Harlow slumped to her knees, the man’s voice fading as the ringing in her ears took over. That couldn’t be right. She’d just seen her mother. Just talked to her. A pit opened up inside her, a dark place that bubbled with guilt and regret. Then a new noise broke through the ringing in her ears, a strangled keening sound that Harlow suddenly realized was coming from her own throat.
Her mother was dead. And so was any chance Harlow was ever going to have to fix things between them.
A day passed before Augustine could surface from the grief and guilt suffocating him. That second morning came bitter and gray, the oddly warm weather they’d been enjoying replaced by the kind February usually brought. The afternoon added a drizzle. Augustine couldn’t help but think New Orleans was mourning Olivia right along with him and Lally. He stood at the big leaded window in his attic apartment, staring out through the rain-streaked glass at the sprawl of the Garden District but not really seeing anything. His head was too full of memories. The past was all that made sense, really, because the reality of what had happened was too horrific to believe.
Sleep had mostly eluded him the last two nights, coming in short, restless spans that dissolved into nightmares. Visions of Olivia’s broken body in his arms. His mother screaming at him. Fingers pointing, accusing. He’d woken up drenched in cold sweat several times only to realize the nightmares weren’t his imaginations but the worst of his memories.
On top of it all, Olivia was gone. His sweet, wonderful Olivia.
And he was to blame.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, eyes gritty with lack of sleep and the abundance of sorrow. How on earth was he going to get through this? Muffled noises and the scent of coffee filtered up from the main floor, reminding him he wasn’t alone.
Somewhere below, Lally was hurting just as much as he was.
Moving like he was trapped in amber, he pulled clothes onto his body and lumbered down the back stairs to the kitchen so he wouldn’t have to pass the gilt-framed hall mirror, now leaning against the foyer wall, waiting to be cleaned and rehung.
Lally stood at the sink scrubbing out her gumbo pot. She greeted him when he came in but didn’t make eye contact. “Afternoon, Mr. Augustine.”
“Afternoon.” The fact that neither of them had added “good” underscored the rottenness of the day. He poured a cup of coffee, then slumped into one of the kitchen chairs. “You doing okay?”
“I suppose so. I called Miss Olivia’s lawyer. Got… things started. He’s going to take care of notifying people and letting the papers know and all that. Funeral be in two days.” Her voice was soft as she kept scrubbing.
“That’s good, Lally. Thank you.” How she’d found the strength, he had no idea, but if she hadn’t been a strong woman, she never would have lasted around Olivia.
She rinsed the pot and put it on the rack to dry. “You want breakfast? Or lunch?”
“Nothing.” He rubbed at his eyes. “No appetite.”
“Me neither.” Her hands went still and her voice grew weaker. “I can’t believe Miss Olivia’s gone.” She bent her head and her shoulders began to shake.
He leaped from his chair to comfort her, pulling her into his arms and letting her bury her head against his chest. His own eyes burned, but he was long out of tears. “I know. I feel the same way.”
After a minute or two, she sighed deeply and pulled back to lean against the sink, patting at her eyes with a handkerchief from her apron pocket. “Mr. Augustine—”
“Please, just call me Augustine. Or Augie. I’m not your boss, Lally.”
She nodded, but he wasn’t really sure she was agreeing. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Only if you promise to stop calling me Mr. Augustine.”
The tiniest fragment of a smile lightened her eyes. “Okay.”
“Ask away.”
“You know I don’t know much about your kind, other than what I’ve learned from Miss Olivia.” As far as he knew, Lally was one hundred percent human. “Why did Miss Olivia have you bring that mirror out?”
He went back to his coffee, taking a sip before he answered. The hot liquid tasted muddy and flat. “Fae can travel through mirrors. We can go to other places in this world, or we can go to places on the fae plane.” He blew out a long breath. “I guess Livie thought she could escape this world before it was too late.”
