by Arden, Alys
“See,” Callis said, standing up. “You need to stop underestimating your power, or you’re never going to get your mark, and then you risk losing it all.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
He offered me his hand and pulled me to my feet. “I’m just saying . . . you’re stronger than you think.”
“Thanks.” And this time I meant it.
He picked up a shovel, and I wondered why it had taken me so long to warm up to him. Without thinking, curiosity poured out of my mouth: “Why did they hurt you?”
He pressed his foot onto the shovel, breaking up the next root. He didn’t say anything, but his jaw tightened, and I could tell he was remembering it.
I don’t know why; I just suddenly needed to know. I needed to know why Nicco would do something so heinous. He dug into the dirt more, and I dug into him. “You never told me, but captivity? Torture? It doesn’t seem like a random act of violence.”
He slammed the shovel back into the root.
“You’re right, Adele. There was nothing random about their violence. They did it because I’m a witch.”
“Why would that matter?”
“Because they’re witch killers.”
A laugh slipped from my mouth before I caught my tongue. “No, they’re not.”
He looked at me sharply. My response had far too much authority. Too much familiarity. “I mean, I’ve never heard of that before. Vampires hunting witches?”
This time when he slammed the shovel into the ground, he left it standing and turned to me.
Shit.
“And what exactly do you know about vampires, Adele?” His arms crossed and he stepped closer.
“Nothing.” My heart pounded against my chest. “Nothing.”
“Do you want to know how I know they’re witch killers?” He slowly circled, vulture-like.
My head bobbed.
“I know this because Niccolò and Emilio Medici didn’t just capture and torture me and drain my magic and life. They captured my coven.”
“What?”
“They captured, tortured, and drained my entire coven. And I can assure you, there were others not as lucky as me and Celestina.”
“Celestina?” I gasped. “She’s just a little girl.”
“A little girl who will have eternal nightmares, thanks to the Medici.”
“But why would they—?”
“Don’t seek logic or reasoning with monsters, Adele! If you think for one second they aren’t trying to eradicate your coven, you are gravely mistaken.” He grabbed my arm. “Niccolò and Emilio are manipulative, conniving predators without a shred of humanity left. Do not be a fool.”
“Hey,” Isaac interrupted. He was standing next to us with Celestina, both of them holding up cans of water for us. “Everything okay here?” His eyes dropped to Callis’s hand on my arm, which he immediately released.
“All good,” Callis said, but his tone implied things were far from good. “Just discussing Adele’s proclivity for the dead.”
I turned to Isaac. “I don’t have a pro—”
“Like this beast.” Callis reached down for the root. “She helped me uncover it.”
Isaac handed me the can of water with one eyebrow raised, as if he thought Callis was nuts.
Callis leaned casually on the shovel handle. “And I have a feeling she’s going to be the key to uncovering more of the dead. Oh, wait, that’s you with the dead. I guess with her I should say undead?”
Isaac crossed his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you don’t have to stand with your fellow witches, but don’t try to stand in front of us, or we will take you down too.”
“We?”
Callis turned back to me. “The rest of my coven will be here by tomorrow night, and we will sniff out Niccolò and Emilio, with or without your help.” He took a deep inhale. “This city, it’s so perfect for our kind. So much strength around every corner.” He stepped closer to Isaac. “You surprise me, though. I really thought we’d be on the same page about this little situation.”
Isaac’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything.
Callis looked to me. “Despite not being magical, one of them certainly seems to have a spell on you. I hope you’re strong enough to break it before your coven ends up in their trap.”
“Hmph.” Isaac smiled curtly. “Maybe it’s the Medici who should worry about traps.”
“Tell me.” Callis’s eyes narrowed. “Where they are.”
“No,” I said.
“Are you protecting them?”
“We’re not getting involved.”
