by Kat Dunn
Clémentine shook her head. ‘Well done for finding these two.’
The duc was watching her closely. ‘Well done indeed.’
The duc turned Al onto his back with the toe of his boot. ‘Do we have an aspiring hero on our hands?’
Al looked faintly disgusted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Heroics are for people too stupid to understand the risks. I’m more in the “let’s get the hell away from these mad bastards with guns” camp.’
Clémentine crouched next to him. ‘Please, if you know anything about where they’ve taken my daughter, tell me. I’ve been parted from her for so long, all I want is to know she’s safe and to take her back home.’
‘Safe?’ scoffed Al. ‘My mother was a nightmare, but at least she never let an evil scientist loose on me.’
‘My brother and I do not see eye to eye on everything,’ said Clémentine brittlely.
‘Have you thought about growing a moustache?’ Al asked the duc. ‘You could twirl it to really bed into this villain character you’ve committed to.’
‘Be quiet,’ the duc snapped. ‘If I want to hear the gibbering of an idiot I can pay to visit an asylum like anyone else. I do not need a private performance.’
‘Suit yourself.’
The duc pressed the muzzle of the gun to the soft flesh under Al’s chin. ‘Perhaps this will help you focus. Tell me what they’re planning.’
Al’s eyes darted around nervously. ‘They’re planning a charming day trip to Box Hill. What do you think they’re planning? They want to get out of here as quickly as possible.’
‘And how, pray tell, are they hoping to do that?’
‘No idea, but the last time I saw them they were legging it into the grounds.’
The duc lowered the gun with a stream of curse words and turned to the grand front door.
‘Come! Bring them both,’ he ordered.
Ada and Clémentine got Guil and Al to their feet and followed the duc out the door.
So far, so good.
Now, all Ada could do was pray Camille pulled off her end.
Mist still lingered on the ground, coiling and billowing over the grass of Henley House. The tradition for early weddings followed by a breakfast meant the day had started at dawn, and the weak summer sun had yet to break through the swirling clouds. In the grey morning, Camille thought Olympe looked almost at home, mist and storm come to life.
From Lord Harford’s office, Camille had purloined a cane and used it now as she walked across the lawn to the house; the wound to the back of her knee had dulled to an ache that flared each time she put weight on it. They had briefly scouted the edges of the estate and found the duc’s men stationed at every escape point.
A few bird calls disrupted the silence, and she was reminded of how far they were from anywhere.
How far they were from help.
The duc stepped out of Henley House, followed by Ada and Clémentine, Al and Guil tied and held between them. Guil had relocked the guests and the Harfords in the chapel after picking the lock to get him and Al out – he’d thought it the safest place and Camille was grateful for that small mercy. Whatever happened here, there wouldn’t be any by-standers getting hurt.
‘Citoyen Aubespine!’ Her voice rang out blessedly clear and loud. Her chest felt tight – but it always did these days. Oh, well. She only needed it to last her a little longer.
‘Mademoiselle du Bugue.’ His boots crunched through the gravel, coming to a stop a few paces away, the line where the gravel met lawn drawing a boundary between them. ‘I hope you are done running?’
Camille’s lip curled and she looked down at her leg. ‘For now. Let’s settle this like gentlemen.’ Leaning heavily on her cane, she met his eye, chin raised. ‘I demand satisfaction.’
The duc let out a loud peal of laughter. ‘For what?’
‘You have caused me offence, have you not?’
‘You wish for a duel?’
Camille continued, unfazed. ‘I believe you have my father’s duelling pistol?’ Camille pulled the other pistol from her sash. ‘Here, I have its pair. Fate, don’t you think?’
He took a moment to pull a handkerchief from his pocket and dab the corner of his eyes. ‘I said I was sick of your theatrics, and yet somehow you always surprise me with something new. Come, this could be a fair trade. You have someone of mine, I have two of yours.’ He raised a hand and Guil led Al down the steps. ‘A more than fair exchange.’
