Though Bastien obviously wished to aid Celine, it grated her to appear helpless in anyone’s eyes. “While I appreciate your efforts, Monsieur Saint Germain, I do not need you to defend me.”
Like the other members of La Cour des Lions, Arjun had stayed silent during this exchange, but he stood now, laughing quietly. “He’s not defending you, poppet. He’s doing what he does best: negotiating.”
At that precise moment, a breathless Odette appeared at the top of the stairs. She gripped the railing with a gasp, then swiped her disheveled hair from her brow, leaving a smudge of red dirt across her forehead.
Celine was not prepared for what followed in Odette’s shadow. At her booted heels—breathing heavily from exertion—stood the Mother Superior of the Ursuline convent.
Celine’s erstwhile savior . . . as well as her possible executioner.
HIVER, 1872
AVENUE DES URSULINES
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA
Tonight was both a failure and a success.
I freely admit the girl’s death was unfortunate. As I said before, I do not relish the taking of a life. But ultimately I cannot dwell in remorse. In the grand scheme of things, she is no more than a cog in a clock.
And my enemies have lived on borrowed time long enough.
With her death, I’ve left my intended message. But still I failed to achieve the whole of my purpose. The greatest enemy of my kind walks free, his reputation intact. Without a hint of suspicion trailing in his wake. This knowledge enrages me. The thieving wretch does not deserve to slither about unscathed—to occupy positions of power and influence—after all the things his family has done to mine.
I could kill him. Break his neck. Bleed him dry. It would be simple. Deserved. After all, he is the reason I walk this world bereft of light. Because of him, I lost everything. My very humanity, even.
I could do it. I could bring about his demise.
But his death at my hands would incur war and ruination to those around me. Would deepen the rift between the Fallen and the Brotherhood. Between my family and his. First I wish to see him suffer. I wish to see them all meet their maker and be sent to the fiery pit where they belong.
I pray you not judge me too harshly for this. I know these kinds of petty considerations are unbecoming of an immortal such as myself, but there is a thin line between justice and vengeance. That line is the edge of a blade.
One day I will plunge it into his soul.
The girl, however, did intrigue me. Not the one with the mild-mannered expression and the heart-shaped face. I know there are those who are drawn to people like her. They seek tranquility. A place to rest their heads.
I seek nothing of the sort. I have rested far too long.
But that girl . . . that girl with the unflinching stare and the knowing expression. She possesses the look of someone who has met Death on a field of battle and managed to live another day. I am intrigued by her. I am curious about the scars Death left behind. I want to know who she is. What she’s done.
What role she will play in this tale of woe.
My interest consumes me in a dangerous way, for demons like me are predisposed to obsession, and I do not have the time for any distractions. Once, years ago, my sister in the night lost herself chasing after an unremarkable human, trying to find answers to questions she should have known better than to ask.
I could not save her. The light of the moon betrayed me that evening. My heart still bears the wounds, years later. I should know better than to be consumed by curiosity. I should not care what this enchanting creature thinks. What she does, or what she feels.
And yet . . .
I must care. No matter how fragile she is—how delicately her life hangs in the balance—she is a tool to be used and discarded. A hammer intended for a very specific nail.
She will be the one in the end. The one who sends my enemy deep into the pits of Hell, where he belongs. I can see it, as true as I can sense the moon at my shoulder, high at its peak, its light as much a source of comfort as it is a source of pain.
My enemy is just as enthralled as I. Even more so because he desires her in actuality, not simply as a pawn in