by Jane Kindred
Lucien’s brows drew together. “What I gave her?”
“A tear, sweetie. Before she drains you of all of them.” Polly held her finger to the corner of his eye and a tear fell onto her fingertip as if commanded, solidifying into something that strongly resembled a diamond. “Lovely, isn’t it? The devil’s tears. It’ll be worth a pretty penny one day.”
Chapter 11
Lucien was quiet. Theia didn’t ask what the meeting was about. After what he’d told her last night, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She drove him to his car, which he insisted he was okay to drive home. He needed a shower, he said, and some more rest, but he’d see her later.
Theia wasn’t sure what later meant, precisely, but he kissed her goodbye, and the kiss was promising. In the meantime, she was going to burst if she didn’t talk to someone about what had happened between her and Lucien. She needed sisterly advice, but there was no way she could talk to Rhea about him after what he’d done. Ione had raised them after their parents were killed in a car accident, and Theia wasn’t in the mood for her disapproval. Phoebe would have been perfect—she was always easiest to talk to—but Phoebe was somewhere in the Yucatán climbing pyramids and getting laid by a demigod.
But Theia hadn’t talked to Laurel in a while.
Laurel Carpenter was their half sister, one of three born to their father’s secret second wife.
Rhea wouldn’t be happy about it, but despite Laurel’s past sins against them as Carter Hamilton’s apprentice, Theia considered her a friend. Laurel had grown up in foster care, unaware of her own magic and resenting the half sisters who’d gotten all her father’s attention. She’d been ripe for Carter’s head games. Theia couldn’t hold that against her.
She needed to pop into her apartment in Flagstaff anyway to get some materials for the final exams for a class she was teaching, and Laurel, it turned out, was more than ready to take a break from studying for her own.
As they set out the tea things on Theia’s balcony, Laurel watched her, cautious as always. “I guess you’ve heard about Carter’s conviction being overturned. In case you’re wondering, no, he hasn’t contacted me, and no, I have no interest in ever speaking to him again.”
“I did hear, actually.” Theia grimaced. “When he magically crashed Phoebe’s wedding reception.”
“Oh, shit. He didn’t.”
“Sadly, he did. But don’t worry. That’s not why I called you. Although I do have a bit of an ulterior motive.” Theia grinned as she poured the tea. “To be honest, there are some things I can’t talk to anybody else about, and I really need some advice.”
“From me?” Laurel set out the plate of homemade lemon bars she’d brought. “I’m not sure what advice I could possibly give you.”
“I’ve had these visions lately—one in particular that I’ve had since I was little.” Theia sat and took a lemon bar. “I think it started when I heard a story in church about being the bride of Christ. The priest said if we weren’t Christ’s, we would be the devil’s. I dreamed I was wearing a red wedding gown and veil and running from someone hiding in the shadows. The faster I ran, the closer the figure got, until I realized I was running straight to hell. At the end of the path was a throne. And the dark figure that had been chasing me was sitting on it and holding out his hand.”
“And now you think you’ve met the dark figure.”
Theia shivered despite the balmy weather. “Bingo. You’re good.”
Laurel smiled as she stirred sugar into her cup. “You know I see things, too.” Laurel’s gift was a true ability to see the future without all the interpretation Theia’s visions required.
“So...what exactly have you seen?”
“It’s not always perfectly clear, you understand. I see future events like they’re on a layer of film laid over the top of what’s in front of me, and right now... I see some kind of contract in your hand.”
“And?”
Laurel set down the spoon and smoothed her fingers over her closely cropped hair. “And I think it says you’ve promised the devil your soul.”
“Ah.”
“I take it you were hoping for something a little less literal.”
“Well, it is very specific. The thing is, this man I met...there’s more to him than this ‘dark prince’ persona he shows the world. I guess I was hoping I was imagining things. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve avoided getting close to someone because of my dreams. But I...” The look on Laurel’s face when she glanced up made her pause. “What?”
Laurel colored. “It’s not important. Sometimes I get flashes of events that aren’t any of my business.”
It was Theia’s turn to blush. “I’m going to sleep with him, aren’t I?” She groaned into her hands for a moment before looking up again. “See, this is another thing I can’t talk to Rhea about. As close as we are, I’ve never told her that... I’ve never actually...done it.”
Laurel’s eyes widened over her cup.
“Yeah.” Theia lifted her shoulders helplessly. “I’ve been having visions all my life, and every time I got involved with a guy, I’d see something about him that just, I don’t know, made me think the devil was around every corner. And I don’t even believe in a literal devil. Of course, with the things we’ve seen lately, I don’t even know what to believe. And Lucien—that’s the guy—has been telling me about a whole underground society of ‘unnatural creatures,’ things I had no idea were real.”
“I see it,” said Laurel. “That underbelly. Things no one else sees. Until I met Carter, I thought I must be schizophrenic or something when I’d see shades and ghosts. I was afraid to tell anyone when I was in the foster system, so I just kept it to myself.”
Theia glanced at her, impressed. “I didn’t know you could see ghosts. It’s good to know I have another sister I can turn to for supernatural help.”
Laurel paused with her cup halfway to her mouth. “You think of me as a sister?”
