Page 14 of The Shadow Bride (The Scarlet Veil #2)

Chapter Fourteen

Unexpected Visitors

Dimitri still wears an enormous smile when we reach Requiem.

In some ways, the isle looks exactly as I remember—the roads steep and narrow, the markets teeming with all manner of unusual wares, the castle looming above like a specter as a nondescript carriage winds down to meet us. A veritable feast of the senses, even to a human being.

As a vampire, however, it’s an onslaught.

Dozens of hearts beat an erratic rhythm beneath the din of voices, of footsteps, of breaths , and I can somehow scent each one. I can see the latent hair follicles beneath each loup garou’s face, the clawlike protrusions between their knuckles as two struggle to lift the gangplank. Likewise, the skin of a passing woman—a melusine hawking oranges to the disembarking crew—gleams like pearls in the torchlight. I stare after her, transfixed. She smells of salt. Of slippery, slinking things, and for some maddening reason, my teeth begin to ache at the scent, followed by that twist of disgust. I cease breathing immediately.

I avoid looking at Michal while we wait for the carriage.

Vampires don’t share blood with other vampires outside of very intimate situations.

The words clang like a bell in my ear, echoing over and over again until my head rings. Not only did I proposition Dimitri in front of everyone , but I also fed from Michal.

I fed from him, and I liked it.

I’m not the only one changed since the last time I came to Requiem, however.

While Frederic’s experiments had already started... twisting things on the isle before All Hallows’ Eve—and everywhere else—he hadn’t yet broken them. The ground might’ve oozed blood when I first trekked to the castle, but it hadn’t trickled from the gables at the market like macabre tears. The shops and stalls themselves might’ve sold unusual goods, but at least those goods had been vibrant, scintillating—not strangely subdued, as they are now. Almost faded, like a veil of shadow has fallen over them. Or perhaps over my vision?

Due to a witch’s trick, darkness has always plagued Requiem, but this... it feels different.

It feels almost like the spirit realm.

Frowning, I cast a glance up the street, but that eerie shadow remains. It clouds the faces of anxious passersby, the vagrant cats, the very cobblestones upon which they all walk. It drains the color from everyone and everything. The entire island. And the air here—

My frown deepens as I inhale tentatively. Though my throat burns anew at the scent of blood, it doesn’t consume me like it would’ve before drinking from Jean Luc and Michal. No. Altogether more concerning is how the air feels —thinner than usual, and cold.

Much too cold.

It condenses into little white clouds from the mouths and noses of everyone in the market. Even Michal, who stands with his hands clasped behind his back—shoulders proud—and surveys the scene with his signature disdain. His cool gaze belies the tightness around his eyes, however.

Something is wrong here. Something is very wrong.

Silver flashes in my periphery, and my gaze snaps to where a translucent hem vanishes behind the nearest cart. My unease deepens as confusion builds, and I search the street for any other telltale signs of ghosts—because this isn’t quite like the spirit realm either, rather an unnerving amalgamation of the two. I shake my head to clear it. The veil separates the realms; they simply cannot mix, and anything else would be impossible.

Then you need to pay closer attention.

Reid’s words drift back to me, and I remember the blood dripping from Lou’s nose when I opened the veil in her kitchen.

Swallowing hard, I shift closer to Michal as other figures gather in each nook and cranny of the street—crouching on rooftops and looming in alleyways—still and silent and predatory in their intent. I can see them better now than I did before. I can feel their attention on us like a honed blade pressed to my throat.

As if vultures to a carcass, the vampires have come.

The villagers can feel them too; sailors and merchants alike skitter away from their glowing eyes, ducking into pubs and shops as if instinct warns them to seek shelter. “I thought you quelled the last coup d’état?” I murmur to Michal. “Why is everyone so tense?”

Odessa’s eyes cut to his with a darkly accusatory gleam. “This is not civil unrest.” Thunder rumbles in the distance, punctuating her words, and those brave enough to remain in the street cast us furtive glances. “The villagers are frightened. The vampires too,” she adds with a sniff. “They must sense the veil has torn, even if they cannot name their fear. They can certainly see its effect on the isle.”

“They can see it?” I ask quickly. “The blood and the—everything else?”

Odessa tenses further, as if she wishes I hadn’t spoken, but it is Dimitri who answers. “I assume they can, as I can see it too.” He shudders and glances across the street, where the—the skeleton of a cat watches us, its spindly tail flicking. “Though it’s a feeling too, isn’t it? A scent .”

