Seduction (23 page)

We are the wave of the space between

We are the flood that rushes to shore . . .

I recognized her voice. It was Sophie.

She began to turn deosil—clockwise—and the entire assemblage turned with her like a gigantic wheel circling the stone-walled space.

We sweep past all barriers set in our path

Through corridors of time we pour

Then everyone chanted in unison:

Our Magick lends eternal proof

We receive in return Beauty and Youth.

I was having a moment of déjà vu. There was something about the chant that was familiar. This was the first time I’d watched this ritual, but I could have sworn I’d heard these words before.

And what was the point of the ritual? With so many participants, the magic produced had to be strong. Was this coven performing some sacred service, like keeping world peace? Did they protect Paris from alien invasions? Slow global warming? Prevent Earth from colliding with another planet?

If they were, then it was a little disconcerting that Sophie de la Soubise would be the leader of this group, but that seemed to be the case. Maybe Sophie had depths I hadn’t noticed.

Then she stopped and slowly began to turn in the opposite direction. Once again, the others followed.

We circle and bind the hands of time;

Years swim in our embrace.

Our power spins in widdershins

To undo the riptide’s pace.

Widdershins.
A witch word. It meant counterclockwise, but was used only in rituals. But I’d heard it before, and recently.
Where had that been? Sophie chanted and the rest repeated:

Our Magick lends eternal proof

We receive in return Beauty and Youth.

Oh, of course! I knocked myself on the head as it finally came to me. Azrael’s book! I hadn’t heard this ritual; I’d
read
it, in the spell the
Abbaye
“nuns” had used to heal Veronique.

But how could that be? The events in the book I was reading took place centuries ago. Could he have been writing about
this
ritual, perhaps, and the ancestors of
these
people?

The group repeated the last lines. This time I paid close attention to the words.

Our Magick lends eternal proof

We receive in return Beauty and Youth.

Beauty and youth?
I almost laughed out loud. It wasn’t the same spell at all! What a travesty. Veronique and her followers had cast a spell for
healing and truth
, and in exchange they received long lives, which they’d spent in service to the poor. They would never have used their magic for something as shallow as . . .

I sucked in air. That was what Fabienne had meant when she’d said that, as a member of the Enclave, she “must do nothing selfish,” while always looking beautiful. This coven, evidently an offshoot of the one begun by Veronique and her followers, had somehow transformed over the years from a sanctuary for extraordinary women into a pointless gathering led by a vain and shallow creature who cared about nothing
but her own beauty. It was hard to believe that people born with the gift of magic would throw it away on something so trivial, but there it was: Each month these people pooled all the talents they’d been blessed with and sacrificed them simply to be attractive.

While I was ruminating about the purpose of the ritual, it ended. Suddenly everyone was talking again, shrugging out of their robes and heading toward the south end of the house, below the main parlor.

“You’re kidding,” I said out loud as, in the room below mine, Sophie tossed back the hood of her robe as if it were a dead animal perched on her head, and laughed gaily. Her hair, dotted with jewels, looked like spun gold in the moonlight where she stood. Once the robes were off, it was clear that everyone was dressed to the nines and ready to party once again.

I finally saw Fabienne, who had been standing right in my line of sight all along. As everyone was heading toward the stairwell, she turned to the tall figure beside her—it was Peter—and shrugged as if to say,
What was the big deal with that?

Which was also what I was thinking. I mean, it was hard to believe all those people had been after nothing more magical than nice hair and acne-free skin. I’d have to read the paper tomorrow to see if a war had ended or a collision with another planet had been averted, but I somehow doubted that.

And Peter. What was the role Sophie had planned for him? To take over Jeremiah’s job as Mr. Moneybags, funding the coven so that its members could go on living like pretty parasites? Was that really what Peter wanted to do with the rest of his life?

The room quieted down, and I looked back through my
spyhole to see what was going on. Sophie was waving her arms above her head, calling for attention. “I just wanted to say one more thing,” she said, smiling. “Tonight marks the last full-moon ceremony for one of our longtime members, Marie-Therèse LePetit.” She held out her arms, palms up, as if she expected Marie-Therèse to run into them. Some of the assembled guests applauded; the rest, deeming the announcement unimportant, buzzed with their own private conversations. “Marie-Therèse will be going on to greener pastures, and we’re all going to miss her.”

Did she really say
greener pastures
? As if anyone would miss the “put out to pasture” reference. I wanted to gag.

“So this evening, our refreshment hour will be in her honor!” Sophie went on ebulliently. “Make sure you say hello to her and wish her well!”

There was some more scattered applause. My heart ached for Marie-Therèse. That must have been so humiliating.

A moment later the moonlight shifted and the ritual chamber was cast into deep shadow. Sophie vanished into the crowd. Jeremiah led Peter and Fabienne away toward the general exodus, their candles relit and moving together through the darkness.

I was lying on the floor with my hands cupped around my eyes when someone spoke quietly behind me. “See anything interesting?”

I literally jumped to my feet, my heart pounding. It was Belmondo. He was smiling, leaning against the kitchen door frame. “What . . . what are you doing here?” I sputtered, my eyes darting from him to the hole in the wall where I’d watched the ritual.

“I came this way because there’s always a traffic jam at the other stairwell,” he said. “But I didn’t expect to find such a pleasant surprise.” He came up to me and put his arms around me. “
Mon Dieu
, I can feel the magic coming off you.” He sniffed deeply, as if I were wearing some exotic perfume.

