by Alys Arden
Adele 7:10 p.m. No clue. I’m not super eager to find out. We’ll have to figure out a way to avoid the clash of the covens. Adding Annabelle.
Adele 7:11 p.m. A, are you ready to be bound into the circle? Maison Monvoisin 9pm :)
Annabelle 7:11 p.m. Sooooooo ready for tonight <3 <3
As soon as the meeting was set, I felt like alligators were wrestling in my stomach, and it had nothing to do with Callis or Annabelle or supernatural shitstorms.
I’m going to tell them about Brigitte—and that we have to figure out a way to help her.
Breathe, Adele.
I sucked in another big breath and sent Isaac one more message:
Adele 7:41 p.m. You should go back to sleep. . . you could use the extra zzzzs.
Isaac 7:41 p.m. You should come back to the ship and break more rules.
I bit my bottom lip, trying not to grin, and a butterfly hatched in my stomach in retaliation.
Adele 7:41 p.m. Ha. I think three times is enough rule breaking. See you at nine.
When I walked into the ballroom, my dad was behind the makeshift bar, slicing cucumbers into thin discs. He didn’t look up.
“Do you understand how a phone works?”
I could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn’t really mad. I crossed the room to the bar and sat on one of the stools.
“I could swear you do,” he said, “because your fingers are always pecking on that expensive screen of yours.”
“I’m sorry. I fell asleep.”
“At school?”
“No, at Isaac’s.”
He put the knife down and looked up.
“Because you were so tired after sneaking out to a party after curfew and drinking underage?”
“Yeah.”
“Is this some kind of rebellious phase?”
“No.” I pulled away the knife, slid the wooden board to my side, and began cutting the limp produce while he consolidated bottles of moonshine and gave me a mini-lecture on responsibility.
I sliced a second cucumber. And then two lemons. But when he asked how Isaac was, I pushed it all aside and folded my arms on the bar, cradling my head just like I’d done when I was a kid. “There were two little girls, Dad.”
“Jesus.” He wiped his hands and came around to the stool next to me, anticipating what was coming next.
I told him the whole story. How Isaac had almost drowned. How that photographer took photos while he tried to save the little girls, instead of helping. How he’d searched for Jade until his dad dragged him away to be triaged.
Even though the story was hard to speak out loud, it felt good to tell him about it, to just be open about something. How we used to be about everything.
When I finished, I wiped my tears and pulled my hair out of the messy bun. As I tied it back up, he stood, but then paused, watching me.
“I know you hate it when I say it, but sometimes you remind me so much of your mother—it’s incredible.”
“I don’t hate it, Dad.”
And I didn’t. Not anymore.
I arrived at the brothel an hour early as I needed some time to collect my thoughts. There was so much to tell: the León-slash-Count conspiracy, and how he might have helped Séraphine, and about Adeline killing Giovanna so she wasn’t the one in the attic, and, most of all, my reasons for keeping Brigitte’s secret for so long.
As I psyched myself up, turning the story over in my head, I became so anxious I couldn’t sit still any longer.
I swept remnants of dried herbs from the floor, folded the blankets, and fluffed the couch pillows. I stacked Isaac’s loose sketches and gathered up all of the paper scraps with handwritten shopping lists of things whose uses required imagination, like Hound’s Tongue and bat leather—clearly Désirée’s. I anchored them under stones and crystals. As I scraped wax off the coffee table with my fingernail, I suddenly had the overwhelming feeling that something was out of place . . . or missing?
I scanned the room, but everything looked as it should, just neater than before. I chalked up the strange feeling to my separation anxiety from Adeline’s diary. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been here without it. My medallion wasn’t around my neck either. I’d been in such a hurry to get to the ceremony, I’d skipped a few steps getting ready. I suddenly had a strong desire to retrieve them.
I checked my phone: 8:40 p.m. You’ll only be a few minutes late if you hustle.
I buttoned my coat all the way up and was out the door before I could give it a second thought.
A single fireball rose from my hand, floating ahead as I hustled down the porch steps. The stars twinkled above, some hidden by the haze of the full moon. As I crossed the yard, breath billowed from my lips into the cool night air. I shoved my hands into my pockets. Metal poked my fingers.
My feet stopped. My breath paused. And I was pretty sure my heart froze too.
How did I forget about this?
Well, I knew how.
For a second I just stood there spinning it in my pocket. I’d been so certain that Nicco and I were on the same side. That we’d get through the horror together, despite the odds.
Then he threw me out a window and changed everything—but not without slipping me this piece of metal first. Something he clearly hadn’t wanted his brothers to see, and that he must have planned in advance. Something that Isaac had kept this whole time.
Instinct told me to take it straight to my father’s studio and melt it into a stake, but my intuition—and my need for answers—would never allow that.
“Niccolò Giovanni Battista Medici, you’re lucky I have my intuition, because it’s the only thing that might save you from getting killed by Callis.”
The bushes rustled around me in the breeze, and the little orb of fire whizzed around the note in my palm. One side had the folds of metal, and the flat side had an insignia scraped into it. I recognized it from Nicco’s dreams. It was on the doors that led to the great Medici hall: three interlocking diamond rings.
