by Alys Arden
I gasped.
“My Maleficium,” I whispered. A memory from last night flashed through my head. Only a witch who has a mark can see the mark of others. “You.” I grabbed his left arm and pushed his black sweater up his taut forearm.
But he stopped me. “I’m a vampire, Adele.”
“No, I saw it last night. I saw it, Nicco. I saw your mark.”
He pushed my chin up so my gaze was on him. “I’m a vampire. And that’s why I’m going into the sitting room to alter your father’s memories.”
He turned and walked away.
“No!” I grabbed his arm, like a child begging. “Nicco, please don’t!”
“There’s no other way.” He pulled his arm back.
“Nicco!” I followed him into the dark hallway. “I’m not going to let you do this!”
He quickly spun around, and I shrunk back into the wall. “Which would you prefer? For me to go in there and harmlessly erase the same memories your mother already wiped away, or for your father to have to run from Emilio for the rest of his life?”
“I can’t lose him, Nicco. I—I can’t do this alone.”
“You’re not alone. You have your coven.”
“Not anymore.” My head shook. “Not after I opened the attic. Not after I let you out.”
He lightly touched my jaw, and his eyes caught mine. I didn’t think he would actually say it, but he did. His voice softened. “You have me.”
“You’re a vampire, remember?”
“Sì.”
His hand cupped my cheek, and my welling tears shook out.
As he wiped them away, his own eyes darkened with pain, but I was unable to look at him anymore—my gaze shifted over his shoulder—which I knew hurt him deeper.
“Just stay right here,” he said. “It will only take a minute.”
“No. If you’re going to do it, I’m going in too.”
“I have to bite him, Adele. If I don’t drink from him, the memory loss won’t be permanent.”
“And?”
“Absolutely not. I am not biting your father in front of you. I am not biting anyone in front of you. Ever.”
My fingers rapped against my leg like hummingbird wings. “Then I have one condition.” I quickly explained my request.
“No.” He shook his head. “I understand why you’re asking me to do it, but I promise you don’t want me to. You’re just upset with him right now. Rightfully upset.”
“Do it, or I’m coming in.”
“Adele. It cannot be undone.”
“That’s the point.”
He sighed and walked through the door, leaving me alone in the hallway.
The seconds felt like minutes, and the minutes felt like hours, but I didn’t pace. I didn’t fidget or twirl my hair. I just stood there, staring at the closed door, heart racing.
I shouldn’t have asked him to do it. But in those moments in the hallway, the pain had flooded in and I hadn’t felt anything but loss.
The loss of my mother. The loss of my magic. And now the loss of my father.
With every inhale, anger poured into me, taking up all the space that magic used to fill. My jaw clenched, and my fists tightened. Heat surged through my limbs, making me want to kick and punch things until I couldn’t move.
The door gently opened, and Nicco looked at me.
“Did you do it?” I asked.
He nodded.
I peered behind him. My father was sitting on the couch, rubbing his eyes like he’d just woken up. When I turned back to Nicco, a rush of tears came with it.
“Get out,” I spat.
He moved toward me, but I raised my hand and stopped him. “Get out!”
I pushed him down the hallway toward the kitchen.
“Adele, I—”
But I wouldn’t let him speak. I just kept pushing him, through the kitchen and toward the door, repeating the words until I was screaming. “Get out, get out. Get out of my head!”
He stumbled out, and I slammed the door, falling against it, sobbing.
“Adele, what’s wrong?” my father said, running into the room.
I sucked a giant breath through my nose, swallowed back the tears, and turned around.
He didn’t seem to notice that he was standing on broken glass.
“Dad, sit down . . . I need to tell you something. It’s about Mom.”
Obediently, he sat down at the broken table, his face pale.
“Dad, there’s been an accident . . .”
I sat down next to him and burst into tears again, but this time feeling like I’d lost both of my parents.
CHAPTER 51
The Romeo Catcher
Despite all the horrors that had unfolded last night, there were no nightmares when I slept. Just warmth from a fire and air that smelled like cinnamon and soft cushions and plush blankets.
And pressure against my back, I realized as consciousness folded back—my eyes popped open, and I twisted around, but it wasn’t Adele lying against me. It was Jade. One of her arms rested over Stormy as tiny coos slipped from her lips.
It took me a moment to figure out where I was. HQ. In Cosette’s secret room, in the invisible bed under an invisible blanket. With a child and a dog who were only visible to me. I couldn’t remember how I got here, but I knew Désirée had drugged me, because I felt completely drowsy and completely rested at the same time.
“You saved her, Isaac,” a female voice said.
I blinked, and she came into focus. Julie was sitting at the foot of the bed, watching over us.
“You saved her soul. And souls are forever.”
“You’re aliv—I mean, you’re okay,” I said, feeling a momentary flicker of happiness.
She wasn’t completely back to her opaque self, but she was barely fluttering in and out. “I told you I would never let him get me.”
“Is Ade—”
She shook her head. “Codi and the Earth witch have just gone back out to look for her.”
“Nicco has her,” I said, getting out of the bed, looking for my sneakers. I grabbed them from the corner chair, along with my jacket. “I’m going over there.”
