the oracle, and it wasn’t you, I was furious. She trapped me in a memory chamber, and I could see my mother with a shadowed figure who wasn’t my father.”
“I couldn’t tell you directly,” Lucine says. “I knew you had learn it on your own. I knew you had to see it. I asked my sister to show you, both of you, the memory of the king.”
And I remember our trip down the well. The memory of Kurt’s mother holding him. Then the woman beneath the man. I want to reach out to Kurt, to let him know I’m here for him. But the walls he’s putting up are strong. He wants to be alone. He wants to put his fist through something. It’s in his eyes, the tremble of his arms.
Kurt shakes his head. “No, my father is dead.”
Lucine laughs again. “When the next king is called, your father’s powers will ebb completely, and only when the next king arises will he die. I told him to crown his true son. Nieve, her perversion of our kind, and the coming war are all of his making. By denying you, he gave her opportunity. So you see, my darling, your father lives until you piece together the trident and take the throne.”
“The king dies when the next king is called?” My words are a shadow in the brightness of their conversation.
Lucine nods methodically. “That is our way. The father will die, and the last son of kings will take the throne.”
“Stop saying that.” Kurt yells. He points a finger in her face. He turns around like he’s going to walk out that door. “Give it to Tristan. I don’t want this.”
“She’s crazy, Kurt,” I say. I look at the trident fork in her hands, the look in her eye. If I move the wrong way, she’s going to hit me with it. “But just take it! You were the one who found her, not me. At least if it’s with you—we’ll figure something out.” Yeah, we’ll figure out a way to not kill each other.
Lucine lets out a terrible wail. She rises taller than the pair of us. The water of her pool splashes in a whirlpool of its own. I’m afraid the candelabra chandelier is going to fall right over us when the doors burst open. Two bouncers come in and grab at us. I put my foot on the edge of Lucine’s pool, jump, and pull my dagger from its invisible hold. Behind me, I hear Kurt wrestling with one of them. I swing with the pointy end and miss.
He’s fast and smells faintly of wet dog. His fist, decked out with fat gold rings, hits my face. I fall to my knees and throw a weak punch. He punches me again. The room feels like a carousel. They squeeze my arms ’til I think my veins will pop right out. We’re out the door, up some steps, then I’m on the ground. My cheek is swelling by the second, and blood pools on my tongue from a cut on my lip. I spit on the ground.
“Kurt?”
The sky rumbles like the heavens are putting their foot on the gas pedal of the coming storm. It starts to drizzle.
“Kurt?”
I roll over and let the rain wash over me. Holy shit, it hurts. Just when I’m about to fall asleep to the soft patter of rain, the steady pulse of the bruise on my face and rib cage, a cold hand smacks me on my cheek.
“Wake up,” she says.
“Layla?”
“You wish.” Madame Mercury holds a black umbrella over my face. She holds out a hand. It’s cold and surprisingly strong. “I’m sorry for my men, but once one of my girls sounds the alarm, we have to protect her.”
I take the umbrella from her and hold it over us. The street is desolate, full of leftover food that didn’t make it into the garbage cans. “Where’s Kurt?”
“Still with her.”
“Of course he is.” The drizzle turns into rain.
“Come with me.” She turns back to the black door. When I don’t follow, she peers over her shoulder. “Well?”
I realize I’m staring. I take one last look at the street. Other than a scavenger digging through the trash can, it’s empty. Next door, the pink psychic shop is still glowing, but the session is over. Madame Mercury presses the door open. I close the umbrella, tuck it under my arm, and follow her back into the Second Circle.