Feeling the shape of the metal in my palm brought back the night in the attic so vividly—my hand on the cool metal doorknob, and Nicco pressed against my back. “Do you trust me, bella?” he’d said. The shock those words had sent through my body. And then he pulled me away, preparing to throw me away like I was nothing.
His last words echoed through my mind: “I’m so sorry, bella . . . but there is no other way.”
Flames flickered in the dormant gas lamps lining the bricked footpath to the gate—in and out, with the hammering of my pulse.
As I stared at the note, I felt the mechanisms in the front door unlock, and a wave ripple across the wrought-iron fence hidden beneath the ivy. The metal folds slipped away from each other, like a blossoming lotus, and every bit of metal on the grounds creaked, curling toward me, as if the entire property was leaning in to see the message.
When the pewter note finally lay flat in my palm, I recognized the otherworldly handwriting carved into the metal, but the words were near impossible to comprehend. I could almost feel Nicco with me, hear his barely there accent whispering the message into my ear:
I trust you.
Break the curse.
Niccolò
My hand shook as I reread the message over and over. I couldn’t move. All I could do was stare at the note as the monster in my head slowly started to dissolve. Throwing me out of the window. It was all a ruse to trick his brothers. To give me the thing I needed even more than magic—the thing I’d asked him for.
Time.
Time to break the curse. Time to figure everything out.
Nicco had given me time.
Which I haven’t done anything with.
That’s why none of it had ever added up, why none of it had made sense—why his actions had made the whole world seem off-kilter.
I knew in my heart it was the truth, but I needed confirmation.
I tapped out a message.
Adele 8:43 p.m. Nicco wasn’t trying to kill me when he threw me out
that window, was he?
Isaac 8:45 p.m. Shit
Isaac 8:45 p.m. I meant to tell you when I gave you the metal thing, I was just distracted!
Adele 8:45 p.m. Tell me what?
Isaac 8:45 p.m. That he knew I would catch you. How we planned it.
They’d planned it. All this time I thought Nicco had betrayed me—that he really was a liar and a monster—but it had all been based on that one moment. A moment he’d planned with Isaac. Now the pin was pulled and the monster was unhinging in my head, leaving only the boy I knew from my dreams. The boy who wanted to help people.
Who wanted to help me.
Isaac 8:47 p.m. You opened it?
Adele 8:47 p.m. Yes
Isaac 8:48 p.m. Is everything different now?
Adele 8:48 p.m. Yes
Isaac 8:48 p.m. So you hate me now?
Adele 8:49 p.m. No. It doesn’t change the way I feel about you. It doesn’t.
Isaac 8:49 p.m. You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.
Adele 8:50 p.m. But it changes the way I feel about him.
Isaac 8:50 p.m. What does that mean?
Adele 8:50 p.m. It means he doesn’t deserve to be in that attic, Isaac!!! He didn’t do anything!!
Isaac 8:50 p.m. HE TORTURED CALLIS AND HIS ENTIRE COVEN!
“But he saved me!” I hurled the metal note back at the house, screaming.
As soon as my voice faded away, I felt something in my hand again. When I opened my eyes, the note was back in my palm, and every single metal object outside the property was at my feet: Victorian courtyard furniture, gardening tools, and fixtures that held potted plants all surrounded me in a circle of tin, iron, and brass. Bright flames shone out of every gas lamp on the property, illuminating the crack in the wood where the note had hit the door.
My phone buzzed again:
Isaac 8:52 p.m. Just hang tight. Are u at HQ? I’ll be there in a few minutes.
With a little mental focus, I refolded the note and slipped it back into my pocket.
Breathe, Adele.
My fingers moved quickly across the screen.
Adele 8:53 p.m. OK, but I have to run to my house to get ASG’s things. I’ll be back though. Promise.
Isaac 8:53 p.m. Babe, we’re going to figure this out.
Adele 8:53 p.m. I know.
I’m going to figure this out.
I stormed into my bedroom, unable to pinpoint the actual reason I was fuming. There were too many emotions brewing in my belly to sort. I wasn’t mad at Isaac, not really—though I was pissed that he was right about one thing: Nicco not trying to kill me didn’t equate with the world being safer with him in it.
I was mad about plenty of other things, though. I was mad that Emilio had turned my mom into a vampire, and now she was trapped in an attic. I was mad that she’d killed those students twelve years ago, and somehow I justified that it wasn’t her fault. I was mad that the Medici had hurt Callis. And I was mad that Callis was now threatening my mother’s immortal life.
And Nicco’s.
And even with all of that, I could only think about the fact that Nicco hadn’t thrown me out of the window trying to kill me; it had been his backup plan all along because . . . he trusted me.
Unfathomably, he trusted me. And that meant I had zero reason not to trust him.
Never trust a vampire.
Nicco might have had his secrets, but he’d never threatened me, never lied to me. All he’d ever done was protect me—and now, after this note, it was hard not to believe the reason he’d kept his secrets bottled up was because he thought doing so was protecting me too. Even if his motives were questionable or self-serving.
