Bound (7 page)

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Authors: Erica O'Rourke

BOOK: Bound
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Loyal to the Quartoren and loyal to me were different things entirely, and I was about to say so when Dominic spoke. “Fact is, we’re at a disadvantage. Anton’s promising the Ascendency before the Succession is complete, and with only three members, The Quartoren looks weak. You’ve saved our people twice. Standing with us at the Succession confirms what they know deep down. That the old ways—the Quartoren, the Houses, the very foundations of our society—are the ones that should hold.”
“Even if I don’t know that myself?”
Orla reared back. “Would you prefer the Seraphim take over? They will decimate our people. They’ll come after yours as well, mark my words. Don’t forget what they did to Verity.”
As if that was a possibility? I remembered every day, and I hated Orla more than I ever had before, simply for suggesting I would ever let it go.
She carried on, oblivious to my anger. “You would really let the people who killed your best friend achieve their ultimate goal? What happened to the vengeance you’ve always spoken of? Your willingness to sacrifice in order to give her justice?”
“Don’t,” said Luc in a low voice. “Don’t you dare guilt her into this.”
Dominic spread his hands wide, affable, warm. It was a deliberate contrast to Orla, and I didn’t fall for it. “We have to protect you, Maura. All we’re asking is that you stand up with us publicly. Show our people we’re still strong. Once the Quartoren is restored to its full authority, we can crush the Seraphim underfoot.”
“I do this, and the Seraphim will be finished? How?”
“No need for you to worry about that,” said Dominic. “For now, the key is to keep you alive.”
Luc touched my hand. “That’s where I come in. We can put wards around the places you go, give you a guard. Conceal you from the Darklings, like Evangeline did before. And then we take the fight to Anton.” He raised an eyebrow. “You up for it?”
I knotted my fingers together, listening to the magic’s response. Fear, and a desperate longing for peace. And I heard something else, the faintest whisper in the back of my mind, that this could be the opening I’d sought. Not the magic, but the sly and hungry part of me that still wanted vengeance.
Killing Evangeline hadn’t been enough. There had been others who’d ordered Verity’s death. It wasn’t right that they should live and not her. It wasn’t fair that I had to face this new world without her by my side. It wasn’t fair that all the plans we’d made had been ruined and I had to carry them out on my own. They deserved to be punished, every last one of them. For once, I agreed with Orla. Defeating the Seraphim was exactly what they deserved. It was what Verity deserved. In a way, I deserved it, too.
Still, the Quartoren had deceived me before—traded on my loyalty to benefit themselves. I needed to tread carefully.
“I’ll go to the Succession. But that’s it. I’m not going to stand there and argue your case to the rest of the Arcs.”
Orla sniffed. “We want your appearance, not your opinion.”
I gave her a patently false smile. “So glad we understand each other.”
Pascal cut in. “The first night of the Succession is less than two weeks from now. If Anton and his people hope to trigger the Ascendency, they’ll strike before then.”
Luc elbowed me, trying to lighten the mood. “Sounds like we’ll be spending quality time together, Mouse.”
“Time ...” I breathed, and looked at my watch. It was almost three.
He caught my meaning and asked, “We about done here?”
Dominic was tracing the symbols of the table, seemingly distracted. “For now.”
“Good.” We said good-bye to Marguerite, and Luc led me out of the Assembly; through the candlelit entryway; down the wide, shallow cathedral steps; and into the street. Unlike last time, when our night wanderings had revealed a hauntingly beautiful, quiet city, the streets were jammed with people milling about, large plastic cups in hand. It was like the Taste of Chicago, only ... more. Noiser, pushier, friendlier, gaudier, messier.
“What happened?” I asked as Luc took my hand, leading me away from the revelry.
“Carnival,” he said. “Mardis Gras starts today. Nonstop party since January, and this will be the worst of it.”
A group of shirtless, drunken frat boys leaned over one of the ornate balconies, shouting lewd comments and suggestions for how I could earn beads. I ignored them, but Luc’s expression darkened, and he flicked a finger, muttering something that started with “Damn tourists,” and ended in magic. The lines flexed as he drew on them.
