C
HAPTER
13
I
watched them pull away, wishing I could go along. “Let me guess. The Quartoren would like a word.”
“Just Dominic today. The others are doing some damage control after last night. You still need to be on your guard, though.”
I figured as much. In some ways, Dominic was even more dangerous without Orla and Pascal to keep tabs on him.
We came through behind a white building, its bright-green awnings flapping cheerily in the breeze. Nearby, the Mississippi made a rushing, roiling sound, the smell of damp and mud mingling with a sweet, yeasty scent. I could see the triple spires of the cathedral across Jackson Square, but Luc headed for a tiny window counter set into the back corner of the café.
A moment later, he passed me a to-go cup and a paper bag. “Let ’em cool a bit or you’ll burn your tongue.”
I peeked inside the bag, saw a square of dough topped with a mountain of powdered sugar. “Did you and Verity do this a lot?”
“Get beignets? Fair amount, yeah. It was a nice treat if she’d had a rough day.”
I didn’t like reenacting one of their traditions. And when I took a sip of the scalding café au lait, it tasted too rich and milky for proper coffee, even with the bite of chicory underneath. “Are you thinking this will be a rough day?”
“You’ve had a string of ’em.”
Not a reassuring answer.
“I don’t know what her life was like here. I can’t picture it at all.”
“She was training, most of the time. Spells with a bunch of tutors from her Houses. Protocol with Orla. Spent time with Pascal getting a feel for how the magic worked. Evangeline schooled her in history.”
“What about after all her training? Once you two stopped the Torrent, what was she going to do?”
“With as much power as she had, I’m guessing she would have served as a mage in the Houses. Worked closer with Evangeline, since she’d have been the Heir of that House, but she could’ve helped in all of them. She had a responsibility, Mouse, but she had choices, too.”
I was careful not to ask what the future would have held for them as a couple. Some things it was better not to know. I took another sip of my café au lait and tried to envision what my own life here might be like. It was impossible. Despite its charm and its lush, overblown beauty, New Orleans didn’t fit me correctly.
Once inside Luc’s apartment, I stood on the balcony overlooking the Quarter. A light rain had started to fall, one of New Orleans’ frequent afternoon showers. Sanitation crews were sweeping up beads and broken glass, empty cups, the odd shoe, and indefinable substances I didn’t want to think about. I turned back to Luc, who held out the bag of beignets.
“Try one,” he said.
I pulled out a square of sugar-covered dough and bit in. Sweet and hot and chewy, like a refined doughnut. I closed my eyes to better savor the taste. “Okay,” I said. “You are starting to win me over.”
“Hell, Mouse. Beignets? That’s all it took?”
“No. But it helps your case.” I laughed a little, then looked down at my navy sweater, dusted with enough sugar to make me look like I’d been caught in a snowstorm. “Lovely.”
Luc fought a smile, brushed a hand along my side. Instantly, my sweater was clean again, and the air rich with the scent of burnt sugar. For a moment, everything between us felt like a reprieve, like we’d stopped battering each other with expectations.
Then his face turned grave. “They’re here.”
Moment, ruined. Leave it to Dominic.
I straightened my skirt, brushing away the last bits of powdered sugar, while Luc went for the door. Dominic stepped in, followed by Marguerite, and I relaxed a little. It couldn’t be too bad if he’d brought Marguerite. She kept him in line. Luc kissed her cheek and she squeezed his hands tightly, relief evident.
“Maura,” said Dominic. “Glad to see you looking so well.”
“Thank you.” He was after something, of course. Dominic’s kindness was a mask, as much as any I’d seen the night of Carnival.
“Let’s sit,” Marguerite said, and Luc guided her to a chair. I perched on the edge of the couch, back straight, skirt tucked under me, hands clenched into fists. With an effort, I relaxed them. Only Dominic remained standing, pacing back and forth in front of the balcony.
“I’m so sorry about last night,” Marguerite said, unexpectedly tentative. “It must have been horrifying.”
“I survived.” Barely. Luc rubbed at his throat unconsciously.
“You aren’t the only one the Seraphim are hunting. Anton is escalating his attacks,” Dominic said. “A number of mages—the scholars of our people—have been attacked. Rivened. Some of our brightest minds, and they will never fully recover. What did he want from you?”
My voice was soft, as if speaking still hurt. “He gave me the choice between letting the Darklings torture me until I told about my bond with the magic or letting him Riven me.”
Marguerite paled, hand flying to her mouth. Even Dominic looked repulsed, but all he said was, “It was an empty threat—he can’t risk killing you, and Darklings don’t have the self-control to stop at torture.”
“Still could have Rivened her,” Luc said, his voice like a dagger. “That sure as hell wasn’t an empty threat.”
Dominic gave me an apologetic shrug. “But why risk the Darklings? Once they’re on a hunt, they can’t be called off.”
“Anton did. He told them to stop and they listened.”
“Darklings don’t listen,” he said sharply. “When someone enlists a Darkling to hunt, it’s a simple command—you give them a target and a taste of magic, and off they go. It’s not a conversation.”
The fact that Dominic knew how to send Darklings after someone was not a comfort.
“Well, Anton speaks their language. Don’t you have people who can do that?”
“It’s not done,” said Marguerite. “It’s simply not done.”
Luc shook his head. “I heard him. Thought it was a fluke at first, but she’s right—he spoke, they listened. Worse, they obeyed.”
Dominic frowned. “They’re loyal to him. That settles it, then. Time for you to come home.”
I shot up, my first instinct to head for the door. No one moved to stop me, and I realized how futile it would be to run. It made me want to smash every single object in the room to bits. “This is
not
my home.”
