by Jane Kindred
A woman got out, middle aged with short salt-and-pepper hair.
She stared at the broken door lying on the ground and back at Theia. “What the hell happened to my door?”
Theia lowered the poker. “Are you... You must be Fran.”
“I know who I am. Maybe you’d like to tell me who you are?”
“I’m Lucien’s...” The poker slipped out of her fingers and clattered onto the floor. She wasn’t Lucien’s anything.
“You’re the Marchant girl.” Fran closed the door of the Range Rover and came toward her. She stopped in front of Theia and took stock of her tearstained, puffy face. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”
Theia had effectively broken into her house, stolen her robe, eaten her food and had sex on her rug, but she flung herself into Fran’s arms, undone by the sincerity of her emotion.
“Come on. Let’s get you inside. Your feet must be frozen.” Fran led her to the couch, and Theia sank onto it, unable to protest. The older woman produced a box of tissues from somewhere, and Theia blew her nose while Fran went outside and dragged the door upright to inspect it. She glanced at the hole in her house. “The frame is cracked, but I think I’ve got some extra screws in the kitchen. We can put this back up, at least overnight until I can get a carpenter up here.”
She propped the door against the wall and went to get the screws, returning with a toolbox. “Come on, give me a hand.”
Theia dried her eyes and came to hold up the door while Fran screwed the hinges back onto the frame. It closed, albeit with a little wobble.
“All right, honey. Let’s get some hot chamomile into you and you can tell me what happened.”
Fran listened as Theia relayed the events of the past twenty-four hours, frowning at the mention of Lucien flying away. “And I suppose his arm was no longer splinted.”
“Splinted? No, it wasn’t. I’d actually forgotten it had been. I guess the transformation healed the bone.”
“It may have made him feel invincible, like a shot of adrenaline, but I doubt the break has healed.” Fran sighed. “That boy is as stubborn as his father. Worse.”
“You’ve known Lucien a long time, I guess.”
Fran studied Theia’s face for a moment, as though trying to decide whether to trust her. “You love him.”
“Yes.”
“He hasn’t had much of that in his life, I’m afraid.” She took a sip of her tea and exhaled. “I’ve known Lucien longer than anyone in his life. I was at his birth.”
“You were the attending physician?”
She met Theia’s eyes. “I’m his mother.”
Theia blinked in surprise. “He didn’t tell me.”
“He doesn’t know.” Fran combed her hair back with her fingers with the same gesture Lucien used. “Edgar insisted that I sign a nondisclosure agreement.”
“Oh my God. These people and their NDAs.”
Fran smiled sadly. “I knew what I was getting into when I married him, but I somehow thought I could, I don’t know, soften him. That fatherhood would soften him. When I realized what he’d done to escape the curse for himself—leaving it to Lucien—I was furious. I told him I wanted out. That I was taking my babies and leaving him. And he reminded me that I’d signed a prenup that relinquished any claim to his offspring. I tried to stick it out for a while, but I just couldn’t. It was soul crushing. So I left, but Edgar’s lawyer insisted on the NDA. If I ever wanted to see my babies again, I could never tell them who I was.”
“That’s barbaric.”
“That’s Edgar. I couldn’t live with him, and I couldn’t live without ever seeing my children again, so I agreed. And he ‘graciously’ hired me as the company’s doctor, which included treating the children when they needed it. I lived for their bouts of croup and strep throat. Isn’t that horrible?” She shook her head, remarkably unfazed by it. “But I tried to give them affection and guidance from the perspective of a caring family doctor. Especially Lucien. Lucy has always been pragmatic and resilient—not to mention headstrong. But Lucien feels things very deeply.”
“He does,” Theia agreed. “It’s what I love about him.”
Fran squeezed her hand across the table. “You may be the first person to see that about him outside of Lucy and myself. No wonder Lucy’s impressed with you.”
