Crown of Whispers

by Isabella August

  Dorian hesitated. Just the word—changeling—sent a shudder through his body. Beatrice felt a pang of sympathy.

  “You would need to use some of my debt to you in return for that answer,” Dorian told her quietly.

  Beatrice nodded. “I want to know,” she said. “Alors vas-y; use some of my debt.”

  Dorian closed his eyes. Whispers murmured around him. “Changelings are… an obscure subject,” he murmured. “Like fetches, they are made to copy someone else—normally, they are switched with a newborn child, left behind in its place. Fetches are temporary constructs; they take few commands, and fall apart quickly. Changelings are meant to endure—to act convincingly human. Only a truly powerful faerie can create one.”

  Beatrice pressed her lips together. The look on Dorian’s face was openly miserable. That faerie creature had wiped away any memory he might have had of his own origins… and now, Beatrice had brought the truth rushing back to him, all at once.

  How awful must that be? she wondered. To live your life truly believing that you’re someone else? That you’re even human at all?

  “Changelings aren’t supposed to act on their own, I take it?” Beatrice asked him softly.

  Dorian reached up to run his hands back through his hair. There was a hint of frustration in him now. “No,” he said. “Never. It shouldn’t be possible.”

  “But you did,” Beatrice said. “She built rules into you. But you… you bent them. You hid my secret somewhere else, so she couldn’t find it.” She paused, and then winced. “You hid a lot of secrets. Not just mine. All of them, she said.”

  Dorian was silent for a long moment. Finally, he said: “If the idea of revealing just one person’s secret were painful to me, why shouldn’t I hide them all? There are holes in my memory—so I am guessing. But your secret… it undid you, Trix. It still haunts you. How could I give away anyone else’s secrets, having seen that up close?”

  More than anything else so far, this was the thing that made Beatrice’s heart sink in her chest.

  “You were trying to do the right thing,” she whispered. “You expected that faerie lord to kill you, too—didn’t you?”

  Dorian kept his head back against the couch. “It doesn’t matter what I expected,” he said hollowly. “I forgot everything. And then… I collected secrets all over again. Dangerous secrets. Painful secrets. I was driven to do it, as I always have been. I was so convinced that my mind was inviolate. It never occurred to me that there was a reason for all of this.”

  Beatrice leaned forward to grab his hand. Dorian lowered his head to glance at her. There was such a weary emptiness in his gray eyes.

  I’ve been blaming him for years, she thought. It was easy to do. And maybe it made sense before… but I can’t pretend that none of this is my fault, now.

  “You’re the only Dorian Moreau I’ve ever known,” Beatrice told him quietly. “And you’re definitely the only one I’ve ever loved.” She hardened her jaw. “I don’t care about the rest. I got you into this mess. I’m going to help you find a way out of it, too.”

  Chapter 10

  It took only a short phone call and about half an hour before someone knocked at Dorian’s door. Zoe stood on the other side, looking about as tired as Beatrice felt.

  “Hey,” Zoe yawned. “Sorry—late night.” She blinked slowly and rubbed at her face. “You made it sound like there was something big going on. I guess it’s tied to what we were looking into last night?”

  Beatrice let out a long breath. “Come on inside,” she advised. “This is gonna get rough.” She paused. “We’ve got coffee, if you need some.”

  Zoe dragged herself inside. “Coffee,” she muttered. “Yeah, that’s a good call. I have a feeling I am definitely not caffeinated enough for this.”

  Dorian had settled himself at the kitchen table with an unusually bleak expression on his face. Zoe caught the mood as Beatrice handed her a coffee; the secretary frowned. “I get why Trix is in bad shape,” she said. “But why are you looking like ten miles of bad road?”

  Beatrice knitted her brow. “Trix?” she repeated warily.

  “Uh,” Zoe said sheepishly. “He calls you that. I figured it was okay.”

  Beatrice shrugged and settled into the table next to Dorian. “I guess you’ve got the right,” she admitted. “You spent all of last night digging into my problems.”

  Zoe beamed unexpectedly at that. She took a long swallow of her coffee and sat down in the chair on Dorian’s other side. “Well… on that note,” Zoe said, “before I forget—I did find something worthwhile at your hotel room. I managed to pick up a hint of a disturbance in your wards. Someone definitely bypassed them.”

