The Damned

by Renee Ahdieh

  He averts his gaze. “Nicodemus was the one who sent me to find Mo Gwai, a powerful warlock in Hunan who’d been his enemy for more than three decades. I traveled there, searching in vain for his hidden refuge. But Mo Gwai was the one to find me first. He took my fétiche and tortured me for information on how to best Nicodemus. To rid the world of vampires once and for all. Not once did I capitulate. Soon Mo Gwai began hurting me simply for sport. Because it pleased him to watch me burn beneath his silver blades. When I finally managed to escape, I collapsed in the mountains less than a league away from his lair. If Lady Silla’s Grey Cloaks had not found me, I would have burned to death in the light of the sun.”

  “Une punition appropriée,” Hortense mutters through her teeth.

  “Lady Silla saved my life,” Jae says. “In my delirium while I healed in the Vale, I asked for a way to seek revenge on Mo Gwai. She told me the time would soon come for my vengeance. Once I could move about, Lady Silla sent me back to Nicodemus. She promised she would tell me where to find both Mo Gwai and my fétiche, when the moment was right.” He inhales. “I did as I was told. I returned to New Orleans, revenge ever present in my mind.” His words become halting. “This obsession so consumed me that I did not protest when my love was taken from me. I did not fight for it. I did not fight for her, as I should have.” Jae swallows, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands forming fists. “But through it all, I will never forget how my vampire brothers and sisters stood at my side. How all of them—even my former love—swore to help me seek my revenge. Swore to burn down the world to regain my honor.” Jae stops talking. I look around at the rest of our family. Hortense is staring at a point of nothingness. Silent tears stream down Odette’s face. Boone’s eyes are closed, his lips pressed together.

  They are all lost in the memories of a time long past.

  “Lady Silla came to me less than a year later,” Jae says quietly. “She promised to tell me what I wished to know in exchange for a binding promise of my own. One I had already offered her numerous times.” He stares at me. “She asked me to swear fealty to her until the end of my days.”

  “And you did it,” I say.

  He nods. “Without hesitation. She was the one to save me when Nicodemus sent me into Mo Gwai’s cavern alone.” Jae braces his elbows on his knees. “Like a fool, I did not consider what this would mean. For years I thought she would order me to strike out at Nicodemus. But she did not. In recent times, our communication has been so infrequent, there are moments I trick myself into believing she has forgotten about my promise.”

  I brace myself for the answer to my next question. For the dread I know will inevitably follow. “Why does Lady Silla want us to bring Celine to the Vale of her own free will?”

  Odette stands straight, her sable eyes wide with alarm. Hortense hisses in fury.

  “You know the answer to that already, Sébastien,” Jae says in a hoarse tone.

  “I want you to say it regardless.”

  “Celine Rousseau is an ethereal. She is—”

  “Lady Silla’s daughter,” I finish.

  Jae nods once. All around us, everything stills.

  Odette speaks first. “Celine’s mother . . . is fey?”

  “Not just fey,” Jae says. “Celine is the daughter of the most powerful lady of the Summer Court. A member of its gentry.”

  Odette’s arms cross. She begins pacing, her brow set with incredulity. “Why has Celine been kept apart from her mother for all these years?”

  “Lady Silla made a promise to Celine’s mortal father that none of her kind would approach their daughter until Celine’s eighteenth birthday,” Jae says.

  I frown. “If that is the case, why has Lady Silla breached this agreement? I thought bargains in the Vale were sacrosanct.”

  Soft laughter falls from Arjun’s lips as he sends me a rueful smile.

  Jae looks at Arjun and then returns his attention to me. “This is the true magic of the Sylvan Vale. Once they find a way to manipulate the language of a promise, they are able to do as they please. It is why Lady Silla wishes for you to bring Celine to the Vale of her own free will. If Celine crosses into the Otherworld by choice, then Lady Silla has not violated the promise she made to Celine’s father.”