“The Earth witch said that you need to stay here. It’s the only place you’re safe. A dangerous vampire is looking for you.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I said, lacing them up. “I’m going to find Adele, and then I’m going to find Callis and make sure he can never hurt another ghost again—”
Stormy shot up and sprang out of bed, growling, her teeth bared.
I turned. Emilio was standing in the threshold, leaning against the doorway.
Stormy barked.
“Where is she?” I yelled.
Stormy crouched low, growling again. Emilio walked straight up to her, bent down, and rubbed her head. He looked in perfect vampiric health, making me wonder how many people he’d drained.
“You can see her?”
“An advantage of once having died.”
“Julie, get out of here!” I said without taking my eyes off him.
He stood, looking at the unmade bed and back to me. “Well, I see it’s not just Adele who’s moved on so quickly.” He nodded at Julie. “She’s beautiful.”
“Fuck off.”
He took another step closer, and Julie blinked out, taking Jade and Stormy with her.
“Did you kill Annabelle?” I asked. “How did you see this place through the invisibility shield?
“You’re the only person I’m concerned with killing.”
“Where’s Nicco?” I don’t know if it was adrenaline or sleep deprivation or desperation, but I wasn’t scared of him.
He smirked. “Adele should be the least of your concerns right now.”
“Where is she?” I yelled, stepping toward him.
“She’s at home. With her father. And my little brother. He’s only been out a few hours and they’re like a little cozy family.”
“She’s alive—” I choked.
“O
f course she’s alive, unlike her mother.” His fist slammed into my chest, sending me sliding across the floor. I crashed into a vanity. Heavy silver hairbrushes and perfume bottles clanked to the floor around me.
I turned to the open window, getting ready to change form, but froze as his comment registered. “What do you mean unlike her mother?” I stealthily reached for the stake strapped to my ankle as I stood.
He looked at me, equally perplexed. “Did someone cast a memory spell on you last night? You staked her.” He moved toward me, crazy flickering in his eyes.
“I staked your sister.”
He stopped short. “What?”
“I killed your sister, just like I’m going to kill you!” I hurled the stake directly at his chest, but his hand whipped out and the weapon came flying back toward my head. It grazed my ear, drawing blood, before it smashed straight through the window behind me like a bullet. I was sure he missed on purpose, which only amplified the tension in the air. He was taking pleasure in dragging this out.
Neither of us moved as he just stood there, staring at me. Then he started laughing. “You think you killed my sister? You? Now that’s a farce worthy of the stage. Giovanna hasn’t been seen in three hundred years. The idea that she is even alive is ridiculous!”
“Liar! You wept over her body last night as I flew out the window!”
Again he paused, looking at me. Then he burst into laughter and held up his palms. “Oh gods, thank you for letting me be the messenger!” He looked straight at me. “Grazie mille for letting me be the one to tell you right before you die that you did not kill my sister, witch. You murdered my love—my child—Brigitte Dupré Le Moyne!”
“You’re insane. Adele’s mother is in France.”
“Non, elle n’y a pas été. She’s been in the attic with me for months, exactly where you trapped her on Halloween night with your Air.”
“Bullshit.”
A new voice floated into the room: “I guess you aren’t as close to Adele as you thought, Isaac.”
We both looked toward the entrance. Nicco was leaning in the doorway just as his brother had moments ago. They looked strikingly similar in the room’s dim light. My pulse hammered as I wondered if Adele had told him about me hiding his note from her.
Emilio smirked. “I knew you’d come. I knew you’d want to kill him yourself. I bet you’ve been dreaming of this moment for the last three months.”
“You have no idea what I dream about, Emilio.” Nicco’s eyes never lifted from me.
“Brother, I have a pretty good idea of who you dream about. We all do.”
An image of Nicco slumbering in the attic and dreaming about Adele made my pulse hammer double time. “She’s never going to love you,” I said, my voice even. “She’s never going to be with a monster.”
I eyed the nearest window, a path out over the balcony. Emilio’s gaze followed mine.
This time Nicco was the one who smirked. “I might be the monster, but I’ll never be the one who killed her mother.”
This time the words stunned me. There was something about Nicco delivering the message that made my breath short.
There’s no way I killed Adele’s mother.
I was too stunned to move, too stunned to think, or to turn when Emilio lunged at me. His hands hit my chest, and then he hurled me through the window. In a shower of glass, my side hit the rail, and I flipped over the iron bar, feeling my ribs cracking and what felt like my insides ripping apart. It was so fast and the pain so intense, I was unable to take bird form. All I could do was grasp the balcony railing, but it was slick with morning dew and my hands immediately began to slide off. I looked down to the bricked courtyard, three long stories below.
It was over.
Everything.
Yet all I could think about was Adele. It can’t be true. They’re just fucking with me.
My right hand slipped off the rail entirely. I strained to hold on solely with my left, grunting with effort to pull myself up. But I couldn’t hold on any longer. As my left hand slipped, and I began to drop, the balcony shook and a hand gripped mine, nearly jerking my arm out of the socket, catching me.
I howled in pain, dangling over empty space, and looked up.
