He looked up and nodded. “Okay then, so it’s time,” he said, perfectly calm. I admired his control. Personally, I felt like I was about to jump out of my skin. Dante and Max had stopped throwing beads and were watching us now.
“You’ve got the stuff, right?” Dante asked.
We nodded. A gust of wind blew through, so loud I could barely hear him, swirling all around us, fanning my hair. The sky had taken on an unnatural candy-orange tinge, somehow sinister.
“It should be all you need to hinder their recruitment powers for the day. It should render them powerless to convert or kill nonangels, you know, civilians.” Dante handed me one of the special silver spray-painted pitchforks he had coated in a freshly concocted mixture to temporarily impair their abilities. “Do it,” he said. I wound up and launched the pitchfork through the air, watching it land on Kip’s roof, knocking him down. For a moment his entire being flickered and flashed as he became Wylie, before shifting back to Kip.
“Bingo,” Lance said. That was all it took. Lance could finish the job now and use Wylie to lead him to his real target.
“Be careful,” I warned him. I felt a cool, wet drop on my cheek. Thunder crashed in the distance.
“Go!” Dante barked.
“Go,” Max echoed.
“Later,” Lance said. He and I nodded at each other, trading looks that offered luck and the promise that we would live to see each other again. I watched him take off, jumping down from the float and shooting through the crowd to an alleyway that led back to a courtyard, allowing him to clamber up to the roof. That wasn’t what I had in mind, though. I needed to get up. Fast. Dante handed me another pitchfork and I ran toward the very back of the float, to its tallest point—the tree that Lance had constructed. I pulled my arm back again and launched the pitchfork at Clio. It arced up into the dark cloud cover and onto the roof. And it missed.
“Don’t worry about it!” Dante called to me. I shook my head; no time to lament my poor aim. Instead, I grabbed onto part of the tree’s plywood trunk and pulled myself up. As I balanced on the sturdiest of its lifelike wooden branches, I took a couple steps out, holding on to another branch above and somehow managing not to fall. Then I pushed off, jumping with so much force I snapped the branch right off, but not before using it to propel me off the float. For those few seconds, I soared, the air cool as I cut through it. Everything seemed to move in slow motion.
And then the skies opened up. Sheets of rain poured down, soaking the entire scene so suddenly that it didn’t even seem to occur to anyone to take cover. In fact, it only made the throngs of people more excited. They whooped and hollered even more loudly, shaking the water off like dogs after a bath. I reached out to grab the railing of a third-story balcony. The fingertips of my right hand slid off the slick wrought iron, but my left hand caught it. Cheers rang out from the revelers lining the space, who gasped and squealed for me. It seemed they thought this was all part of the act, a show choreographed to add something new to the festivities, which meant none of them helped me up, but just made room for me and applauded. I swung my legs up onto the railing and leapt toward the overhang of the roof above their heads, grasping it and tugging myself up as the animated, frenzied crowd watched.
On top of the roof now, I spotted Clio three buildings down. She didn’t seem to know I was up here yet. She continued gazing with wild eyes and a mad grin at the scene below. I took off running through the rain, swatting my saturated hair out of my face. To get to her, I’d have to jump across an alleyway between buildings. I sprinted, picking up speed, then slammed my feet onto the brick ledge of the first building, catapulting myself over the gap, which felt endless. I pumped my legs to drive myself farther, faster, doing all I could to be sure I could bridge the distance. With a thud that sent a shock through my legs, I hit the next rooftop, where a few people had gathered to look down onto the parade. They froze, watching silently as I ran across. One more alleyway to go, and I flung myself over the gap again and landed nearly on my knees this time, but it didn’t matter. I’d made it. Clio stood up straight and tall, strutting over toward me.
“Wow, I’m so impressed you made it up here,” she said sarcastically. The wet wind whooshed past, so strong I thought it might knock us right off. The storm blared as if it were a train speeding through. “Too bad you won’t live to make it back down.” She raised both arms and as they came down, she shot two cracking fire bolts in my direction. They swirled as they neared me, and I dove to avoid them. Even the torrential downpour did nothing to extinguish them. As I ducked, I reached inside my boot for one of the stars from Dante, then lunged forward and beamed it at her, shooting for that tattoo. I just missed, and it landed in the distance with a puff of smoke.
