The Beautiful and the Cursed

by Page Morgan

  Where was he?

  As the serpent hit the floor below, it coiled its body into a stack of thick corkscrew rounds. The pale scales flashed to gray, then black. And then the coils were gone. The serpent was gone.

  Axia stood in the corridor below, her cloaked and hooded figure just as Ingrid remembered it. The fallen angel’s head tilted up until Ingrid was staring into the black cavern of her hood.

  But it couldn’t be Axia. She couldn’t walk the earth, not without first taking back her blood from Ingrid. If this wasn’t Axia …

  It uses your memories, down to the last detail. Luc’s words. First Anna, then Jonathan.

  It was the mimic demon, using her memories of Axia. Her fear. Leading her like a lamb to slaughter.

  The floor bowed under her feet and Ingrid yelped. A black mass filled the corridor below, racing in like dark smoke. Luc collided with the mimic, shearing through the black robes with his talons. A killing blow. Ingrid expected a burst of green sparks—every demon she’d seen destroyed had disappeared in such a manner. But this one simply vanished. No sparks. Nothing.

  Luc was alone in the underground arcade corridor when the floor finally gave. Ingrid fell in a rain of glass shards, a scream locked in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut against the grating chime of breaking glass, the whistle of air as it rushed past her ears. Her skirts billowed and flapped around her, and she prepared for the sickening crack of bone against marble.

  She should have known better.

  Luc caught her midair, his arms slamming into her back with such force it drove the breath from her lungs. It was an awkward catch, but once he had her in his arms, curled in tight against the hard, square plates of his chest, he folded in his wings and dropped to the floor.

  Ingrid’s eyes were still squeezed shut, her hands balled into fists. Slowly, she opened both, but she couldn’t take a breath. She hadn’t been this close to Luc in ages. He was so warm, as if his dark reptilian scales had been exposed to glaring sun.

  She turned her face up and saw his pale lime eyes flash with concern. They were the only part of Luc—the human Luc—that was left. The rest of him was monstrous, the featherless black wings looming over each of his hulking shoulders, the clipped ears of a dog set high on his bald skull, and small, tightly knit jet scales covering his face. They shimmered, even in the poor light of the underground arcade.

  How could someone so handsome turn into something so hideous?

  Ingrid uncurled the fingers of one hand and reached timidly toward the squared plane of his chin. Luc’s scales felt like slate. Ingrid let her fingertip travel lightly up the curve of his jaw and then in, toward his mouth. Luc’s gargoyle lips weren’t full and lush like his human ones. They were thin and black, and he kept his mouth in a tight seam, his eyes cautiously following the motions of her hand.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Luc jerked his head to the side, dislodging her exploring fingers. He set her down roughly. She shouldn’t have touched him. Her legs weren’t steady, and her shoes crunched broken glass underfoot. They needed to leave, and fast. The entrance stairwell to the underground shops descended directly from the sidewalk along the street. At the base were Luc’s shoes and clothes. He would need to shift and dress.

  “I’ll wait in the carriage,” Ingrid said, and started to walk away.

  She felt a tug of resistance. Glancing down, she saw Luc’s talons tangled in the velvet folds of her cloak. Each talon was sharp enough to cut through the velvet with one swipe. But he was holding her back gently, and she didn’t know why. She watched in awe as his talons receded, changing from obsidian hooks to fleshy pink fingers.

  He was Luc again. The human Luc she was used to seeing, at least. He stood behind her, stark naked. She kept her eyes fastened on his hand, still balled in the velvet of her cloak. Still holding her as if he didn’t want her to leave.

  “We should hurry,” she finally said.

  He waited another moment before letting her go. Ingrid ran for the stairs with the nagging feeling that Luc had wanted her to say something else. Exactly what, she didn’t know. Somehow, she still felt as if she had failed.

  Morning sun bled through the skeleton-limbed trees surrounding Clos du Vie. Ingrid had thought of Dimitrie on the long ride to the Bois du Boulogne and wondered why he hadn’t arrived at the shopping arcade. Perhaps it was because Luc had already been with her. It made sense, but Dimitrie’s absence bothered her nonetheless. Not that she’d needed him. Or wanted him. Luc was protector enough.