Al looked pale, but his chin was set firm. Beside him, Guil was stony.
Camille let a grin spread across her face. ‘How about winner takes all?’ James and Olympe drew up behind her, sending the mist curling around her bare feet. ‘If I win, you give me Al and Guil, and leave. You respect Olympe’s choice not to be a pawn in your extremely dull chess game and leave her alone.’
The duc raised an eyebrow. ‘And if I win?’
‘Olympe goes with you, we stop fighting.’
Clémentine joined the duc. ‘Olympe! Are you really going to let these two bet you in a wager? I thought you had more self-respect.’
‘I thought you had more respect for me than to let your own brother experiment on me,’ said Olympe, her voice icy. ‘Looks like we were both wrong.’
The duc considered for a moment. Then nodded. ‘Very well. It will not be the first duel I have won.’
Camille smiled sweetly. ‘Allow me to make it the first you lose.’
The decision made, everyone moved into action. A central point was chosen, James and Ada acting as seconds, and Camille let herself be put into position. Olympe hovered near by, lighting the snuffing sparks of energy at her fingertips.
Not yet. Not yet.
Al and Guil lined up with Clémentine, hands behind their backs. Maybe it was a trick of the light but she thought she saw something silver glint in their hands.
She and the duc exchanged salutes, before preparing the pistols. Balancing her weight on her good leg, she filled her pistol with power and shot and tamped it down. Then she took her cane from James, relishing the security of something to hold on to.
A solitary magpie soared across the sky to land on the cupola of the pavilion she had been carried into when she had first arrived at Henley with Al. Its mate was nowhere to be seen.
Camille and the duc turned back to back. She could feel him clearly through the flimsy material of her dress and felt acutely aware that he was taller and stronger than her.
Good. It meant she would present a smaller target.
With a final shaky breath, they began to walk.
One for sorrow.
Two, three …
Ten slow, heart-wracking paces as they called out the numbers together.
Four, five, six …
The weather was good for it. Overcast meant no sun to get in anyone’s eyes.
Seven, eight, nine …
This was it. Her plan would either work or it would kill her. She’d known her time with Ada was running out, perhaps it already had. She thought of their kiss in the study, the softness of her skin, the heat of her mouth.
But then what was death but an inevitability? A coin that could only be spent once.
She would make sure it bought something worthy.
Ten.
Camille whipped round, pistol raised, and squeezed the trigger.
7
The Grounds of Henley House
The bullet struck her hip. Her legs buckled, sending Camille crashing to the ground. Someone was screaming and distantly she realised it was her. The pain radiated up her side like lightning, vicious and angry and all consuming. She lay flat on her back, panting, eyes turned to the vast, milky sky.
She never thought it would feel this bad. Her mind felt like it was over-stuffed and every time she grasped one thing, something slid out elsewhere. Dizziness and exhaustion came over her like a tide.
The pistol had dropped from her hand. She wondered where her shot had ended up.
Nearby, the gravel crunched, and the
duc loomed into view.
‘It was an honourable effort, I’ll give you that. But a word of advice, for proving yourself such a worthy opponent.’ His face replaced the sky as all she could see. ‘Learn when to give up.’
Camille sucked in a shallow breath. Words swam and danced in her mind, getting lost on their way to her tongue. Light flared in a halo around the duc’s head as her world telescoped away. She felt as though she was floating away from herself to a great height.
Subtly, she felt for Wickham’s knife which she had picked up in the long gallery and tucked into her pocket.
‘I’ll give you a word of advice in turn.’ Her voice was rasping and tired.
‘Oh?’ he said. ‘And what would that be?’
She smiled, teeth slick with something metallic.
‘Never trust me.’
Ignoring the screaming pain in her side, she surged, using her momentum and the moment of surprise to topple the duc to the ground. Within seconds she was straddling him. He struggled – then went rigid. Only his eyes moved, darting from side to side.