“Oh, but Adele, by standing in the middle, you are involved. You’re tied to this by magic, and, I suspect, by blood.” He smiled cordially. “In the future, just remember there was a point when you had a choice over which side to fight for. In the meantime, Adele, I hope you stop closing yourself off to your magic. It would be a pity to lose one of ours.”
“Adele?” said a tiny voice. Celestina’s eyes were wide. “Why do you like the monsters more than us?”
My heart jerked. “I don’t—”
“Come on, love.” Callis held out his hand to her. “I’m going to take care of you, I promise. We don’t need them.”
As we watched them walk out, Désirée and Annabelle stepped next to us.
“Soooo,” Annabelle said, breaking the silence. “Anyone want to tell me who the emo siblings are?”
Luckily, Désirée cut her off: “We have to go,” she said to Isaac.
He sighed, turning to me. “Sorry, it’s this stupid dinner for that photographer. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Go.”
Désirée pinched his cheek. “Welcome to the government needing your face to soften their brand image.”
Isaac swatted her fingers away, rolling his eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”
Annabelle put her arm around me as they walked off. “I guess that leaves you and me for the after-party.”
Commotion came from the other side of the yard—Ren stalked across the grass, waving a small pouch in his hand.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find this?” he yelled to Theis, who was weeding a flowerless flower bed with his bile-green-haired friend and Sébastien.
“It’s for your own good!” Theis yelled, standing up.
Ren’s giant hands slammed into his chest, sending him flying.
“Theis!” I screamed as he landed dangerously close to a concrete angel’s broken wing.
We ran over, along with everyone else in the yard.
“You need help, Ren!” yelled the green-haired guy, jumping into the usually gentle giant’s face. He was heavier than Theis but significantly shorter than Ren. “You’re becoming a psychopath!”
Ren shoved him too, mumbling something incoherent. It sounded like drunken babble, which wasn’t exactly strange for Ren. He grabbed Theis up from the ground and cocked his arm.
A man jumped in between them. “Dad!” He took Ren’s punch in the shoulder, sparing Theis’s face.
But then Ren tried to swing again.
My dad grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, muttering, “Now I know you’ve lost your goddamn mind.” I knew it wasn’t the first drunk guy’s arm he’d twisted, but still, it made my pulse hammer.
Two other guys rushed over to help, and I couldn’t help but stare, unable to believe what was happening. Ren might have been big and more often drunk than not, but he was one of the friendliest people I’d ever met. Everyone in the Quarter knew that. And he’d never taken a swing at my dad.
Detective Matthews ran out of the church with some others. He was in jeans and a Saints jersey but seconds later was cuffing Ren.
“Désolé. Désolé!” Ren apologized. “Now, you don’t have to do that. Je suis désolé.”
“Come on, Terry,” my dad pleaded with the detective.
“Mac, you’ve bailed him out enough. Let’s see if a night in a post-Storm OPP does him
any good.”
My dad shook his head.
“Mi dispiace, mi dispiace,” Ren pleaded over and over. “Mi aiuti per favore!”
Was he speaking Italian? Ritha and Ana Marie approached Detective Matthews, and they all went into the church together.
Everything about the scene was so weird.
“Pick you up in a couple hours?” Annabelle asked, going straight back to high school norm.
“For what?”
“The after-party!”
“I’m not really in a partying mood, Annabelle.” Callis’s threat was ringing in my head now that the commotion was dying down. What exactly did he mean by his coven sniffing them out?
Her head tilted to the side as she looked straight at me. “Come on, Adele, you deserve to let loose after being grounded all week.”
“You know you can’t, like, mind-meld me, right?”
“Sorry.” She smiled. “Force of habit.”
CHAPTER 36
Bloodsucker
I was thinking about Nicco when I got into the shower, I was thinking about Nicco when the water ran cold, and I was still thinking about Nicco when I flopped on my bed in a T-shirt and leggings, wet hair soaking through the pillow.
The Medici were a lot of things, but I just didn’t believe they were witch killers.