“Hey, baby! Show us your—”
The metalwork glowed white hot in the night air—the frat boys yelped and howled, backing away, waving their hands wildly. Burn marks marred their bare stomachs where they’d leaned on the railing, and they fled into the apartment, shouting for ice. I stumbled after Luc, who had picked up the pace.
“Not a fan?” I asked.
People scattered out of our way, and since I couldn’t feel Luc using the lines to clear a path through the crowd, I had to assume it was the ferocity of his expression. “I’m all for misbehavin’ now and again. But you shouldn’t do it if you ain’t prepared for the consequences.”
“I don’t think anyone’s prepared for those kinds of consequences,” I said. “It was a little extreme, Luc.”
“Maybe they’ll think twice before they do it again. Maybe they’ll stay in tonight, rather than going to a bar and harassin’ every girl who has the misfortune of runnin’ into them. Speaking of which, you okay?”
“I hear worse on the El. I can handle myself.”
He snorted. “Know you like to think so. Different world, Mouse.”
We turned down a side alley, and the press of bodies eased. There was a gentle breeze, scented with flowers instead of sweat and trash and cigarettes. I sighed in relief and studied the narrow brick street.
“This is one of yours, right?”
“Yeah. Two blocks or so. We’ve got little pockets all over the city.” Streets that wouldn’t show up on maps, enclaves of Arcs living unnoticed by Flats. Luc stopped in front of a familiar courtyard, opening the gate and drawing me through.
“I need to go home,” I said. “I have school. My parents will be waking up soon.”
“We can talk here, or in your bedroom. Your choice.”
“Here’s good.”
“Thought you might agree.” We climbed the narrow staircase, the line of his shoulders stiff with pent-up frustration.
Once inside, I crossed to the French doors, peering through the wavy glass at the teeming mass in the Quarter. Music filtered in, jazz and zydeco warring with each other. “Will it be like this all day?”
“Gets busier. Parades start in the mornin’, Uptown. By afternoon, every street in the Quarter is one big masquerade.”
“Do the Arcs participate?”
“Sure. We don’t mingle much the rest of the year, but Carnival’s different.” He joined me at the window. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I told you, it takes more than a drunk guy with a big mouth to freak me out.”
“I meant Anton. The Rivening. You handling it?”
Just the mention of it made me feel dirty, long for a scalding hot shower, but I didn’t want to appear weak. “It was a shock. But he didn’t have enough time to really hurt me.” To keep from looking at Luc, I wandered over to the mantel and studied the objects there—a primitive-looking wood carving, a small oil portrait of two boys, a cluster of white roses in a tarnished silver cup.
“Anton was after something,” Luc said. “What was it?”
“I don’t know. He said I had secrets.” And he’d seen so many of mine. Even the ones I tried to keep from myself.
“Right on that count, anyway.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re not telling me everything. Anton’s run you to ground twice now. In your world, not ours. There’s a reason for it. You think I believe the table lighting up at the Assembly was because you’re scared? Told you,” he said, standing a shade too close, near enough that I caught the scent of him, cinnamon and smoke. “You can’t lie to me. I see through it. I see you.”
“Since when have we operated under full disclosure, Luc? You keep things from me all the time.”
“Used to,” he corrected. “Nothing to hide these days. Unlike you.”
I toyed with the buttons of my cardigan. “I need to understand it better before I tell you.”
“It’s the magic,” Luc said. “When it flared up, you were surprised, but not scared. Can you work a spell? Use the lines?”
“No. Nothing that simple.”
“We can help you figure it out,” he said. “Pascal would know what’s going on.”
“Pascal would make me his latest experiment. And he’d dissect me if it helped him figure everything out. I’m not going to the Quartoren about this.”
I had a sudden vision of Luc telling the Quartoren everything, handing me over because he believed that beneath their robes, they were dedicated to saving the magic. I knew better.