Clio threw her head back, cackling. “This is going to be even easier than I thought. You’ll be installed as our new pet in no time,” she gushed, spinning in the rain, childlike. “The Prince will be thrilled! You’ll be so good for my reputation.” She shot another bolt at me, and another, and they swooped behind me, glowing and elongating, fencing me in so I couldn’t run away.
“The beauty of this,” Clio said through the swirling wind and rain that, somehow, only made the fire grow stronger and angrier, “is that you’re going to run toward your demise. Prepare to chase and be chased!” She seemed to have a fiery orange hue around her entire body, and her smile made my blood run cold. “Ready, set, go,” she said, purring with an eerie calm.
I felt the heat at my back as the flames moved closer and she took off, pivoting to run across the rooftops along Ursulines toward Royal Street, skipping easily over the alleyways, like she was dancing. As I ran and leapt, I felt myself being carried by the wind, which howled with such ferocity I could hear various pops as it blew out windows and shattered glass. The flames grew closer and I sped up, stumbling over my feet and almost hitting the ground. I righted myself and managed to reach down and tug at my boot for another star. No matter that she was more than half a block ahead of me, I flung the star at her, lightning fast, and in seconds saw her body jolt in pain as she grabbed her injured wrist. She fell down in a heap, pools of rainwater splashing around her. Even from this distance I knew the star had connected with that fleur-de-lis marking. The fiery curtain at my back dulled, in the process of flaming out. I picked up my pace, and as I neared her, she rose up to her feet, turning to face me. Now she was really angry. But at least she wouldn’t be stealing any souls tonight.
“You’re gonna be sorry you did that,” she yelled at me, shooting larger bolts at my legs. One burned up at my thigh. I stumbled but willed myself to keep going, painful as it was. I secretly cursed Emma for making us wear such short skirts. As we reached Royal Street, Clio pelted me with a few more blazing bolts before jumping off and gliding straight over to the opposite side of the street in one long, smooth motion, as though she were rigged up to wires that let her cut through the rain and the air, set to a soundtrack of roiling thunder.
My legs pounded the rooftop, my mind suspended all thoughts and naysaying, and I pushed off the ledge. Partway across, above the cars and the street, I felt myself dropping, gravity regaining its hold over me. I spotted a lamppost and zeroed in on it, landing on it only briefly, then launching again and flying toward yet another lamppost. I finally landed right in front of our home and then leapt up to the rain-slicked balcony of the LaLaurie mansion next door, where sounds of good times wafted out from the party already under way, and onward to Clio’s destination: the rooftop.
As soon as I reached the roof, Clio greeted me. She was seated on the ledge, legs delicately crossed. “Believe me, if I could kill you now, I would,” she said, studying her manicured nails, not bothered by the heavy rain soaking us to the point where our clothes looked like they were made of adhesive. “But it wouldn’t be fair. She’s all yours, Savannah,” she shouted at a figure wrapped in a cloud of smoke in the distance, then took a swan dive off the ledge, disappearing into a fiery haze long before hitting the ground.
I neared the smoky silhouette as she walked toward me, and at last she came into full view. It was Wylie’s girl. She stood there so tall and proud and looking unconcerned, confident that she would be the victor here. I felt wiped-out already: scraped and scratched, rattled and roughed up. I summoned all my strength, shifting from leg to leg like I was waiting for a tennis opponent to take her serve. But, really, I was sick of waiting, wasn’t I? I could see a fiery glow emanating from a spot at her shoulder, an ominous crimson halo. I reached into my boot and grabbed another star, quickly whipping it at her. She lunged and it flew directly over her shoulder. She just shook her head pityingly.