  Clever. I almost laugh as Arjun did.

  “I told you,” Arjun says. “Those in the Vale are far more duplicitous than those in the Wyld. Do not be fooled by the sunny skies and the fragrant food and delectable drinks. Death lurks in every corner.”

  I push off the paneled wall and walk toward Jae, my mind humming with questions. When I nearly collide with Odette—who has not stopped pacing since she discovered the truth of Celine’s parentage—a thought occurs to me. “Odette.”

  She halts midstep and turns. The instant she sees my face, she understands what I want to ask.

  “I know you dislike telling those closest to you about their futures,” I begin, “but—”

  “I do hate it,” Odette interjects, though her words are not unkind. “But after what happened with Nigel, I haven’t been able to shake the notion that I might have prevented it, if only I hadn’t been so afraid.”

  “Afraid?” Hortense asks. “When have you ever been afraid of anything, sorcière blanche?”

  “I’ve always been afraid of this power,” Odette says simply. “The thing I feared most was that I would bear witness to the death of someone I love and be unable to prevent it. That is the real reason I don’t bother to look. I . . . couldn’t bear it.”

  “I know you gazed into Celine’s future the night you first met,” I say. “Will you not tell me what you saw?”

  “Even though you asked that I not divulge your future?”

  “This is not about my future,” I say. “This is about Celine’s.”

  Dark laughter flies from Hortense’s lips. “You silly fool. If you cannot see how your fates are linked, then all that money spent on your fancy education was a complete waste.”

  “Never mind that. What did you see?” I press Odette.

  Odette sighs. “I saw Celine sitting on a throne in this very room. On either side of her feet lay a tamed lion and a tamed wolf.”

  “The tamer of beasts,” I say in remembrance.

  She nods.

  “What kind of throne was it?” Jae asks.

  Blinking, Odette closes her eyes as if to reconstruct the memory. “Golden, but strange. As if it were covered in vines that twist into something sinister near the top.”

  Arjun moves toward her. “Do you remember what the top looked like?”

  “As if it had . . . horns. Not ones like the devil, but more like antlers.”

  Jae grunts. “Then it is exactly as Lady Silla wishes it to be.”

  “What do you mean?” Lines form across Odette’s forehead.

  “The Lady of the Vale has long wished to reunite the Winter and Summer Court under one banner, and it appears she wishes for her daughter to rule over both,” Jae says.

  Laughter flies from Odette’s lips. “Are you making jokes? I suggest you try again.”

  “It is not a joke,” Jae replies. “It is merely a logical conclusion.”

  “Well . . . that’s . . . absurd,” Odette sputters. She points at Arjun. “He always says how much the Summer Court despises ethereals. And their lady wishes to install one on their throne?”

  “Does Lady Silla not have other offspring?” I ask.

  Arjun shakes his head. “The bloodlines of elemental enchantresses have struggled to reproduce for almost half a century. It is why many of them take mortal lovers. Human blood seems to strengthen the chances of a child surviving. This was the reason my own mother sought out my father. A child is a precious thing to any member of the gentry.”

  “Si les enfants sont précieux, then why are they so cruel to ethereals?” Hortense asks.

  Arjun lifts
a shoulder. “That is the way of the Vale. I suspect they resent ethereals for thriving. For possessing the gift of immortality without having earned it. Perhaps they wish to lord over us with their last remaining advantage: their pure bloodline.”

  Hortense spits at nothing. “This is the same disease that exists in mortals. An obsession with purity. Mark me, it will be their end.”

  I listen as they speak. Even though the news of Celine’s parentage is not a surprise to me, I still don’t know what to make of it. Perhaps I should simply tell Celine the truth and leave the decision to her. But another, more visceral part of me wishes to protect her from all of it. To keep her away from this world and its perils. “Celine’s eighteenth birthday is less than seven weeks from now,” I say to no one, my attention settled on the far wall.

