Page 27

Chapter Twenty-Six

Reunion

His hands descend on my shoulders before I can touch him, and he forces me down a step. Two. Through clenched teeth, he asks, “What did your note contain?”

“What note?” I ask breathlessly, struggling against his ironclad hold. My brow dips in confusion. In despair . Though my hands still reach for his rigid chest, he keeps me firmly at arm’s length, so I settle for stroking his forearms instead. His elbows. His biceps. “Please touch me, Michal. Please.”

Those black eyes grow impossibly darker. “No.”

“ Why? ”

“Because you don’t actually want me to touch you. The blood of a vampire is a natural aphrodisiac—it makes transition easier. The older the vampire, the stronger its effect.” A bitter smile twists his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I am... very old, making my blood more powerful than most.” When he speaks again, his voice is cool, almost dispassionate, and his gaze slides away from me altogether. “Your body’s response will soon pass.”

The strange words pierce the thick haze of my thoughts. Aphrodisiac. Transition. Like a lightning strike, Jean Luc’s face follows, searing my mind’s eye with his disbelief, his disgust that I could ever act so selfishly. I lift a trembling hand to my swollen lips. I can still taste Michal’s blood on my tongue.

Your body’s response will soon pass.

“No.” Exhaling the word on a whisper, I close my eyes in revulsion, unable to look at him for another second. Unable to look at me . My hands fall limply to my sides. “This—this didn’t happen. This can’t have happened.”

“Say it again,” he says shortly. “Perhaps you’ll make it true.”

Releasing my shoulders, he stalks past me down the stairs, but even the slightest brush of his arm sends a fresh bolt of heat through my core. And shame. Hideous, horrifying shame. It curdles in my stomach as I force my eyes open, staring down at the smooth, newly healed skin of my palms. Envisioning Jean Luc and broken Balisardas and Babette. I suck in a sharp breath.

Babette.

The forgotten silver stake glints at my feet.

“In the meantime”—he unrolls his sleeve without glancing back at me, thrusts his arms into his leather surcoat—“you will tell me exactly what your note entailed. You chose the aviary for a reason.” His careful control never falters as he stoops to retrieve the handkerchief from the vampire’s desiccated body, as he calmly wipes the gore from his hands. “What did you tell your friends about us, Célie Tremblay?”

Slowly, I bend to retrieve the stake. My heartbeat pounds a relentless beat in my ears. Michal plans to murder those friends, and I just—I just drank his blood . I just tasted his skin , and even worse— I’d wanted to—to—

Visceral loathing courses through my veins, and I refuse to finish the thought. My hands shake with purpose as I descend the stairs, as my vision narrows on his broad leather-clad back.

On the spot directly behind his heart.

“I told them how to kill you,” I snarl, lunging as he turns.

For the span of a single second—perhaps less—I relish the surprise on his beautifully cruel face as the silver strikes his chest. The stake pierces his thin shirt easily, and where it touches his bare skin, smoke curls in a startling plume. Pain flares briefly in his eyes. Then anger.

Bright, biting anger.

He catches my wrist before I can drive the silver into his heart, wrenching the stake from his chest and hurling it across the aviary, where it shatters instantly against the door. The resolve in my chest shatters with it. Shit. Stumbling backward, I stare up at him with wide eyes.

He bares his fangs in a feral smile.

Shit, shit, shit .

Though I try to flee, he moves too quickly, and the entire aviary blurs until we lurch to a sickening halt just before the door. Spinning me with those impossibly strong hands—one capturing my wrists, the other my nape—he walks me leisurely into the door. Silver powder from the stake still clings to the wood. It abrades my cheek. “Clever girl,” he says, his voice tight at my ear, darkly amused, “but you really shouldn’t play with sharp objects, especially with vampire blood in your system. You might hurt yourself.”

“Let me go —” I snarl, but he only presses closer. His body coiling tighter.

“No.”

“I swear if you don’t unhand me, I’ll—I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Smoke still undulates between us. It curls around my hair and shoulders. Much more concerning, however, are his teeth . They linger just above my head, taunting me, as his chest rumbles with derisive laughter. I feel every inch of it down my spine. “What, exactly , is your plan, mademoiselle? Your stake is gone. You have no other weapons, and even if you did—you are human on an isle full of vampires. The scent of your blood has already attracted unwanted attention. At this very moment, a dozen éternels wait just beyond this door, each of them eager to learn your fate. Each of them hungry .” His hand on my wrists falls away, as does the one at my nape. “Shall I leave you to them?”

