Ana’s smile is so cold I blink. “Oh, it is. All I have to do is raise Mother’s wards again and he’s trapped here. Forever.”
Stephen looks startled but Jack only smiles. “Possibly, Anastasia. But I knew the risk. So ask yourself, like Stephen did, why would I deliver myself into your hands…unless I’m telling the truth?”
They have a staring contest until Carly enters the room, Ajax and Syana right behind her. Their quickie must have been pretty darn quick. My sister retakes her place next to Styx, who slides an arm around her and squeezes. He’s worried. He buries his nose in Carly’s red-gold curls and I frown, but then Jack looks around, looking agitated for the first time since he crossed the threshold.
“Where’s Jett?”
Ah, yes. I look up, almost expecting to catch the flash of my sister’s ragged blue-black hair, but she’s nowhere in sight. The stabby bitch is apparently going to miss this shindig.
Ana confirms. “She’s out. I don’t know where and I wasn’t going to wait for her. Jett doesn’t respond to half my messages these days and the other half she ignores just for spite.”
“Why?”
Ana scowls. “Maybe because none of us are doing too well since you murdered our baby sister, Jack. Though I’m quite sure she’ll be disappointed to have missed this.” Low and slow, she whispers the opening lines of her favorite rhyme aloud. “Au clair de la lune…”
Under the moonlight,
my friend Pierrot,
lend me your pen
to write a word.
My candle is dead
I don't have a light anymore
open your door for me
for God's sake.
Yes, it’s not a traditional Mother Goose rhyme—one of my mother’s more whimsical moods—and yes, she uses the French version, but that’s Ana.
“…ouvre-moi ta porte, pour l'amour de Dieu.”
Jack makes no attempt to stop her, not that he could. He only takes a deep breath when the wards lock down again, this time with him on the inside, just as Ana promised.
Stephen tenses. “What did you do?”
Jack lifts a hand. “No open doors for me. Satisfied now, Ana?”
“Fine, get on with it, then. My patience is waning.”
Stephen nods. “Okay, Frost. You seem familiar enough with our laws. I already know what happened that night—as well as anyone does, since there were no witnesses save you and Persephone. Tell us your version.”
Jack nods, looking unfazed, though I can hear his heartbeat from here. It isn’t fear of my sisters that has his pulse racing. It’s that Jack knows he’s about to rip what’s left of my family apart. Probably forever.
He takes a deep breath. “Telling you what happened is pointless. We all know there isn’t a damn thing I can say that you will believe, not without proof. And I don’t have proof.”
Ana raises an eyebrow. She’s striving for icy calm, but I know my sister. She’s a seething mass of hate and fury, looking for any excuse to tear Jack apart. “Well, if that’s the best you can do, Frost, what would you like first? Acid in your guts or lava in your veins?” Her hands twitch, but Jack lifts a hand.
“I said I don’t have proof, but I know where it is. Seph told you both about the truth stone, right?”
Everyone seems to tense. Ana frowns. “Yes she did. So what? The damn thing is gone, back into its owner’s hands. And I, for one, am not going to ask him to borrow it.” Her hands clench in her lap, knuckles white.
Jack smiles thinly. “But I believe there is something very similar. In this house.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because I gave it to you before I realized what it could do.”
“What in the hell are you on about? I’ve never accepted a gift from you.”
“Yes, you did, Ana.” Jack says gently. “The necklace your mother gave Persephone. I took it off her before I…” He clears his throat. “I left it on the ice for you to find after I finished laying Seph to rest. I meant it to be a token, but I need it back.”
My sister’s face is livid. “A token of what? That you were able to beat our mother’s magic, to get through it to my baby sister? You son of—”
“I didn’t beat your mother’s magic,” he says shortly. “At least not in time to save your sister. Oriane’s stone prevented me from that. It slowed me down just enough that—” He swallows and shakes his head.
Ana narrows her gaze. “Since when are you on a first-name basis with our mother?”
“Since we’ve been working together to save Persephone from that damn prophecy.”