  It was still too early to call on Constantine, but his butler showed them into the orangery without a fuss. He didn’t even react when Luc refused to leave Ingrid’s side. Ingrid wouldn’t have dared ask Luc to stay with the carriage, and not just because she feared the mimic might pop up again. The fierce determination in his expression brooked no argument, not from her, and definitely not from Constantine’s butler.

  For once, Ingrid appreciated the suffocating heat of the orangery. She hadn’t been able to shake the shivers wracking her body since leaving the arcade. The gathered heat in the glassed-in jungle immediately seeped into her skin and relaxed the tremors.

  And then she saw Vander.

  He was standing by the garden table in his mustard-colored waistcoat and creamy white shirtsleeves, his coat and bowler hat slung over the curved back of a chair. When he saw her coming through the stand of bamboo, Ingrid forgot herself. She forgot Luc and Constantine, who was seated at the table surrounded by a dozen texts. She ran toward Vander and crashed into his chest. His arms went around her back and he folded her to himself.

  “I thought Constantine was supposed to send his carriage for you. What happened?” he asked, his mouth pressed against the side of her head. His breath ruffled her hair. It had come loose from its bun in the arcade and she hadn’t thought to fix it.

  Ingrid hadn’t yet told him about the mimic demon, and she didn’t know how to start. She pulled away as a shudder of electricity raked down her arms. Why now? Why now and not when she’d needed it?

  When Ingrid didn’t answer, Vander turned toward Luc. “Tell me.”

  And so Luc told them. He was brief, and his voice didn’t shake the way Ingrid’s would have. He knew what to say, when Ingrid was certain she would have mumbled incoherently. A demon wanted to kill her. And it had come very close to succeeding.

  “This is quite grave, I am afraid,” Constantine said once Luc had concluded. He sat back in his chair. If possible, he appeared even grayer than he had moments before.

  “I tried to kill it,” Luc ground out, unmistakably frustrated that he hadn’t been successful. He didn’t like to fail. Though at least she hadn’t been injured. Not even a scratch from all that falling glass. Luc wouldn’t suffer another angel’s burn on Ingrid’s account, not if she could help it.

  “Next time, I will kill it,” Vander said.

  Luc glared at him, but Constantine interrupted before he could make a retort.

  “Mimic demons are almost impossible to destroy. Unlike other demons, mimics can appear and disappear at will. They can vanish before any harm is done to them, whether it’s by a gargoyle’s talons or blessed silver.”

  That explained the absence of the death sparks Ingrid had been hoping to see.

  “You said almost impossible,” she remarked, self-consciously running her fingers through her tousled locks. She probably looked as if she’d just rolled out of bed.

  Constantine sat forward, crossing his arms on the green wrought-iron table. “The only way I know of to destroy a mimic is to simultaneously kill the human or animal that the mimic has taken the appearance of. Luc says the mimic took on the form of your friend from London? If she had been at your side and you had plunged a dagger through her heart while the mimic still wore her appearance, the deed would have been done. It requires a sacrifice, my dear.”

  Ingrid’s uncontrollable tremors made another attack. “That’s impossible,” she whispered.

  Constan
tine fanned out his hands. “As I said.”

  “There has to be another way.” Vander loosened his jacquard tie and the first few buttons of his shirt, nearly exposing the strawberry-colored marks he, Ingrid, Grayson, and every other Duster shared.

  “Capturing a mimic requires advanced technologies that are unavailable to me,” Constantine replied. “However, if you were to go to the Daicrypta with such a request—”

  “No!” Ingrid, Vander, and Luc all shouted in unison.

  Ingrid sighed. Asking the Daicrypta for anything was out of the question. There had to be another method for stopping a mimic.

  “There’s a library room at Hôtel Bastian full of books. They haven’t been touched in years,” Ingrid said, looking at Vander. He’d invited her to be their academic. And then he’d kissed her. Ingrid turned back to Constantine, avoiding both Vander’s and Luc’s eyes.

  “I could try to find something there,” she said distractedly.