My brow furrows as I tear my gaze from the cat, inhaling again. Beneath the thin, cold air—the electric charge of the storm—trace notes of another scent linger. “Do I smell something... floral?” I focus on it, following the scent through the brine and algae and sweat of the harbor, past the silk shawls and leather boots of a merchant up the street. Roses. My stomach clenches like a fist.

He tore a hole through the veil when he stole Filippa from me—a permanent one this time. Not like the little cuts you leave behind.

“And something else...” My voice trails away as I struggle to place the second, stronger scent. “What is that?”

“You smell it too?” Odessa sounds mildly impressed as I crane my neck toward the castle, trying to locate the source of that irresistible aroma. A peculiar sensation jerks through my belly in response, like a hook pulling me closer. “How interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?”

“Because not everyone can isolate their own scent.”

A flush creeps up my neck. “Are you telling me that scent is—”

“Yours,” Michal says abruptly. “You smell like Death.” At my appalled look, he shakes his head. “Not the literal scent of rot, Célie. You don’t smell fetid. You smell...” He trails off in search of the right word before waving a hand. “Well, like that , and the scent has only strengthened since your transition.”

“Excuse me?”

He doesn’t clarify, however, instead gesturing to Pasha and Ivan, the two vampires who accompanied me on All Hallows’ Eve. The former boasts sweeping black hair and frost-white skin, while the latter has shaved his dark head completely; both regard me with utter contempt in their pale blue eyes as they melt from the shadows to join us. It seems vampirism has not elevated me in their esteem.

Their reaction to my presence, however, pales in comparison to their reaction to Dimitri. Glaring openly, they move to stand on either side of him—to loom on either side of him—and a muscle jumps in Ivan’s jaw while tendons flex in Pasha’s throat. They must’ve heard of Dimitri’s involvement on All Hallows’ Eve, or perhaps of how he snapped Odessa’s throat. Either way, they seem keen to make their displeasure known.

Dimitri appears not to notice, sliding his hands into damp pockets and addressing them each quite cheerfully. “Hello, Ivan.” He inclines his chin. “Pasha.”

Neither responds, and after a moment, Dimitri pretends to tug at his collar with a rueful grin. “Not winning any popularity contests these days, are we, Célie?”

Odessa’s lips purse as she gazes past us toward the castle. “Worry not, little brother. They’ll forgive you eventually.” She says nothing of them accepting me , however, and her omission feels intentional.

“Pasha and Ivan have volunteered as your personal guards.” Voice harder than before, Michal continues as if none of us have spoken, and I scowl at the obvious lie as a fat drop of rain lands upon my head. No. I wipe at the icy precipitation, examining it on my fingers. Sleet. “You may use them or not, but each shall remain at your disposal.”

Odessa’s eyes darken inexplicably. “Should that really be the priority right now?”

“Enough, Odessa.”

“Is it?” Furrowing her brow, she speaks in an incredulous whisper, but I still hear her. Everyone still hears her. “Célie is a vampire, Michal. Should we be allocating much-needed resources to her protection when she can protect herself? There are still revenants terrorizing the isle, aren’t there?”

Apprehension prickles my neck at her words. Though Michal has long deserved a thorough setdown from Odessa, I’ve never seen her openly contradict him. But I suppose there must be a first time for everything? Perhaps—perhaps this will be that time. Here. Now. About me .

I glance at the rather hostile vampires all around us before searching anxiously for the carriage. As if reading my mind, Michal says, “We’ll discuss this later, cousin.”

But Odessa refuses to let the matter drop, catching his sleeve. Hardly moving her lips at all now. “Is what Dima said on the ship true? Have they eaten two of us already?”

Oh God.

“How would Dima know? By his own account, he has not been on the isle.”

Dimitri’s grin vanishes at Michal’s tone. “Margot wrote to me. She’s been... frightened. A revenant attacked her shop last week. It climbed right out of an unmarked grave in the garden.”

My stomach pitches at the thought of the soft-spoken Margot Janvier and her quaint fleuriste being ravaged by a corpse. “Is she all right?”

“Shaken but unharmed,” he murmurs. “Her neighbor is a witch, and they trapped the revenant in a flowerpot.”

Odessa presses onward before I can express my relief. “So?” she asks Michal. “Is it true?”

“And if it is?”

“If it is ,” she whispers, “I would urge you to reconsider assigning Pasha and Ivan to babysit Célie.” She flashes me a vaguely apologetic glance. “Our priority should be ridding the isle of these abominations and protecting our people—as well as closing the doorway Frederic tore through the veil.”

