Free The Music of Razors by Cameron Rogers Page A

hesitate?”
    The cat opened its great eyes. “Because such things are about choice. You must choose to fall.”
    “Then I choose to fall. Speak.”
    The cat roused itself, unfurling and rising to its feet with no wasted movement. Its lazily shifting tail did not break the circle. It did not take its eyes from the master of the circle.
    “I can offer you a new form if you desire. That is also within my portfolio. Anything in the stead of what you ask.”
    “Speak!”
    The leopard inclined its head slightly. “Three times you have chosen.” It rose up on its hind legs, filling out and widening as it did so, toes becoming fingers, mottled fur falling away…
    The changing took less than a minute. The end result was a giant twice the mass and height of a normal man, standing nude before them. It seemed to Henry to be an amalgam of every racial aspect of humanity. Blackest skin with deeply Asiatic eyes, and shoulder-length golden hair. Fingernails like long wedges of cut glass, with an eye color to match.
    “It is my portfolio to reveal the hidden,” Voso intoned. “But things remain outside even a portfolio that expansive. The one you would learn of is stricken from all records, Celestial and Earthly, by the Hand of God. It has no name, no form, no portfolio, no ritual, no place inside Creation.”
    “That,” Dorian replied through gritted teeth, “is not good enough.”
    “For harmony it must be,” the Fallen said.
    “
Answer me by the Name and in the Name of
Shaddai,
which is that of God Almighty, strong, powerful, admirable, exalted…
”
    “Dorian Athelstane, who was once Johannes Paole,” the angel said. “Do not press this.”
    “
…and by the Name of
El, Iah, Iah, Iah,
Who hath formed and created the world by the Breath of His Mouth, Who supporteth it by His Power…
”
    “Stop. Your knowledge of what you do is incomplete.”
    “…Who ruleth and governeth it by His Wisdom, and Who hath cast ye for your pride into the Land of Darkness and into…”
    “Stop.”
    “…the Shadow of Death.”
    The demon was silent. And then, with reluctance, said, “So be it.”
    Voso opened both arms, breaking the circle. Powerful hands found a throat each, pulling the two into the circle, the snap of cartilage seeming to echo forever, the shattering of bone as both heads were brought together loud enough to frighten the night birds.
    It was as sudden as it was over. They lay at the Fallen’s feet, face to bloodied face on a bed of green and flowers.
    Dorian couldn’t believe it.
    “Your circle was not perfect, magus. Your attendants were not adequately prepared.” Its clear eyes turned down to Finella’s bloodied face. “It was undone with a kiss. As these things often are.”
    Henry watched Dorian’s throat work, swallowing dry with an open mouth.
    “We will not meet again.”
    Voso was gone.
             
    Dorian orchestrated the concealment of the deaths with detached exactitude. Their robes, clothing, and jewelry were gathered together. The garments were burned, the ashes scattered. The jewelry would be thrown into the foundations of a building under construction in the town.
    They lay the bodies together as they worked. Henry tried to look anywhere but her ruined face, and failed. It was a blackened catastrophe. The face he had kissed, the head that held such high ideals, now shattered carrion.
    A hand on his shoulder. “You’re done, Henry. Go.”
    The sun was breaking through the treetops. Henry’s white robe was wet and brown down the knees and at every hem. His usual clothes were laid out beyond the clearing, near Finella’s and Dysart’s, like another body.
    His love had been killed before him. And now he would trade her dignity for one slim chance at freedom.
    He no longer knew himself.
    Jukes.
    When Finella turned up missing, Jukes would know. There would be an inquiry. Finella’s mother would come to Harvard. And Jukes would know. He would not know the details, but he would know