The Damned

by Renee Ahdieh

  “Oh, you didn’t misunderstand.” Her lovely eyes twinkle. “I wanted you to be afraid. Those weapons are not merely made of alabaster.”

  “I am not afraid.” I glance at the blades. They are also tipped in silver. Intended to strike a lethal blow.

  Her smile resembles a scythe. “Then you’re a fool.”

  I say nothing for a moment. Without warning, I blur forward in a rush, snagging the smallest of the grey-cloaked warriors and hauling her backward, my fangs bared above the skin along her neck. Her wrist rotates in my grasp until the spear falls from her fingers into the glittering sand.

  “Let us pass, or I’ll tear out her throat,” I say in a calm manner.

  Arjun sputters. “Good God, man, what are you—”

  More bell-like laughter emanates from the woman dressed in layers of white spider-silk. “I doubt that. You are not made of that kind of mettle, Sébastien Saint Germain.”

  Anger threads through my veins. If she knows who I am, then she should also know better than that. Staring at her, I bend the warrior’s neck to one side and sink the tips of my fangs just beneath the skin of her ear. She tenses on instinct, the other grey-cloaked warriors stepping forward in outrage.

  I taste the warrior’s blood on my tongue. It is sweet. Sweeter than any blood I’ve ever known. Filled with longing and flickers of sun-swept memory. For a breath of time, I want nothing more than to drink her dry. To prove my mettle. My worth as a Saint Germain.

  A slender black brow curving into her forehead, the woman in white raises a staying hand to her warriors. She is no longer smiling.

  Like my uncle, she is testing me.

  I know what Nicodemus would do. He would kill the warrior. Make a show of her death, damn the consequences.

  Instead I draw back, taking only a taste. “Stand down,” I say softly, echoing the woman in white’s earlier directive. Perhaps it is rash what I have done. But she wanted to establish control. I’ve learned in my short time as an immortal that it is best for control to be met with chaos.

  Now she will know better than to test me.

  The fey woman steps forward, and the air around her shimmers. It’s impossible to guess her age, just as it is with Ifan, the full-blooded fey warrior who guards the entrance to my uncle’s chambers at the Hotel Dumaine. She could be twenty. She could be two thousand years old. Her features are similar to those of Jae, her skin pale, her hair hanging past her waist in ripples of darkest black. All her fingers and toes are festooned with thin chains of silver set with pearls. Her lips are stained the color of dried blood. The way she walks—the way the remaining cloaked warriors move around her, their gazes watchful—tells me she is important.

  Her gaze is trained on me. “Release my guard, and you have my word no harm will come to either of you. For the time being.”

  I linger for a beat. Then shove the fey warrior forward. She spins in place, her fists clenched at her sides, her nostrils flaring. Quicker than lightning, she takes hold of her spear and spins it through the air with the grace of a master, before leveling its tip at my face.

  A declaration and a promise. This warrior chose not to fight back.

  “Why have you brought this blood drinker to our shores, Arjun Desai?” the woman in white asks, her face expressionless.

  “Because he asked me to bring him, in full knowledge of the risk to himself.” I can hear Arjun’s heart thrashing in his chest, but he does not falter in his response.

  She cants her head his way. “Are you in the habit of taking orders from a member of the Fallen?” She tsks. “Riya would be loath to hear it. Our kind does not choose a position of subservience when it comes to nightdwellers.”

  “Yes, but the nightdwellers possess a vast trove of wealth.” Arjun grins, but it does not touch his eyes. “And perhaps my mother would be less inclined to render judgment if she knew I was taking more than my fair share of it.”

  That same scythelike smile curves up her face. It’s unsettling to behold, for it is a smile that belies a threat. “Nevertheless.” She extends her fingers, and the air around her undulates. An unseen hand takes Arjun by the chin, directing him closer, his feet floating above the sand. When I move to intercede, Arjun stops me with a single glance. “You know as well as any, son of Riya, how . . . displeased I am to discover you in the company of a leech.” She takes his jaw between her thumb and forefinger as she sets him on his feet. “And a blood drinker like him has no business in the Vale.”