Nicco didn’t pull me over or offer his other hand. He just held on, his eyes fixed on something just below my chest.
My gaze followed his, and then I saw it: mere inches from my gut, on the inset pole that supported the gallery, a cluster of spikes jutted out like the petals of a lethal flower. Panic rushed me, and I looked back into his eyes—I could see how much he wanted to slam me into the spike.
He tightened his grip, and I knew he wasn’t going to.
“Why?” I asked as his crystalline green eyes stared down at me.
“Because Adele’s had enough loss for one day.” He paused. “And if I let you die, she’ll never trust me again. And she’ll never forgive herself for opening the attic.”
I didn’t know which killed me more: that Nicco was so concerned with winning Adele’s trust, or that she opened the attic to save him.
Emilio’s footsteps stomped onto the balcony, and Nicco swung me, dangerously close to the Romeo catcher. On the upswing he flung me into the air and let go.
I soared over the brothel grounds.
The airtime was all I needed to take crow form and fly away.
EPILOGUE
Dead Mothers Club
I was only able to fly for three blocks before I felt my magic blinking out. I don’t know if I was still weak from Callis’s siphoning, or if it was the several cracked ribs, or the news about Adele’s mother, but I began to lose altitude. I flapped frantically into the nearest alleyway and landed.
Leaning against the brick wall, I sucked in a sharp breath. The pain in my ribs was incomparable to the pain I might have caused Adele. It couldn’t be true. I killed a vampire—she was feeding off Adele. The ache of losing my own mother rushed me.
I ran nonstop to Adele’s house, staggering and clutching my side.
It can’t be true.
I knocked on the kitchen door, sucking in air, hoping Mac wasn’t home. I didn’t know how I could look him in the face.
He answered the door. “Can I help you?”
“Mr. Le Moyne, I need to—”
“Son, this really isn’t a good time.” He started to close the door. “We’re having a family emergency.”
I caught the door in my palm. “I know. I just need to talk to Adele. For a minute.” My throat swelled shut. “I have to,” I croaked.
He opened the door a couple feet, so I could see her sitting at the kitchen table.
“Adele!” I shouted.
He turned to her. “Sweetheart, do you know this boy?”
She looked straight at me. Her eyes glistened.
No. It can’t be true. I can’t have killed her mother.
“Adele . . .”
Tears slid down her cheeks. “No, Dad. I’ve never seen him before.”
And for the first time, I was telling myself to breathe rather than telling her.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
So many stars have been added to the TCG constellation since the last book was published, my heart palpitates thinking that I may have forgotten someone. So many amazing people have given me latitude as a writer to make this book something I love. We love. I don’t take a single one of you for granted. The trust. The faith. The hard work as I washed the pages clean when new ideas sprouted from the depths of my mind. Finding a place to start with the thank-yous is disorienting. I’ll start at the beginning.
I want to thank all of the people who have taken a trip to New Orleans through Adele’s eyes. To the readers who have stuck with me through glitter and grit as this sequel moved through all of the various nontraditional and traditional phases of publishing. Thank you to all of the fans who read the original five chapters on Wattpad and encouraged me to keep going, even when I flung the story back into seventeenth-century Italy.
; Thank you to my agents extraordinaire at ICM Partners, Alexandra Machinist and Zoë Sandler, who sold the book. And who don’t look at me like I’m crazy when my ideas slip from my lips.
Thank you to my sister and my parents for letting me continue to be crazy.
Thank you to all of my friends who welcome me back after long bouts of escaping into the clouds and off the grid. Thank you to every barista in the French Quarter who has kicked out a gutter-punk for trying to touch my hair. Thank you to the psychics and the witches and ghost storytellers. To the Mambos and the Second Liners and the Katrina first responders. And to everyone else in New Orleans who inspired this story. To the Florentines. To the ghosts of the Medici, who are hopefully not turning over in their graves. And if they are, see you on the flip side.
Thank you to everyone in cyberspace. To the bloggers and the BookTubers and the late-night Tweeters. To the Instagram book collectors and the hashtag generators. I <3 u. To Casey Ann Davoren! To the mermaids and unicorns and Goth kids and cheerleaders and mommies and teachers who all want to get swept away into stories. To all of the amazing librarians and booksellers I’ve met over the last few years. Thank you. The conference organizers and magazine editors. Podcast creators. And early reviewers. Thank you.
I wrote the very first chapter of The Romeo Catchers in Los Angeles, so that means I need to thank by best friend, Jennifer, who has supported me since the very first words were written, no matter how loony they were. To Lucas for being my human whiteboard every morning for months when I awoke having to work out the plotlines I dreamt about the night before. To Marissa Van Uden for not thinking I was a loser when I finally broke down and cried while editing. Thank you Marita Crandle, proprietress of Boutique du Vampyre, who I now consider to be Nicco’s godmother. Beaming gratitude for Emilie Gagnet Leumas, archivist of the Archdiocese of New Orleans, for sharing your knowledge and for your friendship.
To Charlotte Ashley, Laura Perry, and Francesca Testaguzza, whose fingerprints have left marks on the manuscript. And special thanks to Ben Tague for sharing your maritime insights.