“Impressed?” Theia laughed. “She hates my guts. She was going to drug me and wipe my memory to get me out of Lucien’s life.”
“She doesn’t hate you at all. She just loves her brother. She’s very protective.” Fran shrugged. “She’s had to be.”
“I take it you know what’s happened to her—that the curse has hit her, too.”
Fran nodded. “But only partly. It hasn’t progressed as it has with Lucien, and we may have some luck with the anti-transformative serum.”
Theia looked down at her teacup. “Lucien’s progression is my fault. It’s my Lilith blood. We finally...” Theia blushed, waving her hand vaguely. “And then afterward, that’s when it happened.”
“No, honey. I don’t think it had anything to do with you. It was Edgar. He’s died.”
“Died?” Theia raised her head, shocked. “I’m so sorry.”
Fran pursed her lips. “I’m only sorry it hastened Lucien’s transformation.”
“But how? I thought the amulet was supposed to protect him.”
“Someone removed it.” Fran’s eyes darkened. “And I’m quite sure it wasn’t anyone on staff at the hospital.”
“Carter Hamilton,” said Theia.
“It would seem so.”
“So it’s too late. There’s nothing we can do.” Theia had lost him.
“There may be something. I remember Edgar talking about a loophole years ago. Beyond his personal cheat, that is.”
“A loophole?”
“I’ve been through Edgar’s papers at the office and the house, and so far I haven’t found anything. But I know he had other places he kept things. Safes in other houses he owned. It could be anywhere. There’s supposed to be something in Madeleine Marchant’s own words, an addendum to her curse.”
“You mean the riddle?”
“The riddle?”
“It’s part of the text of the curse. She’d magically disguised it as a household list.”
“How do you know that?”
“I found it,” said Theia. “I translated it. At least as far as I could. I’ve got it on my phone.”
She got up and found her phone in the great room. “Here it is.” She showed Fran the first part she’d translated, the text of Madeleine’s curse on the house of Smok. “I couldn’t make out all the words that followed, but it seemed to be written as some kind of cipher, like she wanted someone to figure it out.”
“‘And from every seven born and gone among your house will the Devil reap a son.’” Fran sighed. “That’s pretty much self-explanatory, I’m afraid. Every seven generations, the eldest son of the Smok family has inherited the curse and taken his place in hell.”
“I know, but the part after—see here? I think it reads, ‘The harvest will materialize...’ But then I couldn’t make out the next bit. After that, I got ‘must the seventh son be bound to be free.’”
Fran took the phone from her and studied the original. “‘The harvest will come to fruition when the déesse...the goddess...’” She chewed her lip. “The ink has smeared here. Demande, maybe?” She shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s right. But the next is ‘seed.’ ‘The seed of the...’ I can’t make out this word, but then it’s ‘of the first.’” She studied the illegible word again. “Armure?”
“Armor?”
“I’m not sure. Her handwriting is so stylized.”
“So we’ve got ‘The harvest will come to fruition when the goddess demands. To the seed of the armor of the first must the seventh son be bound to
be free.’”
They both shook their heads. It didn’t make any sense.
“Wait.” Fran looked closely at the text again. “Arbre, not armure. Tree.”
“The seed of the tree of the first... The family tree? Maybe the first is Madeleine. So the seed of Madeleine would be...” She glanced up at Fran as the meaning came clear.
“Madeleine’s descendant.” Fran set the phone down. “I’ve heard this before. Phrased a little differently, as a daughter of Lilith. It used to make Edgar pink with rage. No son of the house of Smok was going to be bound to a daughter of Lilith, as long as he was alive.”
So a daughter of Lilith had to willingly bind herself to Lucien. Theia didn’t have a problem with that. If it meant legally, well...that might take a little more convincing.
“But there’s one more line,” Fran pointed out. Theia had mistaken the stylized, repeating letters for the signature. “Lié à l’enfant et lié à l’enfer. ‘Bound to the child and bound to hell.’”