She heard me on the ship , I realize.

“They aren’t coming through that one.” Michal speaks almost absently, surveying the street overhead rather than looking at her. It feels almost... disrespectful, like he cannot be bothered with this conversation, but that also cannot be right. This is Michal. Everything bothers him, especially things regarding his precious isle. “They seem to be tearing through the veil near their graves—not that any such limitation exists once they’re in our realm. The revenant at the fleuriste’s fled halfway across the city before they trapped it.”

Odessa stares at him in horror. “Are you saying a new door is created with each revenant?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I assume they’re more like windows, but alas, I cannot see them—not like the other.”

My brows contract at that. Michal shouldn’t be able to perceive the veil, and neither should anyone else. “You can actually, er— see the door Frederic created on All Hallows’ Eve?”

“Not the veil itself, no.”

My frown deepens. “Then how do you—?”

Odessa seems much less concerned with the particulars. “Never mind all that,” she snaps, waving an agitated hand at the peculiarity around us. “Do you have any ideas on how to mend all these wretched holes?”

At last, Michal’s eyes reluctantly meet mine, and in them, I see his answer. Me. I am the Bride, after all, and the only one with any real experience tearing and mending the veil. He flicks his gaze away. “I have plenty of ideas, Odessa, but none I am going to discuss here.”

“Odessa,” Dimitri says quietly when she opens her mouth to argue. Her teeth snap shut in a furious smile.

“Very well.” Then, speaking through them as if unable to help it— “Revenants aside, Michal, the outside world now knows of our existence after All Hallows’ Eve. The huntsmen know of our island, and they know of our weaknesses too.”

“Jean Luc isn’t stupid.” Though every vampire in the harbor can still hear me, I lower my own voice and hasten to reassure her. “The Chasseurs would never come to Requiem—”

“They came for you once. They could come again.”

I blink at her, shocked. She never mentioned any of this while in Cesarine, or even on the ship during our return journey. Perhaps if she’d voiced her fears, we could’ve assuaged them in private, but she never said a word. My frown deepens. “I don’t—” I shake my head to clear it. “Jean Luc is just angry with me right now. He lashed out this morning, but after he calms down, he’ll realize this is a fight he does not want and cannot win.” I squeeze her elbow and force an encouraging smile. “The Chasseurs will not come here again. I promise.”

For a split second, she looks like she wants to argue—with me or with Michal, I do not know—but she returns to herself just as quickly. Like the flip of a coin. My unease deepens at the abrupt shift in her expression.

It’s a familiar one.

A familial one.

And it takes all of my resolve not to linger on the comparison between her and Dimitri.

“Forgive me, darling.” With a sigh, Odessa lifts the hood of her cloak to cover her hair, and raindrops cascade around her shoulders like tiny jewels. “I meant no offense. I left my parasol in the witch’s flower bed,” she adds defensively to Michal, who still glowers, “and you know how I loathe being damp.”

He rolls his eyes and returns his attention to Pasha and Ivan. Though I open my mouth to question her further, Dimitri shakes his head in warning, and I close it once more.

When the carriage at last rolls to a halt in front of us, I almost believe the altercation never happened. Neither Michal nor Odessa mentions the scent of Death or threat of invasion again. Unsure what else to do, I follow their lead and step up beside the wild-eyed horses. They toss their great heads in agitation as thunder cracks, followed immediately by another fork of lightning.

The dazzling light illuminates a gilt crest upon the carriage door as Michal opens it. Wreathed in flames, what appears to be a cross lies opposite a horned dragon upon the black lacquer. “Is this your coat of arms?” I ask despite myself.

He gives the crest a distracted glance before handing Odessa into the compartment. Something in her bearing still feels... off, somehow. Strained. I cannot explain it, but she takes great care to avoid my gaze as she settles upon the bench. “My father was a cleric,” Michal says shortly.

“What?” Blinking in genuine surprise, I accept his hand and ascend into the carriage after her. “You never told me that.”

“You never asked.”

When he shuts the door behind me with a definitive snap , I frown between him and Dimitri. “Are you two not joining us?”

“Not yet.”

“But what are you—?”

At that moment, however, a disturbance sounds from the ship, and all four of us turn as a member of Michal’s crew races forward. Eyes wide, he bows low and addresses Michal breathlessly. “My apologies, mon roi, but you must come see—”

“What is it?” Dimitri asks curiously.

“Stowaways!” The young man straightens hastily and points to the ship, his cheeks ruddy with excitement. “Two of them from Cesarine!”

