by Tess Adair
Jude and Alexei snapped to attention, their defensive stances momentarily muted. Jude watched Knatt’s head tilt slowly to the side as he followed his own train of thought. Eventually, he nodded to himself and sighed.
“It occurs to me,” he said, “that we may be wrong about what the Wolf wants.”
“What do you mean?” asked Alexei.
“It is possible that what he wants is…us. By which I mean…he may want leverage over Logan, and he may see any of us as having that potential. I believe…I believe we should relocate at once.”
Alexei straightened up and nodded, his expression calculating.
“I might have a relatively safe place for us to go,” he said. “Some of the biggest donors left early this morning, and I took it upon myself to find out if they left any vacancies behind. Long story short, I’m in new quarters now. The odds that the Wolf could know that are slim, so I suggest we head there.”
“Seconded,” said Knatt. “Jude, if you want to bring a small bag, get it quickly.”
Jude nodded and hopped out of her seat. Luckily for her, she’d already re-packed everything she had into her backpack—except for the suit she’d worn to the ball, of course, which hung in plastic on the back of her door. Knowing it would be ridiculous to try to bring it with her, she took a moment to say goodbye to it instead. Then she went back to the common room, now with her pack on, ready to go.
“Ready when you guys are,” she said.
Knatt was standing now, and at her words, he turned to the door. Then all three of them froze in their tracks.
Someone was knocking.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Wolf at the Gate
For several seconds, Jude stood still, caught between the idea of answering the knock, or pretending no one was home. Then she heard the voice.
“Jude? Are you in there? It’s Elli.”
Jude felt her face relax into a smile and took a step forward, but Knatt threw up his hand, motioning for her to pause. She glanced at him.
“Are you sure?” he mouthed, his expression one of caution and concern.
She remembered Logan suggesting Eliana Blake could be the Wolf. If it were really her, now would be the perfect time for her to show up.
That, or she just came to see you, like she said she would. After all, she’d had plenty of opportunities to kidnap Jude before now.
“I’m sure,” she mouthed back, then walked right over to the door and threw it open.
“Hey there,” said Eliana with an easy smile. “You know, for a second, I started to think you might be avoiding me.”
“I wasn’t,” answered Jude, limply. She didn’t know how to be more specific than that.
Eliana’s smile faltered slightly as she took in the full layout of the room: Jude in her jacket, tugging nervously at the straps on her bag, while Alexei and Knatt stood behind her, each posed like they might be ready to fight or flee at any minute.
“Are you…leaving?” Eliana asked, somewhat nervously.
“Not…right now,” said Jude, glancing back uncertainly at Knatt. She had no idea how much she was permitted to say.
Knatt let out a long, world-weary sigh.
“Well, it’s not as though we have a plethora of options,” he said. “We might as well take her with us. Come on, you can explain once we get there.”
With that, he and Alexei pushed past them both and began to lead the way.
Jude saw no choice but to follow.
Logan stood in the shadow of a support pillar, fidgeting slightly in her robes. She was underground again, in the cavernous chamber where they’d held the Champion’s Gauntlet, only now the dais had been removed and replaced with a ritualistic, triangular shroud spread out on the ground, a heavy, carved statue on each corner, weighing it down. In a way, she was about to be inducted into an elite club she’d never intended on joining; as far as she knew, no living person had ever seen the Binding of the Three performed, and she certainly hoped they never would again. It was a dubious badge of honor, shared only by every person in the room with her.
As Logan shifted from one foot to the other, she felt an unfamiliar weight against her outer thigh—the phial Clément had slipped her before they entered the chamber. When they’d reunited only a few minutes earlier, Clément had led her through corridors inaccessible to the public at large, down into the bowels beneath the castle—even farther down than she was now. She’d made her stand outside while she went through another door, and when she came back, she’d pressed one phial into her hand and offered her a second one, in case she wanted a spare.