  Arjun swallows, the knot in his throat bobbing. I am struck again by the weight of my selfishness. He has put himself in great peril by bringing me here, just as he said. And not once did I consider the gravity of his actions. I thought only of what I wanted. To triumph at all costs.

  If this is the better version of myself, what kind of young man was I before?

  I take another step forward, my fangs retracting. Four of the hooded guards step between me and Arjun, their spears pointed at my chest. “I can explain, if you would—”

  “Bastien.” Arjun scowls at me. “Hold your tongue, for once.” He offers the woman in white a sheepish smile. “My lady,” he says, “we are here because my business associate wishes to travel through the Vale to the borders of the Wyld. As you well know, there are no tares from the mortal realm into the Wyld to which a blood drinker may avail himself. I thought to bring him here and entreat upon your unfailing generosity.” He bows. “We humbly ask permission to cross the edges of the Vale in order to reach our desired destination in the winter wasteland of the Wyld.”

  The woman’s slender eyebrows arch high into her forehead, her onyx eyes widening. She begins to laugh. Its melody resonates with a familiar note.

  Its sound cuts through to my core.

  I know this laugh. It is one I often heard in my mortal dreams. A sound I longed to hear even in death. I take another step closer, heedless of the weapons aimed in my direction. My eyes rake across the ageless woman in white. She catches me studying her. Tilts her head just so, a knowing glint in her gaze.

  It is there, in that moment, that I see the truth. It steals the words from my tongue.

  She is the Lady of the Vale. She is also Celine’s mother.

  Celine is an ethereal. The daughter of fey royalty.

  Her smile widens. “I am Lady Silla of the Vale,” she says to me, “and you have entered my domain, which puts you at my mercy. If I wish for you to cut off your nose and present it to me as a gift, you will do so without question. And if you desire to traverse my borders freely, there will be a cost.”

  “Name your price, my lady.” Arjun executes another crisp bow, and I hear the blood thunder in his veins. “And rest assured that our noses are yours to take, if you should but ask. Though I will say my associate’s is quite elegant. Rather aquiline. Definitely preferable to mine.”

  One of the guards coughs to conceal her amusement. Lady Silla arches a brow her way.

  I do as Arjun asked and keep silent. The only full-blooded fey I have ever encountered prior to this is Ifan, who served as a warrior in the Sylvan Vale’s Summer Court before he was exiled for falling in love with a blood drinker. From Ifan, I learned never to enter into a binding agreement with any creature of the Otherworld in which the terms are not articulated in advance.

  Shouldn’t an ethereal like Arjun be more than aware of this fact? Where is the shrewd attorney I’ve known for the last year? The one who skillfully negotiated so many deals with magical and non-magical folk alike? A knot of doubt in my stomach pulls tight.

  Is Arjun trying to betray me?

  A disturbing feeling settles on my limbs. Nigel betrayed us all less than three months ago. And he was a member of my family for far longer than Arjun has been. Would the ethereal turn on us, after everything?

  Lady Silla directs her guards to stand down. In a single fluid motion, they point their spears toward the sky and step ba
ck. “Do not fear, Sébastien Saint Germain. I will allow you to travel through the summer splendor of the Vale toward the frozen wastelands of the Wyld. I have but one condition. A simple one, which need not cost you a great deal of discomfort.”

  I almost laugh. I was tricked in this exact way five days ago, by this woman’s daughter. The girl I loved when I was alive. The girl whose laughter haunted my dreams. Celine desired answers from me that night she asked me to kiss her. And now I possess the answer to a question that must have plagued her since childhood.

  I know who her mother is. I know why Nicodemus’ glamour is waning on her mind.

  Celine has always been part of this cursed world, from the day of her birth.