  Beatrice raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t see any disturbances in my wards,” she said slowly. “And I definitely checked them carefully.”

  Zoe nodded grimly. “My Witchsight is a lot stronger than most,” she said. “I doubt I would have seen it otherwise. Whoever this is, they’re incredibly good. Basically… I think they just masked their presence so well that they didn’t even register to your wards.”

  “That does not surprise me,” Dorian murmured darkly.

  Zoe shot him another curious look. “Okay,” she said. “I am clearly out of the loop. Why don’t I stop talking and start drinking coffee while you catch me up?”

  Beatrice licked her lips. “Dorian can’t catch you up,” she said. “He… can’t talk about any of this. It will have to be me. But before I do, I have to ask… just how fond of Dorian is your Lady?”

  Zoe leaned back into her chair with a wary expression. “The Lady is… reasonably fond of Dorian,” she said carefully. “I don’t know if she considers him a friend, exactly, but he did help her sort out her daughter’s murder.”

  Beatrice let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know if that’s going to be enough,” she said. “Let’s just say… Dorian has a big faerie lord-sized problem. And, well. Technically, so do I.”

  Zoe glanced toward Dorian, who remained carefully silent. “Which faerie lord are we talking about?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Beatrice said bluntly. “Dorian can’t say her name—he can’t even talk about her directly. But I guess for now, we can call her the Lady of Secrets.”

  Zoe took a deep breath at that. She glanced again toward Dorian, who did not meet her eyes. “You are a warlock, then,” Zoe said quietly. “I always thought so. So… what is it we’re doing here? Do you need out of your contract?”

  Beatrice winced. “It’s a little more complicated than that,” she said. “I don’t think there’s a contract involved—she might just own him outright. But it’s not the worst approximation, I guess. Dorian hasn’t been perfectly obedient. If we don’t find him a way out of this faerie’s power, then at minimum, I think she might… erase him.”

  Beatrice didn’t speak aloud the bigger part of her worries.

  Dorian’s let slip a bunch of very important secrets, she thought. This whole situation is a ticking time bomb. As soon as someone finds out how much access this faerie lord has to Dorian’s head, his own clients might decide to kill him.

  “Erase him?” Zoe jerked back at that, confused. “You mean, like… wipe out his memories?”

  “His memories,” Beatrice said. “Maybe his personality. I don’t know how much power she has over him or how far she’s willing to go. But I don’t particularly want to find out.” She gave Dorian one last, worried glance, and took a deep breath. “Let me give you the whole story.”

  Beatrice didn’t skimp on details as she described the situation. Dorian probably would have preferred if she had, but Beatrice had nearly zero experience with faeries, and Zoe was the closest thing to a halfway-trustworthy expert she was likely to find. Zoe’s eyes slowly widened as Beatrice went on—the secretary shot a few worried glances toward Dorian, who refused to meet her eyes.

  “…I’m incredibly behind the curve on faeries, Zoe,” Beatrice said finally, as she wrapped up the summation. “I d
on’t have the expertise for this. I’m hoping it’s not quite as bad as it sounds.”

  Zoe groaned. “No,” she mumbled. “It’s exactly as bad as it sounds. Faerie lords are like little gods in their own domain—and they’re barely any less scary when they go wandering the Lower World. You’ve met the Lady of Briars. She could squish any one of us with a thought. And she’s… relatively nice.”

  Beatrice pulled her silver coin from her pocket, worrying it over her fingers. “Well, I need to find a way to deal with one anyway,” she said. “I assume you’re on the same page with me here?”

  Zoe rubbed at her forehead. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “Yeah, I’m not letting some asshole faerie take Dorian.”

  “I would rather if you both stayed out of this,” Dorian observed finally. There was a look of resignation on his features. “I do not foresee this ending well.”

  Zoe rolled her eyes. “That better be the last time I hear any protesting from you,” she said. “We’re family, Dorian. If you expect me to throw up my hands and walk away, ça va arriver un chose dans ton visage.”