“You’ve always planned to leave Chicago. We’re offering you a way to do that.”
“For New York,” I said. “For
college
. Not to run away from the Seraphim or join the Arcs.”
“You’re already part of our world,” he said. “You’d have entry at all four Houses—you can choose whichever one suits you. Even ours.”
I thought about the Georgian mansion that served as the Fire Arcs’ House. Living under the same roof as Dominic held zero appeal.
None
of the Houses appealed. “You think I’ll be safer living with a bunch of strangers?”
Luc leaned forward and touched my elbow. “You could stay with me.”
I whirled. “You’re joking.”
His expression darkened. “Nothin’ funny about it. Next to the Houses, this is the safest place for you to be.”
“There has to be another way.” Colin had told me to go along with Luc’s suggestions, but I doubted this was what he had in mind. Shock made me desperate. “Another option.”
Dominic studied me for a moment. “We can cloak you. Set more wards. But the only way to truly protect you is to eliminate Anton.”
“Then let’s do that,” I said. I hadn’t forgotten Niobe’s warning, that the Quartoren would lock me away in protective custody if I was in too much danger. “Let’s go after Anton.”
“That’s got dangers of its own,” Dominic said, but he seemed more pleased than worried. “I’d need to consult with the rest of the Quartoren.”
“Fine. But in the meantime, I go home.”
“You need training to prepare for the Succession,” he warned. “There are spells you’ll need to learn, even if you can’t cast them. It’d be easier to do if you’re here.”
“Nonsense,” Marguerite cut in. “Niobe can train her. She’s a familiar face, she’s at the school already, she can protect Mo if need be. Luc will work a cloaking, so the Darklings can’t find her. Combined with the wards, that should be enough to keep her safe until the Succession. And she’ll have Luc.”
She smiled at him, but he stayed silent, gaze fixed on the fireplace mantel.
“I’ll notify Niobe and the Water mages,” Dominic said eventually. “Son? A word?”
They moved to the French doors leading to the balcony, and Marguerite leaned toward me. “Thank you.”
“For what?” I said, trying to listen to the men’s conversation over the sound of the rain outside, growing increasingly heavy. The press of Marguerite’s hand on mine brought me back.
“For agreeing to help. For accepting some protection, instead of rejecting it outright. You didn’t ask for this life, and it must be so tempting to run from it. To see it all as one giant trap.”
“Not a trap, exactly. But I had a life before this one. It wasn’t great, but it was mine. And it didn’t stop when Verity died.”
That might have been the hardest realization for me to make—harder than accepting the existence of magic, or the truth about my family. It was the knowledge that Verity’s life had ended, and mine went on. I still felt guilty about it sometimes.
“And now you try to find a balance between your path and the Vessel’s.”
“You get it,” I said gratefully. “Nobody else does.”
“Luc does. He’s starting to, anyway. He’ll always be the Heir, but he’s also my son, with a life of his own. Caring for you has reminded him of that. If he manages to reconcile the two, it will be thanks to you.”
She smoothed her skirt. “We’ve imposed on you enough today, and if those two knock heads much longer, someone’ll end up with a broken skull. My men,” she sighed, with equal parts exasperation and affection.
I guided her to the balcony doors, where Luc and Dominic broke off their conversation.
“Leavin’ so soon?” Luc asked.
“I suppose we could stay for dinner, if you’d like more time with your father,” she said slyly.
“And here I am with nothing in the icebox,” he drawled, matching her tone.
“À bientôt, Maman. ”
He brushed a kiss over her cheek, and she whispered something to him in low, rapid French. His brow furrowed as she drew back.
“Mo,” she said as Dominic ushered her out. “Thank you.”
And then we were alone again.
“We should set the cloaking spell,” he said, his voice cool. “Get you home.”
“You’re mad.” I touched his shoulder, and he walked away, toward the mantel.
“Not mad. Just wish you didn’t think so little of me.”
“That’s not true.”
He scoffed. “I saw your face when I said you could stay here. Like someone had offered to set your hair on fire. I was tryin’ to keep you safe, not seduce you.”
“I know that.” I could feel my cheeks turning scarlet. His intentions had been noble, but I’d panicked anyway—which said more about me than him.
“And yet you’d rather risk Anton finding you again. Anything to keep from being alone with me.”
“I’m alone with you now.”
“And itchin’ to leave.” There was a hardness in his voice rarely directed at me. “You like me well enough. I already said I’m not going to try and sweet-talk you into my bed. And I am fairly confident you’re not going to be makin’ any attempts of that nature. Which means something else has set you to running.”
“You’re insufferable,” I snapped.
“And you still don’t trust me.”
I bit my lip. “It hasn’t exactly been our strong suit in the past.”
“I’m not interested in our past, Mouse. I’m interested in our future. Which is going to get grim pretty damn quick if we don’t start trusting each other.”
“You first,” I said. He was right, but old habits died hard. “What did your mom say earlier?”
He ran a fingertip idly along the mantel. I expected him to hedge, but instead he replied, “Told me the destination was fixed, not the path. Said it wasn’t just yours, but mine.”
I forced myself not to bolt. He’d trusted me with the truth. The least I could do was not run from it. “Prophecy, or motherly advice?”
“Hard to tell. Advice, more’n likely. She’s never been shy with her opinions.”
“It upset you,” I said. I’d seen the look on his face—confusion, then frustration, bitten back so as not to hurt Marguerite’s feelings.
“Strange thing to say, that’s all.” He touched the small painting. “She’s a seer. She knows the power of a prophecy. She understands fate better than anyone.” He sounded almost resentful. Sullen. I’d never heard him speak about Marguerite like that before.
“What do you think she meant by it?”