That wasn’t quite so promising. If she freed Lucien, it seemed to be saying, she’d end up pregnant and in hell.
Chapter 30
Theia waited until morning when Fran closed up the cabin to face the drive home. She had no plan for finding Lucien, and even if she found him, the loophole might not be a loophole at all. It might be a death sentence.
She responded to anxious texts from Rhea once she was back in range of a cell tower. That she’d found Lucien but lost him again was all she was willing to tell her. She wasn’t about to go into the whole night. Rhea probably wouldn’t tease her about it at a time like this, but she just wasn’t ready to talk about the fact that she’d finally gotten laid. And she’d never hear the end of it if any of her sisters even suspected that she’d turned a guy into a dragon and sent him to hell the first time she ever had sex. That topped Ione’s first time with Dev and Phoebe’s sex tape combined.
There was also a message from Laurel. Once again, she was the only sister Theia could talk to. After checking in with the TA who’d subbed for her biology final, she met Laurel for lunch downtown.
“I have news,” Laurel said before Theia could bring up hers. “I got in touch with Rowan and Rosemary.”
“You did? That’s terrific.” But Laurel’s face wasn’t saying “terrific.”
“We met for lunch, and they seemed really happy to see me. There was hugging and reminiscing, and it was all great until I told them I’d been in touch with Dad’s other daughters.”
“Oh. No.”
“Yeah, it didn’t go well. They think I’ve joined up with ‘the enemy.’”
“I’m sorry, Laurel. I know it’s not the same, but you have us. Ione’s open to getting to know you, and Rhea will come around.”
Laurel laughed. “I’m not holding my breath, but thanks. Anyway, it’s not like it’s any big loss. I hadn’t seen them since I was little. I barely remember them. But it was just one more childhood fiction bubble popped, you know? I used to imagine they’d come rescue me and we’d all be a happy family again.”
Theia reached across the table and squeezed Laurel’s hand, but Laurel laughed and brushed it off. “Really, I’m okay. It’s you I’m a little worried about.”
“Me?” Theia swallowed. “What did you see?”
“Carter’s up to his old tricks, isn’t he?”
“Oh.” Theia breathed a little sigh of relief that it wasn’t something horrible about Lucien. “Yeah, you could say that. He convinced Lucien’s father to sign half the company over to him—they own Smok International—in exchange for an extra dozen years of life, and then he killed the guy.”
“Oh my God.”
“He was dying anyway, but Carter never misses an opportunity to make a bad situation worse.” She wasn’t sure how much she should say about Lucien’s problem.
“And Lucien—sounds like you decided which way you were going to go with that.”
“Yeah, I guess both our visions came true there.” Theia concentrated on her food to keep from blushing furiously, which she knew she would if she saw Laurel’s face. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. It turns out—”
“He’s turning into a dragon?”
Theia’s head shot up. “Shit. You do see everything, don’t you?”
“To be fair, it’s not much of a leap, considering the rest of your family.”
“Ha. Yeah. I just didn’t think... I mean, I figured I’d end up with the Prince of Darkness, not a full-on dragon who happened to be the Prince of Darkness. And here’s the kicker—I think I can save him from being permanently damned to hell. But it might mean damning myself.”
“By signing the contract.”
Theia nodded. “Figuratively speaking.”
“No, not figuratively. I saw an actual contract.”
“But where would I get a contract that would involve selling my soul?”
“From Smok Biotech, I suppose.”
“Smok...” Theia dropped her fork, and it clattered loudly on the ceramic-tile floor of the outdoor patio. “The fine print.”
* * *
There was something to be said for being a monster. Lucien didn’t have to care anymore whether what he was doing was right or wrong. He might not be able to pick up a pen and write a check from the bottomless Smok account to get what he wanted, but he could take what he wanted, when he wanted. And who cared if anyone saw him do it? They pissed themselves and ran away—or simply told themselves it wasn’t real. Amazing what humans were willing to just not see.