He tapped the mantel, his concern turning to irritation. “Seraphim will come after you again. They will Riven your mind and turn you inside out. You don’t trust the Quartoren, fine. But I’m not them, not yet, and I will do my damnedest to protect you.”
“From the Seraphim? Or the Quartoren?”
He didn’t have an answer, and it stung more than I expected. “That’s the problem. You keep saying I have to decide which life I want—Flats or Arcs—but I’m not the only one with a choice to make.” I checked my watch again. “It’s late, Luc. Can I please go home?”
“Sure thing. But Mouse ...” He pulled me closer with one hand, cut a doorway into the air with the other. His voice was low and amused, though there was an unmistakable strain to it. “What makes you think I haven’t already decided?”
C
HAPTER
10
I
t didn’t seem fair that I could be connected to so much power and yet couldn’t tap into it—not even to keep myself awake the next morning. I slogged through breakfast, dozed on Colin’s shoulder during the ride to school, and prepared for a day of sleepwalking through my classes. But as we approached the school, I started to feel jittery, like I’d had a pot of coffee instead of a cup. And when I got out of the truck, my adrenaline spiked higher.
St. Brigid’s had plenty of ley lines crossing the grounds, but they were fairly quiet. Occasionally, I’d feel Niobe or Constance using them, particularly when they went Between, but for the most part they were practically unnoticeable.
But this morning, every single line that bordered or crossed the building was quivering with energy. Arcs from every House were drawing on them. I held on to the door, feeling the power charging the air around me like an electrical storm.
“Problem?” Colin asked.
“I don’t know.” I leaned back into the cab, and he kissed me, a momentary sweetness that grounded me. “Arcs. Lots of them.”
He couldn’t see them but looked anyway. “Should we leave?”
“It’s better to face them down. I’ll go talk to Niobe.”
No one else seemed to notice the hum in the air as I crossed the courtyard, but I was acutely aware of a hundred unseen eyes watching me. Niobe met me inside the doors.
“Tell me this is not permanent,” I said, gesturing to a nearby current.
“The Quartoren were adamant, Mo. You need protection.”
“It’s making me crazy.” The constant thrum of the lines raised goose bumps along my arms. “There’s got to be at least twenty people here. Doesn’t it bother you?”
Her brow furrowed. “I can only feel my own lines, and they’re not bothersome. Perhaps you’re more sensitive due to your abilities. It’s actually better this way—the guards will alert us if Anton approaches, and I can remove you to a safe place while they deal with him.”
Like a magical version of the Secret Service. I wondered if they had little earpieces. Then I wondered if all the energy pumping through my system was making me a little loopy.
“They have to go,” I said, trying to focus. “Call Orla and tell her to pull them out. I can’t spend all day like this.”
“You should count yourself fortunate. The Quartoren were all for locking you away until after the Succession. For your own good.”
A coldness crept into me. “They can’t ...”
“They’re the Quartoren, and they’re entitled to do what they deem necessary to protect the magic. Luc argued against it and won. This time. But if you can’t find a way to ensure the magic’s safety—and defeat the Seraphim—you’ll spend your life in protective custody, no matter how hard Luc fights for you.”
“Protective custody?” I started to argue, enraged, and the rest of her words filtered through. “Luc stood up for me? Against the Quartoren?”
She eyed me speculatively. “I’ve known Luc for a long time. The mantle of the Heir would have stripped the humanity from anyone else, burned away the softness and decency and left behind only the duty and the power. He’s managed to avoid that, but if you continue putting yourself at risk, you’ll force him to leave himself behind completely.”
Before I could ask more, Lena strolled up. “You coming? All-school assembly in five.”
“Then you’d best get under way.” Niobe turned on her heel and strode off.
“I thought guidance counselors were supposed to be warm and fuzzy,” Lena said. “That woman makes Sister Donna look like a Care Bear.”
“She takes some getting used to,” I said. “Any rumors about the Lenten Service Project this year?”
“Not that I’ve heard. But we’ll know in a few minutes.”