Theia couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, not to state the obvious, but we are sisters. Just because we didn’t grow up together doesn’t mean we aren’t.”
Laurel set down her cup, visibly moved. “I’ve never really had a sister before. I know that sounds funny, but Rowan and Rosemary always seemed so much older than me. When our mom died, we went to separate foster homes, and we lost touch.” Laurel shrugged. “Nobody’s ever needed my advice. About anything.”
Theia smiled. “Well, I do. Do you have any?”
“I don’t exactly have the greatest track record. I mean, the last guy I was into was, you know. Ugh.”
Theia poked at the crumbs of her lemon bar. “That’s kind of the advice I want. How do you know when you’re into someone who’s not good for you? Should I run away from this? Or toward it?”
“I guess you have to trust your instincts. I didn’t trust mine. I was looking for external validation because I didn’t believe in myself. And now—I mean, I’m still struggling with that, but I’d never fall for someone like Carter today. He only told me what I wanted to hear.”
The question was, what was it Theia wanted to hear? That Lucien wasn’t dangerous? That he wasn’t the Prince of Darkness after all? Or was she looking for someone to tell her it was okay if she sold her soul to the devil?
* * *
Lucien stood in the shower with his head bowed under the water, letting it pour over him. Every muscle in his body ached, and the broken bone felt like it had been replaced with solidified latex polymer, like rubber cement that had been left out with the cap off. Using it was going to become more difficult if he didn’t see the company doctor soon.
When he emerged at last, the corner of an envelope poked out from under his door. After towel-drying his hair and wrapping the towel around his waist, Lucien bent to pick up the envelope. His body protested. Inside was the same URL his source had sent before. Had he mis
sed something last time? Lucien looked at the Carlisle family tree once more, still baffled by what this had to do with hunting rogues. He already had the information the source had provided on Rafael Diamante and Dharamdev Gideon.
But there was something here he hadn’t seen before. A document had been added to the family records, some kind of research paper on recessive genes.
As he examined it, he realized it was Theia’s research on her own family, documenting her discovery of her father’s polygamy—a second wife he’d taken in secret without divorcing the first. Lucien started to feel uncomfortable. How was this a public document? Maybe he should just close it and forget about it.
But something farther down the page caught his eye. Theia had discovered a genetic mutation. Lilith blood, she called it.
Lucien’s own blood ran cold. According to Madeleine Marchant’s claim, she’d been descended from the first demoness. Lucien had never believed it. But Theia had written this history as though it was fact. If her research was accurate, the demon blood was real, and all the Carlisle sisters possessed it. Their magical abilities, their gifts of vision and prognostication and communicating with spirits—they were all aspects of the demoness. The Carlisle sisters weren’t just the gifted descendants of a powerful witch, they were literally part demon. Theia was part demon.
Chapter 12
Lucien stared at the laptop, trying to get a grip on the sudden rage filling him. He’d given her the benefit of the doubt despite her sisters’ penchants for unnatural men—and now here it was, a confession in her own words that she herself was unnatural, that she was the worst kind of unnatural. Theia was what he’d been trying to escape his entire life. In fleeing Edgar and his stupid rules, Lucien had been fleeing the stain of the demonic—the Smok legacy: that he was doomed to serve in hell. Though the story had seemed allegorical when he was younger, it had become more theoretically probable once he’d been initiated into the family business.
The family made its money fulfilling the needs of demons and unnatural beings, hobnobbed with them, protected them. It had begun to seem unlikely that the legend was only that. By the time Lucien had started college, he’d been bitterly determined not to become what his father wanted him to be, what he was trying to make him into. He’d tried to drown his fears with drink—and then he’d met Polly. He’d followed the song of the siren, jumping headfirst into the world he’d been resisting.
It was a double standard, but becoming a slacker who hung out almost exclusively with inhuman and unnatural beings had been another kind of rebellion. Doing business with such creatures was one thing. One did not party with them, as Edgar had once told him in disgust. And they sure as hell didn’t sleep with them.
Lucien had lost himself in that world for a time, not caring what fate meant him to be and not caring if he became it. If his father found it distasteful, then Lucien would wallow in it. And Polly had been more than happy to help him in that endeavor. Though she’d been less enthusiastic when he’d decided to hunt rogue unnaturals. Polly brooked no nonsense in her club. Any unnatural creature that tried to do business there involving humans without their consent was summarily tossed out on its ass. But hunting them down was something else altogether.
Avenging the little girl he’d found at the blood farm had been an act of grief and rage. But the first time he’d taken out a rogue in cold blood had been intensely clarifying. He’d found his calling. Eventually, it replaced his need to wallow in vice, and he’d moved on, parting ways with Polly amicably enough. He’d told himself then he was through being ruled by his fate, and he intended to dedicate his life to resisting it. And that meant staying clean in terms of unnatural contact—which included anyone not fully human. His vow had hurt Polly, though she would never admit it.