Maybe it was me being naïve or an idiot, but it just didn’t add up. Then again, things hadn’t added up since the night in the attic when Nicco gripped my hand too tight and spun me around the room.
I’d suppressed the dream for most of the week, not wanting to see Nicco covered in Maddalena’s blood, not really wanting to see him with her at all, but now I was analyzing every second of it. I thought about León—lover of science and of Giovanna Medici. And how their rendezvous spot had been in San Germano.
The León from Nicco’s dreams being an accomplice in the Medici’s murder-vampire-turnings was almost unfathomable after seeing their friendship. My pulse skipped. It couldn’t be true! León really loved Nicco—and Giovanna. But the question weighing heavier on my mind was: Could Germano-Germain really be a coincidence?
Was León really Adeline’s father, le Comte de Saint-Germain?
The lamp near my vanity blinked on and off with a soft sizzling noise.
Even though I sought the truth, a part of me wished I’d never seen that particular dream. I didn’t want any of my family members to have betrayed Nicco.
News flash, Adele. Nicco betrayed you.
Like León betrayed him?
Would León really conspire with a vampire? Why did he drink the Elixir that night? Is that why he was trying to get Nicco out of the laboratory that night? Theoretically, if León did free Séraphine, and now he’s still out there somewhere—why would the Medici think I could lead them to him? Clearly they know far more about the Count than I do!
Pop.
The lightbulb in the lamp on my vanity exploded, and tinkles of glass rained onto the floor. Dammit! We should have stock in lightbulbs the way I went through them.
There were two ways to account for León-slash–the Count still being alive: Séraphine had turned him into a vampire, or the Elixir of Life was real.
Based on Adeline’s diary comments about her hereditary powers in 1728, the Count was a witch . . . so unless he’d somehow been a vampire before he became a witch, the only reasonable explanation for him still being alive was—the Elixir had worked.
Was León Medici-slash-Saint-Germain an immortal witch?
The hairs on my arms pricked. I sat up, looking around the room as if someone else might be there. Of course, there wasn’t, though I swear I sometimes felt Adeline like she was still here.
A small flame rose from my hand. I lay back down, bouncing it in my palm. The question still lingered, tugging at my heart: Did León really betray Nicco, stealing the Medici tome with all of his research—the Elixir?
They were like brothers.
Then again, I could imagine Emilio doing such a thing.
As humans the Medici had lusted after immortality, but why would vampires care about the Elixir? They were already immortal—but, four hundred years later, could they really just be after revenge?
I guess if you thought someone had a hand in turning you into a monster, the resentment would go as deep as Atlantis. Especially for Nicco, who’d dedicated his life to aiding humanity. It broke my heart knowing he was turned into the very thing he despised the most: a monster who preys upon people. The flame whizzed around my head.
I hated thinking about Nicco as deadly. I hated thinking about him feeding on Callis. My pulse picked up. With all of this family feud echoing in my head, it made me wonder: Is Callis really just after revenge? Something told me no, despite him being so forthcoming with information, unlike Nicco. And he seemed genuinely interested in helping me with my magic.
Then again, Nicco had always seemed to have a vested interest in my magic, though Nicco had never threatened me—only his brothers had.
My fists balled, containing the sparks, as I thought about Emilio’s fangs ripping into my mother.
Why did Nicco care so much about that Elixir?
He’s immortal—a vampire.
Unless he thought . . . that it could change him?
Was that why he wanted it so badly? To save himself . . . to grant himself a way to live without being a monster? Surely if there was a way to reverse his condition, he’d have figured it out after all these centuries. Why would he care so much about a missing book?
If Nicco believed the Elixir could save him . . . does that mean Adeline’s father could help me save my mother?
Was that my bargaining chip—the recipe for the Elixir? If the Count still had the Medici tome, how the hell would I ever get it back?