Every Lent, the school administration chose an all-school service project: forty days of donating our time to those in need. Last year it had been tutoring disadvantaged kids. The year before, reading to veterans at a nearby VA facility. It was a graduation requirement, a yearly tradition, and two months’ worth of shortened classes.
As we filed into the gymnasium, the magic—and my nerves—settled, acclimating to the vibrating lines. As Sister Donna strode to the podium, habit flapping behind her, the fidgety feeling faded. She droned on about the purpose of Lent, the same speech she gave every year, and the magic washed over me like white noise. I struggled to stay awake despite the uncomfortable wooden steps.
“Wake up,” Lena hissed, elbowing me in the side. “You drool on my sweater and I will shove you off these bleachers.”
“Sorry,” I whispered. “Late night.”
She waggled her eyebrows. “Colin?”
“Nothing so fun.” Sister Donna concluded her speech, the girls around us applauding dutifully, and I clapped, too. “Okay, I missed it. Where are we going?”
“Soup kitchens and homeless shelters.”
From across the bleachers, Jill McAllister caught my eye and I tensed up again, searching for any sign of Anton.
“Twenty bucks says she’s in our group,” Lena grumbled. “We start the day after tomorrow, by the way. In case you slept through that part, too.”
“Lovely.” We headed out of the gym and joined the slow-moving crowd, heading toward second period.
“So, if you weren’t out with Colin last night ...”
My stomach fluttered, remembering my visit to Colin’s.
“I was, for a while. But when I got in, I had work to do.” My time with the Arcs could definitely be considered work.
“You know we’re seniors, right? Our applications are in, our fates are sealed. We can let things slide a little bit.”
“I wish.” I still hadn’t heard from NYU. At this point, I wasn’t even sure what I was hoping for—that I’d get in, and have to decline, or that I’d be rejected, and have the decision taken out of my hands.
“Mo!” Constance called my name across the hallway. “Wait up!”
“This is a first,” Lena muttered.
“Did you see all the—” Constance broke off at the sight of Lena. “Do you mind?”
“Yes.” Lena put a hand on her hip. “We were having a conversation.”
“Well, I need to talk to Mo. It’s important.”
“I’ll catch up,” I said to Lena. “Save me a seat.”
She eyed Constance, not bothering to hide her suspicion. “If you say so.”
“Did you see the guards?” Constance asked when she was gone. “What’s going on?”
“It’s to prevent Anton from coming back in.”
She blinked. “It’s a trap?”
“I don’t think it’s a trap if he knows they’re looking for him,” I said, but inside I knew differently. The Quartoren assumed he might try it, anyway. And that made me the bait. “Have you heard any talk?”
“Me? Nobody tells me anything,” she said with a pout. “Not even Niobe. She’s supposed to be teaching me, but she never tells me any of the good stuff. It’s all ‘control your emotions’ and ‘focus your will.’ She knows everyone. Like,
everyone
. And they’re all a little afraid of her, too. I think she’s kind of a big deal.”
“Probably.” Luc relied on her for information, and I’d seen how well they worked together. They seemed to move in different circles, though, and their interactions had just enough friction that I had to wonder about their history. I brushed aside my annoyance. “Listen to her, okay? She can keep you safe.”
“Whatever. It’s not like I’m in danger. You’re the one they want.”
“Go to class, Constance.” I didn’t bother to see whether she listened.
“I’m trying to remember to feel sorry for her,” Lena said as I slid into the seat she’d saved for me. “It’s kind of an effort.”
“I know the feeling,” I said. More and more, my guilt over everything that had happened to Constance was turning to annoyance. I’d lost Verity, too, but instead of sniping at everyone, I was going after the people responsible. Having a purpose had helped my grief. Maybe Constance needed to find one of her own.
I operated on autopilot for the rest of the day. The lines stayed quiet. Jill McAllister stayed out of my way. Even Constance and Niobe seemed willing to give me space.
“You need a nap,” said Colin as I climbed into the truck.