She held her palms up and produced two burning orbs of fire then smashed them together as though packing a firm snowball. It glowed, floating there in the space before her, then she shoved it toward the ground, where it shattered into tiny shards of flame. These many drops of fire rose back up, creating a sizzling swarm that rushed through the rain to surround me, spitting at and singeing me. It felt like being attacked by so many fiery needles. I pulled myself into a ball, no idea how to fight this off. The best I could do was to try to roll myself away. She just stood there firing these tiny bolts with her hands from afar, and she smiled, looking pleased with herself. I contorted myself as they engulfed me, nipping at me, leaving bloody streaks on my skin. They homed in on my three sets of scars and I realized there was more than just fire at work here. I swatted madly, but felt these toxic flames burrowing into my scars and infecting me with whatever poison they might be laced with. But I felt different than I had when I’d been tagged the night of Max’s birthday. This time, I could feel everything within me rise up and fight it, try to suffocate this pollutant. I collapsed onto the rain-soaked rooftop, but I wasn’t finished. I dug into my boot and pulled out another star, this one with black tips, the most fearsome I had among my arsenal. I caught a glimpse of the glow from my attacker’s marking and then I took my shot.
“Why don’t you let me see who I’m really fighting?” I called out, flinging the weapon at her and striking her shoulder dead-on. She flickered for a moment and I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. Deep in my heart I had known, but seeing it happen still stunned me: she shape-shifted for a split second, morphing into Sabine.
“And you thought you’d seen the last of me.” She flashed a manic, mad smile before falling to her knees and then crumpling into a heap on top of the glass panes of the skylight.
The shock of seeing her paralyzed me for a moment and she used that to her advantage, reaching over to pelt me with another poison-laced bolt. It sizzled my scars and sent my body slumping, limp against the roof all over again. My eyes closed and I focused on the steady pulse of the heavy rain beating against my aching burned skin. Get up. You have to keep going, I told myself. For Lucian.
Across the rooftop, Sabine, as Savannah, was beginning to rouse, carefully lifting herself onto her sharp heels again. She pulled her head up and shot me a look that could fillet a person. I scanned for anything that could help give me an edge and caught sight of some loosened bricks against the far ledge of the roof, likely left over from the restoration efforts. I focused all I had on them. A mass of them, the size of a trunk, fluttered then lifted up in the air behind her. I channeled my strength so fully, I felt the sweat bead up on my forehead. The bricks rose higher in the air, steady, and then, as I concentrated, guiding them, they came crashing down on the glass, shattering the entire skylight and taking Savannah down with it. She landed with a crunch. I jumped to my feet, energy suddenly flowing back, and lunged at the gaping hole. She lay sprawled on her back, her long limbs extended, on the dance floor of the mansion’s third-floor ballroom. A circle of stunned partygoers surrounded her, gawking, while others fled down the stairs, their screams loud enough to be heard even from all the way up here. Rain poured in, drenching them.
Savannah’s eyes met mine and they burned now. That had done it. She sprang to her feet as though nothing were wrong and sent up a sharp, dagger-like bolt at me, knocking me off my feet, down to her level. It felt like falling through a wind tunnel. I got sucked down fast, meeting the floor with a hard, wet slap. Glass chips were wedged into my skin, and everything throbbed. I heard the rush of so many feet running away, the herd clomping back down the stairs away from us. But I saw one pair of shoes, hers, coming toward me. I couldn’t move. My scars burned and I felt the toxins taking greater hold, wearing me down. I rolled onto my stomach, hoping to pull myself up, and spotted two long slivers of glass. I concentrated on them and they rose up swooping toward her. They pierced her on either side of her flowy top and launched her straight back to the wall, pinning her there like an insect. I had bought myself time. I stood up on trembling legs, just as she pulled her hanging body free, and she fell to the ground but landed on her feet.
Then she charged at me, throwing blazing torches as I dove out of the way. I threw one more glowing star at her. It glommed on to that marking and in a flash she became that grotesque figure from my photo, and then turned back into Sabine again, the real one. I kneeled over her still body, my heart suddenly breaking. I felt the tears well up. I had had to do this, hadn’t I? She would have killed me, and I had had to defend myself. But now, looking at her, I could only see my friend, the girl who had once walked along the riverfront with me and shared beignets and talked about boys. How had this happened? I hadn’t realized I had let my mind drift, let my guard down, until I felt Sabine’s hand, warm and brittle. She looked in my eyes, hers so heavy. Then she crumbled right before me, turning to ash. I couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. I felt them streak my face, mixing with the rain, as I sat there beneath the hole in the roof.