Lazily, Camille rested the knife against his throat, letting herself enjoy a moment of elation. The blade scratched his skin, drawing a bead of blood.
Then she leaned closer, so the duc could see her as she spoke.
‘Looks like I’m the winner. I guess that means I get to take it all.’
Olympe had seen her cue and thrown herself onto the ground beside them, two bare hands on either side of the duc’s face to send a burst of electric current through him. But the jolt was larger than Camille had anticipated; she was flung back, off the duc who was trapped under the net of sparks flowing from Olympe’s hands. Landing hard, she bit back a howl of pain. A wind had whipped up, static picking up dry leaves and spinning them into a vortex with Olympe at its centre. The sky had grown dark like a candle snuffed out, and a rumble of thunder called somewhere overhead.
Olympe was kneeling, hands like an oil spill, purple and black and grey and shimmering with power, wrapped around the duc’s skull. Her eyes had blown into two shimmering stars, all the tiny pinpricks gathered together into a galaxy of light, blue and heavenly and terrible to behold. The duc was like an insect pinned by a god, a frail thing with its wings plucked, soft body easily crushed. A filigree mesh of electricity held him in place, flowing a few centimetres above his body, raw power bursting up at points, arcing to snap nearby trees in half like a lightning strike, burning the grass around them to a crisp. The duc was alive for now, but if Olympe’s control slipped even a fraction it wouldn’t just be the duc who got hurt; that much power out of control would kill them all.
Camille crawled towards her, mouth full of blood, hair crackling away from her skull. ‘Olympe, can you hear me?’
Thunder boomed again and an answering flash of light splintered through Olympe, stray sparks grounding themselves around her like water cascading over a cliff edge.
‘You tortured me,’ she hissed, leaning over the duc’s fear-stricken face. ‘You took my childhood and turned it into a nightmare. You want me to be a weapon? Watch me kill.’
Camille saw Clémentine move a moment before it was too late.
From somewhere she pulled a second gun and pressed it against Al’s temple.
‘Enough!’ she yelled. ‘I have your friend! Let my brother go and I let him go. Olympe? Are you listening to me?’
Hair wild, skin glowing with constellations, Olympe slowly turned her face to her mother.
‘This isn’t you, my girl! My wonder.’ Clémentine held out her other hand. ‘Come back to me. You are no killer.’
Slowly, the wind ebbed, the hum of static fading from the air as the clouds paled.
‘Maman?’
‘Yes, mon ange. It’s me.’
Olympe’s face cracked, tears streaming over her inky cheeks. ‘You left me. I was locked in that prison and you never came.’
Her hands fell from the duc’s face, and he went slack, his breathing rapid and shaky.
‘I’m here now. Come to me, I let this boy go, and it can be over.’
Olympe rose, the starlight fading from her eyes. Camille reached for her hand but she stepped away.
‘It’s okay,’ said Olympe. ‘I’ll go.’
‘No. No.’
‘Let me do this, Cam. Trust me.’
Camille held her gaze, an unspoken exchange passing between them, then she nodded.
Olympe would make her choice, and the rest of them would make theirs.
Dress fluttering around her legs in the breeze, she crossed the gravel to her mother.
Clementine was true to her word, taking the gun from Al’s head and pushing him away before helping the duc up and leading him back to their group at the steps. At the same time, James slipped an arm around Camille and she hobbled back to the grass. Al was with them, making short work of the rope around his wrists.
They were lined up on opposite sides of the driveway.
James, Camille and Al.
The duc, Ada, Guil, Olympe and Clémentine.
Ada shifted her grip around the handle of the poker she had taken from Lord Harford’s study. On one side was the duc. On her other was Guil, and next to him, Olympe. Something slithered to the ground behind Guil’s back, the sliver of blade Al had given him flashing in the light.
‘Ada, now!’ bellowed Camille.
Ada turned, raising the poker.
And cracked Guil across the head.
He went down like a sack of bricks. For a moment, they were all frozen.
