The Wicked Within (15 page)

“I’ll start at this end,” he said. “Call if you find anything.”

She nodded and took off, disappearing down a row. He started off, his steps echoing on the marble floor, the place taking on an eerie quality without the music.

As he looked for the Keeper, he thought of his grandmother, trying to fully process that she was gone. A handful of hours ago she’d been alive. She’d called him into her office and made some lofty speech about his future and family traditions. She’d had the nerve to demand he start attending mass with her at the cathedral. All Arnauds had attended St. Louis’s since coming to the city in the 1770s. They always sat in the front pew, right in front of the flat stone that lay over the grave of Andres Almonester y Roxas. His grandmother hadn’t let up, blackmailing him until he agreed. She’d loved the fact that he came to her home to feed. She loved the control it gave her over him. In her weird way, she loved him. For his power, for the pride it gave her that her grandson was the most powerful heir in the Novem.

Still, as much as he hated her constant maneuvering for power, as much as he’d tried to remove himself from her control, he always thought she’d be there, the bane of his existence. And now she wasn’t.

And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He was sad for her death, yes. Of course. Sad for his family.

“Sebastian!”

He raced to the aisle of study tables, looking down each row until he found her far down at the end of a row, on her knees.

He dropped down beside her. “Damn it.” The Keeper had been destroyed. The tiny bronze plates that made up his “skin” were dented, the structural metal underneath them crushed at the chest, revealing bits and pieces of gears and mechanisms and wires. His legs were twisted beneath him, and his eyes, made of white stone inset with brown disks, were wide open and no longer sentient.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Ari said. “Why would anyone do this?”

But he knew why. They both knew why. The Keeper was an automaton. He wasn’t designed to lie. Whoever had done this was covering the fact that they’d been here, had possibly stolen the Hands, or inquired about them.

“They didn’t need to destroy him so completely,” Ari whispered.

It seemed to Sebastian that whoever had done this had been pissed about not finding the Hands. He imagined that someone had pushed the Keeper to tell all he knew—who had been in the library, who had searched for the Hands—and the Keeper had paid for those answers.

“He didn’t know, Sebastian. I asked him myself. He was confused that he couldn’t find the Hands. His job was to keep everything in order, to be able to find whatever you needed. But he didn’t know who moved or took the Hands. Do you think he can be fixed?”

Sebastian looked at the automaton. The damage was extensive. “I don’t know.” He took Ari’s arm. “The Hands aren’t here. We should go.”

She got to her feet and gave one last regretful look at the Keeper. “We don’t know that for sure. We need to find out if he finished his inventory.” Then she hurried down the aisle to the marble counter, looking for any ledgers or books.

“He could have kept it all in his memory.”

“But shouldn’t there be a record? Unless someone took it.” She threw open doors and rifled through the drawers beneath the countertop.

Light flashed in the darkness. The jagged crack where they’d entered looked so small and far away. And it began to elongate. Someone was coming.

Sebastian grabbed Ari and they raced to hide. As a dark figure swept into the light, they moved slowly into the darkness and toward the crack. Once they were back in the study, Sebastian whisked them away.

Thankfully, they appeared in the alley between the cathedral and Presby.

He glanced up at Presby, the view going fuzzy for a second as dizziness and nausea claimed him. Too much tracing could make him sick. “I have to go back.”

“What?”

“Those guards. I can’t leave them like that.”

She clutched his arm. “You have no idea who else is in the study now, Sebastian. It’s too dangerous.”

She was right. But he had to go back. Whoever was in the library already knew he’d been there, because there weren’t exactly a lot of people out there who could do what he’d done to those guards. They’d have figured it out. Regardless, had to go back, free the guards.

He leaned down, kissed her hard, and then disappeared.

S
EBASTIAN REJOINED ME SECONDS LATER.
He was breathing hard, his expression dazed as though he was struggling to stay conscious. “Are you okay?”

“Okay.” He glanced up and down the alley. “We have to get to my grandmother’s house and look around before anyone else does.”