Lally thought for a moment. “But she didn’t? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Her body would have vanished if she’d made it through. So, no.” He swallowed, trying to erase the ashy disappointment coating his mouth. “She didn’t make it.”
She hugged her arms around her waist. “Do your people believe in the afterlife? Do you have souls like humans?”
“Yes on both accounts.” Although his mother would probably argue the last one.
“Well, then, Miss Olivia had a fair bit of fae blood in her and we know she was a fighter. Seems to me maybe a part of her would have gotten through, don’t you think?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You think her soul made it through?” He’d never heard of such a thing.
“Don’t know. But maybe you could go and have a look around.” She glanced up at the kitchen clock. “That man gave you twenty-four hours to make your decision about taking his job offer, but no one came round yesterday so I’m guessing they gave you one more day on account of what happened. Means they’ll be coming soon and that don’t give you much time to do a lot of searching.”
“It gives me almost no time. The fae plane is a big place. If she did make it, she could be anywhere.”
Lally’s face dropped. “I understand.”
He hated to squelch Lally’s hopes by saying there was no point, but he had doubts about the possibilities. Serious doubts. If such a thing were possible, it seemed he would have heard about it being done before, but then his knowledge of all things fae had a lot of holes in it. “It wouldn’t hurt to take a look, I suppose.”
A tentative smile curled her mouth. “Thank you, Mr. Aug—I mean, Augie.”
He stood slowly, Lally’s optimism causing hope to well up in him. Allowing some of his sorrow to be replaced by something he had no right feeling was an uncomfortable sensation. “I don’t like leaving you here alone knowing the Elektos could be on their way. Don’t let them in until I get back, okay?”
“Absolutely.” She adjusted the gold chain she always wore. “I ain’t letting anyone in this house until you get back. Now you shoo. See if you can find Miss Olivia and bring her back here. Or at least let her know we miss her.”
“I need something of hers. Something with…” His voice dropped. “Something with blood on it would be best.”
“Her cane.” Lally nodded. “It’s in the front hall by the mirror.”
“I’ll have to run upstairs. I need a mirror to take with me so I can return, too.”
“Wait.” She dug into her purse on the counter, pulling out a cosmetic mirror and holding it toward him. “Will this do?”
He flipped it open. Silver backed. “This’ll work.” He clicked it shut and tucked it in his jeans pocket, then hesitated. “I should take two so I can leave one behind.”
“Why’s that?”
“If she made it, the only way she can get off the fae plane is with a mirror.”
“Hang on.” She went to her room and returned with a small mirror framed in carved wood dark with age. “Here.”
“You sure this isn’t valuable?”
“It is. That’s why I want Miss Olivia to have it.”
Together, they walked out into the hall. Livie’s cane rested near the door. Flecks of dried blood covered the crystal finial. He tucked the framed mirror beneath his arm, then picked up the cane and stood before the mirror with it. The reflection staring back at him made it clear just how deeply Livie’s death had affected him. Grief was its own special kind of ugly.
Lally hesitated, then backed up a little. “You mind if I’m here? If I see you… go through?”
/> “No.” He glanced at her, trying to determine if she had some greater plan in mind. “Just don’t try to follow me. Under any circumstances.”
“I—I wouldn’t even know how.”
By touching him as he passed through, that’s how, but he wasn’t about to share that information. Not that Lally was the type to act on something like that. “Good. Okay. I’m going through.”
He held the cane in one hand, then focused on the glass, realizing there were droplets of blood on it, too. That was good. Blood was a powerful magic of its own kind. It should help tune the mirror to Livie’s path. Which made him think that maybe Livie had made it—but no. Her body hadn’t even wavered like she was trying to cross through. Still, he’d told Lally he would go. He let the blood speak to him, trying to picture whatever part of the fae plane Livie might have made it to, then he let his fingers graze the glass and a second later, the magic pulled him through.