And until now, Theia hadn’t threatened that. He’d resisted his feelings for her because of the inadvisability of entanglements, but this morning he’d allowed himself the luxury of ignoring his own rules. And despite his doubts about her family—and about himself—kissing Theia had felt very right. He’d never felt so instantly at home with anyone. From the moment his lips had met hers, he’d felt as though he’d been broken, missing something, and now he was whole. He hadn’t wanted to talk; he’d wanted to touch her mouth, taste her skin, run his fingers over every inch of her and explore this wondrous thing that had happened.
But now...now she was the goddamn enemy. This was fate’s cruel trick, getting him to let down his guard and share himself with someone—when fate had been steering him toward that someone all along. More than just Madeleine Marchant’s descendant, she was the embodiment of Madeleine’s curse. “Blood for blood,” the witch’s last words had been before the pyre was lit. She seemed to be mocking him from the grave. He couldn’t escape.
Lucien slammed his fist into the laptop screen and shattered the LCD. Stupid, but momentarily satisfying. He’d once surrendered fully to the darkness and the deep to spite his father, willfully drowning himself in the seamy underbelly of the world Edgar inhabited only on the periphery. And now he was drowning again—only this time it was an unwitting submersion.
The question was: Who wanted him to know? Polly? Was this her way of trying to warn him away from Theia? But she’d done so directly earlier today. Why bother with cryptic game playing? And if she’d known this detail about Theia’s blood, why not just mention it outright when they spoke? No, this wasn’t Polly’s style. Someone else was apparently as interested in his fate as he was.
His phone buzzed, and he remembered the screen was shattered on that as well. But at least it was still readable. It was Theia, wanting to know what his plans were for the rest of the day. Their conversation was still unfinished. She’d wanted a chance to persuade him of Rafe’s “worthiness.”
Lucien realized he couldn’t respond. The screen was readable, and a few of the apps were responsive if he pressed hard enough, but he couldn’t get the keyboard or the number pad to work. He supposed it was just as well. Let her think what she wanted about why he didn’t text back. It was a coward’s resolution to the situation, but Lucien was tired, in his head and in his bones, the aches and pains from last night’s disaster demanding his attention. The decision was out of his hands. Fate had once again intervened.
Mindful of the bruises on his backside, Lucien flopped onto his stomach on the bed and fell asleep.
* * *
He wasn’t expecting to find Theia standing on his doorstep when he awoke from his nap.
He’d answered the door half-asleep, the towel he’d wrapped around his waist barely tucked in, not quite registering that he was answering a door and not a telephone.
There was Theia. He’d been dreaming about her. What was the dream about?
Lucien rubbed his eyes. “Theia?”
“You weren’t answering my texts, and then I remembered your phone was broken so I thought I’d stop by on my way back from Flagstaff.”
“Flagstaff?” He was drawing a blank on what she was talking about. Or what day it was. “What time is it?” It was dark out but not fully.
Theia laughed, and the sound tugged at his heart even as something else about her was filling him with anxiety. “It’s 7:30. I drove to my place in Flagstaff to get some things and I was heading back to feed Puddleglum. I told you in my text...which of course you didn’t get.”
“No, I got...something.” He was starting to remember.
Theia gave him an amused smile. “Are you going to invite me in?”
An invitation. It was how one let in vampires. And the devil. Lucien shrugged and held the door wide. His towel slipped off, and he managed to catch it and tie it back on as she entered.
Theia’s cheeks went charmingly pink, but she frowned at his reticence. “Did I do something wrong? You seem upset.”
“I’m not upset.” Of course he was upset. He wanted to scream at the universe and punch the Fates in the face.
Theia had demon blood. And she smelled like sunshine and citrus, and he just wanted to kiss her and shut his brain up.
On the coffee table, the laptop displayed its spiderweb of bleeding crystal behind the cracked screen.
Theia glanced at it and back at him. “Lucien? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. No.” He closed the door and sighed. “You didn’t tell me about your history.”
“My history?” Theia stared at the broken screen once more. Enough was visible through the bleeding colors to know what he’d been looking at when he smashed it. She looked up, her smile gone. “Is that my research? How did you get that? That’s private.”
“It’s not important how I got it.”
“The hell it isn’t. Have you been investigating me?”
Lucien folded his arms. “No. But I should have. You’re not human.”
Theia’s face blazed with anger. “Of course I’m goddamn human. Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?”
“I don’t know, Theia. I honestly don’t. But I know I’m not a demon.” No matter what the family legend said. “And after last night, I’m sure you know how I feel about demons.”
“I’m not a demon, either. I’m the distant relative of Madeleine Marchant. Maybe you’ve heard of her. It seems your family and mine go back a long way.”
“So you’ve been investigating me.”
“Damn right I have been. When you showed up at Phoebe’s wedding acting completely full of yourself and trying to tempt me with the position at Smok Biotech, you may recall you told me to ask Rafe about your family. What information did you expect him to give me?”
Lucien faltered. He’d forgotten he’d encouraged her to talk to Rafe. God, what had Rafe told her? What did Rafe even know?
“I expected him to tell you about what Smok Consulting does, how he and his family have contracted us a number of times. It was a reference.”
“Well, he didn’t have time to give me a reference. He was leaving on his honeymoon. So he gave me his father’s papers. And Rafael Sr. apparently collected old Covent records. Very old ones.”