Ana goes still. Like marble statue still. Only her eyes flicker, giving away how fast her mind is working. I know she is making the same connection I did. She’s read my mother’s diary, too. In fact, Ana had been snooping in Mom’s stuff long before she showed me that snippet. Jack has to be Beau, the man she mentioned several times in connection with me.
Beau generally has one meaning in English—boyfriend or lover, but it’s a rather more fluid word in French. It’s just the sort of dichotomy Mom would find amusing. Unless she was using it ironically. Hard to say with our mother.
“She would never trust you, not after what you did to Seph.”
“Yes, she did. And I trusted her.” Jack’s voice roughens. “I’ve been wondering for a while now if that was a mistake. Give me the stone, Ana.”
“I’m not inclined to give you what you want, even if I believed this bullshit, and I don’t.” But Ana looks shaken, her eyes wide. “Mom wanted Seph to have that stone to save her.”
That’s when I remember who else my mom talked to that night. When she dropped off my necklace with Carly. Mom talked to Ana…and Jett.
“Did she?” Jack’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you want to know for sure? Because if I didn’t kill Seph—and I didn’t—then you need to know who did.”
Ana goes to get the stone.
I don’t know where she’s keeping it, but the room is silent as the grave, har har, while she’s gone. Styx is rubbing circles on Carly’s hand. She’s leaning into him slightly, probably unconsciously, like a person who’s too tired to hold themselves up anymore.
I take a better look at her and don’t like what I’m seeing. No wonder Styx looks worried. We’re the closest in age, if you can call a seventy-some-year age difference ‘close,’ but Carly’s childlike enthusiasm and innocence have made her seem younger than me in a lot of ways. Not so now. She looks drawn, as if gathering herself for a blow. I don’t think of my sister as a seer, but in a way, she is. Her paintings have always contained more than a hint of foreshadowing. I wince, wondering how she’s going to take Jack’s revelation. My eyes drift to Styx. His eyes are locked on her face, his expression a mixture of tension and tenderness. I remember when he warned me about risking myself. How it hurt Carly and how angry he was about that.
He was so right.
I lean in closer and touch one of my sister’s red-gold curls with a finger. “I’m sorry, sissie.”
She straightens abruptly, startling me, but it’s only because Ana has walked back into the room.
“Before you give it to him, I need to know”—Stephen looks at Ana, his shoulders tense—“if it’s a trick, can you handle him if his magic somehow comes back?”
“Don’t trust me an inch, do you, bruin?” Jack says.
“You’d lose what little respect you have for me if I did.” With a growl, the bruin turns back to my sister. “Well?”
“It’s just an absorption stone my mother gave Seph for protection. Against Jack. There’s nothing here to help him.”
“But if it did?”
Ana stares at the glistening chain in her fingers, avoiding the bruin’s intense gaze. “I can’t beat Jack Frost one-on-one. But even if it does come back, his magic will be contained within the sphere of my mother’s wards. She wove them so tightly—”
“You’re telling me,” Jack mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “This must be what
a witch feels like when bound by salt.
“—his magic can’t escape. Neither will he.”
“Yes. But can he harm us?”
Ana hesitates, then looks at Carly, who shrugs dully. “Between Carly and I, we should be able to keep him from doing any real damage, but—”
“You’re forgetting me.” Styx’s voice is quiet. “Jack Frost will do no harm to those within this house while I am here.”
“And I do have a sword. One that has a liking for all things frosty,” Tyr points out, with a killer smile meant just for Jack, who just shakes his head. He has eyes only for the stone in Ana’s hand.
There is a fine trickle of sweat at his temple and another at his nape. What the fuck are you up to, lover of mine? I have no idea what he wants with Mom’s necklace.
“Wonderful. Now that we’ve established you all can kill me faster than I can kill you, could we please get on with it? Give me that damn thing.”
After hesitating one last time, Ana drops the onyx pendant into Jack’s waiting palm. His fingers curl around it, the silver chain dangling to trail over his thighs.
“Magic is never a one-way street,” Jack says. “What goes in must come out. It occurred to me a couple months ago that Oriane’s absorption stone might contain a record. A recording of the magic that took place in that room right before Seph died.”