I press closer to the door, repressing a shiver. Goose bumps erupt down my arms. As gently as his hands touched me, they tore into Laurent’s chest cavity only moments ago. To protect you , a small voice in my head argues, but it isn’t enough. And in the end, it doesn’t matter what happens to me. “What did she take from you?” I ask quietly, bracing myself against the wood. My fingers curl. The silver powder clings to the blood still there, coating each tip of my nails. “Coco?”

“Something she can never give back.”

“Are you going to kill her?”

“Perhaps.”

One breath.

Two.

I whirl, raking my nails across his cheek, but when he rears backward—roaring in pain—the door blows open unexpectedly, toppling me into his open arms. Angry red claw marks burn and smoke across his features as he seizes my arms and snarls.

“Michal Vasiliev.” Mila’s furious, unexpected voice fills the aviary in the next second. “You cannot hear me, but if you don’t release her this instant , I’ll drag your enormous corpse into the afterlife for good.”

I gasp, whipping my head around to face her, and she descends on the aviary like a breaking storm—her expression dark, her eyes flashing—as the cages around us rattle. The birds shriek. I can still hear Michal’s sharp inhalation of breath, however. I can feel his hands tighten on me. Heedless, Mila swirls around us, gusting my hair in all directions. “Did he hurt you, Célie? I swear on everything holy, if that’s your blood—”

“It isn’t,” I say quickly, following her agitated circles, but stop short when Michal’s head turns to follow her too. All emotion empties from his face. He blinks once, twice, as she draws to a halt beside him to inspect the blood on my chest. I gape at her. Because this shouldn’t be possible. I haven’t slipped through the veil—we’re most certainly still in the realm of the living—and none of this makes any sense. “How are you—?”

“You mended one tear in the veil, Célie, not all of them.” She speaks over me without drawing breath. “They exist everywhere—all around us—and some heal faster than others. How else could Guinevere destroy Michal’s study last week? Don’t answer that.” She slashes a hand. “It doesn’t matter. Do you have any idea how lucky you are that Yannick didn’t eat you? No? Because I’m going to haunt you until you understand that actions have real consequences—”

“Mila.” I say her name louder now, and she hesitates, her eyes snapping to mine. Pointedly, I incline my head toward Michal, who stares at her through the smoke rising between them. The burns on his face leap out in sharp relief, but he stands still enough to have been carved from stone. “I think he can see you,” I continue with a tight smile, “and I know he can hear me.”

Her brows snap together. “But that’s impossible. He isn’t— Can he—?” She waves a hand in front of his face, recoiling slightly when his eyes follow the movement. “Michal?” she whispers.

His lips barely move around the words, “Hello, little sister.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief, and they stare at each other for several agonizingly long seconds. The rest of the aviary seems to fade beneath the intensity of their stare—the owls no longer shriek, the fire no longer crackles. Even the wind seems to pause, apprehensive, as if dreading what comes next. I try not to breathe. Perhaps they’ll forget I’m here altogether.

At last, Mila exhales.

“How is this possible?” she asks, her voice still quiet, as if the moment might break at any second. “You’ve never been able to see me before.”

Michal’s hand still clutches the bare skin of my arm. The lace sleeve that should’ve been there hangs limp around my elbow, shredded from my fall. Slowly, he eases his fingers away—his face still granite—before clenching his jaw and replacing them swiftly. “It would seem,” he says, staring hard at his hand on my skin, “we have a common acquaintance to thank for that.”

“Oh.” Mila follows his gaze to where we touch, alabaster against ivory. “It makes sense, I suppose.”

“Nothing about this makes sense,” Michal says tersely.

And the moment breaks.

Mila’s eyes narrow. “Do try to keep up, won’t you, brother? Surely you’ve realized by now that Célie is a Bride.” Though Michal opens his mouth to respond, she speaks over him quickly, determinedly, with the air of someone trying to steer the conversation away from something. Or perhaps flee the conversation altogether. “She’s been touched by Death, which is why she can reach through the veil—and also why she can see me here. If this encounter is any indication, that neat little trick of hers temporarily extends to whoever she chooses to touch.” She humphs, casting a withering glance at his clenched hand. “Or doesn’t choose to touch. Please tell me you aren’t responsible for the gore all over her person, Michal, because if you are, those marks on your face are the least of your worries.”

“Mila.” He speaks her name with surprising patience, but again, she ignores him, turning away with a toss of her opaque hair.

“If you are, I’ll simply have to tell Guinevere about this little development, and every time you touch Célie—even the slightest brush of her arm—Guin will be there, breathing over you like a rabid dog.”

“Mila,” he says again, his voice darkening slightly. “You’re deflecting.”