The world before him was a sprawling gray field capped with an infinite gray sky. Foggy drifts obscured the mountainous horizon with more gray. Wind moaned in the distance, a lonely, eerie sound that drew goose bumps over his skin as it came closer to tug at his clothes and ruffle his hair.
What little hope he’d allowed into his heart vanished completely, torn away by the wind. He knew this place, the horrors that resided here. If this wretched plane was where Livie had been pulled through to, there was no chance of getting her out and even less chance she’d survive long enough for him to find her.
He turned, dreading what lay behind him but needing to see it anyway.
The great black rock formation towered over him, its entrance carved into the center where slivers of jagged stone along the edges guarded the gates leading in. In almost exclusively, because few who ever entered came out.
The mirror had brought him to the Claustrum.
Chapter Nine
He couldn’t bear to think of Livie here or anywhere near here. The Claustrum was a hellish prison where the fae incarcerated those of their kind too destructive and too criminal to be let loose on the mortal plane. The creatures caged in this place were monstrosities, some twisted variations on the various fae lines, some the rare remainders of lines now bred out of existence. The raptor fae, the one he’d brought the human Chrysabelle here to see, was a milder example but still not a creature anyone would want to run into alone.
Why would the mirror bring him here? There was only one answer that made sense. And that would be because it was the last place Livie had traveled. For some reason, if Livie had gotten through, this was where she’d ended up. The how and why of that made no sense to him, but mirrors were just tools of transport, not capable of deception.
He held Livie’s cane up as the air buffeted him. “Olivia Goodwin!” The wind ripped her name away, carrying it off into the grayness surrounding him. Again he shouted for her. “Livie! Are you here? It’s me, Augustine.”
But his only response was the whine and cry of the wind squealing through the Claustrum’s craggy spires. There were other parts of the plane he could investigate; the Grand City, the Valley of Focus, Alucinor Forest… all a thousand times better than this place but searching them meant months of work, not hours.
He set the framed mirror on the ground so that it was protected by a few rocks, then rested the cane in front of it, the idea of time swirling through his head. Maybe that’s exactly what he needed—or what Livie needed. Maybe a transition from one life to another took time. Maybe she was still finding her way through this plane.
It was better than thinking he’d never see her again, even if he knew deep down he was telling himself a lie. In a way, trying to fill the hole in his heart with false hope only heightened the ache of his loss. He already hurt so much the only thing he could think of that might take the pain away was finding the person responsible for bringing these vampires into the city and making them pay. The Augustine who’d once run the streets of New Orleans would have no trouble wiping those vampire vermin—and their benefactor—from his city in Livie’s name. Or making his home the safe haven it was meant to be.
He still could, but not without breaking laws and creating the kind of havoc that would taint any chance of finding this traitor. There was only one way to do what he needed to and stay above the law.
Accept the Guardianship. If he reverted to his old ways without the Elektos behind him, they’d call him a threat and he’d become the hunted once again, exactly what Olivia had tried to keep him from. No, he had to do this in such a way that the driving need for revenge in his gut had some kind of authority behind it. He couldn’t be the loose cannon he’d once been. The kid who’d just as soon cut someone as look at them.
He closed his eyes at the thought. That’s not who he was anymore. Not who Livie had taught him to be. That part of him was a product of his mother. A product of rebellion. Maybe if his mother had raised him differently, raised him to embrace his true heritage, that past wouldn’t exist. But it did. And he was about to call on those skills once again.
If only he had someone to talk to, someone to comfort him and reassure him that the decision he was about to make was the right one, but that person had always been Livie.
There was one other person, someone he felt obligated to inform about his decision, but talking to her had rarely ended in him feeling better about anything. Maybe this time would be different. Just like maybe Livie was here somewhere on the fae plane. He almost laughed at how easily he stacked one lie on top of another. Even so, he pulled Lally’s mirror from his pocket and left the fae realm behind in search of the impossible.
