Bayou Moon (44 page)
Authors: Ilona Andrews
Kaldar slammed the window closed.
“Where are we going to get the money?” Ignata murmured.
“My grandmother’s jewelry,” Cerise said. She thought of the elegant emeralds set in the pale white gold, thin like silk. Her link to her mother, the last link to the life that could’ve been. It felt like ripping a chunk of herself out, but the money had to come from somewhere and that was the last reserve they had. “We’ll sell the emeralds.”
Ignata gaped. “They are heirloom pieces. She meant them for your wedding. You can’t sell them.”
Oh, she could. She could. She just had to have a good long cry before she did it, so she didn’t break into tears during the sale. “Watch me.”
“Cerise!”
“They are just rocks. Rocks and metal. You can’t eat them, they won’t make you warm. We have to pay the debt and the kids need new clothes. We need new ammunition and food.”
“Why can’t he pay?” Erian nodded toward William. “He killed it.”
“He has no money,” Cerise said. “And even if he did, I wouldn’t take it.”
William opened his mouth, but she stood up. “That’s it, the debate is over. I’ll see y’all later.”
She headed outside onto the verandah before she broke to pieces.
OUTSIDE the cold night air wrapped around Cerise. She took a deep breath and started down around the balcony, to the door leading to her favorite hiding spot.
A dark shape dropped onto the balcony in front of her. Wild eyes glared at her. William.
How in the world did he get ahead of her? She crossed her arms on her chest.
He straightened.
“You’re in my way,” she told him.
“Don’t sell them. I’ll give you the money.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Is this because you’re still pissed off about Lagar?”
She threw her hands up. “You stupid man. Don’t you get it? Lagar was trapped like me. We were both born into this, we couldn’t leave, and we knew we would eventually kill each other. What we wanted made no difference. At least he could’ve run away, but I’m stuck here because of the family. I didn’t love him, William. There was nothing there except regret.”
“So take the damn money.”
“No!”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to be obligated to you.”
He growled.
Quick steps approached. They both turned.
Aunt Pete came running from around the corner. “Cerise?”
Dear Gods, couldn’t they leave her alone for just a moment? Cerise heaved a sigh. “Yes?”
“Kaldar’s boys came back. They found the house where the Hand is holed up and took pictures.” Aunt Pete wheezed. “Hold on, let me catch my breath.” She thrust the photographs out.
Cerise took the pictures and held them up to the weak light filtering outside through the window. Big house with a glass hothouse on the side. Kaldar’s guys got really close. She would have to speak to him about that—no need to take chances.
Aunt Pete pulled the pictures from her hand and slapped one on top of the stack. “Never mind all that. This one, look at this one!”
The photograph showed the close up of the hothouse, taken through a clear glass pane. A two-foot tall stump of a tree jutted sadly through dirt. The tree’s stem was blue and translucent, as if made of glass. Borrower’s Tree, one of the Weird’s magical plants.
Cerise glanced up.
Aunt Pete huffed. “You know what this tree is used for. Think, Cerise.”
Cerise frowned. In small quantities, Borrower’s tree was harvested to produce catalysts that bound human and plant. William had said the Hand was full of freaks; some of them probably had grafted plant parts and needed the catalysts. It did look like a fairly sizable tree, and it was cut down to a nub, so they must’ve needed a hell of a lot of catalyst.
The only reason to have that much catalyst would be to actually transform someone through the use of magic. But who would Spider transform? All his guys were already as transformed as they were going to get. It had to be the captives. But it wouldn’t make sense to graft anything on them; no, he had to be doing very specific things to achieve mental control over them, in which case it would be . . .
The pictures fluttered from her hand. Cerise rocked back. “He’s fusing my mother!”
The world went white in a moment of rage and panic. Her head turned hot, her fingers ice-cold. She froze, like a child trapped in a moment of getting caught. Memories streamed past her: mother, with her blue eyes and halo of soft hair, standing by the stove, a spoon in hand, saying something, so tall . . . Going outside to the porch hand in hand; fixing her hair; reading together in a big chair, her head nestled against her mother’s shoulder; her mother’s smell, her voice, her . . .
Oh, my Gods. All gone. All gone forever. Mother was gone. Mother, who could fix anything, couldn’t fix this. Fusion was irreversible. She was gone,
gone
.
gone
.
No. No, no, no.
A crushing heaviness swelled in Cerise’s chest and tried to drag her down to the floor. She clenched against the pain, her throat caught in a tight ring, and forced herself to walk away, half-blind from the tears. “I have to go now. So nobody will see.”
Hands swept her off her feet. William carried her off, away from Aunt Pete, away from the noises from the kitchen, to the door, and up the stairs, and then into her little room. Her face was wet and she stuck it into his shoulder. He gripped her, his warm arms cradling her, and sank to the floor.
“They’re fusing my mother.” Her voice came out strangled. “They’re turning her into a monster and she would know. She would know what they were doing. The whole time.”
“Easy,” he murmured. “Easy. I have you.”
Mother’s beautiful smile. Her warm hands, her eyes full of laughter. Her “I have the silliest children.” Her “sweet-heart, I love you.” “You look beautiful, darling.” All gone forever. There would be no good-bye and no rescue. All the deaths, all the scrambling, it was all for nothing. Mother wasn’t coming back to her and Lark.
Cerise buried her face in William’s neck and wept soundlessly, pain leaking out through her tears.
CERISE opened her eyes. She was warm and comfortable, resting against something. She stirred, raised her head, and saw two hazel eyes looking at her.