I blink, knowing we’re getting to the really important part of these proceedings and trying to keep my mind on the business at hand. But being in this house isn’t helping my ghost ADHD; memories are everywhere, like dust bunnies, but not sweet cute ones. More like the rabbit of Caerbannog dashing out at me with bloody teeth as I look through the archway into the dining room.
Carly, painting a mural of the lake in there, laughing when Ana threatened to turn her hair green if she got splashed one more time while setting the table. Jett cleaning her sword, watching them, a half smile on her face, crystal-cast rainbows flickering on the walls.
Jett pulling that same sword from my back as I float from my body, confused and trying to understand what just happened.
It’s not a memory but the sound of my sister’s actual voice that yanks me back to the present this time. “Well, look at this fucked-up little tea party.”
8
Jett is standing in the archway to the parlor.
I don’t know where’s she been or what she’s been doing. I’ve tried following her, but even as a ghost it’s difficult keeping up with someone who can teleport. Not to mention the distractions inherent at every stop. I’ve lost her too many times to count, so I gave up.
Then again, maybe I just don’t want to know the truth. This is my sister we’re talking about here.
She’s in her favorite T&T tank top and jeans, her ever-present supple leather boots on her feet. Always in the best shape of the four of us, Jett has lost weight and gained a pallor that makes her dyed hair look even blacker. All in all, her appearance is positively wraithlike, her sword visible over one wiry, inked shoulder. Her expression is a bit shy of wary and a little more than resigned.
She knows this is it, but she saunters into the room anyway.
“Did I misplace my invitation? Hope you haven’t broken out the absinthe yet.”
Her lapis-blue eyes fall on each person in turn, lingering on my sisters, then Stephen, who straightens almost imperceptibly. At an equally minute slash of her hand, he relaxes, but she crosses the room to stand next to him, as if she can’t help herself.
Ana’s gaze flickers between the two of them, then she focuses on Jett alone.
“I texted you. Multiple times.” The words are full of a perfunctory irritation. I guess even Ana gets tired of playing the scolding big sister.
“Misplaced my phone,” Jett says, her tone trying for cool indifference, but failing. I don’t think anyone notices, but then I catch Stephen’s frown. So does Jett. She jerks her gaze over to Jack.
My sister—the one who kills with less guilt than most women sneak chocolate—swallows at the look in my lover’s eyes and takes a step back. Syana gasps.
The air in the room is wavering, faintly colored with streaks of blue and green and purple. Everyone stares at Jack, and Ana starts to rise, her mouth falling open. Instead of the pretty snow I remember when he was upset with me, it’s the northern lights trying to manifest now. There’s a weird keening, almost as if the walls are moaning. Despite the vampire fang and my mother’s bonds, everyone is realizing they may have underestimated Jack. The tension is palpable. Styx’s eyes start to glow, Ana lifts her hands, and Tyr reaches for his sword. Then to my surprise, Jack manages to rein himself in. The colors bleed from the air as he takes a long, slow breath.
Ana retakes her seat, looking pale. While everyone is looking at Jack and Jett, I notice Tyr scoot his chair closer to hers. Frowning at the assassin, I look away when Jack starts to talk.
“Glad you decided to show up, Jett. I really wouldn’t want you to miss this.” Ice weaves its way through every terse syllable.
“Miss what? Is this a confession?” She tries to smile, but it’s so brittle it breaks before it can fully form. Stephen stirs restlessly, his expression puzzled. She doesn’t try to stop him when he reaches for her this time, nor does she flinch away when that big hand falls on her shoulder. In fact, she leans into his touch. Carly and Ana exchange a look.
“Afraid not. You might call it… a declaration of innocence.”
“Innocence? Really, Frost?” Her thin eyebrows rise as her tone veers toward mocking.
Jack continues, his rough voice grating. “Someone else was in that room besides me and Seph.”
“The one-armed man, maybe?” I recognize that flippancy. It’s exactly how I get when I’m in over my head. Or when I’m scared. Or my heart is breaking. Something twists inside me as I look at my sister’s pale face.