“What is it?” Logan had asked, holding it out in the palm of her hand. The liquid was thick and viscous, and dark green in color. She couldn’t say exactly what it was, but something about the substance inside felt so strange to her, like it radiated a magnetic aura—like it called to her.
“It’s demon blood,” said Clément. “The Council has debated on the aesthetics of its use—and the ethics, of course. But the simple fact of the matter is it allows our Adepts to retain more energy and hold their casts for far longer than when they use their own blood. You would be astounded at the efficacy.”
Logan stared at the phial in her hand and slowly blinked. She imagined a sea of Order Adepts in black robes swarming her, holding her down, and extracting her blood.
You would be astounded at the efficacy.
“Right,” she said at last, pulling aside the robe and slipping it into a small pocket on her upper thigh. “One should do me, thanks. I prefer hand-to-hand anyway.”
“As you wish.”
And with that, they were off. Clément had led her through a few more tunnels, and eventually they’d materialized in the fighters’ ready-room just off the underground arena.
“I trust you’ll be on the lookout for suspicious activity,” she’d said. “I won’t be in a particularly good vantage point, myself.”
“Are you saying you trust me?”
“Of course. What other choice do I have?”
And so she’d entered into the arena beyond, which had been empty of other people at first. She’d set herself up near this support pillar, and she’d waited.
Now the room had a few more occupants. The Twelve Seers, minus the three who had been selected for the Binding, knelt in a circle around the shroud, with an obvious gap toward the back to allow the ritual’s participants to enter. Around them, forming a larger circle, stood more people in black robes. Logan assumed most of them were Order Adepts, but it was impossible to say for sure: they all had their hoods up, faces cloaked in shadow. This made it harder for her to tell who was who, but it also helped keep her hidden.
The small crowd was quiet, except for an occasional shifting, an occasional cough. The room was lit only by a few standing torches, and the burning sconces along the circular walls—but those were so far back and high up, they hardly provided more than flickering decoration. Most of the room stood in shadow. Under normal circumstances, it would have suited her just fine.
At long last, the contenders’ door opened once more. Three robed and hooded figures stepped out—but these robes, like those of the Novices, were blood red. The figures’ steps were quiet, mere whispers over the stone. After a moment, she realized they were wearing red silk slippers to match their robes.
They entered into the circle in the center, and each one took their place right in front of one of the stone statues, facing the center as they knelt down. Then, one by one, each lowered their hood.
Clément had given her enough information about the participants for Logan to know who each one was, based on their order in the ritual. The first was Savino Rossi, an Italian Seer who had seconded Seer Hardy’s motion in favor of the ritual. The second was Dale Petrie, a British Seer Clément didn’t know much about. The third was someone Logan was slightly more familiar with: Zilla Ulric, the Seer who had come to Logan’s house to invite her to the Summit.
Almost as if she could feel Logan watching her, Ulric turned her fac
e upward, eyes searching the crowd. For a moment, Logan could have sworn they landed on her. Then they flickered and turned downward, no longer looking at anyone at all. Logan breathed an inner sigh of relief.
Suddenly, the attention of the crowd shifted away from the three waiting to be bound, back toward the entrance through which they’d come. Everything was quiet. Logan had to concentrate to keep from listening to twenty-odd heartbeats, each one made loud and irregular from anticipation.
At long last, Atherton entered. The ritual could begin.
With the grave manner befitting the High Prophet, Atherton took his place at the center of the ceremonial shroud, his hands clasped together in front of him, long robed sleeves trailing halfway down his torso. He wore his hood up, like everyone else, and kept his head bowed. Were it not for the distinctive smell of demon blood rising off him, she might not have been so certain it was him.
As it was, there could be no doubt.
Atherton cleared his throat.
“So it was decided,” he began, “so shall it be done.”
“So shall it be done,” chorused the Twelve Seers.
“The Order of Shadows has spoken, and the Three have been chosen,” he continued. “Seer Rossi, the High Prophet inquires—do you accept the task before you?”