‘What the…?’ Al lurched forward, shaking with shock, but Camille threw an arm around his waist, anchoring him.
‘Al – don’t.’
‘Ada, what the hell are you doing?’
Ada turned to the duc, avoiding their gaze. ‘He had a knife. They wanted you to capture him. He cut his ropes and was going to snatch Olympe.’
Camille was numb. She watched it all through Al’s eyes, how he crumpled from horror into fury then despair.
The duc smiled, slow and languorous. ‘Good girl.’ He looked over at Camille, smile widening. ‘I knew I could trust you.’
8
The Grounds of Henley House
Clémentine smothered Olympe in the silk of her dress as Olympe screamed and screamed and screamed. Sparks rushed over her like a second skin, but they died on contact with the silk.
Ada watched through a fog.
She watched as the duc’s hired muscle arrived on the scene, summoned by the sound of gunshots. She watched them tie Olympe’s hands behind her back with silk ropes, she watched sparks build and burst across her face in vain.
And she watched her friends, a few paces distant and a whole world away, look at her in disgust and fear.
It was worth it.
It had to be worth it.
They wouldn’t fight – she knew Camille was too smart for that. They were injured. Outnumbered.
It was over.
Still, she watched James fumble with the duelling pistol, trying to reload it before Camille took it out of his hand and drew him and Al away. Her dress bloomed red at the hip and knee. Ada could smell the blood from here.
Oh god, please let it be worth it.
The duc ignored them, stepping over Guil’s prone body as if he was a piece of broken furniture, ordering his men like a general in battle.
In the end, it was Olympe who broke through the fog. Twisting in her mother’s arms, she turned on Ada.
‘I trusted you.’
‘You shouldn’t have.’ Ada couldn’t meet her eye. ‘I have only known your mother for a short while, but she taught me something important. The world doesn’t treat people kindly. So we have to do whatever is necessary to carve out a life we can live with.’
The electric sparks had died away, and the clouds that rolled across Olympe’s face had gone perfectly still.
Ada had never seen anything more terrifying.
‘And can you? Live with this?’
Fina
lly, she forced herself to meet Olympe’s eye. ‘I will have to.’
From the carriage, the duc took down one of the boxes they had carried with them from France and opened it.
Clémentine kept her arms around Olympe still, swaying gently, like a mother rocking a baby.
‘Hush, now. Remember that I told you sometimes being a mother means I must do things for your own good, even if it makes you hate me.’
‘Don’t you dare talk to me,’ hissed Olympe.
‘We can’t risk you doing anything out of a misguided sense of loyalty to these people. It’s just until you get back to France. If you show us you can be grown up, then maybe we can rethink it, hmm?’
‘You’ll have to tie me up for ever because I will never stop fighting you,’ Olympe spat.
Clémentine sighed. ‘I thought you might say that.’
From the box, the duc lifted a large metal object, around the size and shape of a pumpkin. Hinged on one side, it opened like a box, with a slot for a padlock on the other side. Three holes were punched out of one half, and there was a circle of space left open at the bottom.
Olympe caught sight of it and went silent. Her eyes were circles of fear, all the stars snuffed out.
‘Monster! Traitor!’ Camille still had Al pinned as best she could, while James staunched the flow of blood from her wound, but she couldn’t keep him quiet. ‘Shame on you. I will never forgive you!’
Ada felt sick.
The duc carried the mask over, opening it, ready to be placed around Olympe’s head.
Ada waited for her to beg, to plead, to scream again.
But Olympe did nothing. Only drew herself up tall, holding herself steely and proud. She would not let them see her afraid.
So Ada would not look away either. She would not hide from what she’d done.
As the mask lowered, Olympe’s gaze flicked to Ada, and the last she saw of her face was that cold, blank stare fixed unnervingly on her.
Then the mask snapped shut, and it was over.
9
A Bedroom, Henley House
The wedding guests declared it one of the most shocking turn of events that had ever befallen any good, upright citizen.