He took my hand and we raced down St. Ann. He hadn’t traced us there, which I guessed meant the tracing had taken a huge toll on his power.

We hurried through the gate to Arnaud House and down the alley to the courtyard. Two bodies, servants, lay contorted on the patio, blood pooled around them. His hand gripped mine tighter as we hurried into the house.

We were too late.

Inside, the scent of blood was so strong I could taste its tang in the back of my throat. It mingled with the faint smells of roses and furniture polish. My stomach shrank into a sour knot.

The house had been ripped apart. The broken bodies of servants, vampires, and human companions fell where they’d been slain. Not drained of blood, but struck down by brute force. Necks had been broken and spines snapped in half. In a blur of speed, one or two Bloodborn vamps or shifters could have taken out the staff in minutes. A sheen of sweat covered my skin. So much violence. Merciless violence. Whoever had done this deserved a slow, very painful kind of justice.

Sebastian and I didn’t speak, not wanting to disturb the dead as we searched Josephine’s destroyed office, then her private rooms, the bedroom, sitting room, and massive closet. Clothing lay strewn and ripped. Furniture busted. The pillows, bedspread, and mattress were torn apart, the foam and fillings in them all over the room like mounds of snow.

Josephine’s safe had been broken into. Sebastian walked inside it, stepping over trays of jewels, old manuscripts, scrolls, and other priceless objects his grandmother had collected during her three hundred years. They’d all been left behind. Sebastian picked up a stack of three thin leather-bound journals.

“Might be something in here,” he said quietly. My heart
went out to him. I could tell he was saddened and conflicted about Josephine’s death. “I don’t think she hid the Hands here. There’s a reason she’s lying dead in Jackson Square.”

Because she wouldn’t share the location of the Hands, and if she had, she hadn’t given that info lightly.

“Who do you think did this?” I asked.

He swallowed, and I could tell he was just as shaken as I was. “Looks like a vampire or shifter kill. They both can be savage. But . . . there’s no scent of them unless they had a witch with them to cover the smell. Could be all three working together. I don’t know.”

We searched the rest of the house. I kept hoping we’d find someone left alive, but everyone was dead. They never even had a fighting chance. Many had been struck down in obvious surprise—in the middle of cooking, cleaning the floors, reading the paper. . . .

There was no one to ask about Josephine, if she’d left the house, or if anyone had come to call. So how had Josephine gotten to the square? From the amount of blood at the scene, my guess was she’d been beheaded there. I wished I had a way to communicate with Mel. She might be able to help us piece together the last moments of all these lost lives.

An hour had passed since we’d arrived at the house. And we pretty much came up empty-handed. We were just leaving when
a thundering knock echoed through the front of the house. I froze, exchanging a startled glance with Sebastian.

Slowly we eased down the steps and into the foyer. The doorknob rattled.

Sebastian peered through the peephole, and then said over his shoulder, “Simon Baptiste.”

“Open the door,” Simon commanded. “I can smell you in there.”

We should have fled right then and kept our focus on the Hands, but Sebastian’s jaw went tight and his eyes went angry, the gray turning to silver. He wanted a confrontation, revenge for all this carnage, and I knew this would not end well.

Sebastian handed me the journals, then opened the door. His shoulders filled the doorway, his posture confident and pissed off.

Standing with Simon were two other Novem heads, Soren Mandeville and Katherine Sinclair, and a large gathering of their families. Simon gave me the creeps; his bearing pompous and malevolent. Brutality clung to him; it was in the cunning and anticipation lurking behind a classically handsome face. The arrogance in his eyes reminded me of Gabriel, and I knew one day Gabriel would be just like his father, bloated on his power and sure in his right to lord it over others.

“Your being here is . . . suspect,” Simon said.

“Why should it be?” Sebastian fired back. “We found the house destroyed and everyone in it dead. But then”—his gaze went to each of the Novem leaders—“I’m guessing at least one of you, or all three, already knows that.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed, and he stood straighter. “You
dare
accuse us?”

Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest. “Seeing as the three of you are here, probably wanting to find the Hands yourselves, yeah, I am.”

“We’re
here
to investigate her murder,” Katherine Sinclair chimed in.

“Sure you are. Who nominated you head of security? Bran should be here.”

“Bran
is
here,” a deep voice said in the hallway behind us.

Relief rushed over me as I turned to see my father, Bran, Michel, and Rowen, followed by several members of their families. They must have come through the back like Sebastian and I had.

Bran and Michel moved past me to stand behind Sebastian.

“So it comes to this,” Simon intoned.

“No one has to draw lines in the sand,” Bran said. “We all know discord is what Athena’s after. You’re playing right into the goddess’s hands. You know better.”

“Or maybe this has been a long time coming.” Simon’s
gaze flicked to Sebastian. “We have every right to make sure Josephine did not take the Hands from the library. Her behavior and actions have been in question since the battle in the ruins.”

“And it’s my job to deal with it,” Bran fired back. “You don’t see me coming to your office and sticking my nose in tourism, electricity, banking. This is
my
territory.”

“There is too much at stake,” Soren said, “to leave the inquiry into Josephine’s death to one person.”

“The only thing at stake is us splintering,” Michel stressed. “And if that happens, it’s all on you three. Will you ruin everything we have worked for and put this city in turmoil to have a chance at the Hands and immortality? The three of you will turn against each other as you turn against us now.”

A small flutter caught my attention. A faint electrical zing and high-pitched squeals, so tiny and faint, yet somehow . . . familiar. I scanned the crowd gathered behind the Novem heads, seeing traces of small light trails dart from person to person.
What the hell?

The crowd stirred.

Names and accusations flew. Magic built and teeth elongated. The time for talking was over. My father pulled me away from the door and shoved me down as the front windows exploded, raining shards of glass on our heads. The journals spilled from my hands.

I withdrew my firearm as Sebastian and the others surged out the front door and into the street. Blood and grunts and screams filled the air. I crept to the busted-out window. There was another group of shifters and witches closing in on Simon and his entourage from the side street. Ramseys and Deschanels. Hawthornes and Lamarlieres. They were on our side, the Cromleys apparently staying out of the fight.

Flashes of magic lit the night. Bran wielded his huge broadsword. Michel drew energy into his hands and let it loose at a vicious-looking vampire. I took shots through the window. My father, with a borrowed blade, sliced through any and all comers near my position.

I searched for Sebastian but couldn’t find him in the melee. I jumped through the window, meeting my first attacker and emptying the last of my bullets into him. I switched to my blade, my adrenaline pumping like crazy as a large mangy bear slid to a stop in front of me. It rose up on its hind legs and let out a roar that blew the hair back from my face. My blade seemed woefully inadequate, and the bad thing about my power? I had to get close to use it.

The bear lunged. I feigned right, but wasn’t quick enough. Its shoulder bumped mine and sent me flying, the blade knocked from my hand. The bear whirled around as I got to my feet, already calling my power, waking the serpent. The bear charged
again, and this time I stayed still. I couldn’t jump over it, and if I waited too long, those claws would dig deep.

It was closing in fast. I ran toward it, arms pumping. Almost there. I executed a slide, gliding on the shards of glass littering the street, and went through its front legs. It came over me. I grabbed the bear under the jaw. As soon as my hand touched fur, the fur went hard, the change spreading over it, turning fur, skin, flesh, and bone into stone. I rolled before it dropped and crushed me.

As I got to my feet, I was hit immediately in the gut by a shoulder. The force sent me airborne. I landed hard, the back of my head cracking on pavement. Hot pain arced over my skull. Stars danced in my vision.
Jesus.
I pushed up, dazed.
Focus, damn it!

The vamp stalked me slowly as though he had all the time in the world. He wanted me to know who he was. Gabriel. He’d been waiting for this a long time, and his sadistic smile told me he was going to enjoy taking me apart.
Same here,
I thought.