A room service tray sat near the door, the barely touched food gone cold, but Harlow didn’t care. The butler could clean up when she left. Until then, no one else was getting in. She sat on the floor, her back against the bed, her knees pulled to her chest. At her side, the roll of toilet paper she’d been using to blow her nose and wipe her eyes after the tissues had run out. She’d kept the news on hour after hour, watching, praying for some new story that would tell her the report of her mother’s death had been wrong. For the reprieve that would give her time to make things right.
But of course, it never came.
Her LMD buzzed. She dug it out from under a pile of used tissues. Not a number she recognized. She accepted the call anyway. “Hello?” Her voice rasped, raw from crying.
“Harlow Goodwin?”
Not a voice she recognized, either. “Yes. Who is this?”
“Lionel Cuthridge. I’m your mother’s attorney. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“I already know what it is.” She bit back a sob. This meant her mother really was dead.
“I thought you might have heard. I am very sorry for you loss. Your mother was loved by everyone who knew her.”
Not everyone, Harlow thought. Not by her awful daughter. Not enough. The darkness inside her tried to swallow her again. She thought about letting it.
He went on. “There is the estate to be handled, the will to be read. Unpleasant things to think about at this time, I know, but necessary nonetheless.”
She made a soft noise that he seemed to understand as his cue to continue.
“I know you live in Boston, so we can certainly adjust things until you’re able to travel to Louisiana—”
“I’m already here,” she whispered, hoping he didn’t ask why.
“I see. Well, that’s good then. Are you staying at your mother’s? I wasn’t aware—”
“No.”
He hesitated. “There is plenty of room there, if you wish to. I’m sure I’m not out of line suggesting that, but it would make things easier. You are her heir, after all.”
Harlow rubbed at her eyes. That hadn’t occurred to her, but he was right. And her cash wasn’t going to last forever. “I can move out of my hotel and go over there this afternoon.”
“Very good. And this number is the best way to reach you for further correspondence then?”
“Correspondence?”
> “The information concerning the execution of the trust, those sorts of things. As you are a beneficiary of her trust, I need to be able to reach you. Eulalie Hughes, your mother’s housekeeper—”
“I know who she is.”
“Eulalie will be handling most of the funeral arrangements, so you won’t need to deal with that unless you wish to help.” He paused. “You’ll be at the house then?”
“By this afternoon, yes.” A beneficiary of the trust. She went still. Was there a chance her mother had left her the information Harlow had been trying to get all her life? Might she be about to find out who her father was? There was no reason for her mother to take that secret to her grave, was there?
Another hope sprang up in Harlow, this one heavy with the weight of shame. Beneficiary meant her mother had left something to Harlow despite their differences. Maybe more than the information about her father. Maybe… money. Enough that she might not have to go to prison after all? The thought that her mother had loved her enough to take care of her even after death brought new tears.
She fought them down, struggling to accept the inevitable. These legal things had to be taken care of. She was her mother’s heir. It was her responsibility, no matter how great her sorrow. Still, she was glad her mother’s housekeeper was willing to handle the rest. Harlow wasn’t sure she could get through planning her mother’s funeral.
“I’ll speak with you soon, then, Ms. Goodwin.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cuthridge.” Now to pull herself together. She got to her feet and took a long look at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes were puffy and her nose red. She looked like hell. In general, more than she could fix in a few hours with a hot shower and some makeup. What did it matter? She was moving into her mother’s estate. Wasn’t like she was going to run into anyone she knew.
Augustine had long ago learned that coming and going via mirror required discretion. Appearing in the middle of a street or a crowded room tended to cause accidents and panic. To that end, he now stood in the back corner of the Ursuline Convent’s gardens, deep in the shade of the trees and almost within arm’s reach of the high wall surrounding the two-block compound. The main building loomed before him, an austere stucco rectangle that was as plain as it was large. Standing here, in this tranquil place, it was hard to imagine the Quarter was just beyond. Harder still to think that the woman who’d made his life so miserable called this peaceful place home.
House of the Rising Sun Page 10