I watch him in rapt fascination. Though he tries to remain hard, impassive, his eyes have begun to burn with strange emotion as he looks at his sister. Exasperation, yes, but there is also a softness there. Never before have I seen him look so—so human . The realization would’ve knocked me back a step if he hadn’t been clutching my arm. I scowl up at him, tugging fruitlessly against his hold. I’m the worst sort of idiot for trying to humanize a monster.

But even monsters care for their sisters.

“She’ll draw another mustache on Uncle Vladimir,” Mila continues hotly, pacing by the stairs in agitation. “I swear she will. Maybe she’ll draw horns and black out his teeth this time too. Maybe I’ll give her the ink.” Michal exhales heavily, but he doesn’t say her name again, instead waiting with thinly veiled patience for her to pause for breath. Which she doesn’t. “Guin is the ghost who helped you break into Michal’s study,” she says to me, and I tense at the betrayal, shooting a quick glance at Michal. He will not be distracted, however. His gaze remains fixed solely upon Mila. “Michal broke her heart, and she never forgave him, even after death. She still moons around his study, raging and weeping and fawning over him in equal measure, even though he can’t hear a word she says. It’s heartbreaking .”

“Are you finished?” Michal asks.

Mila lifts her chin. “No.”

Yet it seems, at last, that she’s run out of things to say. Undeterred, she opens her mouth to try again, but Michal shakes his head slowly. “Enough, Mila.” The words are less command than plea, but Mila still floats to a halt by the door, her shoulders curling inward. Defeated. “Tell me what happened. Tell me why you went to Cesarine.”

She refuses to look at him, instead glaring at the nearest stair tread. “You know why I went to Cesarine.”

Cesarine? Brows furrowing, I glance between them as Michal’s lip curls. “Dimitri,” he says.

“You say his name like a plague.”

“Because he is a plague. He never should’ve asked you—”

“Stop it, Michal.” Mila whirls, gesturing angrily to the sky beyond the door. Thick storm clouds have rolled in since I left Monsieur Marc’s shop, and thunder rumbles in answer. “You act as if we’ve never sought the help of witches before. Wasn’t it your brilliant idea to ask them for eternal night?”

“Hundreds of years ago—since which time we’ve carefully culled our existence from their memories. You threatened to expose our entire race for the sake of one vampire.”

“For Dimitri. For the sake of Dimitri . He is your cousin , and he needs your help—”

“What he needs is self-restraint, not a mystical cure from the hand of our enemy.” Michal’s nostrils flare as his careful self-control begins to slip. “He left you there. Did you know that? Half-hidden in the refuse behind Saint-Cécile, where I assume you thought to find La Dame des Sorcières. He left you.”

“It wasn’t his fault.” Mila rises to her full height now, casting the force of her defiance upon Michal. Opaque tears sparkle in her eyes. “He was frightened —”

“Who was it, Mila?” Between blinks, Michal seizes my hand, dragging me along behind him as he advances on his sister. His expression grows blacker than the storm clouds outside. “Who did this to you? Tell me. ”

But I cannot keep quiet any longer. Cesarine, Saint-Cécile, La Dame des Sorcières—the words are familiar to me, sickeningly familiar, yet somehow half-formed, like trying to fit together a puzzle without all the pieces. My chest tightens with the confusion of it all, and I dig in my heels, trying and failing to slow his approach. “What does Lou have to do with any of this?” I ask wildly. “Why were you at Saint-Cécile? And who did what to you?”

Michal slows to a halt, glowering at his sister, and an unspoken question passes between them. Mila sighs.

Then, reluctantly, she brushes aside her hair and pulls down her collar, revealing perfect twin puncture wounds at her throat.

Just like Babette’s.

I stare at the marks as if through a tunnel, unable to understand. They feel wrong somehow, aberrant, and even I can sense they shouldn’t be there. Vampires can die, yes—I just watched Michal kill three—but to drain one of its blood? How could such a thing happen? They’re too strong, too fast, too lethal to be hunted as they hunt others. A slick, slimy sensation unfurls in my stomach as I grasp at the only other explanation, the only possibility that still makes sense. Recoiling from Michal, I breathe, “You killed your own sister?” Then, to Mila, louder now— “Is that why you refused to see him? He killed you? He drank your blood?”

“Don’t be disgusting.” Mila releases her collar to hide the offensive marks once more. “Vampires only drink from vampires in very nonfamilial situations—”

“You refused to see me?” Michal asks in a quiet voice. He sounds almost hurt .

“But he still killed you, right?” I ask over him.

She waves a curt, impatient hand at both of us. “I told you, Célie—my brother didn’t kill those creatures, and he didn’t kill me either.” Her lips purse, and she glares once more at the stair tread, carefully avoiding Michal’s gaze. “But I also can’t tell you who did.”