  “Which means nothing you might have done or said could have prevented this exact outcome,” Odette replies. She reaches for me, her fingers coming to rest on my hand. “Stop blaming yourself for every bad thing that has happened to Celine in her life.”

  I gaze at her sidelong. “Is it so wrong to want to keep those you love safe?”

  “It is if you are lying to them,” Jae says from his chair across the room. “Don’t spare Celine the truth to appease your own ego, Sébastien.”

  Hortense glares at him, then turns toward me. “Listen to the traitorous chaton. He may be cannon fodder in my eyes, but there are times he speaks true. Tell Celine what you know. Leave the decision to her. It is what a good man would do. One who trusts the heart and mind of the woman he loves.” Intensity sparks in her rich brown eyes. “Do not make her story about you.”

  Her last words are like a punch to the stomach. If Nicodemus were here, he would do just that. His anger at being betrayed by Jae would eclipse all else. He would make these stories about himself.

  I will not be my uncle.

  I look around at each of my brothers and sisters. I think of the measure of them. What makes them who they are. What makes me who I am.

  And I know what I must do.

  CELINE

  All day at the shop, Celine had warred with herself.

  She’d promised never to seek out Bastien again. She’d sworn to leave behind his world and all the troubles that came with it. The questions remained: Did she owe it to him to keep that promise? Did she owe him her loyalty? Or was it more about honor?

  Honor had not done Celine much in the way of favors. An honorable young woman would not have fled Paris after committing a murder, no matter the circumstances. She would have faced justice and hoped it prevailed.

  Laughable. When had justice ever prevailed when it came to a richly entitled young man and a young woman of modest means?

  Celine did not owe any man anything. By midafternoon, she’d decided that honor and loyalty were nonsense if they prevented her from living the life she wished to live. As soon as she closed up shop for the evening, she resolved to return to Jacques’ and demand to speak with Bastien again.

  An hour later, she changed her mind. As much as she hated to admit it, Bastien was right. She already possessed all the information she needed. The madman responsible for her injuries was dead. She was safe. Barring a miracle, there was little chance of her memories being restored. It was time for her to resume her life. To live in the present, rather than in the past.

  To choose Michael Grimaldi and build a future with him in the light.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Celine behaved like an absolute boor. Just before sundown—when Antonia asked her to repeat herself—Celine scowled at her with all the vim of an outraged schoolboy.

  “I would like to know,” Eloise commented in a contemplative tone, “how we might kill that bee in your bonnet.”

  Celine’s scowl deepened. “What bee?”

  “There is a . . . bee?” Antonia shrank into herself, her long brunette plait swaying like a pendulum as her eyes darted to all four corners of the shop.

  Eloise pursed her lips. “If you want me to ask what is troubling you, then simply say so. I don’t have the patience or the inclination to tease it out of you, Celine.” Her grin was tight. “I’m not Pippa, after all.”

  The way Eloise peered down at her made Celine want to disappear or lash out. The crown of intricately folded fabric atop Eloise’s head did not help. It was like being judged by the queen herself.

  “Where is the bee?” Antonia demanded, her lovely accent turning high-pitched.

  “There’s no bee, dear one,” Eloise answered. “But there will definitely be a swarm of some kind if Mademoiselle Rousseau doesn’t stop snapping at everyone who asks her a simple question.”

  Appropriately chastised, Celine chose to sequester herself in the back room until closing, where she passed the time sorting a new shipment of decorative buttons and lace trimming. Only once did she leave, to wish both Antonia and Eloise a good evening. Then she bustled about tidying the space, the war within her continuing to wreak unseen havoc. Half an hour later, she still had yet to decide whether she would ignore all good sense and make her way to Jacques’.

  After dimming the gas lamps and securing the inside of the shop, Celine stepped out the front door, withdrawing the key to lock it from the side pocket of her navy-striped frock.

  As Chaucer would say, why was it so hard for her to let sleeping dogs lie?