“I need a vacation,” I said. “Someplace with blue water and white sand.”
He traced the curve of my cheek, the gesture careful and tender. “Wish we could. Do you want to crash at my place for a little while?”
That sounded like an even better plan than a tropical beach. And equally impossible. “I have to work.”
“We should find you another job,” Colin said. “At least until The Slice opens again.”
I yawned hugely. “Billy wouldn’t let me. Besides, my mom likes having me close. She feels safer.”
“Your dad doesn’t. He’s worried.”
I sat up straight. “When did you two discuss this? During your joyride yesterday?”
“This morning. Your dad’s joined the crew working on The Slice. Should make for some nice quality time for the two of us,” he said dryly.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“He needs a paycheck. Not a lot of people are willing to hire him. And he seems to think that getting you out of Morgan’s is in everyone’s best interests.”
“Funny how everyone wants me out, but they’re not willing to leave themselves.”
“It’s not always a question of wanting,” he said. “Sometimes it’s not possible. But for you, it is. We’re trying to keep your options open.”
I laughed, the sound strangled. “You and my dad are on the same side?”
“We both want you safe,” he said. “And happy. That puts us on the same side, and Billy on the other.”
My dad didn’t have any idea what made me happy, and it wasn’t his place to decide it. We stopped behind Morgan’s, and my stomach clenched. I had a sudden vision of the thugs who’d once broken into my house, the fear returning fresh. I blinked and the image was replaced with the memory of Billy’s face as he watched The Slice burn, as he spun out more lies for me. Fear and lies and greed, the magic seemed to warn me, and I braced my hands against the dash.
“You okay?” Colin asked, sliding his arm around me.
I let myself relax into him. This was how we were supposed to be—solid and together. I’d managed Billy; I’d convinced my mom. It was supposed to be okay. My dad’s interference was a threat I hadn’t anticipated.
“Under control,” I said through gritted teeth. Through sheer force of will, I calmed my stomach and my temper. “Pick me up at eight?”
He nodded and touched his lips to mine. “Just because you’re angry doesn’t mean your dad’s wrong, Mo.”
“And it doesn’t mean he’s right, either.”
Inside, Morgan’s was busier than usual for a Tuesday night. Even Billy was helping out behind the bar. I felt a faint tension in the lines, and traced it back to a guy sitting near the front door, who was casually, continuously surveying the room. He caught my eye and nodded slightly, and I realized it was the guard Luc had mentioned. The Quartoren weren’t taking any chances.
I made my way to the back, unwinding my scarf, my hair crackling with static. I checked the wire delivery cart. Empty. My breathing came easier.
Then my phone beeped, and my heart slammed into my ribs all over again.
I checked the number. Jenny.
Anything?
read her text.
I started to respond, but paused. Everyone was busy out front. If there was ever a time to snoop, this was it.
Billy’s office, like my mom’s, was in a closet off the back room. I locked the door behind me and looked around. Haphazard stacks of papers—order forms, old electric bills—were scattered across the desk, and the computer whirred softly. I nudged the mouse, but the screen saver asked for a password. I eased a drawer open and found only invoices from liquor distributors and glassware companies. Nothing Jenny could use.
“Mo?” called Billy, rattling the doorknob. “What are you doing?”
I was so startled I knocked over the stack of papers I’d been riffling through. “Getting dressed,” I shouted, switching out of my uniform and making as much racket as possible. Finally, I flung open the door.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t have a chance to change at school.”
He looked past me at the paper-covered floor. “What happened?”
“I tripped. Banged my funny bone.” I rubbed at my elbow. “I’ll clean it up.”
“Never mind,” he said brusquely, and shooed me out. “Charlie needs you out front.”
I fled, hoping I’d masked the guilt on my face.
Back out on the floor, I waved to Charlie and started working my way around the room, taking orders and delivering drinks. It was easier than working at The Slice, in a lot of ways—a shorter menu, and people rarely ordered trendy, complicated drinks. Despite the crowd, the simpler routine meant I had more time to think about Colin’s words.

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