Free The Forgotten Locket by Lisa Mangum
Authors: Lisa Mangum
leaped forward, reaching for Lorenzo’s throat.
Lorenzo dodged again, but not quite as fast as before. This time, Orlando caught the edge of his robe and knocked him off balance. He pulled him close enough to lock his hand around his upper arm.
“Did you ever tell me the truth? About anything?” Orlando tightened his grip until his knuckles turned white. “Or were the lies easier for you?”
Lorenzo twisted on his heel and broke free, dancing back a few steps. Anger lit a fire in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, sadly. “I told you what would happen if you crossed me. And I always keep my word. I thought you knew that about me, Orlando.”
“I keep my word too. And I swear I won’t let you hurt anyone else,” Orlando said. “Ever again.”
Lorenzo suddenly relaxed, an aura of confidence snapping into place around him. A ghost of a smile appeared, his teeth as white as the snow in his hair. He flicked a glance at me and when our eyes met, I suddenly felt cold.
“But you’re too late, Orlando,” he said. “As usual.”
Then he rushed forward, heading for me and the angel statue. I pressed myself back against the wall, my hands in front of my mouth, praying I wouldn’t scream. The man before me bore little resemblance to the man who had kissed me a moment ago. This man was fast and deadly. Eager for violence. Satisfied to inspire fear.
I didn’t want this man anywhere near me.
Orlando reached for me, but he was too far away.
Lorenzo stopped. He wasn’t coming for me after all. He grabbed the angel’s wing and pulled. The stone figure toppled off the pedestal, crashing to the floor. A wingtip snapped off with a sound like breaking bone. A crack appeared along the edge of his face, cutting across his eyes. A second crack ran along the floor, as thin as a thread, but quickly branching out into an entire network like a fractured web.
Orlando and I both looked at the broken angel in stunned surprise.
“Here now!” Father Marchello’s voice rang out from behind Orlando. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“You can’t stop me, Orlando,” Lorenzo said, his boots covered with a fine layer of white stone dust. “And what’s done is done.” He met my eyes for a brief second. He winked at me, and then, like the shadow man from my dream, he disappeared.
I gasped. Where had he gone?
The last vestiges of the dreamlike feeling that had cocooned me disappeared as suddenly. I blinked, barely able to believe what my senses said had happened. The faint music that had seemed never-ending had been cut into silence. Sparks wavered along my peripheral vision. My fingers trembled, but then so did the rest of me.
“What’s going on?” Father Marchellocontinued. “I heard shouting—” He stopped short, the words caught in his throat. “The angel. What happened to the angel statue?” His earlier kindness had vanished, and an ugly red flush began creeping up his neck.
“I . . . I’m sorry, Father,” Orlando stammered. He looked at me, his eyebrows lifted in confusion and surprise.
“You did this?” He marched forward and grabbed Orlando by the arm, pulling him out of the dark alcove and into the light of the cathedral.
Orlando didn’t resist, stumbling along behind the priest, his gaze still fixed on the spot where Lorenzo had vanished from sight.
“We grant you sanctuary, and this is how you repay us?”
I stepped through the broken fragments of the angel, careful not to disturb the dust or displace the shards of stone. I felt like crying. The angel had been so beautiful, and I had felt so safe standing in his shadow. I wanted to lift him back to his place of guardianship, but I knew I couldn’t do it alone. And even if I could, he would never be the same. There were too many cracks. Too much destruction.
“Why? Why would you do such a thing?” Father Marchellodemanded. “Have you no respect? No
Lorenzo dodged again, but not quite as fast as before. This time, Orlando caught the edge of his robe and knocked him off balance. He pulled him close enough to lock his hand around his upper arm.
“Did you ever tell me the truth? About anything?” Orlando tightened his grip until his knuckles turned white. “Or were the lies easier for you?”
Lorenzo twisted on his heel and broke free, dancing back a few steps. Anger lit a fire in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, sadly. “I told you what would happen if you crossed me. And I always keep my word. I thought you knew that about me, Orlando.”
“I keep my word too. And I swear I won’t let you hurt anyone else,” Orlando said. “Ever again.”
Lorenzo suddenly relaxed, an aura of confidence snapping into place around him. A ghost of a smile appeared, his teeth as white as the snow in his hair. He flicked a glance at me and when our eyes met, I suddenly felt cold.
“But you’re too late, Orlando,” he said. “As usual.”
Then he rushed forward, heading for me and the angel statue. I pressed myself back against the wall, my hands in front of my mouth, praying I wouldn’t scream. The man before me bore little resemblance to the man who had kissed me a moment ago. This man was fast and deadly. Eager for violence. Satisfied to inspire fear.
I didn’t want this man anywhere near me.
Orlando reached for me, but he was too far away.
Lorenzo stopped. He wasn’t coming for me after all. He grabbed the angel’s wing and pulled. The stone figure toppled off the pedestal, crashing to the floor. A wingtip snapped off with a sound like breaking bone. A crack appeared along the edge of his face, cutting across his eyes. A second crack ran along the floor, as thin as a thread, but quickly branching out into an entire network like a fractured web.
Orlando and I both looked at the broken angel in stunned surprise.
“Here now!” Father Marchello’s voice rang out from behind Orlando. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“You can’t stop me, Orlando,” Lorenzo said, his boots covered with a fine layer of white stone dust. “And what’s done is done.” He met my eyes for a brief second. He winked at me, and then, like the shadow man from my dream, he disappeared.
I gasped. Where had he gone?
The last vestiges of the dreamlike feeling that had cocooned me disappeared as suddenly. I blinked, barely able to believe what my senses said had happened. The faint music that had seemed never-ending had been cut into silence. Sparks wavered along my peripheral vision. My fingers trembled, but then so did the rest of me.
“What’s going on?” Father Marchellocontinued. “I heard shouting—” He stopped short, the words caught in his throat. “The angel. What happened to the angel statue?” His earlier kindness had vanished, and an ugly red flush began creeping up his neck.
“I . . . I’m sorry, Father,” Orlando stammered. He looked at me, his eyebrows lifted in confusion and surprise.
“You did this?” He marched forward and grabbed Orlando by the arm, pulling him out of the dark alcove and into the light of the cathedral.
Orlando didn’t resist, stumbling along behind the priest, his gaze still fixed on the spot where Lorenzo had vanished from sight.
“We grant you sanctuary, and this is how you repay us?”
I stepped through the broken fragments of the angel, careful not to disturb the dust or displace the shards of stone. I felt like crying. The angel had been so beautiful, and I had felt so safe standing in his shadow. I wanted to lift him back to his place of guardianship, but I knew I couldn’t do it alone. And even if I could, he would never be the same. There were too many cracks. Too much destruction.
“Why? Why would you do such a thing?” Father Marchellodemanded. “Have you no respect? No