  “Bring the girl to me here in the Vale, Sébastien. Of her own free will.” Lady Silla’s black eyes bore through me. “Bring her here, and you may travel through my lands unimpeded. Though I cannot speak to the dangers you will find in the lawless Wyld.”

  Arjun looks to me, then back at the Lady of the Vale. “Girl? Which girl? Jessamine? What did she do now?”

  “Do we have a deal?” she asks me, disregarding Arjun entirely.

  I press my lips together, my thoughts whirring through my mind like the cogs of a clock. I want to ask the Lady of the Vale if she will harm Celine. But something tells me the question alone would be an insult. I cannot fathom why she would want to see her daughter now, after staying away from her for all these years. “I will not allow her to be placed in harm’s way.”

  “Who, goddamn it?” Arjun demands.

  “Nor will I,” Lady Silla says, a furrow forming between her brows. “And you well know why. She is most precious to me.” The Lady of the Vale glides closer, past a protesting Arjun. “If you refuse, it is of little consequence. I will have what I want in due time. Soon I will send others to the mortal realm to retrieve her. But I prefer it to be you, for her sake above all. She will believe you. She will trust you. You will keep her safe. Where you go, she will go without question.” A smile blooms across her face. “Just like where she goes, you will undoubtedly follow.” Her fingers weave through a zephyr of wind, which bows to her touch. “And would it not be preferable for all involved if you accompanied her, rather than members of my guard, whom she does not know or trust?”

  Anger floods my veins. It catches in my throat, the taste as bitter as bile. I despise her logic. But not as much as I hate myself for setting the wheels of this train in motion.

  The Lady of the Vale wants me to bring her daughter here. Of her own free will. The option before me now is the best of the worst.

  “Yes,” I say, hatred buzzing across my skin. “I would prefer it to be me.”

  “I thought you would see things my way, Sébastien,” Lady Silla responds with a satisfied nod.

  “Blast it all, what are you talking about?” Arjun shouts. “Which girl? To whom are you preferable?”

  Behind us, the salt water starts to rise, the waves lapping at the glittering beach. The enchanted sea wraps around our ankles, taking hold of us as if it intends to pull us under. When it reaches waist level, we can no longer fight the magical current. It is impossible to remain upright.

  “Ask the owner of the silver, Arjun Desai,” Lady Silla says over the crashing waves, her expression one of delight. “Tell him his lady offers him salutations. And wishes he would come to see her sometime soon, as promised.”

  Her last word drifts through the air like a feather on a passing breeze. It lands on my chest like an anvil, its weight crushing me from within and without.

  Promised. The owner of the silver made a promise to the Lady of the Vale.

  Before I have a chance to speak, Arjun and I are swallowed by the water and promptly spat back through the fountain, landing unceremoniously on the blazing sand of an elegant street on the outskirts of Jaipur.

  I sit on the ground, water dripping from my garments, my mind awash in treachery.

  It is not Arjun whose betrayal I should have feared.

  It is Jae.

  CELINE

  Celine glanced at Michael as they walked through Jackson Square not long after sundown. Loss had never been an easy topic for her. It was like picking at a wound that refused to heal. She searched for the right words to offer condolences, and then decided it was best to say what was in her heart. “Is there anything I can do for your family? Anything that might help with their grief, even in the smallest measure?”

  Michael shook his head. “I wish there were. Antonio’s death has struck them like a battering ram.” He inhaled, then linked his hands behind his back. “I haven’t seen Nonna so upset since Luca’s father, my uncle, died ten years ago.”

  “I’m sure they’re all in shock. How old was your cousin Antonio?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “So young,” Celine remarked.

  A bitter smile settled on his lips. “Did I tell you he fought in one of the last battles of the war?”

  “No, you did not.”

  Michael nodded. “It was the very day Lee surrendered at Appomattox seven years ago. The battle for Fort Blakeley, just outside of Mobile. Antonio was only seventeen, but he defied the wishes of his parents and went to fight against the rebel forces anyway.”

  “He sounds like a courageous young man.”