To my surprise, Michal doesn’t move; he doesn’t even turn, instead sighing heavily as if—as if resigned . “Where are they?”

“Here, of course,” Lou says with a grin.

She strolls into sight with the air of one promenading through their garden on a sunny afternoon, which is almost laughable considering the bedlam in her wake. Michal’s crew sprints after her with shouts of alarm, while the nearest vampires draw back with soft hisses of disbelief. Of fury. They must recognize her from All Hallows’ Eve, or perhaps they sense the power rolling off her in waves. Either way, they are not pleased, and nothing about Louise le Blanc’s presence in Requiem bodes well for Michal.

“You look much better, Célie,” she says to me. “Funny, that—who would’ve known food suits you?”

Her own skin remains pale, however— too pale—and those purplish bruises still linger beneath her eyes. Fingers trembling slightly, she looks almost feral in Reid’s nightshirt—which she hastily tucked into worn leather pants—while a three-eyed raven perches precariously on her shoulder. Talon. A treasured pet, while also a symbol of the le Blanc family and her personal spy. But how did they—?

My stomach plummets through the carriage floor at who steps out behind them.

Quite suddenly, my confusion over the row between Michal and Odessa vanishes, as does all concern for Lou. Indeed, every thought in my head departs at the sight of the austere woman marching toward me. With each sharp click of her heels, she seems to snip, snip, snip all the strings tethering me to reality.

“Oh no,” I whisper, half rising.

Oh no oh no oh no—

Leaning over to peer out the carriage window, Odessa says, “A relation of yours, I presume?”

I cannot bring my lips to move again, however. They’ve gone quite numb.

Because Satine Tremblay is the last woman in the world who should be on Requiem. Chin held high—back straight and stiff as an iron poker—she follows Lou with a look of utmost contempt on her beautiful face. Not a hair of her intricate chignon out of place, not a crease in her iris-blue gown. Though she holds a parasol high overhead, even the sleet seems to fear her. Not a drop dares to land upon her person.

Hastily, I refasten Michal’s cloak over my nightgown and attempt to smooth my tangled mass of hair. A ridiculous impulse, of course, because—because—

Because this cannot be happening. The silver strands of hair at her temples wink in the torchlight, but my mind rejects them just as violently as the rest of her. It isn’t possible. I would’ve smelled her and Lou if they hid on the ship, but beyond that, she just—she cannot be here.

For one wild, irrational second, I think to hide, to flee , as her emerald eyes lock with mine.

They pin me in place, narrowing infinitesimally as she inspects my new face. Only a lifetime of etiquette training prevents me from slumping in my seat. I never told her I became a vampire. I never told her anything , yet here she is now—surrounded by them. Does she know? Does she care?

The Chasseurs haven’t exactly been discreet since we returned. Rumors of vampires have swept the city—probably the entire kingdom by now.

Though Jean Luc kept my secret, she must know about Michal by now. She must know about Requiem. And if she does, surely she must also know about me . And I hope she does. Just as swiftly as the thought descends, I realize I don’t want to tell her anything.

Michal—the traitorous swine—steps neatly from the carriage as she bears down on us.

“Célie Fleur Tremblay,” she says in the sharp, cutting voice she reserves for prepared diatribes. “Where on earth have you been? Why have you not written? What is this I hear about a scarlet dress and a brothel ?”

I lift a weak hand, cringing. “Maman, it wasn’t like—”

“Of course it was. Do you think I’m a fool?” Turning swiftly before I can explain, she points a finger at Michal like a judge with her gavel. Two bright spots of color appear high on her cheeks, and her nostrils flare with righteous indignation. “And you —what do you have to say for yourself? Did you care at all for my daughter’s reputation when you whisked her away to this island of corruption and filth? Did you care at all for her mother’s nerves?”

She does not wait for an answer. She never does. Someone should stop her now, however, before she finds her stride, otherwise we’ll never hear the end of this. I gaze pleadingly at Odessa, at Michal, at Lou, but no one is foolish enough to interrupt. Lou, at least, has the decency to look apologetic. Sorry , she mouths with a grimace.

Dimitri simply grins—a wide, enormously entertained grin that makes me want to throttle him.

