
Alexia Tarabotti, Lady Maccon, had engendered many emotions in people over the years—mostly, she admitted ruefully to herself, exasperation—but never before had she been the cause of such abject revulsion. She looked down, embarrassed. Guess it is not such a good thing, infant, to be a soul-stealer. Well, never you mind. Templars don’t seem to like anyone.
As she glanced away, her eye was caught by a flash of red coming along the passageway toward her cell—low to the ground. The two young Templars seemed to have noticed whatever it was as well and were looking in fascination at the object trundling toward them.
Then she heard the ticking noise and the tinny sound of multiple tiny metal legs on stone.
“What is going on?” demanded the preceptor, turning away from Alexia.
Alexia seized the opportunity, stood up, and in one smooth movement, yanked the stool out from under herself and struck the back of the preceptor’s head with it.
There was a dreadful crunching noise and Alexia grimaced.
“I do beg your pardon,” she said perfunctorily, leaping over his fallen form. “Needs must and all that.”
The two embroidering guards leapt to their feet, but before they had a chance