  “He was.” Michael smiled in remembrance. “He was also loud and brash and obnoxious. He and Luca got along swimmingly as children.”

  They continued traversing over the pavestones at a leisurely pace. Saw palmettos swayed in the warm April breeze. The scent of rain hung in the air, smelling of metal and earth. “Have you managed to apprehend the person responsible for his death?” Celine chewed at the inside of her cheek. “Were there any clues regarding the identity of the perpetrator?”

  “We haven’t caught him yet.” Something dark flashed in Michael’s icy gaze. “But we will.”

  “I’m so sorry, Michael.”

  “Thank you, Celine.”

  She waited a breath. “I asked about your family, but . . . is there anything I might do for you?”

  He looked at her sidelong. Wavered a moment. Then reached for her hand. “It is enough that you are here with me. Antonio was closer to Luca in age and experience. As such, I didn’t know him well, but I did feel a sense of kinship because he served on the police force in Baton Rouge. I remember when I told Antonio I wanted to be a police detective. He wrote to the academy on my behalf, and he was there the day I received my commission.” A wave of sorrow rippled across his face.

  Celine squeezed his hand. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to let me know, even if it’s simply to lessen the burden for a moment. Sadness can be such an unbearable weight.”

  “I’m not sad. I’m furious.”

  Celine nodded. Michael’s fingers threaded through hers as he drew her to his side. For a second, she hesitated before wrapping his hand in both of hers.

  It was time for her to make a decision.

  Though it pained Celine to admit it, Pippa had been right about many things. Michael Grimaldi was a good man who obviously cared a great deal for her. It would be foolish of Celine to ignore that fact. Pippa said love was a choice. A wise young woman would choose to love a young man like Michael.

  But Celine could not shake the memory of that kiss she’d shared with Bastien. For long days and long nights, she’d tried to forget it. Tried to ignore the way her hands had trembled. The warmth that had pooled in her belly. The touch of his lips against her skin.

  An onslaught of emotions had roiled through Celine in the five days that had passed. She was angry at all the lies. Frustrated by the realization that everyone refused to help her retrieve her memories.

  But more than anything, Celine felt the weight of her sadness most keenly.

  She’d lost so much. More than she could begin to fathom. Two nights ago, she’d toyed with the ide
a of breaking her promise to Bastien. She’d gone as far as to don a simple frock and walking boots, intent on going to Jacques’ once more and demanding . . . something from him. Anything from him but this icy distance.

  Thankfully Celine had come to her senses before leaving her flat. She needed to forget about Sébastien Saint Germain. He’d made it clear he did not want anything to do with her. She would not debase herself by begging for attention from any man, much less one like him.

  Bastien was the kind of young man who cared about himself, first and foremost. True, he felt remorse. But never enough to take responsibility for the pain he caused or to choose a different path. Michael Grimaldi was steadfast and direct. Celine never had to doubt his affections or his intentions. A young man like this deserved to be loved.

  Michael deserved Celine’s love.

  Never mind the voice in the back of her head, the one she could not seem to silence, the one telling her it wasn’t quite right.

  Michael and Celine continued their stroll, past the tines of black wrought-iron fences onto the paved walkway before Saint Louis Cathedral. Over the course of the last few months, Jackson Square had become one of Celine’s favorite places in New Orleans. It was strange, therefore, that she didn’t care for the structure at its heart: the tri-spired church with its famed clock tower. The last time she’d attended Mass there, she’d become dizzy and light-headed, an unsettling sensation spreading through her stomach. Pippa had escorted her from the nave the very next second, vowing that they could simply attend Mass elsewhere in the future.

  “Violence has taken so much from us both,” Celine mused to Michael.

  “I wish I could have spared you such suffering.”

  “Everyone keeps saying how lucky I am that I do not remember most of it.” Her lips quirked to one side. “Sometimes I’m inclined to agree.”

  “Only sometimes?” Concern flared on Michael’s face. “Are there moments you wish you could remember it, even if it meant reliving the horror?”