William.
She must’ve fallen asleep, all tangled up in him. They sat on the floor, where he first landed. He hadn’t moved.
“How long have you sat here?” she asked.
“About two hours.”
“You should’ve put me down.”
She wiggled a little, but he kept his hands where they were. “I don’t mind. I like holding you.”
Cerise leaned back against him and put her head on his shoulder. He stiffened and then hugged her tighter to him.
“Do I look like a mess?” she asked.
“Yes.”
That was William for you. No lies.
The soft light of the lamp fell gently, illuminating her hiding room. It looked so pitiful now. Pictures of dead people on the walls. Threadbare chairs. This had been her spot since she was a child and now she saw it, as if for the first time. It would’ve made her sad, but there was no sad left in her. She’d cried it all out.
“I’ll have to explain it to Lark.” Her heart cringed at the thought. “And I don’t even know if my father is dead or alive.”
Her voice trembled. William hugged her tighter.
“You’ve seen Lark’s tree?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “The monster tree.”
“What happened to her?”
Cerise closed her eyes and swallowed. “Slavers. I don’t even know where they came from. We never could figure it out. Someone had to have let them in across the border. Celeste, my second cousin, and Lark, she was called Sophie back then, were taking wine down to Sicktree by river. Lark wanted to buy Mom a birthday present ...”
She choked a little on the words.
“So Celeste took Sophie on a boat to trade a case of wine for some trinket. They shot Celeste in the head. Dropped her with one bullet. She fell overboard and Lark went after her. The slavers hit her with an oar when she came up for air, knocked her right out. They took her down into the Mire to their camp and put her in a hole in the ground. The hole would flood in the evening, and she had to sleep sitting up, up to her knees in water, so she wouldn’t drown. We turned everything upside down looking for her. We searched with dogs everywhere.”
His arm braced her, pulling her closer.
“She says the second day one of the men got into the hole with her. Probably wanted to molest her. He might have done it, at least partway. Lark can flash a little. She isn’t quite there yet with aiming, but it’s a strong white flash. She flashed him through the eyes.”
“Fried the brain,” William said.
“Yeah. The slavers left the body where it was and stopped feeding her. It took us eight days to find her, and then only because of Grandma. She had gone off into the swamp a week before—she does that every year—and when she came out, she called Raste Adir the way I did today. Used one of the slaver corpses we had put into the freezer. I should’ve done it, but back then I didn’t know how.”
Cerise swallowed. “When we found the camp, it was full of holes and children. Some were dead—the slavers didn’t take good care of their merchandise.”
“Did you kill them?” William’s voice was a ragged snarl.
“Oh, yes. Left nobody alive. I would’ve tortured every single one of those motherfuckers if there was time. When we pulled Lark out of that hole, she was weak but alive. She could stand by herself. Seven days without food, she should’ve been weaker.”
Cerise closed her eyes. Telling him was like ripping a scab off a wound.
“You think she ate the body?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I’m just glad she’s alive. She came back odd, William. At first it was the hair and the clothes, and then it was running away to the woods and not talking. And then there was the monster tree. Mother was the only one she trusted. Now only I’m left.”
“There is a real monster in the woods,” he said. “It went after Lark and I fought it.”
She raised her head. “What do you mean a monster? Was it one of the Hand’s freaks?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“What did it look like?”
William grimaced. “Big. Long tail. Looked like a giant lizard sprinkled with hair here and there. I cut it and it healed right in front of me.”
Damn it.
He looked at her. “I don’t know what it is, but your Grandmother does. She was singing it a lullaby in Gaulish.”
Grandmother Azan? “And you kept it to yourself?”
He raised his free hand. “I wasn’t sure if this was a pet, friend of the family, some distant relation, maybe another cousin . . . let me know when I’m getting warmer.”
Cerise pulled herself free of his arms. “It’s not a family pet or a relative! I don’t know what the hell it is. I’ve never heard of anything like that.”
“Ask your grandmother.”
“She’ll be asleep. She did some hard magic today, and it will take her a few days to recover.”
Cerise slumped forward. His hand ran down her back, kneading the tired muscles, the warmth of his fingers soothing her through her shirt. He stroked her like she was a cat. “So will you be pissed off if I kill it?”
“If it comes after us, I’ll cut it to pieces myself,” she told him.
His hand strayed lower and he took it away. He was back in control. The fierce creature she’d seen that morning hid again.
Cerise leaned back against him. His arm wound around her waist, pulling her closer. He was strong and warm, and sitting in his arms filled the sore empty spot inside her with quiet content.
“When I was twenty, I met a man,” she told him. “Tobias.”
“Do you have his picture on the wall, too?” he asked, and she sensed traces of a growl in his voice.
“Top left corner.”
He turned. His face grew grim. “Handsome,” he said.
“Oh, yes. He was very pretty. Like a movie star from the Broken. I was so in love. I would’ve done anything for him. We were all set to marry. He was almost part of the family. Dad even let him handle some of our business.”
“And?”
A familiar cramp gripped her heart. She smiled. “I found a discrepancy in the books. Some money had gone missing from the sale of the cows. Tobias took it.”
“Did you kill him?” William asked.
“What? No. I cornered him and he tried to deny it, but I guess I must’ve been too scary, because in the end he told me all about his master plan. He was going to get as much money as he could and take off for the Broken. He tried to lie and tell me he did it for us and that he was going to convince me to come with him, but I could tell he was lying. It was always about the money. It was never about me.”
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