  But then she saw the stacks of books on the table. Constantine had a library three times the size of the one at Hôtel Bastian, and he’d been studying demons for decades. Ingrid fiddled with her hair again, tucking a lock behind her ear.

  “We can search together,” Vander said with a step in her direction.

  “How pleasant.” Luc moved between Ingrid and Vander. “What are you doing here, Seer?”

  She saw again the books at Constantine’s elbows. Ingrid had forgotten. Vander had come to hear what Constantine had learned about the webbing that had spewed from his fingertips.

  “I thought I’d come early. Get it over with,” he said to her with a timid glance toward Constantine’s books. He was nervous.

  Constantine got right to it.

  “Léon’s ability to produce silk protein is a main characteristic of the arachnae demon, just as electric pulses are of the lectrux, and perhaps just as the ability to shift is of the hellhound. When you were pinning Léon’s arms, he lost that ability, and you, Mr. Burke, adopted it. Only to a slight degree, but you still adopted it.”

  Luc slowly rotated toward Vander, a strange light dawning in his eyes. Ingrid held her breath. He didn’t know about Vander’s dust. No one within the Dispossessed did.

  “Why would that have happened?” Luc asked.

  Constantine opened a book, oblivious to the tension brewing between Vander and Luc.

  “After much research, I believe I’ve discovered the source of Mr. Burke’s demon blood and his demon gift.”

  Luc and Vander stared at one another. If either of them was breathing, Ingrid couldn’t see evidence of it. They were both so still, they looked like wax replicas.

  “You’re one of them,” Luc whispered.

  “There are many of us,” Vander replied.

  Constantine sighed. “My apologies, Mr. Burke. I wasn’t aware Luc was in the dark about your demon blood.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Vander broke off from Luc’s daggered glare. “My blood doesn’t come from an arachnae, I know that much. My dust is multicolored, not pale yellow like Léon’s. I also already know what my gift is: I see dust.”

  Constantine opened to a marked page within the thick text. “That is a gift, most certainly. But I do not believe it is your demon gift. Just as it is not mine, for I do not possess demon blood, and yet I, too, see demon dust. You understand?”

  Vander rounded the table, headed toward Constantine. “No. I don’t.”

  Ingrid quickly looked at Luc. He was already watching her, and he was livid. She hadn’t told him the truth about Vander, but it hadn’t been her secret to share.

  “The ability to see dust has nothing to do with your having demon blood. May I inquire as to when you received your calling from Our Lord?” Constantine asked.

  Vander drew back. “Why?”

  “Was it about the same time you started being able to view the dust around certain animals or people? Perhaps in random clouds or airstreams?”

  Vander considered this in silence while Ingrid wondered what exactly a calling from the Lord was. Had Vander woken up one day with the unexplainable desire to serve God? Or had his family expected it of him for some reason? He spoke sparingly of his plans for the church. He spoke sparingly of his family, too, who she assumed still lived in America. All she had to go on was what he’d given her—and with a start, she realized that it wasn’t much at all.

  “It was about the same time,” Vander said, sounding guarded.

  Constantine nodded excitedly. “Excellent!” He stood from the chair and balanced the open book with both hands. “Just as I presumed from the beginning, Mr. Burke. Your ability to see dust is not terribly uncommon. A number of the devout develop the same sort of sight when they receive their calling from the Lord. A true calling, mind you. One that cannot easily be explained or reasoned out. I suspect your family was rather surprised when you announced your intentions for the clergy?”

  Ingrid watched Vander closely. His expression softened with wonder, and Ingrid was certain Constantine’s guess had been dead-on.

  “We share the ability to see dust because we have both been called, Mr. Burke. I have followed my calling by studying Christianity’s darkest mysteries, while your calling has led you along a very different path.”

  “What’s your point?” Vander asked.

  Constantine set down the book he’d been holding, spun it toward Vander, and gave it a short push.

  “You have the blood of a mersian demon,” he said.

  Vander touched the edge of the open book with his fingers. “I haven’t heard of a mersian demon before.”

  “Neither have I,” Luc said as he approached the table. “And I’ve been around a little bit longer than you have, Seer.”