  I’ll never understand the fascination with the infinite. There is an end to everything, to good things as well.

  Chaucer was an ass. And the infinite captivates us because it allows us to believe all things are possible. That true love can last beyond time.

  Celine stopped short, the brass key dangling from her fingertips.

  The memory that washed over her was rich in detail. She could see the moonlight reflected in Bastien’s gunmetal gaze. Hear the rich baritone of his voice. Feel the way he looked at her through the darkness, the heat in his eyes unmistakable. Smell his nearness, the spicy bergamot wrapping around her like warm silk.

  She’d wanted to kiss him that night. He’d wanted to kiss her. She was certain of it.

  Like a string of unraveling thread, the memory began to fall apart, as if it had never existed in the first place.

  Frustration barreled up Celine’s throat, making her want to shout into a void. She whirled in place and caught the last traces of the sun as it began to vanish along the horizon. She stood still for a moment and watched the colors melt across the sky.

  It was beautiful. Something Celine could trust. Whenever she would lose hope as a child, her father would tell her to remember that every setting sun brought the promise of a rising dawn. A tomorrow that could change the course of today.

  Maybe Celine didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.

  But she knew what she could do today.

  Celine spun on her heel and nearly collided with the broad-shouldered young man standing on the sidewalk behind her.

  “Putain de merde,” she muttered as two strong hands shot out to steady her. As the familiar scent of leather and bergamot assailed her nostrils.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Bastien said, his hands falling from her arms.

  “Then why are you standing there like a panther ready to pounce?” she demanded as she straightened the front of her bodice and tried her best to ignore the traitorous flush creeping up her neck. “Do I look like your next meal?”

  A half smile curved up one side of his face. “You always could make me laugh.”

  The way Bastien looked at her made Celine want to throttle him. “You’re welcome,” she said. “One day I hope you return the favor. For I have yet to find you the slightest bit amusing.”

  His expression sobered. He shifted back, his hands in his trouser pockets. “May we speak in private?”

  “Why?”

  “There are some things I wish to say.”

  “Am I going to like wha
t I hear?” Celine knew she was acting like a child. But if everyone insisted on treating her like one, she was happy to oblige them.

  A brow crooked into his forehead. “Do you usually like what you hear?”

  “No, I don’t usually like what I hear. Especially when you’re the one speaking.”

  “That’s unlikely to change anytime soon,” Bastien admitted. “But I was informed—by those much wiser than I—that you deserve to hear these things and make your own decisions.”

  Suspicion fluttered through Celine’s stomach, causing her body to tense. “May I ask to what it pertains? Does it have anything to do with my lost memories?”

  “Not exactly,” Bastien said. “But I do possess answers about your past.” He took a single step closer, his stance wide. Almost protective. “And I believe you desire the truth, even though it may cause you pain. Am I wrong?”

  Celine swallowed. Shook her head. And unlocked the door to her shop.

  * * *

  For the next hour, Celine mostly held her tongue. Mostly listened.

  But some things were too ridiculous for her to ignore. Twice she almost threw Bastien out of the shop, her hands trembling, her pulse trilling in her skull.

  A world of . . . fey creatures? Enchantresses? Blood drinkers?

  Perhaps she truly had gone mad. Perhaps the injuries to her head had done her irreparable harm.

  For the fourth time since Bastien had begun speaking, Celine pinched her arm, feeling certain it would rouse her from the most bizarre dream of her life. Actually it wasn’t a dream. It was more like a nightmare. With each sentence Bastien spoke, Celine found herself struggling to marshal her disbelief.

  Bastien paused, his features subdued. Waiting for Celine to react to his most recent revelation.

  “So . . . ,” Celine began, “you and all the members of La Cour des Lions are”—she swallowed—“not human.”

  He shook his head.

  “What are you, then?” she breathed, her fingers twisting around the brass key she still held in her hand.