The Wondrous and the Wicked (34 page)

“Has the angel gone, then?” Mama asked from her spot on the sofa. Poor Mama. Angels and demons and gargoyles, all on the same day.

Gaston crossed a meaningful glance with his human before nodding. Constantine patted Mama’s hand, while his valet and protector returned to glaring at Luc.

“I don’t know what to say, so I’ll say nothing,” Gaston murmured, and promptly left the library.

Ingrid stared at Luc and Marco in turn and thought she might scream. “Will one of you please tell us all what has happened?”

Marco’s false grin fell away. He followed Gaston out of the library without bothering to meet Ingrid’s pointed stare.

“Irindi can’t help us,” Luc finally said, his words clipped by some emotion Ingrid had trouble reading. Anger? Sadness?

There had been more to the angel’s visit. Everyone in the library knew as much.

“Won’t be attending Sunday services after this,” the husky London Alliance leader, Benjamin, said before gesturing to the woman dressed as a man. Nadia was her name, and she and Benjamin slipped off to seclude themselves near a row of encyclopedias.

Only one red-capped Roman and one Parisian member had been ordered to remain at Clos du Vie. They slowly cut their eyes away from Luc and reentered their own conversations.

Gabby and Nolan came forward. “She isn’t going to help at all?” Gabby was fuming. “What use is God if he turns his back on us?”

“He hasn’t turned his back on us,” Vander replied softly.

“Stick up for him all you like, Mr. Burke. I, however, am not convinced.” Ingrid’s sister walked away, toward the sofa where
Mama still sat. Nolan clapped Vander on the shoulder in tacit support before trailing Gabby.

A second passed before Ingrid realized she, Luc, and Vander had been left alone.

“Seer, I saved your life this morning,” Luc stated with unnecessary intensity.

“You won’t hear another thank-you from me,” Vander replied and started to follow Nolan. Luc held up his arm.

“Have you been ordained yet?”

Vander pulled back. The question seemed completely irrelevant to the situation at hand, and yet Luc looked desperate to know.

“He isn’t being ordained until …” Ingrid paused, trying to remember. It seemed like years since the afternoon they’d strolled the Champs de Mars and Vander had asked her to attend the ceremony. “Until Sunday. Isn’t that right, Vander?”

He wouldn’t want her there now.

Vander frowned, his attention still on Luc. “Today is Wednesday, Ingrid.”

“What? It is?” Ingrid shook her head. She couldn’t believe she’d lost track of the days.

“You’d just returned from the Underneath,” Vander said as Ingrid tried to calculate where she had been and how she could have forgotten. “I didn’t want to bother you about the ceremony.”

Vander had been ordained. He was officially a reverend.

Luc rubbed his cheek before scratching his fingers over his scalp. “Of course it was you.”

“You know what, Luc? I won’t pretend to care what you’re talking about.” With a short, icy nod toward Ingrid, Vander excused himself.

Until that moment, Ingrid had never felt relieved to part from his company. She watched him disappear behind Hans and Hathaway. Both men had their eyes trained on her and Luc. She knew Hathaway had voted for her death once, and there was
little question that Hans, had he been a Directorate member, would have agreed.

She turned her back on them and navigated her way toward the glass doors where Hugh Dupuis had released the corvite. The afternoon light had taken on a jaundiced tint, painting the shingled roof of Constantine’s stables a light honey. The day was winding down, and once again she had no idea where her brother was.

It had been quite a while since Ingrid had felt ordinary, without the lashes of a sparking electric whip beneath her skin. Vander’s mersian blood had rid her of that, and even now on this second day since her injection, Ingrid felt nothing. But the mersian cure couldn’t subdue the twitching of the line that had always tethered her to Grayson. Perhaps he no longer felt it, and perhaps for her, the line had grown slack. It was still there, though, and she could feel the incessant thrum of the connection, as though someone were bouncing upon it.

“Where are you?” she whispered against the cold glass. A circle of fog bloomed.

“I wish I could tell you,” Luc said as he came up behind her. He’d read her mind yet again.

She drew an infinity symbol in the circle of fog, her finger dipping and curving again and again. “I hate to think of him out there alone. What if his mersian dose has worn off?”

“He knows where Vander keeps the vials,” Luc answered. His solid reasoning was exactly what she needed. “Speaking of which, Vander should give you another dose.”

“I’m doing fine,” she insisted, though mostly she just didn’t want to have to sit with Vander and take his cure now that she’d made it clear she could give him absolutely nothing in return.