Michal instantly closes the distance between them. “ Why? ”

“Because I don’t remember. My last memories—they’re just... gone.”

“Witchcraft,” Michal snarls.

And there it is. The final piece. His quest for vengeance at last clicks into place. Trying and failing to wrench my arm from his grasp, I settle for glaring up at him instead. “Coco didn’t kill those people. She loved Babette, and even if she hadn’t, a blood witch would never drain a creature of its blood.” My eyes flick pointedly to Yannick, to Laurent. “Not like a vampire would.”

“A vampire,” he says, his voice dripping disdain, “would not have killed a member of the royal family.”

“How do you know? I overheard the celestials talking in Monsieur Marc’s—”

“Because Mila is not me .” He says the word through clenched teeth. “Everyone who gazed upon her loved her.”

I snort at him in disbelief—and pity. “You’re allowing your opinion of your sister to cloud your judgment. Even if the killer had no personal grudge against Mila, they would’ve known her death would affect you.” I turn apologetic eyes to Mila, who watches us with a peculiar expression. “You can’t remember your final moments, but perhaps someone else can remember theirs. Is Babette beyond the veil? Can you bring her to us?”

“Not every soul chooses to remain near the realm of the living, Célie.” For the first time since I’ve met her, something akin to regret shadows Mila’s beautiful features. “Most choose to go... on.”

“Oh.” For some inexplicable reason, the words feel like a blow to my chest. They shouldn’t. Of course they shouldn’t. The final resting place of spirits shouldn’t matter right now—not with a bloodthirsty vampire currently holding my hand—yet I can’t help it. Pippa. Her name echoes through my mind like a phantom hand, as if she herself has reached through the veil to touch me.

But she didn’t.

And she won’t.

Because if anyone has ever been brave enough to go on, it would be my sister.

As if sensing my thoughts, Michal tightens his fingers around mine ever so slightly. “I would hazard a guess,” he says, voice low, “that Babette isn’t available for questioning in this realm or the next.” At my frown, he adds, “Two nights ago, her body vanished from the morgue.”

“ What? ” Mila and I gasp in unison.

Michal tilts his head, studying me with an unreadable expression. “She was Babette’s lover, you say?”

“Coco didn’t do this ,” I snap, losing patience entirely, but he doesn’t allow me to pull away.

“We’ll see.” He extends his free hand toward the door and motions for Mila to exit before him. “Come. We must discuss next steps, the three of us, and it should be done away from prying ears.”

Mila, however, doesn’t move.

“Michal,” she says softly.

Unlike his sister, Michal doesn’t bother with deflection. “Don’t do this, Mila.”

“You asked why I didn’t want to see you.” She draws closer, reaching out to touch her brother’s cheek. Whether or not he can feel her, I don’t know, but he braces in the doorway just the same, his hand tight and cold around mine. A tether. Or perhaps , I realize with an unpleasant start, I am his .

“You know better than this, Michal,” Mila says, her gaze uncharacteristically solemn. “I am dead. Truly dead this time, which means there’s nothing left for us to discuss. I’m not Guinevere; I refuse to haunt you, and no amount of vengeance will bring me back. Darkness stirs on the horizon, looming closer each moment, and this realm will need you— both of you”—her eyes flick briefly to mine—“in order to survive it. You must let me go, brother. Please.”

“I will not .” Eyes blazing brighter than I’ve ever seen them, he lifts our linked hands, and her hand passes straight through his face. “Because I have brought you back—twice now—and I have no intention of losing you again. I will not lose you again.”

Mila looks at him sadly.

“Loath as I am to admit it”—I step between them before Michal can do something truly stupid, like try to kidnap his sister—“I agree with him. You and the other ghosts see things from the other side that could help us find the killer.” I hesitate then, unsure how to communicate the strange, niggling pressure in my chest. Something still bothers me about Mila’s death, about Babette’s, about this mysterious killer and looming darkness. About my own strange powers. They can’t all be isolated incidents, but I can find no immediate connection. I exhale hard. None of it makes sense . Like a sore tooth, I bite down on it all again and again, yet I gain no relief.

Perhaps I’m imagining things. Perhaps there’s no connection at all.

Perhaps I just don’t want to be alone with Michal.

“What if—what if they’re the same person?” I ask Mila tentatively. Please don’t leave. “The killer and the man who follows me? The dark figure?”

Michal looks at me sharply.

Mila, however, shakes her head in resignation. Whatever fire she had during her confrontation with Michal has vanished, leaving only a small, defeated woman in its wake. “I’ve told you everything I know, Célie. The rest, I fear, is up to you.”

With that, she floats upward—where even Michal cannot follow—drifting farther and farther until she melts into shadow and out of sight.