Lucius (Acquisition Series #4) - Celia Aaron Page 0,15

a hot shower, and then I get ready. No board meetings for the day, so I just put on a little mascara and swipe some bronzer across my cheekbones. Dressing in a business casual navy top with white linen pants, I return to my bedroom as the sun peaks over the downtown skyline. The Crescent City is waking up, and now I have no excuse.

Pushing my shoulders back, I stalk to the envelope and snatch it off the dresser. It’s paper. Paper can’t hurt me. Despite that sentiment, my fingers shake as I break the crimson wax seal and open it.

Perfect calligraphy meets my eyes, and I try to skim the words. Just a brief, confident brush of my gaze across the ink, and then I can toss it like a piece of junk mail. But, of course, that fails, so I slow down and start from the top.

Miss Witherington,

As ‘Interim’ Sovereign, I am pleased to welcome you back to Louisiana. We need good stock to replenish our ranks and continue the tradition set forth by our ancestors. The incident from the last Acquisition must never be repeated, and I am working to ensure that another Acquisition takes place at the earliest possible opportunity.

This is a rebuilding phase, one in which I intend to gather all who remain committed to the old ways. As necessitated by the unfortunate events of the last Acquisition, I am also tasked with protecting this age-old institution from all who might seek to destroy it. In that vein, any who refuse to respect our traditions are, unfortunately, part of the problem I’ve been appointed to solve.

I’m certain you’d prefer to be part of the solution, which is why I’m extending this invitation with the greatest of anticipation. As a Witherington, one whose brother competed admirably in the last Acquisition, you will be afforded a place of honor within our society.

Your formal induction is set for Saturday the 24th, 7pm sharp, at the Corrigan Residence in the Garden District during a masked affair, as is our custom.

And, though I’m confident this goes without saying, if you fail to attend, I will personally make it my task to visit you at your 12th floor home on Perdido Street (door code 4361) at my earliest opportunity.

Yours very truly,

Sovereign

I’m covered in a cold sweat, and I didn’t realize I’d sat at the foot of my bed. I stare at the words, at the horror. The Acquisition isn’t over. It can’t be killed. The Vinemonts burnt it to nothing but ash, but it’s still alive. Not a phoenix, nothing resplendent like that. More like a demon who fed on the flames and only grew stronger.

I shouldn’t have come back here.

My hands are cold, so cold I can’t feel them as I let the parchment slip through them and hit the floor.

I sit for a long time, nausea roiling in my gut. It was foolish of me to think it was over. Just because my brother was dead right along with all the rest of them, that doesn’t mean that some didn’t survive. Or, perhaps, a new crop has risen. The children who were too young to attend the Sovereign’s crowning all those years ago, or the ones off at college or overseas who didn’t get caught up in the inferno.

After a while, I realize my phone’s been buzzing intermittently. I look at it. Half an hour has passed, all of it spent in memory or conjecture. Bathed in cold sweat and wrapped in fear.

I swipe to answer the call. “Yeah?”

“Evelyn, are you all right?” It’s Linton.

“Of course. Why?”

He clucks his tongue. “I don’t know. When you answered, you just sounded…”

Like someone walked over my grave? “I’m fine. What’s going on?”

“Craig Rasmussen called me first thing this morning.”

That perks me up a little. Rasmussen is an influential board member for Magnolia. “What’d he say?”

“He wants to know if you’d like to meet for lunch.”

“Yes. I mean, definitely. When?”

“Today.”

Damn. I’ll have to get myself together. No cracks in my armor, no dwelling on the hellish invitation that still lies at my feet.

“Evelyn?” he asks.

I realize I’ve been silent too long. “Set it up.”

“He already has. Noon at Le Corbeau.”

“Pick me up at 11:30?” I’ll have to rethink my whole ‘just mascara and bronzer’ plan. Rasmussen will be expecting polished and perfect.

Linton clears his throat. “I’m afraid he made clear that he wanted to dine with you. Just you.”

“Oh.” I frown. “Is he up to something?”

“Likely.” Linton sighs. “Don’t overpromise. Don’t tip your