Slowly, though, I realized where I was, what I still had to accomplish tonight. I had no time to mourn. I gathered and steadied myself, and set my thoughts on the final obstacle ahead.
35. Is This Your Way of Making Me Feel Needed?
I ran down the stairs to the second floor, surprised to find the party hadn’t shut down. It had simply relocated to the first two levels of the house—a testament either to the magic of Mardi Gras or some devil’s trick, I didn’t know. The place was still bustling, music still thumping. Partygoers in their gowns and suits, and all hiding behind feathered, glittery masks, still danced. As I made my way down, trying to ignore how worn out I felt, I pulled out my photos. I worried the toxins had already done too much damage to me. I could tell my body was weakened, but my photo told a different story. Not only was it perfect, but now I had a full halo and two sprawling and glorious white wings attached to my back. I had to blink a few times to be sure I wasn’t seeing things. Did this mean I was safe? I glanced at Lance’s photo and found him sporting a similar halo and wings. I could only imagine this meant he was alive.
Then it hit me: what time was it, anyway? I glanced over the railing for Lucian—was he here? I spotted Dante instead. He lifted his mask and with a look and a flick of the head he directed my attention to the window. A masked Max stood there now, tense, fading into a group nibbling on hors d’oeuvres. His laser-like focus was trained on the front door . . . where Kip stood. The demon gazed quickly above the heads of those surrounding him, as though he had already been searching for a while, and then let himself out. Max peeked out the window, keeping an eye on him, then nodded once at Dante: a signal. I hoped Kip would not be coming back. We just had to run out the clock until he would need to return below or risk losing his powers and his entrée back to the underworld. A glance at the grandfather clock informed me that it was nearly midnight already, only ten min-utes to go.
A tall, masked man slithered through the crowd from the direction of the back wing of the house, joining Dante’s side. Lucian. They whispered to each other, then Dante pointed at me and Lucian set off toward the staircase, which was full of people chatting, sitting, enjoying themselves, and generally blocking the way. No time to wade through the crowd, I climbed onto the railing and ran down along the slick, polished banister of the staircase unt
il I reached the point just above Lucian, about halfway down.
“Hey!” I yelled, not wanting to shout his name lest there might be other devils in our midst. I crouched down, giving a wave as he looked up from behind his mask, his eyes lighting up.
“I was starting to wonder about you,” he called. There was a skittishness about him. He motioned me down.
“Watch out,” I said. He stepped aside to make room for me and I jumped down, landing squarely in the space beside him. He grabbed my waist, as though I might need steadying, but I was on firm footing. I had gotten good at this. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You have no idea how good it is to see you,” he said, looking relieved.
“Why? What happened?”
“Nothing. That’s the problem. Nothing at all. It’s been too quiet.”
“We just have a few more minutes and you’re in the clear,” I said. But he didn’t look convinced, and before I could even attempt to calm him, a soaking-wet Max was pushing through the partygoers toward us.
“It’s a mess outside, so hard to see,” he launched right in as he reached us, shouting to be heard over the festive roar. “But I swear I saw Kip coming back this way. Dante and I went outside to have a look and we thought we saw him a block or so down. Dante’s on the roof, trying to get a better look.”
Lucian shook his head. “I knew it.”
“Stay here,” I said to Lucian and I bolted to the front of the house, elbowing past the revelers until I made it out into the storm. Wind and rain raging against me, I ran out into the street. A tempest now roared: water coursing, soaking those parade-goers who were fleeing from Bourbon Street. The crash of metal against pavement—bang, bang, bang—echoed behind me as a burst of color tumbled along Governor Nicholls Street. One of the floats had careened away. Another one blew past on Ursulines. Confetti, streamers, beads all fluttered in the wet, windy air. Before I could fully process the chaos spinning all around, something dropped into the space before me. My heart stopped and I heard myself gasp. There was Kip, walking toward me, toward the house, from twenty feet away. Something else occurred to me now: where was Lance? If Kip was here and Lance wasn’t . . . No. It was impossible. I wouldn’t even think it.
Infatuate Page 34
