Midnight

by Christi J. Whitney

  ‘Two more arrows,’ I snarled. ‘You think that’s all it’s going to take?’

  ‘I hope so,’ he replied, chuckling again. ‘It’s all the prah I have left.’

  I couldn’t hide my surprise. Augustine had used the entire contents of Keveco’s urn? I glanced at his arms again. If each tattoo represented a shadow creature he’d done this to, then he really did have the makings of an army. But how was this possible?

  ‘The Sobrasi have been giving you the tattoos,’ I said. ‘That’s why they’re here. Did you strike some deal with them too, like you did with the High Council? Is this just another way to save your pathetic neck?’

  ‘The Sobrasi are not the only ones skilled in branding shadowen. Any descendant of a member carries the ability, and can utilize it, if properly taught.’ He picked up the tattoo gun, probing the surface with his thumb. ‘But you’ve had first-hand experience with that yourself, haven’t you, Sebastian? In fact, I had a change of plans after you briefly left us, and I feel this is a much better solution. It gives us a chance to really make sure the process works.’

  Augustine’s continuous talking made my head pound. Tendrils of black fury slithered up my esophagus. But I couldn’t let the dark thing free again. I almost didn’t come back the last time. I ground my teeth, speaking with difficulty around their sharp points. ‘What are you talking about? What process?’

  ‘Shooting you full of prah was to showcase to the Sobrasi exactly what your shadowen capacities were, but that was only intended to be part of my demonstration.’ He grinned maliciously. ‘The second part has to do with what I can do to you.’

  Augustine clapped his hands once. ‘Bring in our guest.’

  A new scent hit my nose and I turned so fast I knocked over the chairs on either side of the table. Donani passed through the arched entryway, his dark eyes narrowing on me. And after him came Hugo.

  Augustine didn’t have to say anything else. It was obvious why my brother was here. The Corsi clan could tattoo brands for guardians. Hugo had tattooed the dandelion that sealed me to Josephine.

  Hugo shoved past Donani and got within several feet of me before the Marksmen prevented him with their weapons. He glared at them with the same look he used to give rowdy drunks who came into the Gypsy Ink – right before he tossed them out. Hugo turned back to me.

  ‘You’ve lost your shirt again.’

  Hugo smirked, but I saw the worry in his eyes.

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied, my voice like gravel. ‘Bad habit.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sebastian,’ he said, the smile vacating his features. ‘They didn’t give me a choice. After Katie came back, Donani’s boys arrived. They’ve got everyone under lock-and-key back at the inn. My cousins and the rest of the guys.’

  ‘And bad things were going to happen to them if you didn’t agree to come here and tattoo him,’ I replied, flicking my gaze to Augustine.

  Hugo studied my face carefully. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Then you need to get to it.’ I said levelly. ‘Don’t waste any time.’

  My brother looked as though he wanted to say something else, but thought the better of it. His lips drew into a rigid line. Hugo squared his shoulders and walked heavily to the small table where Augustine sat, looking like he’d just won the lottery. Hugo pulled out the stool and started prepping the equipment.

  Suddenly, I knew what Hugo desperately wanted to say. Keeping my face blank, I said, ‘I get it, Hugo, and I don’t blame you.’ I chose my next words carefully. ‘You said they had everybody from the inn?’

  Hugo turned over his shoulder. ‘Yeah.’

  I nodded and turned around, folding in my wings and slumping to the floor – but only so Augustine wouldn’t see my face. I needed a second to think. Hugo hadn’t mentioned Ezzie. But more importantly, Augustine hadn’t mentioned her, either.

  Katie had been underground with me when I fought Anya and Matthias. When I’d killed them, I reminded myself. I squeezed my eyes shut. Memories fluttered like bats through my head. I knew, deep down, what I’d done, even if I didn’t remember exactly how. A nasty taste filled my mouth.

  No. Focus on the now.

  If Katie was at the Dandelion Inn, then she’d told them what happened. I forced my memories to release. It hadn’t just been Katie in the room with us. I remembered their smells – Ezzie and Josephine. They’d been there, too. Josephine was still here, but Esmeralda must have helped Katie get away.

