about.” Arjun removed his monocle and began cleaning the lens with a silk handkerchief.
“Then why am I speaking with you, sir?” Pippa placed her fists on her hips. “I never should have agreed to keep the truth from Celine that night in the hospital, even if we all thought it was the best way to protect her. I have lied repeatedly to someone I love, and it was wrong of me—wrong of us all—to be complicit in what happened to her memories.”
“She asked to have those memories taken from her, Philippa,” Arjun interjected gently.
“Nonetheless, it was wrong of Count Saint Germain to take them from her.” She sniffed. “And don’t ever call me Philippa.”
“Why?”
“It’s what my mother called me.”
“You’ll have to tell me that story sometime.”
“Not on your life, Mr. Desai.” Pippa gathered her skirts in hand. “I’ve said what I came to say. Please deliver my message to whoever needs to hear it.”
Arjun offered her a curt bow. “As you wish.”
Pippa hesitated. “I wish I believed you would do as I asked.”
“If wishes were fairies.”
“Then at the very least they’d keep their promises.” Pippa bit her lower lip. “We’re . . . toying with people’s lives, you know. It was a mistake to think a lie—however well intentioned—was better than the truth.”
“Sometimes a lie is all we have,” Arjun said. “And I promise to deliver your message to Bastien.”
“Can I take you at your word?”
“Mademoiselle, I am the only man on these premises who can be taken precisely at his word.” He grinned. “Congratulations on your engagement.”
“You sound as if you’re offering condolences for my dead cat.”
“You have a cat?” Amusement tugged at his features. “And marriage is a death, is it not? Death of freedom, death of dreams, death of—”
“You’re insufferable. Good evening, Mr. Desai.”
“Good evening, Miss Montrose.”
BASTIEN
I pause, my right foot hovering above the staircase landing. For the first time since I committed to this course of action, trepidation settles onto my skin.
“In case I forget to tell you later, or something . . . unfortunate happens, thank you for changing your mind and agreeing to take me to the Vale,” I say under my breath. Then I follow Arjun up the flight of steps.
“I owe you a life debt. And I despise being indebted to anyone,” he throws over his shoulder. “But don’t thank me yet. You still haven’t met my mother.”
I almost laugh. The ethereal’s sense of humor is razor sharp, as usual. We pass the second landing of the building toward the next staircase. Behind the nearest door, I overhear the angry mutterings of an elderly woman.
“Don’t mind the honorable Madam Buncombe,” Arjun says. “She and her one friend are hampered in life by rather large chips on their shoulders when it comes to”—he drops his voice to a whisper—“foreigners and their blasphemous ways.” He waves at the bolted door. “Afternoon, Mrs. Buncombe!” he shouts as he continues marching up the stairs.
I grin to myself at the sound of her outraged spluttering.
We pause before the entrance to the fourth-floor pied-à-terre, a space Arjun has shared with Jae since the former’s arrival to New Orleans a little more than a year ago. When I lean against the doorjamb, the faint glow of the wards spelled into the wooden frame flashes twice, and a burning sensation spreads across my skin. I pull away before the protective magic has a chance to take root in my bones. These wards are almost as intricate as the ones around my uncle’s private chamber in the penthouse of the Hotel Dumaine. Likely the work of Nicodemus’ favorite warlock in Baton Rouge.
“Are you certain you want to do this?” Arjun asks for the fifth time this afternoon. “It could end quite badly.”
Again trepidation ripples through me. “I appreciate the concern for my welfare.” I set my jaw. “But I have no intention of changing my mind.”
“The concern is for myself, as I am in fact a bit more . . . breakable than you.” Arjun sends a caustic glance my way while he unlocks the door, but there’s a note of humor in his expression. “I still don’t understand why you feel a compulsion to make this journey. This Sunan character may not even exist. Truth be told, I don’t mind you as a vampire. You were a disaster those first few weeks, but now that you’ve seemed to calm down a bit, you’re not so terrible.”
“I thank you for that vote of confidence.”
“You’re quite welcome. As they say, a broken