This Wicked Game

by Michelle Zink

  Something was tacked to the wall in front of it.

  Stepping toward it, she stopped when she saw what was on its surface. She leaned in to get a better look at the photograph staring back at her.

  It was a picture of Xander, walking one of the city’s streets, his hands shoved carelessly in his pockets. Claire recognized the blur of storefronts behind him. Probably somewhere near her house, though she couldn’t be sure. Xander, obviously the target of the photograph, took up almost the whole frame.

  Claire’s heart thudded in her chest as her eyes surveyed the wall around Xander’s picture.

  His wasn’t the only one. There was a photo of Charlie and William Valcour, sitting side by side at an outdoor café.

  But this one was different; a red X was drawn through it.

  The next picture was of Allegra St. Martin. Even through the red X, Claire could tell Allegra was in her car. Her black hair was shiny and full, her arm resting on the open window frame as she sat in the driver’s seat, probably stopped at a red light or something.

  She thought of Allegra at the ball, how unexpectedly nice she’d been, and a chill ran up Claire’s spine.

  “What the . . .” Xander said behind her, leaning over her shoulder. “What is all this?”

  Claire was both mesmerized and horrified by the images in front of her. “I don’t know.”

  The next picture was of Laura, a lock of curly hair falling forward as she bent her head to a book. The photo was crossed through with a red X just like the others.

  Next to Laura’s picture was a photograph of little Daniel, walking next to someone much taller as he ate a dripping ice-cream cone. His picture had an X, too.

  There was only one more image, tacked next to Daniel’s. Claire’s heart almost stopped when she saw Sasha’s smile, brilliant even in the black-and-white photo, the strap of her yoga mat just visible on one shoulder. Claire didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared that Sasha’s photo, like Xander’s, lacked the red X.

  Her eyes roved the photographs, trying to figure out why the woman named Eugenia would have photographs of all of the young Guild members.

  No. Not all.

  All of the oldest children of the Guild’s most prominent families were represented on the wall—except for Claire.

  “I don’t know what this is,” Xander said, “but we should hurry if we’re going to check out the other room. We’ve been inside for almost half an hour, and we have no idea how long they’ve already been gone and when they’ll be back.”

  Claire nodded, pulling out her phone and taking a quick picture. The sight of the wall covered with photos—photos of people she knew and loved—was undeniably disturbing.

  She glanced around, wanting to make sure they weren’t missing anything obvious, as they headed for the hall.

  As soon as they entered the final room, Claire guessed it was Max’s. The furnishings were just as generically antique as everywhere else in the house. A leather valise sat on top of the desk under the window and the heavy draperies were pulled shut as if to block out the modern world.

  But it was more than that. The air was heavy with something bleak and dangerous. A palpable darkness, an ominous vibration she could feel under her skin. She had to fight the urge to run from the room. Fight the need to escape the feeling that something evil was wrapping its fingers around her heart and soul.

  “One of us should keep watch while the other searches,” Xander suggested.

  Claire forced herself to focus. “Want to take guard duty while I keep searching?”

  “Sure.” Xander moved to the side of the desk and took up residence near the window.

  The desk was the most obvious place to start. It was old, probably rented with the house. The wood was dark, its grain coarse and visible even under the papers, files, and valise that cluttered its top.

  Claire started with the top drawer. She didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t complete emptiness. It didn’t even hold a pen or a paper clip.

  She moved onto the drawers on either side of the footwell. They were empty, too, except for a stack of printer paper on the left.

  She looked up at Xander. “Anything?”

  He shook his head, eyes still on the street, and Claire turned her attention back to the desk.

  The first thing that caught her eye was the corner of a photograph, peeking out from behind the folders and papers that littered the top of the desk.

  This one was different from the ones on the wall in Eugenia’s room. Older. It showed a group of people standing on a lawn somewhere. It looked like a party. The adults held glasses in their hands and the children were dressed for some kind of important occasion. There was something vaguely familiar about it, but Claire couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

  She set it aside and moved on to the file folders on top of the desk.

  The first one held travel information, including itineraries and flight plans from Romania to Paris and then to New York. It didn’t surprise her that Eugenia and her companions were foreign, though Claire hadn’t expected Romania. Her eyes ran down the list of names: Eugenia Comaneci, Maximilian Constantin, Jean-Philip Constantin, Herve Constantin.

  Maximilian Constantin. Max. The silver-haired man Estelle Toussaint had been talking to near the carriage house. And who were Jean-Philip and Herve? Maximilian’s sons?

  She filed the questions away in her mind. Whoever they were, there weren’t three of them as she and Xander had thought—there were four.

  Which meant one more possibility of someone stumbling on them in the house.

  She picked up her pace, moving the first file aside and opening the one underneath it to reveal a stack of paper.

  She flipped through it, trying to get her head around what it was.

  “Xander . . .” she said softly.