Ingrid turned to look over her shoulder at Luc. “You’re not going to tell me what happened just now with Irindi.”

“No.” The reply was quick and hoarse—and final.

She resumed gazing at the well-kept stables, the wide barn
boards meticulously trimmed and nailed, the Pegasus weathervane cast in polished copper.

“I saw her, Luc. No net is going to be able to take Axia down, especially not if she knows it’s coming.” She kept her voice hushed, not wanting to upset Gabby. Her sister had already looked panicked when Constantine and Hugh had explained the elements of a severix demon.

“Then we need to find another way.”

“We need to surprise her,” Ingrid said, remembering the sickening tremor that had gone through her when the dagger had sunk into Axia’s flesh and muscle.

“She knows we’re sitting here, waiting for Hugh’s corvite to return. She knows we have a net. She knows everything.” The flaw in their hasty plan gaped open before Ingrid. “Why should she come when she could send her demons and Dusters? We aren’t going to have a chance at her.”

Luc’s fingers closed around her elbow. “I think you’re right. We need to leave.”

Ingrid faced him, casting off his gentle grip. “Run? Where to this time, Luc? No. No, we must face her. We must … we must go to
her.
She won’t expect it.”

Luc bit back his instant retort and settled, Ingrid was sure, for something kinder. “Ingrid, none of us are strong enough to fight her. You saw what she did to Marco. The only hope we had rested with the Order.”

Ingrid recalled Axia’s laughter, the way it had ricocheted around the stone courtyard. She imagined Axia laughing now, at ease with her strength. Not nervous in the least that she might be thwarted.

The only thing Axia had appeared upset about that morning had been the question of why Ingrid had not fallen under her spell. Believing Ingrid still had angel blood in her body had whipped Axia into a bubbling rage.

Or had it been something other than anger?

Ingrid caught Luc’s arms and squeezed. “What if she was afraid?”

Ingrid left the doors and made her way to the sofa and the corvite’s birdcage. Hugh Dupuis was in conference with Rory, but his keen eyes saw Ingrid’s approach and he detached himself from the Scot.

“Miss Waverly?” Hugh greeted her with such elegance she half expected him to be holding a whiskey and a cigar.

“Mr. Dupuis,” she replied, her mind at a gallop. “I have an awful idea and I require your help.”

He slanted a brow at her as Luc caught up. “What is it?” Luc asked.

“Apparently it’s awful,” Hugh replied.

“It is,” she said. “It’s probably insane, but I think it may be our only hope.”

She was trying to keep her voice down, but curious eyes had already started to drift in their direction.

“We’re using the wrong bait,” Ingrid started to explain, her thoughts and ideas buzzing about her head like an angry swarm of bees. “Axia has no equal here. No human or gargoyle can match her. Only another angel could be a true opponent. This morning, she found me. She came
looking
for me, believing I still had some of her blood. Axia was convinced it was the reason I wasn’t falling under her sway. Even without intending to, I lured her out. I can do it again.”

Hugh’s expression lit with understanding.

“No, Ingrid,” Luc said.

Hugh held up his palm. “Wait. The idea has merit.”

“I said no.” Luc’s bark secured the attention of everyone else within the library.

“It isn’t your decision,” Ingrid said to him, firmly enough to forestall a third refusal. Luc clenched his jaw and speared her with a look of fury and defeat. He pivoted on his heel and put a few strides between them.

“What’s this about?” Nolan asked, approaching Ingrid and Hugh at the birdcage.

She kept her eyes on the Daicrypta doyen. “I go to her. I bring a vial of her blood and let her have it, and then tell her that there is more. That I want to strike a bargain.”

Hathaway pushed his way to Ingrid’s side. “That blood belongs to the Alliance now, Miss Waverly. Reneging on the agreement your sister and I made would not be wise.”

“Our agreement hinges upon your witnessing the net’s ability,” Gabby said. “You haven’t yet done so, and so the blood is not yet yours.”

Hathaway lost his careful composure “Do not split hairs with me, young woman. If you think you can play me for a fool, you will be sorely disappointed.”

“So many threats, Hathaway,” Nolan cut in, angling his body toward the representative with a clear threat of his own. “Is that all the Directorate is good for?”

“We’re giving her one vial,” Ingrid said. “I have no intention of handing over the rest. All I mean to do is distract her attention while drawing her out into the open long enough for Gabby’s net to capture her.”