“High Prophet, I accept.”
“Seer Petrie, do you accept the task before you?”
“High Prophet, I accept.”
“Seer Ulric, do you accept the task before you?”
“High Prophet, I accept.”
“The Three have been chosen, and the Three have accepted. They shall be Bound to the will of their commander, and through him, they shall execute the will of the Order.” Lifting his head, Atherton pulled his hood back, revealing his face and forehead, which now bore a triangular symbol, painted in demon blood.
With his right hand, he reached into a small sheath and pulled out a glistening, perfectly carved obsidian blade.
The sight of the blade caught on Logan’s memory, but she couldn’t immediately say why.
Atherton’s other hand reached into a pocket, pulling out a full phial of demon blood. Raising the black blade, he nicked himself behind the ear, sprinkling his own blood over the fine razor’s edge. Then he unstoppered the phial and dipped the blade into it, coating its entirety.
Logan had never seen a ritual combine demon blood with human blood. The strangeness of it unsettled her.
The Three now sat with their faces upturned, waiting to begin. He held the blade out over Petrie first. Logan watched three drops of thick black liquid splash down onto his skin, sliding down his forehead toward his closed eyes.
Then Atherton moved onto Rossi and repeated the action. By the time he turned to Ulric, Logan realized what it was he was doing: he was anointing them.
For a moment, her eyes rested on the obsidian blade again. The sight of it began to bother her.
She found herself distracted from the question again as Atherton pulled back his sleeve and pressed the blood-coated blade to his own skin, carving the first line of some pattern or symbol she couldn’t immediately place. Eventually he formed a kind of triangle with thin, drawn-out corners, and a swirling design weaving through each of the lines. To Logan, it looked like smoke.
Suddenly Atherton stopped carving, standing up so straight, it almost looked like someone had shot a metal rod right through his spine. For a moment, Logan wondered if the ritual was already over somehow. Perhaps he’d finally realized that the threat of political loss wasn’t worth the higher risk—
Then, just as suddenly, she realized that wasn’t it.
Atherton hadn’t stopped on purpose.
For a moment, it was crystal clear to her that he couldn’t move. Then his entire body began to convulse, hard, though he remained standing. His limbs shook so hard, it was like they were trying to shake free from his torso. Even so, he never dropped the blade—in fact, as she glanced briefly at it, she thought she saw fresh blood leaking out from his closed fist—
Atherton’s eyes grew wide in terror, and his jaw fell open.
He began to scream.
For nearly a full minute, Jude found herself distracted from anxiety by the sheer size and luxury of Alexei’s personal suite. Though it had only one resident, it was easily four times the size of the shared suite assigned to Logan. The rounded room boasted a full wall of windows, curtained in heavy blue-gray velvet, a large fireplace, and two armchairs alongside an artfully curving sectional couch, all upholstered in fine satin the same blue-gray color of the window treatments. The right side wall featured a wide open archway, revealing a giant four-poster bed with blue-gray hangings and sheets.
Beside her, Eliana let out a long, low whistle.
“Guess the tourist life has its perks,” she muttered.
Alexei stopped short a few feet into the room and turned around.
“Excuse you,” he said coldly. “What did you just call me?”
Eliana’s eyes widened, her face mortified.
“Oh, no, not you,” she stammered, tugging uselessly at her own collar in her obvious discomfort. “Sorry, I know you’re not a tourist, I just meant—because this wasn’t originally your room—and—well, I’ve just never seen any of the guest rooms before—”
“Forget it, kid,” said Alexei, shaking his head ruefully at her as he turned away once more. He headed toward the far corner near the window, where Jude noticed a rolling bar cart packed to the brim with glass bottles full of dark liquids. “Make yourselves comfortable, everyone. Might as well enjoy the perks while we can.”
Eliana’s face fell as she took in his emphasis, and she leaned in close to Jude’s ear and lowered her voice.