  He looked over at her.

  “It’s a list of all the Guild’s supply houses in the city.” She paged to the back of the stack, her hands slowing. “Scratch that. It’s a list of all the Guild’s supply houses.”

  “All of them where?” Xander asked.

  Claire shook her head. “Everywhere. Here, the rest of the United States; there are even addresses in London and Asia and . . . here’s one in Turkey.”

  Xander thought about it. “Well, Eugenia does have a key. I guess we shouldn’t be surprised that they have a list of our locations. They’re entitled to entry anywhere.”

  “I guess,” she murmured, looking at all the names and addresses. She hadn’t realized the Guild was so far-reaching. “But why would they need a list in every country?”

  “I don’t know, but I think we should hurry.” He turned back to the window and parted the draperies.

  Claire closed the file. She shuffled through the rest of the papers on the desk, but there was nothing more of interest. Just some receipts for area restaurants, a streetcar ticket, and strangely, a movie stub.

  Claire focused on the valise. It was substantial and masculine. She could almost see the man named Maximilian moving through the city, the leather case under his arm.

  She undid the brass clasp and folded back the top, surprised at how thick and supple the leather was. The case had to be old. Really old.

  She put her hand inside and felt around. Her fingers brushed against several objects and came to rest on some kind of booklet. She removed it from the case.

  It was Maximilian’s passport, and it was loaded with stamps. Germany, France, Hungary, China, the Caribbean, even Cuba. He had been everywhere, the dates spread out over the last few years.

  She set it aside and reached back into the valise, withdrawing a long, flat piece of leather, tied with cord. Something was inside it. She unlaced the cord, unrolling the leather case on top of the desk until it lay flat, revealing a stack of folded papers.

  She lifted it out of
the case, releasing an odd, almost unpleasant scent. Mildew, firewood, and a bitter tang that might have been a residue of the old leather.

  Unfolding the stack, she skimmed over the first page. It was yellowing, dry and thin in her fingers, the edges uneven. Formatted like a letter, it appeared to have some kind of greeting at the top (Le Plus Chere Sorina . . .) and paragraphs underneath it.

  There was just one problem; it was entirely in French.

  She let out a frustrated sigh.

  Xander looked up from the window. “What is it?”

  She started paging through the stack. “They look like letters, but they’re in—” She stopped, her eyes skimming the rest of the pages. “Wait a minute . . .”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I thought they were in French, but some of them are in English.”

  He held out a hand. “Let me see.”

  She passed them to him.

  His eyes roamed the pages. “The English pages are translations, I think.”

  “How do you know?” she asked. “You don’t speak French.”

  He glanced at the window before leaning toward her.

  “I know, but look . . .” He held out the first page. “‘Le Plus Chere Sorina.’”

  Then he pointed to the second page’s greeting.

  “‘My dearest Sorina,’” Claire murmured, reading the small, slanted script.

  Xander was right; they were the same. Someone had already translated the letters.

  He looked back at the window. “We need to hurry.”

  “I know. I’m trying.”

  She skimmed the English version, words and phrases jumped out at her as she read.

  . . . the darker parts of our art . . .

  . . . your questions about black magic . . .

  . . . possible to curse someone . . .

  Turning the paper over, her eyes were pulled to the signature at the bottom of the page. “What the . . . ?” Her voice was a whisper.

  “What now?” Xander asked.

  She pointed to the looping scrawl. “Look.”

  His eyes met hers. “Marie Laveau?”

  Claire looked back at it, wanting to be sure. But she knew that signature. Had seen it in the family spell and ritual book.

  “That’s what it says. And look.” She pointed to the date on the front. “Eighteen eighty. Which means they were probably from Marie the First, not her daughter.” Claire shook her head. “Why would these people have letters from my great-great-grandmother?”

  Xander pulled his eyes reluctantly from the pages to look back at the street. “I don’t know, but we need to wrap it up.”

  “Why? Is someone coming?”

  “Not yet.” He checked his phone again. “But we’ve been here too long already. I don’t want to push our luck.”

  He was putting his phone back in his jeans when Claire got an idea. She laid all the letters flat on the desk and took out her phone.

  “What are you doing?” Xander asked.

  “I’m taking pictures so we can get a better look at these later.”

  He didn’t say anything, but she knew he was stressing. She saw it in the tense set of his shoulders and the way he rubbed his hand against the barely there whiskers on his chin as he looked at the street.

  She tried to hurry, taking pictures of each letter and putting them back in place, careful to keep them in the order she’d found them. When she was done, she snapped a picture of the group photograph just for good measure.

  She put the letters back inside the leather case and returned everything to the valise. Her fingers brushed against a small, cold object. Taking a hold of it, she removed it from the leather case.

  It was a glass vial, full of red liquid. There was a paper label stuck to it, and Claire lifted it to her eyes, trying to read the script.