Jack, though, only gets more pissed, his voice frigid. “You find this conversation amusing, Jett?”
“Just get to the point, Frost.” Her words lash through the room. “Everyone knows the bruins didn’t find any other tracks around the cabin. Only Seph’s—and yours.”
“Not everyone has to leave tracks. For instance, when I use the wind—no tracks. When you do your teleportation deal—no tracks.”
“What the hell are you insinuating here?” Ana rises from her chair again, but Jack stops her with a raised hand.
“Didn’t you ever ask yourself how she rescued Seph, Ana? How she apparated into the middle of the Dark Council chambers to stop Tyr?” Ana blinks. The assassin pulls her back into her seat, his dark fingers squeezing one shoulder as if in silent warning.
Jack’s jaw flexes as he turns back to Jett, every word harder and colder. “Your power only works on places you’ve been or have had described to you so carefully you can picture it in your head, right? So how did you do it? Unless you’d been there before…or were working with someone who had.”
Stephen is staring down at my sister’s head, a deep line between his heavy brows. Mouths open around the room, no doubt ready to fill the air with various protests of rage and confusion, but Jack is already crushing the stone in his fist, the powder falling to the bright Turkish carpet in a glittery black rain.
The air, restless from the recent manifestation of his magic, catches the powder and draws it into quick, shadowy shapes, like an Etch-A-Sketch in midair. Everyone freezes as the tableau becomes clear.
It’s me, one hand buried in the chest of a two-dimensional, black-grained Jack.
A Jack that is falling to his knees, power shooting from him in thin slicing arcs, then being rebuffed. Scattered and diffused by the stone at my throat. Another burst of magic shoots from him almost immediately. This one never makes contact with my outline. Instead, those lines of power halt and slowly curl back into Jack’s collapsing form. Behind us, another figure forms grain by grain, arms raising a sword high, with only a slight pause before flashing down.
Jett’s sword being buried between my shoulder blades
.
I’m so enthralled by the replay of my death that I fail to notice the reactions around me until Ana gasps.
“It’s a trick. It has to be a trick.”
“It’s no fucking trick. The magic doesn’t lie and you know it.” Jack’s tone brooks no argument, but I can see the sympathy in his eyes.
Ana opens her mouth, then shuts it again, before saying softly. “Jett?”
Carly is taut as a bowstring next to Styx, her paint-flecked fingers curling into fists on her thighs. Syana is frozen, her mouth agape, Ajax’s arm tight around her shoulders as he looks to his next king.
Stephen is staring at Jett like he’s never seen her before, his hand slowly falling from her shoulder.
Tyr is the only one in the room with no expression whatsoever, his black eyes still and watchful, though I catch them dart Ana’s way once before going back to Jett.
She’s so pale now it’s like there’s a second ghost in the room, swaying in the sudden and absolute silence that follows Ana’s plea. Then her cheeks heat, flames bursting in all that white. In one swift movement, she draws her sword from its sheath at her back, placing the blade between her and the rest of the room. But no one moves to attack. Not even Jack.
She aims a vicious, bitter look at him. “We always knew you wouldn’t have the stones to do what needed to be done. So yeah, I did it. I killed Seph.”
“We?” Jack’s shout falls on empty air because before Stephen can reach for her again, Jett is gone.
For a long time after my sister’s disappearance the room is still. Slowly conversation starts up again, voices hushed, like a group of survivors coming together to sort out the event they all experienced but still don’t understand.
Join the club, suckers.
Ana is first, her voice low with shock and confusion.
“How did she apparate into the cabin? Jack, you’ve just pointed out she can’t go—”
“She’d been there before. With me,” Stephen says, still staring at the spot where Jett vanished, his voice hollow. “And she knew Seph was there that night. I called her. I told her what had happened to Georg and where Seph was. She came to the Den and stayed with me for a few hours.” He closes his eyes. “She left sometime that morning, told me she had things to take care of.”
Roses & Rye (Toil & Trouble Book 3) Page 7