  Beatrice blinked at Zoe. Dorian somehow managed to keep his face carefully blank, but Zoe was familiar enough with his mannerisms that she caught the moment. The secretary turned pink. “Is that, uh… is that not how you say it?” she asked sheepishly.

  “That is not how you say it,” Dorian agreed mildly. A tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  Beatrice hid her own smile at that. She could tell that Dorian was still reeling from the realization that he wasn’t who he’d thought he was. But in some respects, at least, his past didn’t matter—he still had at least one person willing to stick by him. Two, Beatrice realized. There’s me. I’m not going anywhere either.

  It was a strange thought, given how grimly determined she’d been to get away from him for the last few days. But that determination was still there, she found—it had simply shifted its focus.

  One way or another, Beatrice thought, we’re going to resolve this.

  Zoe cleared her throat, embarrassed. “Anyway,” she continued loudly, “stealing someone off a faerie lord is not without precedent—at least, not anymore.” She raised an eyebrow at Dorian. “In case you forgot, we helped get one warlock off the hook already, and we tricked a faerie lord into screwing themselves over. This might be scary—but it’s doable.” She narrowed her eyes. “And we might have a lot more backup than before.”

  Beatrice knitted her brow. “What backup?” she asked.

  Zoe shook her head. “I’m not making any promises yet,” she said. “I’ve got to get a message out. I’ll let you know if it goes well.”

  Beatrice pressed her lips together. She didn’t like being kept in the dark—but it was clear that Zoe was uncertain about the relationship she was about to call upon, so she didn’t press the matter. “I need to cut ties with Monsieur Belmont today, as well,” Beatrice said. “I’m done with my report anyway. The last thing I need is to have the seigneur of Montreal nosing around while we solve this.”

  Zoe hesitated at that. “You should be careful with Jean,” she said. “He’s been acting… weird. At first, I thought it was the bargain about Jaz, but… I think he’s really starting to go off the rails. I’ve been trying to get him to tell me what’s going on, but he’s actively avoiding me.”

  Dorian pushed to his feet. “If you are meeting with monseigneur,” he told Beatrice, “then I will be going with you.”

  Beatrice shot him a wary look. “Maybe you should go with Zoe—” she started.

  “It would be the height of hypocrisy for you to decline my help at this point, Trix,” Dorian informed her dryly. “Monseigneur is at a certain disadvantage against me. If he is even more unstable than usual, I would prefer to be present.”

  Beatrice sighed. “C'est pas faux,” she muttered. She’d managed to forget, for the space of perhaps half an hour, just how stubborn Dorian Moreau could be. “All right. Let’s get this over with.” She got to her feet, running her fingers back through her hair. “Call me when you have more answers, Zoe.”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” Zoe replied grimly.

  Beatrice did not particularly want to give her last report to Jean Belmont.

  She was sure he wasn’t going to like her conclusions. Frankly, she didn’t like her own conclusions. Under normal circumstances, Beatrice might have searched for another few days before she turned in her results, just in case—but these were far from normal circumstances.

  I need to focus on Dorian, Beatrice thought grimly, as she and Dorian buzzed their way into the lobby of a slick downtown condo building. And—for that matter—I need to focus on me. According to that faerie lord, Dorian is disobedient, and I’m apparently a problem. That doesn’t end well for either of us.

  Jean Belmont was probably not best-pleased at being asked to meet in the middle of the day. But he’d reluctantly invited Beatrice to meet him in his own home, all the same—probably because he’d been informed of the previous evening’s events.

  The elevator opened onto a top-floor penthouse. Jean had been informed of their arrival; the door was already open. He stood just inside, leaning against the doorframe. His hair was mussed in a less professional way today, and his silver eyes were narrowed with just a hint of unprofessional grumpiness.

  So vampires do get sleep-deprived, Beatrice noted wryly.

  “Come inside,” Jean said to Beatrice. His eyes flickered toward Dorian, and he frowned.

  “I was invited last evening,” Dorian said dryly. “I have no reason to believe I should be excluded now, monseigneur.”

  Jean turned sharply from the doorway and headed inside without further comment.

  Zoe was right, Beatrice noted, as they followed him inside the penthouse. Jean is keyed-up. He has been all along… it’s just getting more visible now.