  She read it three times, shaking her head in disbelief, before she was sure.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” she murmured.

  “We have to go,” Xander said suddenly. “Right now.”

  Claire looked up. “Why?”

  “A black Range Rover just pulled up outside.”

  ELEVEN

  Xander pulled her toward the door.

  “Wait!” She struggled against him, freeing herself from his grip.

  She ran back to the desk, looking it over, trying to remember where everything was when they’d entered the room. Slipping the vial back into the leather valise, she folded the flap down and latched it closed. Then she took a quick pass at the papers and files on the desk, straightening them until they seemed to be in place.

  “Which way out?” she asked as she followed Xander out of the room.

  “Not through the front.”

  The sound of a key being inserted into a lock came from the front door.

  “They’re coming!” Claire said.

  “This way.” Xander grabbed her hand, pulling her toward Eugenia’s room.

  He headed straight for the balcony, parting the curtains and opening one of the glass doors.

  “Xander . . .” Dread built inside Claire as she realized what he was thinking. “There aren’t any stairs leading down from the balcony.”

  He was already stepping outside when he met her eyes. “I know, but we don’t have a choice. I’ll help you down.”

  The door opened in the foyer below, and the sound of voices drifted up the stairs.

  Claire stepped out onto the balcony with Xander.

  “How are we going to do this?” she asked, looking down. The ground seemed a lot farther away from the balcony than the balcony had seemed from the ground.

  “I’ll go down first. I hate leaving you up here, but I don’t want to send you down without me, in case someone’s in the kitchen.” He took a quick look down. “I’ll catch you when you drop.”

  She didn’t doubt for a second that he would. “What about you?”

  His face was grim. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Then he was stepping over the railing, hanging precariously in midair as he bent to grab hold of the banister. When he had both hands wrapped around the iron at the bottom, he let his body drop. The iron creaked as he swung.

  The voices grew louder as they moved up the stairs to the second floor of the house.

  Claire leaned over the railing. “They’re on the stairs!”

  He let go, landing on the stone with a muffled groan and stumbling before he got his footing.

  He was under the balcony a second later. “Do what I did, and I’ll catch you.”

  She was stepping over the railing when Eugenia burst into the room. She surveyed Claire with total calm, the serene expression never wavering from her face.

  “We have company,” she called to someone behind her.

  Eugenia locked eyes with Claire as she stepped over the railing.

  “Now!” Xander instructed. “I’ve got you!”

  She forced herself not to look. She didn’t have time to be afraid. She released her hold on the banister, her stomach still somewhere up by the balcony as she fell toward the ground.

  Then Xander’s arms were around her. She had only a moment to be relieved before he grabbed her hand and ran.

  “They’re heading for the side of the house. Get them,” Eugenia commanded from the balcony.

  They rounded the corner of the house, but this time, Xander didn’t bother with the stucco wall. Stealth didn’t matter anymore. Now it was all about escape.

  They hit the front of the property. Two men were heading into the pathway at the other side of the house. Claire recognized one of them as the guy who’d followed her to the cemetery. She hadn’t seen the other one before, but she guessed that together they were Jean-Philip and Herve Constantin.

  They stopped, their eyes fixed on Xande
r and Claire in surprise. It was only a second, but it was enough. Xander pulled her toward the front gate, flinging it open and practically throwing her onto the sidewalk.

  They were running again, this time down the street, putting as much distance between them and the house as they could.

  Claire didn’t dare glance back until they reached the corner. She expected to see the men on their heels, or at the very least, staring after them from the sidewalk in front of the house. There was no one there.

  It wasn’t until later, when she and Xander were a safe distance away, that she realized why they hadn’t been followed. The men didn’t need to chase them.

  They already knew where Claire and Xander lived.

  “Why would they place three orders for panther plasma if they already have some?” Claire asked. “Black magic doesn’t usually call for that much of one ingredient.”

  They were sitting in Xander’s car, parked around the block from Claire’s house.

  Xander shook his head. “I don’t know, but there’s something I didn’t get to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “When I went to the kitchen, there was a map spread out on the table.”

  “A map? Of what?” she asked.

  “Head of Island.”

  “Head of Island?” She’d driven past the area with her dad once on the way to pick up supplies from another store. She’d been a little afraid of its eerie desolateness. “There’s nothing out there.”

  “I know,” Xander agreed. “And there was a red circle drawn around part of it on the map. Weird, huh?”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  It didn’t make sense. The map or the orders for panther blood. She remembered Eugenia’s strange acceptance that the Kincaids didn’t keep it in stock.

  As if she’d expected it all along.

  “What about the other two rooms?” Claire asked. “The ones you looked through while I was in Eugenia’s?”

  Xander shook his head. “Nothing. Other than some clothes in the closet and an iPod in one of them, it almost looked like nobody was even staying there.”

  She pulled out her phone.