  Ingrid stayed quiet. The only demons she knew of were the ones she’d come into direct contact with. Unfortunately, she knew there were many, many more.

  “That is because they don’t hunt humans,” Constantine answered. Ingrid, Vander, and Luc gave him their full attention. “They hunt other Underneath demons and feed on their dust. By feeding on a demon’s dust, a mersian will leach its prey of power and will in turn soak it up, making the power its own.”

  Constantine again pushed the book in Vander’s direction. “When a mersian comes close enough to another demon, it absorbs that demon’s field of dust. Like any demon, the mersian will eventually exhaust whatever it has consumed, and will therefore need to feed again. However, until it exhausts the dust it has fed on, the mersian will take on the abilities of its prey.”

  They all took a silent moment to make sense of what Constantine had just said. So when Vander had pinned Léon’s arms, he’d come into contact with arachnae dust. He’d absorbed the dust, and then that dust had … what? Given him Léon’s powers?

  Vander removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. “I can’t have mersian blood. I’ve fought demons before, and I’ve never taken on their abilities after.”

  “Yet haven’t you always had your sword or some other weapon to keep your body at a distance from those demons?” Constantine countered, his expression confident. He already knew what Vander’s answer would be.

  “You held Léon’s arms at his side for at least a minute, perhaps longer. Enough time to absorb his dust,” Ingrid’s teacher went on, taking up his cane from where it rested against the table.

  “But wouldn’t Vander have noticed something like this before now?” Ingrid asked. He was nearly nineteen, and she and Grayson, at seventeen, had started noticing their abilities months ago.

  “That depends on how many opportunities he’s had to touch another Duster—or a demon, or gargoyle, I suppose, since all those things have dust fields,” Constantine answered.

  The temperature in the orangery intensified, and the flora seemed to creep in closer. Ingrid didn’t know how many Dusters Vander had touched, but she did know that he had touched her. Held her. Kissed her. Each time, she’d noticed a thorny stirring in her arms. The last time, in the Alliance library, it had surged and
then drained away. And the next day she hadn’t been able to conjure up her electricity, even when the Jonathan mimic had been bearing down on her in the middle of a street.

  Vander was watching her as she remembered these things. Unfortunately, so was Luc.

  “I’ve touched Ingrid,” Vander said.

  She had wondered before if the connection Luc had with her was deep enough to have pierced her, giving her the same connection to him that he had to her. At that moment, she was sure it had. Rage blistered underneath her skin, and Ingrid knew it wasn’t her own.

  “You have?” Constantine blinked owlishly behind his spectacles, looking from Vander to Ingrid, and then back again. “Oh. Well, ah … did you, ah, notice anything?”

  “Yes, Seer. Did you notice anything?” Luc asked with unmasked menace.

  “I did,” Ingrid said, drawing Luc’s ire. “I think Monsieur Constantine is right. I couldn’t produce a single spark the following day.”

  It hadn’t even come to her unwanted, as it usually did.

  Vander reached for the book Constantine had pushed toward him. He slammed it closed, making her jump.

  “So that was your lectrux power I felt?” he asked.

  “You actually felt it?” she asked, almost giddy. Someone else had felt it!

  Vander put his spectacles back on and looked at his hands. “I didn’t know it was that. I mean, I thought it was—”

  “Enough,” Luc growled. “Whatever happened is over. You won’t touch Ingrid again.”

  Ingrid’s smile collapsed. “Luc, stop.”

  He approached fast, stopping a hairsbreadth away from her. “If he touches you, he takes away your ability to protect yourself.”

  I can’t protect myself anyway! she wanted to blurt, but was too ashamed. Besides, though she abhorred being told what to do and what not to do, she knew Luc was right.

  Vander did as well. “I won’t risk that, Ingrid, not with a mimic demon stalking you.”

  What was she going to do, argue? Beg Vander to reconsider? Stomp her foot and shout that it wasn’t fair? Because it wasn’t. First Luc couldn’t kiss or touch her without shifting into gargoyle form, and now Vander couldn’t touch her, either, not without rendering her a weak, ordinary human.