was still evident: Darius son of Marklon.
Phury leaned down, astounded. It was D's book… probably a diary.
He opened the case, then frowned at the smell inside. Gunpowder?
He looked at the assembled objects. In the far corner there was an old handgun, and he
recognized the make and model from the firearms textbook he'd been teaching the trainees from.
It was a 1890 Colt Navy .36-caliber, six-cylinder revolver. That had recently been used.
He took the thing out, cocked the chamber open, and palmed one of the bullets. They were
spherical… and uneven, as if they were handmade.
He'd seen the shape before. When he'd been erasing V's medical results from the computer at St.
Francis, he'd looked at a chest X-ray that had been taken… and seen a spherical, slightly
irregular hunk of lead in his brother's lung.
«Were you here to see me?»
Phury looked over his shoulder at the Directrix. The female was standing in the double doors,
dressed in that white robe they all wore. Around her neck, on a chain, was a medallion like his.
«Nice collection of artifacts you have here,» he drawled, turning around.
The female's eyes narrowed. «I would think the gems would interest you more.»
«Not really.» He watched her carefully as he lifted the book in his hand. «This looks like my
brother's diary.»
As her shoulders eased up ever so slightly, he wanted to kill her. «Yes, that is Darius's diary.»
Phury tapped the cover of the book, then waved his hand around at all the gems. «Tell me
something-is this place kept locked all the time?»
«Yes. Ever since the attack.»
«You and I are the only ones with keys, right? I'd hate to have anything happen to what's in
here.»
«Yes. Only the two of us. No one may gain entry herein without my knowledge or presence.»
«No one.»
Her eyes flashed with annoyance. «Order is to be maintained. I have spent years training the
Chosen unto their proper ministrations.»
«Yeah… so a Primale showing up must be a real buzz kill for you. Because I'm in charge now,
aren't I?»
Her voice dropped low. «It is right and proper for you to rule herein.»
«I'm sorry, could you say that again? I didn't quite hear you.»
Her eyes seethed with venom for a split second-which confirmed to him her actions and her
motive: The Directrix had shot Vishous. With the gun from the case. She wanted to continue to
be in charge, and knew damn well that if a Primale came in at best she would be second in
command under a male. At worst she could lose all her power just because the male didn't like
the color of her eyes.
When she'd failed to kill V, she backed off… until she could try again. No doubt she was smart
enough and nasty enough to defend her territory until either the Brothers ran out or the Primale
role started to look cursed.
«You were about to say something, weren't you?» he prompted.
The Directrix smoothed the medallion hanging from her throat. «You are the Primale. You are
the ruler herein.»
«Good. Glad we're both straight on that.» He tapped Darius's diary again. «I'm taking this back
with me.»
«Are we not meeting?»
He walked over to her, thinking that if she had been male he would have snapped her neck.
«Not right now, no. I have something I have to take care of with the Scribe Virgin.» He leaned
down, putting his mouth next to her ear. «But I'll be back for you.»
Chapter Fifty-two
Vishous had never cried before. Throughout all his life he had never, ever cried. After all this
shit he'd been through, it had gotten to the point that he'd decided he'd been born without tear
ducts.
The events leading up to now hadn't changed that. When Jane had lain dead in his arms he hadn't
wept. When he'd attempted to cut off his hand in the Tomb as a sacrifice and the pain had been
astonishing, there had been no tears. When his hated mother had cast him back from the deed
he'd been about to do, his cheeks had been dry.
Even when the Scribe Virgin had put her hand upon Jane's body and he'd watched in a daze as
his beloved had been reduced to ash, he had not wept.
He did now.
For the first time since his birth, tears rolled down his face and soaked his pillow.
They had started when a vision of Butch and Marissa on the couch in the Pit's living room had
come to him. Vivid… so vivid. V could not only hear their thoughts in his head, but he knew that
Butch was picturing Marissa on their bed in a black bra and blue jeans. And Marissa was
imagining him taking off her
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