Long enough for Axia to let her guard down a bit, and perhaps feel a bit greedy. Wasn’t that what they needed?

“And how do you plan to find her? By wandering through Paris alone?” This time it wasn’t Luc but Vander who’d chosen to argue.

Constantine raised his hand to interrupt. “Many of the Dusters I housed here before the Chimera attack this morning mentioned the Champs de Mars as a hotbed of demon activity. Perhaps Axia’s new hive here on earth.”

The exposition buildings surrounding the esplanade, and the commanding view from the tower would definitely give Axia a protected central headquarters of sorts.

“While that sounds like a truly delightful place to visit,”
Marco began, having returned to the library, “someone else will have to take the blood and lure her out. You, Lady Ingrid, will be staying here.”

Ingrid tightened her hands into fists. “Axia would sic her demons on anyone else. I’m the only person she will stop to listen to, especially if she still believes I have some of her blood in my veins.”

Mama pushed forward to the edge of the sofa cushion. “And what is to stop this Axia woman from harming you straight out?”

Her smoky quartz eyes watched Ingrid with uncut doubt and fear. That she’d referred to Axia as a woman only underscored how little she understood about the situation. However, she was far from fainting dead away at the idea of evil angels and bloodthirsty demons. Ingrid was surprised at how similar her mother’s fortitude was to Gabby’s. Perhaps even to her own.

“She wasn’t going to kill me this morning,” Ingrid answered, feeling more and more confident. “She was only going to draw out the angel blood she believed I had.”

Luc had been brooding behind Nolan and Gabby until then. “If the net fails or if it misses its mark, we can’t protect you. We can’t fight an angel.”

Vander took a sidelong glance at Luc. “It won’t miss its mark,” he said. “Not if I’m shooting it.”

Knowing Vander would be aiming the crossbow reassured Ingrid like nothing else could have.

Rory, who had remained silent and watchful, finally spoke. “Ye can’t approach her alone. She’d be suspicious of that.”

“I will not assign any of my men to guide you into this suicide mission,” Hans said to her. “Entering a boxed-in space such as the Champs de Mars with those buildings built up around it now would be like walking into a gladiators’ arena.”

Benjamin and Nadia ignored Hans’s declaration and made one of their own.

“We can stay out of sight but within earshot,” Nadia said, with Benjamin adding, “Should you require it.”

Ingrid nodded her gratitude while trying not to look at Luc and the muscles clenching along his jaw. His disapproval burned.

“I do not want you to do this, Ingrid,” Mama said. Soft lines fanned her eyes and lips as she frowned. “However, I trust your instinct. If you think this will work …”

Ingrid wished she could say something different to reassure her, but she didn’t like to lie. “I don’t know if it will.”

Mama absently patted her skirts and found Marco with her steady gaze. “You will keep her safe.”

Marco looked at Ingrid’s mother as if he’d never seen her before. Two vertical lines creased the skin between his brows as he frowned. “I will,” he said, and with a glance at the gargoyle at his side, added, “As will Luc.”

Mama pursed her lips, her hands stilling over her dark plum lace overlay. “Mr. Rousseau is not my daughter’s gargoyle.”

Ingrid crossed a look with Luc. His grimace was enough to pierce her. She was certain that her mother’s disdain hurt him as much as it did her.

“Let’s just say he’s self-appointed,” Marco replied.

Hathaway rested his hands on the handles of his swords, sheathed at his hips. “One vial, Miss Waverly. Hans will accompany your outing to the Champs de Mars and bear witness to the diffuser net display.”

Hans, utterly galled, speared the Directorate leader with a mutinous glare as Hathaway went on. “I don’t wish failure upon this harebrained scheme of yours. I just think it very unlikely to succeed.”

What to say to that? Hathaway was a cold man, but he was probably correct.

Hugh coughed to break the clouding tension and extended his hand to Ingrid. “Then it’s settled. Come, Miss Waverly. I believe you have some blood to collect.”

T
he blue-white-and-red-uniformed French Imperial Guard officers surrounded the Champs de Mars. As Grayson and the other Dusters approached the main exhibition halls from avenue de la Bourdonnais, the police did not open fire or attempt in any fashion to stop their small group from passing through the arched entryways that led to the enclosed esplanade. They simply backed up, staring at them while clutching their issued rifles and sabers. Grayson figured the enormous hellhounds flanking them were the primary reason for that.