  The penthouse was somewhat simpler than Beatrice had been expecting—it was obviously pre-furnished, and while the furniture was tasteful, it didn’t look well-used. The broad windows were carefully shuttered against the daylight, so that not even a single ray of sunshine broke in around the edges. Soft, ambient lighting covered the inside instead.

  Jean pulled a chair at the edge of a tall table near the kitchen area. Beatrice knew then that he didn’t intend for this meeting to go long. Suits me fine, she thought, as she took the proffered seat. Dorian stood nearby, with his hand on the back of her chair.

  “I have my final report,” Beatrice said finally. She pulled out a file folder and slid it across the table. “I’ll be following up with a copy by email as soon as I leave.”

  “And what were your conclusions, Madame Martel?” Jean asked coolly.

  Beatrice drew in a breath. “I’ve found no evidence whatsoever that any of the people in possession of your secret leaked it at any point,” she said. “There’s zero trace of it on any technology, and my magic leads me to believe that Monsieur Moreau has not accessed the secret at all, except as mentioned in the report.”

  Jean slammed his palm down onto the table. Beatrice had been expecting an adverse reaction, but the vehemence of it startled her all the same. “C'est impossible,” the vampire hissed. “I am not imagining things. Someone has taken an interest in Detective Basak.”

  Beatrice clenched her jaw against a surge of instinctive fear. Jean’s predatory aura had spiked. For just a second, Beatrice thought she saw a strange violet tinge to his eyes—but after a moment, it faded, and he recomposed himself with effort.

  “You are probably not imagining things,” Beatrice said slowly. “But I did not say that there was no leak, Monsieur Belmont. What I said was that the leak was not on this end.” She took a deep breath. “In the absence of any further information, I can only conclude that you have somehow leaked the information yourself.”

  The vampire froze at that, and Beatrice’s heartbeat quickened. It’s my job to tell the truth, she thought. That doesn’t change just because the truth sucks.

  “You c
annot possibly be implying that I have given away my most dangerous secret, madame,” Jean said slowly. There was a dark edge to his voice now; the words dug beneath Beatrice’s skin with a strange, heady buzz. “Vous faites erreur. You have missed something.”

  Beatrice blinked dizzily, and swayed in her seat. For some reason, it was suddenly hard to breathe—and harder still to focus. “I… I’m very confident… in my findings…”

  A soft, sinister veil of whispers rose around them. Dorian’s empty aura surged. The pressure eased, and Beatrice sucked in a much easier breath.

  “Zoe was correct,” Dorian told Jean grimly. “You are beyond yourself, monseigneur. I never imagined I would see the day that you forgot yourself and fed upon an employee.”

  Jean jerked back abruptly. That violet tinge in his eyes flickered and wavered, and he knitted his brow. “I…” He reached up to press his fingers to his forehead. “I apologize,” he said stiltedly. “Most deeply.”

  Beatrice stumbled to her feet. Dorian pressed his hand to her lower back, reassuring. “You can’t have fed on me,” she told Jean thickly. “My blood is right where it’s supposed to be—”

  “House Belmont can feed upon emotions as well as blood,” Jean said in a frigid tone. “I am normally more composed than to do so unintentionally.” He clenched his fingers on the edge of the table, and his knuckles turned white. “My comment stands. You have missed something. You will go back and continue to investigate—”

  “I will not,” Beatrice said coldly. “I am a contract employee, monsieur, and not a slave. You hired me for my expert opinion, and I have given it. If you disagree with my findings, you are free to hire someone else for a second opinion.”

  Jean’s knuckles whitened further, at that. The table bent beneath his fingers ever-so-slightly.

  I’m the best there is, Beatrice thought. He already knows that.

  “I doubt that you meant to give away your secret,” Beatrice told him. “And perhaps you haven’t given it away entirely. But it would be difficult for you to fully hide your sudden, overwhelming interest in Detective Basak. My guess is that someone has built a supposition based upon circumstantial evidence—your nearness to her, any checking up you have done on her, that sort of thing. If someone has taken an interest in Jasmine Basak, then perhaps they are still attempting to confirm their suspicions. If that is the case, then you should be very careful what you inadvertently give away in the near future.”