The area around Heber-Overgaard in the White Mountains was known for UFO sightings—the Fire in the Sky abduction had allegedly taken place there in the ’70s. So, really, what was one naked half man, half dragon breaking into the general market stockroom in the middle of the night and stealing a cheap pair of jeans, an oversized plaid flannel shirt—to wear over his tucked wings when he wasn’t flying—and work boots? When they reviewed the security camera footage the next day, they’d probably find some way to explain it. Just another out-of-work logger on a bender. He’d grabbed a red ball cap for good measure.
Lucien had stayed close to the cabin, worried that he’d left Theia vulnerable. He’d seen Fran show up, and he’d seen the two of them leave in the morning. Who knew what misguided plan they were hatching together? Fran must have already known what had happened to him after talking to Lucy. But it didn’t matter what they were planning. He was beyond helping. And he didn’t give a damn how they felt about it.
Except that he couldn’t stop smelling Theia on his skin. And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her perched in his lap, head thrown back in ecstasy, that one bead of sweat trickling between her pink-tipped breasts as she came.
Great time to have a pair of gnarled forelimbs for hands.
It was also infuriating that the transformation hadn’t progressed any further. Hell needed to get it over with and open up and swallow him already.
He waited for nightfall again and kept to the forested mountain terrain as he flew until he reached the stunning red hills and zeroed in on Lucy’s villa in Sedona. As much as he’d relegated himself to the realm of monsters and as little as he was sure he cared about what happened to anyone else, he’d shared a womb with Lucy. And she’d inherited his stupid curse by mistake.
He perched like a gargoyle on the rooftop of the building opposite and watched for any sign of her. But nothing moved inside. If it had, he’d have seen it. His eyesight was excellent. He could have used this when he was hunting things like him.
So if Lucy wasn’t inside, where the hell was she?
A little while later, he spotted her car pulling into the lot. She’d driven somewhere? Looking like a freak? Except when Lucy got out of the car, she wasn’t a freak at all. She was just Lucy. No horns. No claws. No wings. No scaly anything.
Lucien swooped dow
n and climbed through the window of the kitchenette—shockingly easy to jimmy with a good pair of claws—and sat waiting for her in the dark.
She opened the door dressed in one of her tailored suits—nowhere to hide wings in that—and jumped when he moved in the dark. She didn’t have his eyesight. Instead of turning on the light, Lucy dropped into a defensive posture, ready to kick his ass. And she probably still could, enhanced strength or not.
“Lu, it’s me.” The growl managed to sound like words.
She lowered her fists and straightened. “Lucien?”
“Don’t turn on the light. I just wanted to see if you were okay. Looks like you’re doing much better than I am.” He moved in front of the window where she could see his silhouette against the streetlamp.
“Fran told me. Why did you take off again? Why not stay there?”
“And do what? I can’t be with Theia.” The words were ragged in his throat. “Her blood did this to me.” It hurt that Theia had been the cause of it. Even though she hadn’t known for certain it would happen, it felt like a betrayal.
Lucy interrupted his thoughts. “It wasn’t Theia. Edgar’s dead.”
“He’s...” Lucien blinked. “How?”
“Someone took the amulet during the night. He suffered total organ failure almost immediately.”
He ought to feel bad about it. He did feel bad about it. But on a level so deep he didn’t know how to touch it. Lucien was floating above it. Stoic. Monster. Whatever.
“That’s why you’re back to normal. The curse fully transferred to me.”
“Sort of. Not entirely. If you hadn’t run off, Fran and I could have helped you get the serum. She got some for me last night. It works, Lucien. It suppressed my symptoms.”
“But it’s too late for me now.”
“I think it might be, yes.”
“Why am I still here? Why hasn’t my damn soul been harvested?” It occurred to him that maybe it had. Not having a soul would explain why he couldn’t feel anything.
“I don’t know. You haven’t fully transformed yet.”