“You did not,” my mother seethes. “Of course you did not. Even immortal, Michal Vasiliev”—I wince at the confirmation—“you still think like a man, but I will not tolerate such slapdash courtship from anyone —not you or the Devil or the king of Belterra. Do you understand me? There are conventions for such things. There are rules . They exist to protect young ladies from harm, and you have willfully disregarded each one in this desperate and, frankly, unattractive bid to procure my daughter’s companionship. You’ve compromised not only her reputation, but also her engagement and her career—”

Even my mother must eventually inhale, however, and when she does, the sound carries across the entire harbor, which has fallen silent. As if it too has drawn a breath and held it, waiting for Michal to react. He is king here, after all, on this isle that values cruelty and calls it strength, and every eye fixes upon him in eager anticipation. My mother is not Odessa. My mother is an outsider, an interloper, and she just insulted him. He must react.

My limbs begin to tremble as he tilts his head.

This is bad. The useless thought plays on a loop, over and over again, yet I cannot think how to stop it. If I intervene, I could make things worse for both of them—his subjects cannot perceive him as weak, or tensions on the isle will escalate again. Neither, however, can I stand by and watch if he threatens my mother. Though my mind instantly rejects the thought of him doing such a thing, it also remembers Priscille and Juliet, even Christo, who lost his tongue for a simple question.

Please.

Like he senses the direction of my thoughts, Michal flicks his gaze to Odessa. She stares back at him in unspoken challenge. A current of understanding seems to crackle between them—a fissure of disapproval—before Odessa shakes her head and sits back in her seat, glaring out the opposite window as if unable to watch the proceedings. Lou frowns at her.

Michal, however, seems to make a decision.

When he inclines his head to my mother in a graceful bow, my limbs go hot and loose at the same time. “I apologize, madame,” he says. “I have been careless with your daughter, but rest assured, she is in no danger from me. Indeed—” His voice softens further, and he addresses those shadows darker than the rest. “—if anyone should attempt to harm her or her companions whilst on Requiem, they shall swiftly regret it.” Though he remains the portrait of civility, his black eyes glitter with malevolence as he adds, “Or perhaps not so swiftly.”

Even my mother blinks at that. She deflates slightly as if just realizing the implications of trespassing on an island of vampires. Her sharp eyes dart around us. “Well, yes, that would be quite—er, I mean—”

She cannot seem to decide whether such a threat would be welcome or inappropriate.

I empathize completely.

“Get in the carriage, Maman.” Lips still numb, I open the door before she can insult anyone else, and Lou seizes her elbow and frog-marches her inside. They settle on the bench opposite Odessa and me. “We should finish this discussion somewhere private.”

As if desperately attempting to bring the situation back under her thumb, my mother glares out the window at Dimitri. “And what are you smiling about, young man?”

“This isle has needed a lady’s touch for a very long time, madame—and how privileged we are that it should be yours.” He flashes his dimples, bowing low and ignoring Odessa’s scowl. “Célie has told me such wonderful things.”

Though my mother harrumphs, a pretty wash of color spreads through her cheeks, and I watch his reaction closely. Once more, however, he doesn’t react; instead he winks at me before rapping his knuckles against the door and walking away. My mother watches him go with a slightly mollified expression. “Well now, that— that is a gentleman, Célie.”

Shaking her head, Lou leans closer and says in a low voice, “My mother once cursed an unfaithful consort to never speak my name without experiencing the agony of childbirth.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

She leans back as if pained, her movements slow and stiff. “Just offering a little perspective.”

“I’ll return for you at dawn, Célie,” Michal says before I can question her. “Your room and trousseau are exactly as you left them. If you wish it, Louise and your mother may stay with you, or they may reside elsewhere. Any room in the castle can be cleaned within the hour.” Giving my mother another curt bow, he turns to leave, but my hand snakes out unexpectedly. It catches his wrist.

“Michal.”

He tenses slightly at the catch in my voice, and the hair on my neck lifts as I feel the vampires focus on where I touch him. Swallowing hard, I struggle to withdraw my hand, to ignore the ache of dread in my chest. But I can’t do either. I can’t because Odessa is right, and everything has gone so irrevocably wrong. Because Lou is sick, Filippa is a revenant, and Frederic is dead; Death himself has stepped through the veil, and Odessa is fighting with Michal for reasons I don’t understand. Requiem has descended into disarray. And my mother—she sits in the middle of it all, her familiar eyes burning with disapproval as she watches me touch a man who is not my betrothed.

“Is everything going to be all right?” I ask him.

He doesn’t answer for a long moment. He simply stares at my hand around his wrist. Slowly, he turns his arm, sliding his own hand down my palm until our fingers touch. “I don’t know,” he says honestly.

And then he is gone, stalking after Dimitri until the rain swallows him whole. It feels oddly sinister to watch him go this time, and I flex my fingers as the shadows follow, wishing I’d asked a different question.