I sucked in a sharp breath.
Above all, I was furious at myself—for losing trust in him, and for not doing anything to help him get out. I hadn’t done anything to break the curse.
You found another coven member.
“It’s not enough,” I said as my backpack unzipped itself. I slipped the diary in. Now Callis was in town, with backup, and Nicco was still helpless. Was I supposed to just stand by?
I dumped some candles and other things from my witch box in too, eyeing Nicco’s shirt, which lay in a pile of clothes on the floor. I stripped off the dressy clothes from the ceremony and slipped on the flannel, breathing in his leather-and-soap scent.
Maybe it will still help strengthen the connection. Like last time.
Dark jeans. Shit-kickers. Saint-Germain necklace. I ripped a brush through my hair and tied it into a braid.
I felt like I was getting into cat-burglar mode. I wasn’t going back to the brothel—not just yet. Not until I knew for sure. I needed to see for myself why I shouldn’t help break Nicco out of the attic. I needed to see what he really was—someone with a heart, or a manipulative, conniving predator without a shred of humanity left, like Callis had said.
And I couldn’t take any risks of slipping into his fantasies—I needed to be where our connection would be the strongest. I needed to know the truth about what happened with Callis.
I needed to be near him.
CHAPTER 41
The Binding
I took a few running steps, my board dragging on the street before I let it drop and jumped on. It would’ve been faster to fly, but my legs wanted to move.
There’d been something doomsdayish about today since the moment I woke up. At first I thought it was because of the ceremony or yesterday’s weird confrontation with Callis, but now I knew what it was . . .
I shouldn’t have given Adele that note.
Just two hours ago everything was more perfect than it ever had been, my darkest secrets out, falling asleep with her in my arms, and the rain drowning out the rest of the world.
Giving her the note had been the right thing to do—if she’d found out after, she’d never have forgiven me—but still, now that we were arguing mere hours after leaving my bed, it was hard not to regret it.
I circled my arm, redirecting the breeze to create a tailwind, and steadied myself on the board as the wheels rolled faster.
I should have just thrown it into the river and played dumb if it ever came up.
And so Nicco’s note continued to torment me, despite it being no longer in my possession.
As I neared the brothel, I felt the pulse of the protection spells. Two more pushes down the bumpy street, and I jumped off the board, kicking it up into my palm.
How did I forget to tell her about the plan?
I was just so shocked and relieved when she cast the note aside, I totally blanked on the part about Nicco and I planning her great escape. I just . . . got distracted.
I stopped short in the front garden. A giant pile of metal objects was in a circle in the middle of the yard—evidence that Adele had been here. I walked around it, wondering how long ago. After she’d opened the note? Or after she’d messaged me?
“Adele!” I yelled, going through the front door. “Désirée?”
No one responded, but I did a quick loop through the bottom level anyway. I thought about the pile of metal outside on the lawn and wondered how angry she’d been.
Calm down. She’ll be back any minute.
It’s not like she ran away to save Nicco.
I went back outside and sat on the porch steps, leaning back, stretching. In a weird way, I used to feel bad for him, for being trapped in the attic with his psychotic family, but learning what they’d done to Callis’s coven—draining them of their blood, of their magic—had changed everything. Not that I expected anything different from a vampire, but Nicco was a master at making you think he was different. He was good like that. A manipulative monster. The biggest monster of all of them.
A witch killer.
I didn’t know if helping Callis was the right thing to do, but there was no way I was letting Adele open that attic—not because I was jealous of Nicco and didn’t want him around, but because the vampires were a threat to everyone in town, to the coven, and especially to Adele,
even if she didn’t realize it.
No more innocent people in this town were going to die.
I pushed the bracelets away from my watch: 21:27. She should have been back by now.
Dee was late too, and that girl was never late for anything; she was born with an agenda in hand. And where the hell was Annabelle?
I tapped my fingers on my knee, wondering if they were all together. What if Adele was trying to convince them to help her release Nicco from the attic?
Don’t be a tool, Isaac. They’re probably at the Borges’.
I thought about Nicco draining Callis and wondered what it would be like to have my powers taken away. Then I thought about how much I knew Nicco was in love with Adele.
And I thought about how much I was.
As the thoughts crisscrossed through my head, I was already out the front gate.
The shutters were closed at the Voodoo shop, but an interior light glowed faintly through the front-door transom. I tried the handle. Locked. I knocked. Nothing. I checked my phone again. No messages. I called Dee. No answer.
All three of my coven members were MIA. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Something was off.
My ears perked hearing a shout from deep inside—muffled voices speaking back and forth. I stepped down the sidewalk to the alleyway gate and peered through the ironwork.
Gas lamps flickered on the walls, casting shadows down the brick corridor. I lifted my hand through the bars and wafted the air my way, letting the wind carry the voices. Dee’s voice. I couldn’t make out the words, but I was sure it was her. I took a few steps back and then, with a running jump, grabbed the top of the gate. With a little strain, and with one eye on the twelve-inch metal spikes sticking out the top, I pulled myself up and carefully leaped over.