  The buzzing of Hugo’s tattoo needle jerked me around. Augustine rested his right arm across the table, exposing a blank section of skin on the underside of his arm, just above the wrist … uncomfortably similar in placement to my own tattoo. My brother was already beginning to outline the design, working completely by hand with no drawing or stencil. He’d done the same with my dandelion.

  I stared, transfixed, as Hugo’s art came to life across Augustine’s skin. The shape of a body materialized first – human, with two arms and legs. But the bottom half of the legs were misshapen, like the chimeras. The wings came next, taking up the entire area of empty skin. And then finally, the head, with its fierce, sharp-toothed expression, wild hair, and … spiraling horns.

  It was me.

  32. Josephine

  I woke up on a plush bed. For an instant, I thought I was back at the Dandelion Inn. I stared at the thick wooden posters and tried to get my bearings. The room was decorated with mahogany furniture. Bold green wallpaper lined the walls, and a scarlet rug covered the floor.

  I sat up, and the back of my head wailed at me. I touched my scalp, feeling a knot beneath my hair. I rubbed my eyes, trying to sort out the last thing I remembered. On the nightstand next to me sat a tall glass of water, along with a bottle of headache medicine. I popped the lid and took two pills, choosing not to give a thought to whether they were actually aspirin or not.

  A knock came from the other side of the door. Whoever was outside must’ve been waiting for me to wake up. I wiped my mouth and threw off the ornately patterned bed covers.

  ‘Come in.’

  The door opened soundlessly and Quentin appeared. He walked across the thick rug, placing his good hand on the hilt of his sword, which hung in a sheath at his hip. He settled himself into the armchair opposite the bed, pulled out the sword, and set it across his lap.

  ‘How’s your head?’ he asked, smiling gently.

  I didn’t answer.

  ‘You slipped,’ he continued. ‘These old tunnels can be pretty dangerous.’

  Whether I believed his explanation or not didn’t matter. It was clear that he was sticking with his story. I got out of bed quicker than I should have. The room tipped sideways in my vision. I kept my hand on the edge of the mattress, determined not to fall.

  ‘Where’s Sebastian?’

  Quentin’s lips tightened as he leaned back in the chair and rubbed his bandaged arm, adjusting the sling across his shoulder. ‘Seriously, Josie, that’s the first thing you’re going to say to me? Don’t we have a little more history between us than that?’

  ‘What do you want me to say, Quentin?’ I shot back. ‘You’re working with Augustine. He’s a traitor to our people. He tried to kill Sebastian. You always had standards. I don’t get this at all.’

  ‘Josephine.’ He held my gaze. ‘It’s not what you think.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not? Then please, explain it to me.’ I glanced at the diamond weapon, gleaming in the soft light. ‘Obviously I’m not going anywhere for a while.’

  ‘Augustine is a means to an end, Josie.’

  ‘And what end is that?’

  Quentin ran a practiced hand along the sword blade, testing its sharpness, as I’d seen him do many times before. ‘You have to understand, I don’t care what he’s got planned with the Sobrasi. That’s his deal. My only concern is our kumpania.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I’m a Marksman. I come from a clan dedicated to protecting the Outcasts. That’s my first priority.’ His eyes shifted around the room, his lip curling in resentment. ‘But our leadersh
ip has grown weak. We’ve allowed shadowen to overrun us, and the High Council has done nothing. Head families are bickering for power, and all eyes turn to the throne. But your aunt has lost her capacity to rule. She doesn’t have the strength to bring unity to our people anymore.’

  I guided myself around the bed. There were no windows in the room, which made me feel unsettled and trapped. Paintings of exteriors had been fashioned with curtains on either side to represent windows, but it wasn’t the same.

  ‘How long have you known I was heir to the throne?’

  ‘Almost as long as you have,’ he replied.

  ‘I was fourteen,’ I said, reaching out to touch one of the paintings, an autumn landscape. ‘My father brought me to Savannah and the ceremony was performed in secret. The head of the High Council was there, along with two priests and two witnesses. After that, I was never allowed to return to the city. No one else knew, except my family.’

