Scarlet (The Lunar Chronicles #2) - Marissa Meyer Page 0,78
the sound that echoed between the marble pillars, despite being muffled within her pocket.
Heart racing, she pulled out the portscreen just as the computerized voice began to speak. “Comm received for Mademoiselle Scarlet Benoit from L’hôpital Joseph Ducuing in Toulouse.”
Scarlet blinked. A hospital?
Hand shaking, she pulled up the comm.
30 AUG 126 T.E.
THIS COMMUNICATION IS TO INFORM SCARLET BENOIT OF RIEUX, FRANCE, EF, THAT AT 05:09 ON 30 AUG 126, LUC ARMAN BENOIT OF PARIS, FRANCE, EF, WAS PRONOUNCED DEAD BY ON-STAFF MEDICAL PRACTITIONER ID #58279.
PRESUMED CAUSE OF DEATH: ALCOHOL POISONING
PLEASE RESPOND WITHIN 24 HOURS IF YOU WOULD LIKE AN AUTOPSY TO BE PERFORMED FOR THE COST OF 4500 UNIVS.
WITH SYMPATHIES,
THE STAFF OF L’HÔPITAL JOSEPH DUCUING, TOULOUSE
Confusion reigned, her heart thumping erratically. The message didn’t want to compute, her brain turning it over and over. She pictured him the last time she’d seen him, raving and tortured and afraid. How she’d screamed at him. Told him she never wanted to see him again.
How could he be dead, only twenty-four hours later? Shouldn’t she have received a comm when he’d been admitted into the hospital? Shouldn’t there have been a warning?
Swaying on her feet, she peered up at Wolf. “My dad’s dead,” she said, her whisper barely filling the enormous space. “Alcohol poisoning.”
His jaw flexed. “Are they sure about that?”
His suspicion was slow to filter through her encroaching numbness. “You think they sent the comm by mistake?”
A touch of sympathy flickered in his eyes. “No, Scarlet. But I do think he was in danger of something much worse than a fondness for drinking.”
She didn’t understand. He’d been tortured, but the burn marks wouldn’t have killed him. The insanity wouldn’t have killed him.
Through the fog in her brain, a gentle, caressing instinct told her to look up. So she did.
Behind Wolf, framed by two pillars that held unlit sconces, was a man. He was willowy and lean, with wavy dark hair and near-black eyes that burned in the candlelight. He would have had a pleasant smile if Scarlet hadn’t been so startled—by his presence, his silence, the fact that Wolf did not seem surprised he was there, did not even bother to face him though he undoubtedly felt him too.
More terrifying than all that was his clothing. He wore a crimson red coat that flared at his waist and had long, bell-shaped sleeves. Gold-embroidered runes sparkled along the hems. It was almost like a child’s costume, an imitation of the horrible Lunar court.
Fear thumped against Scarlet’s rib cage. This was not a costume. This was the stuff of nightmares and horror stories told to keep children from misbehaving.
A thaumaturge. A Lunar thaumaturge.
“Hello,” the man said, in a voice as sweet and smooth as melted caramel. “You must be Mademoiselle Benoit.”
She stumbled back onto the first step, catching the rail for balance. In front of her, Wolf dipped his eyes and turned around. The man acknowledged him with a polite nod.
“Alpha Kesley, so glad you’ve made it back safely. And if I am to correctly understand the comm the lady just received, Beta Wynn’s task in Toulouse must be finished as well. It seems we will soon be a full pack again.”
Wolf clamped a fist to his chest and gave a slight bow. “I am glad to hear it, Master Jael.”
Gulping, Scarlet pushed her hip into the rail. “No,” she said, finding her voice on the second try. “He brought me here to find my grandmother. He’s not one of you anymore.”
The man’s smile was warm and understanding. “I see. I’m sure you are quite eager to see your grandmother. I hope to reunite you shortly.”
Scarlet clenched her fists. “Where is she? If you’ve hurt her—”
“She is quite alive, I assure you,” said the man. Without any change in expression, he slid his attention back to Wolf. “Tell me, Alpha, were you able to meet your objectives?”
Wolf lowered his hand to his side. Obedience hung from him like a thin, absurd disguise.
A headache pounded at Scarlet’s temples. Her nerves hummed as she waited, hoping and wishing he was going to tell this man that he’d left their ridiculous pack and he was never coming back.
But the hope couldn’t be entertained for long. It was being shucked off before Wolf even opened his mouth.
This man was not a rebellious criminal, some member of a vigilante gang. If he was truly a thaumaturge, a real thaumaturge standing before her, then he worked for the Lunar crown.