Briar Queen_ A Night and Nothing Novel - Katherine Harbour Page 0,6
crescent and the wind had that peculiar warmth that sometimes came during winter’s beginning—she remembered that from Vermont, when her mom would take her and Lily onto the patio during a winter warming and make dinner on the grill.
As they selected a relatively dry space near the steeple, Finn said, “What do you think happened to the young people in the Wolf’s house?”
In the moonlight, the colors of Jack’s irises—one blue, one gray—was evident. He replied, “There was a rumor that Lot had once ruled La Bestia, the court of beasts in France.”
He’d dodged her question. She didn’t know whether to be awed or terrified that there were more Fatas: a reclusive nation here in America, and a court in France—she imagined decadent creatures in powdered wigs and punk-Regency clothing; then she pictured the things of tooth and claw that might hide beneath that glamour. She remembered reading about the eighteenth-century French writer George Sand, who claimed that she’d once glimpsed a gathering of werewolves in Paris. “Okay. A court of beasts.”
“The Fatas of France aren’t actually beasts. Quite sophisticated, actually, and frivolous as hell, but it’s a name that kept their enemies away.”
“You haven’t told me what happened to the boys and gir—”
“I’m getting to that.” The ring she’d given him glinted. He’d once had a black Celtic cross tattooed on the back of that hand, but all those markings had faded when he’d been resurrected. “There is a history, in a certain region of France, of an animal that ravaged the countryside and slaughtered people during the 1700s. The Beast of Gevaudan.”
“No.” Finn felt a nightmare world gaping around her—she’d read about Gevaudan in her father’s books. “It ate people, Jack. That’s Seth Lot? That’s what’s here? Will he know we were responsible for Reiko—”
“He’ll blame Phouka and Absalom, and they can defend themselves.”
“Caliban.” She spat the name and all the hope drained from his eyes. She nodded. “He’ll tell that monster.”
“We have a small army at our backs.”
“Do you think Phouka and her family care? They used us to get rid of Reiko and her boyfriend.”
“Reiko was a danger to them with what she was doing.”
Finn studied the pretty view and wished she didn’t know what she did. She changed the subject. “Why do you think Absalom is giving Anna presents?”
“Typical. I tell you the Big Bad Wolf might be here and you’re thinking of someone else’s welfare. I’ve no idea. Absalom is crazy.”
“You know he’s not. He just wants people to think he’s crazy. And I don’t want to talk about your . . . ex-boss anymore.” She paused. “What’s it like? To live two hundred years?”
“Appalling. You get schizo after the first sixty.”
She rested her head on his shoulder as he delicately said, “Finn. What do you want to do?”
“Go home and sleep and try not to think about wolves.”
“I mean, what do you want to do with your life? After college?”
“So much pressure.” She was glad he was distracting her from thinking about what might be lurking in Fair Hollow, waiting to avenge Reiko. “I don’t know. Be a photographer? I want to see the world. And write about it. And find out things.”
He clasped one of her hands, his grip firm and warm. “Then that’s what you’ll do.”
She noticed that he said you, not we, and that troubled her.
FINN WOKE IN HER DARK ROOM—she’d fallen asleep in her T-shirt and jeans, with Jack beside her. He slept with one arm outstretched, moonlight etching his profile, the curve of his throat. She’d never seen him so vulnerable, even when he’d been about to die on Halloween night. She settled closer to his lean body and twined her fingers around one of his wrists.
His skin was icy.
His chest wasn’t moving. His eyelashes didn’t flutter. His breath didn’t warm her skin. She sat up, panic stealing her ability to speak.
His eyes flew open and they were absolute black.
Then his irises returned to blue and gray, and he gazed at her drowsily. “Is it morning?”
She couldn’t move, but her heart was trying to jackhammer its way out of her chest.
“No,” she whispered, and she swallowed a sour rush of fear. “It’s not morning.”
“I shouldn’t be here.” He tugged her down against him. He wasn’t cold now, as his arms went around her. She laid her head on his chest and listened to the beat of the heart he’d grown for her.
“Jack,” she whispered, “what do you want to do?”
“I’ve done everything I’ve wanted to do.” His voice