“I can’t seem to stop pissing off all your friends,” she said. Jude found herself taken aback, and perhaps a little bit touched, by the apparent self-doubt in her words.
“Honestly,” said Jude under her voice, “calling Alexei my friend would be a stretch.”
Eliana smiled weakly.
“It’s just starting to feel like a pattern,” she said, “that’s all.” She glanced furtively at the two men. They both now stood near the drink cart, while Alexei picked out one of the bottles and poured them each a glass. “Maybe I can still get Knatt to like me. He’s seemed kind of neutral so far. You got any tips?”
Jude followed her glance and furrowed her brow, doing her best to compile everything she’d learned about Hugh Knatt over the past several months.
“Well,” she said carefully, considering, “he likes tea. And cooking. And…uh, mystery novels.”
As far as she could tell based on how he spent his time, he also enjoyed writing up and filling out contracts, and doing serious research on everything from demons to the history of Belgium to ancient fish preservation techniques. But none of those things seemed like very good conversation starters.
“Mystery novels,” said Eliana excitedly, her face lighting up with a smile. “Like Dan Brown?”
“No!” Jude blurted out, louder than she’d intended to. She could still remember the half-hour long tirade Knatt had launched into when she’d brought up Angels and Demons.
Never again, she thought to herself, with a quick glance back at Knatt and Alexei. “Not that,” she continued, a little quieter now. “More like…Agatha Christie novels. Or PD James.”
Eliana’s briefly lived smile died away, replaced by a blank confusion.
“Okay,” she sighed, defeated. “Well, I guess I could try tea. I have technically had tea before, after all. Does he like any particular kind?”
“Earl Grey, I think,” she said with a shrug. “But probably any black tea would do.”
“On second thought,” said Eliana, “I might not know anything about tea. Is it, like, divided by colors?”
Jude sighed and shook her head.
“You know what? I think we should stick with neutral. Neutral is fine.”
Pasting on a reassuring smile, Jude crossed over to the fancy sectio
nal couch, motioning for Eliana to follow her. With one last look of trepidation, she did, seating herself somewhat near Jude, but with a good foot of space between them.
Knatt came to sit down on the far armchair, crystal tumbler of an unnamed liquid in hand. He cleared his throat as he sat down and smiled placidly at Eliana.
“I take it you didn’t wish to attend the Binding ritual tonight?”
The question was innocuous enough, but Jude couldn’t help feeling there was something else behind it.
“Wasn’t allowed,” said Eliana easily, an uncertain smile turning up the ends of her mouth. “Closed ceremony, and all that.”
“Is that so?” Knatt took a small sip of his drink, brow furrowing slightly. “I would have thought the Order would invite its own Adepts before it let any outsiders in.” With a smile Jude wasn’t sure how to interpret, he added, “You were this year’s Champion, after all.”
Eliana’s own smile didn’t falter.
“The guest list for this one is pretty small,” she said. “Only upper echelon members, no fresh graduates.”
“And yet, Miss Logan was invited to attend, and she isn’t a member at all.”
Eliana nodded, then glanced around the room, as if she were checking to make sure nobody else could hear them. Once she was satisfied that the four of them were, indeed, alone, she spoke in a dramatic whisper.
“If anybody asks, you didn’t hear this from me,” she said, conspiratorially, “but the rumor is that two contractors were invited into the room.”
At that, both Knatt and Jude automatically glanced over at Alexei, who had just reached the other armchair. He dropped himself down into it, somehow managing not to spill a drop from his glass, and shrugged.
“Don’t look at me,” he said. “If I’d been invited, I wouldn’t be here.”
Knatt tapped a finger against his glass, looking pensive.
“Hm,” he murmured. “I wonder who the other was.”
Everyone fell silent. Jude wondered where Logan was at that moment; had the ceremony begun, or was she still waiting?
After several moments of unnatural quiet, Eliana cleared her throat.