I got up from the bed and slipped into my boots. I hadn’t wanted to go back in Nicco’s head, because I wanted to hold on to the human version of him—the Nicco who wanted to be a great surgeon, the Nicco who wanted to help me, protect me. But now, more than that, I needed to know about the Nicco who threw me out the window and who killed Maddalena. I needed to know, for sure, whether León was the Count, and whether he really had anything to do with Séraphine’s escape. The answers could be the key to saving my mom—and to saving Nicco, though I wasn’t ready to admit I might want to do that.
I put on my coat, and my mind flipped back to Callis and the mention of his coven. What if they’re watching me?
“Ugh!” I screamed, and the lamp on my nightstand burst, shattering glass all over the floor, darkness enveloping me. Maybe Callis was right: I needed to trust myself more. Three little orbs of fire rose from my palm and hummed around my chest.
What if I don’t need to be so close to Nicco to connect? It’s magic, not engineering.
The fireballs buzzed faster, zipping around me in circles.
Then the closet door creaked open as if beckoning me. And I felt her. It was like Adeline was there, telling me to press on.
I traded my coat and boots for my witch box and a pillow.
Sitting in front of the Saint-Germain safe, I placed candles in a wide circle and uncorked a bottle of rose water. The floral notes wafted out as the water flowed into a metal bowl my dad had made when he was first learning to metalsmith. The scent immediately made me want to breathe deeper. Relaxing was not one of my key strengths, but it was exactly what I’d have to do to make this work—even though thinking about Nicco, the attic, and the centuries-long family feud made me the opposite of relaxed.
I plucked sprigs of dried rosemary and eucalyptus out of the wooden box and added them to the bowl. Then I cast the rest of the witchy goodies aside and positioned two picture frames on top of Adeline’s diary next to me. The first was a photograph of my mother on a bridge over the River Seine. She had on a bright-red skirt, and the wind was puffing it out, and she must have been close to my age because we looked nearly identical.
Next to it was a photo of all of us—Brigitte, Mac, and three-year-old me in cut-o
ff overalls, sitting on the slate steps in front of the cathedral, feeding bread crusts to the pigeons. French Quarter Rat since birth.
I crossed my feet under my legs and extended my hands, palms-up, ready to receive energy from the universe. Open to the magic.
My eyes slipped shut.
With a deep inhale, I felt all of the candles light around me, the flames shining through my eyelids. Hints of rose and herbs transferred from the water to the air around me, and into my lungs. The medallion became heavier against my chest; it vibrated, and the hum of the metal made me feel Adeline guiding me. Keeping me safe. I could relax because she was with me.
One by one, the nails and boards popped out, revealing the metal box underneath. This time when I parted the metal, I wasn’t scared. This was our family’s magic. My magic.
Out came the diary, and other things I’d stashed partly because I didn’t want Isaac to find them, but also because I never wanted to see them again.
I shook the folds out of Nicco’s green-and-black-checkered flannel shirt and slipped my arms through it, then I pulled out his jacket and put it on too. I instantly shuddered.
Leather and soap.
His scent was something I’d nearly forgotten. Now it felt like he was right there in the room with me too.
I can do this. I can open myself up to Nicco and come back in one piece.
I hope.
I went over everything Papa Olsin had taught me. This time there were no teas, no potions. Just me and my magic, and him.
A Saint-Germain and a Medici.
A witch and a vampire.
Me and Nicco.
The air is different in New Orleans.
It holds the scents of fry and the peppery blends the locals drown their seafood in, and the buzzing of cicadas, and the stomps of jazz pianists. It smothers your senses with a slight hint of intoxication, making you want more. Maybe that’s why vampires have always loved it here. Or maybe the feeling is just due to the blood settling under my tongue.
My shoulders relax as the hunger is satiated.
I look back, like I always do. The guy is wandering down the street, disoriented but very much alive. I didn’t take too much. He’ll never know the difference, and I’ll be held over for a while.