I squirmed away. “You’re one of them,” I whispered.

“The Enclave? No.” He laughed easily. “I do not require their paltry tricks. But I am like an old family retainer, always present but usually invisible. I only observe, like your paramour, Peter.”

“He’s not—”

“Does he do this to you?” he asked, brushing my neck with his lips. Then, in a whisper, “Does he make you feel like this?” He kissed me behind my ear.

My breath caught. Suddenly it felt very warm. I could hear myself breathe. My knees threatened to give out.

“Make magic for me, my beauty,” he whispered. Dark curls were stuck to his temples.

“What kind of magic?” I asked.

He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and laughed. “How about snow?” he suggested.

“Easy.” With a nod of my head, the refrigerator door opened. It was a prehistoric model, probably from the sixties, and I knew from the dinner I’d cooked that the freezer compartment was definitely not frost-free. I shot out five fingers, and the two inches of frozen condensation on the coils peeled away and floated over to us, where we were showered with ice-cold flurries.

“Snow,” I said triumphantly as Belmondo blinked away the fat flakes that had settled onto his dark eyelashes.

“You are a marvel,” he said.

“I aim to please.”

“And you do.” He brushed snow out of my hair. “You please me very much.”

I felt myself melting as fast as the snow on my skin. Too fast. Too dangerous. “Belmondo—”

He shook his head. “I know what you are about to say, Katarine. ‘You must not love me, Belmondo. You must stay far away, for my lover will be jealous and beat me.’ ”

“I’ve told you, he’s not my lover,” I said. “And he doesn’t beat me.”

Belmondo smiled. “Of course not,” he said gently. “Even an American boy would know how special you are.”

I wouldn’t exactly go that far, but I didn’t say anything.

“So if you cannot give me love, perhaps you will accommodate me with the next best thing.”

“Which is?”

“Supper,” he said. “I cannot resist your cooking.”

“
Mais certainment
,” I answered, flattered.

The refrigerator door was already open from my trick with the snow, revealing a platter holding a ham. I sent it rocketing overhead, along with some lettuce, tomatoes, two hard-boiled eggs, a cold cooked potato, and a bunch of grapes. A half baguette floated from the bread box, and a bottle of wine came swinging out of the wine rack, uncorking itself as it flew toward us.

“It’s raining food!” Belmondo said, covering his head in mock fright.

A gasp from the doorway nearly wrecked my concentration, and the ham came hurtling down. Belmondo caught it
with an “
oof!
” while I snatched at falling eggs and lettuce leaves.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Fabienne said as a potato bonked me on the head and a tomato splattered on the floor next to me.

She leaped into the room in time to snag the grapes while they were still in a bunch.

“That’s okay,” I said. “We were just—”

I spotted Peter behind her, watching me from the shadows beyond the doorway. His face had no expression at all. In another second he moved on before I could say anything to him.

Behind him walked Marie-Therèse, looking pale and shaken. Her eyes seemed tortured, as if her own interior thoughts were blinding her to everything else. I don’t think she even noticed me, or anyone else. I debated whether or not to say something to her, but I decided she’d probably had enough public shame heaped on her. I’d speak to her later, in private.

Pulling up the rear was Jeremiah, who paused only long enough to give Belmondo one of the most poisonous stares I’d ever seen.

“You don’t belong here,” he said. “Get out.”

I was about to object, but Belmondo only bowed graciously, a slight smile playing at his lips.

With a gesture directed at Fabienne, Jeremiah walked away. Fabby gave me a “who knows” look as she followed him.

I was already worrying about what I would say to Peter tomorrow. “What was that about?” I asked, confused by Jeremiah’s blatant rudeness.

Belmondo shook his head. “Silly old fool.”

“But why did you . . . and the ritual . . . what did . . .” I couldn’t pull all my thoughts together. The memory of Peter’s face filled me with guilt and confusion.

“Don’t worry about any of it,” Belmondo said. “The old man matters little, the angry American boy even less. Tonight there is only you and me.” He pulled me close again. “Just we two.”

I breathed in his scent, spicy with a hint of cloves and anise. It would be easy—so easy—to listen to him, forget everything except what was happening in this moment.

But I couldn’t do that. There were just too many questions, and not enough answers.

I hated to do it under the circumstances, with Belmondo touching me and talking to me so trustingly, but I knew that if I could only tap into his feelings, his essence, all my questions—at least the ones about him—might be answered. So I let the barriers down, allowed myself to relax, and opened up my mind to him.

Let me in, Belmondo.

I waited.

“Katy?”

That was weird,
I thought, cocking my head and frowning.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” I said.

That was true. Nothing had happened. No thoughts, no feelings, nothing about Belmondo transmitted to me.

Nothing at all.

CHAPTER

•

TWENTY-EIGHT

After Belmondo left, I went upstairs to explain things to Peter, but I hesitated in front of his door. What would I say? That once again, I’d enjoyed a perfectly innocent evening with a man who clearly wanted more from me than friendship?

I knew that it hadn’t been innocent, not in any real sense. Belmondo had touched me—again—and again, I had wanted him to. The truth was, it was becoming easier to be with Belmondo, while every day it was becoming more difficult to stay with Peter.

There was no light under Peter’s door, so I backed away and walked to Marie-Therèse’s room. It, too, was dark. That was just as well, I thought. She needed to be alone for a while. I’d see her tomorrow.