  ‘That was the moment it became official,’ Quentin replied. ‘But Nicolas and Thalia had been discussing the possibility long before that. Why do you think your father was so insistent that you and I were promised to each other?’

  ‘My father would never force me to marry.’

  ‘That’s true,’ he said, his voice soft and silky. ‘Although he would’ve been within his rights, according to our laws. But I don’t believe Nicolas ever thought he’d have to go as far as that. We’re a good match, don’t you think? At least, you thought so for a while.’

  I turned from the counterfeit window. ‘Quentin, I loved you. You know that’s the truth. We’ve grown up with the Circe. I watched you climb the ranks and become the head of the Marksmen. You always knew exactly who you were and what you were supposed to do.’ I paused, biting my lip. ‘I’d been told my whole life what I was meant to be. But I didn’t know who I was, Quentin. I didn’t know what I wanted.’

  His face turned to marble. ‘And you do now, is that it?’

  ‘I’m learning,’ I replied evenly. ‘And it begins with fixing everything. Our kumpania is important. But so are the people who are in it. Sebastian’s never done anything to deserve this. He needs to be returned to the Circe so he can do what he’s called to do. Augustine is a traitor to our people, and he has to be stopped. There’s too much to do first before I can think about what I want.’

  ‘What if what needs to be done is right in front of you?’

  I stepped back warily. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘You said it yourself, Josephine. Our kumpania needs help, and it won’t happen on its own. The Outcast clans require strong leadership and unity. You need to take the throne.’

  ‘You know I can’t do that, even if I wanted to.’

  Quentin set the diamond sword aside and rose from the chair. He moved to the opposite side of the room. His smile was smooth – the calm, reassuring one he used to give me before my Circe performances. ‘We both know the law. We don’t have a say in our community until we reach adulthood, and only an adult Roma may enter into leadership. You aren’t yet an adult in the eyes of our people.’ His smile softened. ‘But you can be, Josephine. It’s very simple.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re actually saying this.’

  Quentin shrugged. ‘You could eventually find some other Roma to marry. But what will happen in the meantime – to the Queen, to Augustine … and to Sebastian? You are your own person, Josie. You always have been. So look at it this way. What I’m talking about is a business arrangement, that’s all. Take it as you will. Our marriage would allow you to legally take the throne. You can deal with Augustine from a position of power. You can get everything you want.’

  I stared back at him, frozen to the core. ‘So it’s love or duty, is that it?’

  ‘Why can’t it be both, Josie? You loved me once. You can love me again. We can start this whole thing over.’ He moved closer, but I countered. He actually looked hurt. ‘You know how I feel about you. We had something. Are you ready just to throw away those five years together?’

  ‘What if those five years were a lie?’

  He paused, letting his gaze drift around the room. ‘They weren’t all a lie, Josephine.’

  My hand went to my throat, searching for the dandelion pendant. The instant my fingers were around it, my world cleared. I wasn’t the girl Quentin knew from before. I’d changed, and I owed so much of it to Sebastian. He never shied away from sacrifice. But he’d also shown me what it was like to fight against everyone’s expectations and judgments; to stand against the power of traditions that had no life; those cold, dead things with no purpose.

  ‘Let me out of here, Quentin.’

  His expression morphed. The smooth, handsome smile was replaced with thin-lipped frustration. ‘I suggest you reconsider.’

  ‘Or what?’ I shot back. Anger licked at me. ‘You’ll call my father? Tell him why I’m really here and then have him drag me back to the Circe? Trust me, after what I’ve been through, I can deal with Nicolas Romany and his disappointment.’

  Quentin looked down his nose at me. ‘Can you deal with everything, I wonder.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Quentin returned to the chair and took his sword. He walked to the door, holding it open as he spoke. ‘Just think about it.’

  ‘You can’t keep me here, Quentin. It’s called kidnapping.’

  Quentin laughed. ‘It’s not kidnapping, Josie. You’re here at the Queen’s invitation, and you are free to leave after your meeting.’

  The world suddenly careened to a stop. ‘What?’

  ‘Queen Thalia requests your presence,’ he said formally. He held the door open wider and stepped away, gesturing with his sword for me to exit the room. ‘If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the way.’

  33. Sebastian

  I stared at the image inked onto Augustine’s arm – my mirror reflection in gruesome detail. My body turned suddenly cold, as though I’d jumped into a freezing lake. Nausea rolled in my stomach again. Hugo’s face had taken on his characteristic, unreadable glare as he worked, hunched over the table with his gun and the vials of ink. When the last line was finished, he sat back.

  ‘Outline’s done.’

  Augustine twisted his arm, surveying the black ink. ‘Good. Now do the rest.’

  Hugo blinked once, slowly. I knew that look. He was reeling in his emotions guardedly. He began the process of shading the artwork – the bizarre gargoyle portrait of myself. Everything in me wanted to turn away, but I couldn’t.

  I’d watched Hugo ink dozens of people. He’d always been meticulous, always careful and detailed. I’d never seen him work this slowly. It occurred to me that he was trying to buy us some time. Somehow, Ezzie had flown under the Marksmen’s radar. I didn’t understand why Anya or Matthias hadn’t mentioned her presence to Augustine, but at the moment, I didn’t care.

  Hope flickered, like a light bulb sputtering to life.

  I stayed where I was, observing Hugo’s progress with a stoic look. My shoulder burned and throbbed to the beat of my heart. I rose suddenly and started to walk around the table. The Marksmen were at my sides instantly, but I ignored them, keeping my gaze fixed on Augustine.

  ‘I have a question for you,’ I said.

  ‘Looking for something to pass the time?’ He shot me a pompous smile.

  ‘Well, I figured it was worth a shot, since you obviously love to hear yourself talk.’

  He chuckled appreciatively and waved the Marksmen away. They stepped back, but kept their crossbows carefully trained on me. ‘What is your question, gargoyle?’

  I crossed my arms, ignoring the blazing pain in my shoulder. ‘How exactly did you become marimé?’

  The muscles in Hugo’s neck bulged, but he continued to work in silence, his head bent low. Augustine monitored the small, circular motion of the tattoo gun, wincing only slightly as Hugo shaded in a larger section.

  ‘You want the truth,’ said Augustine, looking up at me. ‘Believe me, you’re not the first.’
He shifted on the stool, keeping his arm still as he looked me over. ‘I don’t know how well you understand our customs, but to steal from another Roma is a terrible offense, usually requiring the banishment of the thief from Gypsy society for a time.’

  ‘For thirteen years? Must’ve been something pretty important.’

  ‘Oh, it was. My father, the former king, owned a very special dagger. It had been passed down in the Romany family for many generations. I needed it much more than he did. So I took it.’ Augustine’s smile faded. ‘My father was old, but he was a fighter. In fact, he gave me this.’ He pointed to the long white scar on his face. ‘But in the end, I won.’

  ‘You killed him,’ I said.

  ‘No,’ he answered simply. ‘But attacking the King of the Outcast Gypsies was no small matter. A Kris Romani was called. I was sentenced to permanent exile and told never to return. I left, but not before my father passed away very suddenly.’ He shook his head. ‘Very unexpectedly.’

  ‘Unexpectedly,’ I repeated.

  ‘Quite the tragedy,’ he continued in a solemn tone. ‘He was murdered by gargoyles. The very three gargoyles that had pledged to serve the King of the Gypsies as his guardians. What my sister Thalia didn’t know was that the dagger was, in fact, the sclav that bound them to service.’

  I looked away. Three gargoyles.

  Anya, Matthias, and Thaddeus.

  ‘The sclav was a powerful one,’ said Augustine proudly. ‘It was capable of sealing multiple guardians to one charge, which is why it was held in such high regard by our family. These gargoyles had served not only my father, but generations before him as well. Never were they allowed to rest in stone. Always serving. By the time they were passed on to my father, they were already weary. And my father was a cruel man, fierce in his kingship. It was not difficult to persuade the gargoyles to assist me.’

  My wings felt heavy and dragged my shoulders down. Guardians were meant to protect their charges until death. Only then was the bond broken. For Anya and the others to have helped Augustine went against everything they’d been created for.