Much of Madness (The Conexus Chronicles Book 1)

by Summa, S. E.

  “I come here every day.” Seraphina gestured behind her to the post office. “The Arcade has character. Plus, I like to people watch. And the spanakopita is great.”

  Marceau laughed, surprised by how relaxed he was around her, “Luckily, I like spanakopita too.”

  Greek Touch was just ahead. A quaint little restaurant with blue-lined windows, and a bust of an ancient Greek sitting on a pedestal in one window, a cartoon profile covered the other. Marceau held the door and waved his arm.

  The place was tiny, with a few small tables sitting to the left and the cash register on the counter to the right, a small grill directly behind. Large frames held napkins on which customers had written friendly reviews of the food and helpful tips on what to order.

  Behind the counter, a cheerful looking man with a white goatee winked at Seraphina. “I know what you like.” He asked Marceau, “What can I get for you?”

  “The same,” Marceau replied without hesitation.

  “Two Spanakopita lunch specials with potatoes and lemonades it is.”

  He turned to prepare their food.

  “Where are you from?” the man asked over his shoulder as he worked a flattop grill overflowing with potatoes, onions, and peppers.

  Marceau saw no reason to lie. “New Orleans.”

  Seraphina peered at him over the box she’d refused to let Marceau carry.

  “Good eatin’ down there. Been there a time or two myself,” said the man.

  “Yes, sir, I don’t often complain. Though, this smells promising, as well.”

  As soon as their order was ready in white Styrofoam to-go containers, Marceau stepped forward to pay. Seraphina opened her mouth to protest, but Marceau shook his head. He carried their lunches and followed her to one of the small tables outside. Eating in silence for several minutes, they each stole glances at the other between bites.

  She fidgeted, a lot.

  The silence was making him nervous. He usually enjoyed it, but he wanted to know more about her. Finally, after taking a drink of the fresh squeezed lemonade, he said, “Okay, the spanakopita was an excellent choice. I was prepared to tease you for selecting such a casual place. This, however, is delicious.” Marceau tilted the cup to her, indicating the lemonade met his approval too.

  Seraphina smiled. “I had enough fancy last night to last me for a while. Don’t get me wrong, I like a night out as much as anyone, but last night was, well, intense.”

  “That it was.” Marceau stabbed a potato with a plastic fork.

  “Look, let’s not dance around this. I meant what I said. The book isn’t for sale. I don’t want to waste your time.” Seraphina paused to sip her drink. She was giving him an out.

  “I also meant what I said, I’m no longer trying to purchase it, or take it either.”

  Her eyebrows rose at that.

  Marceau continued, “I believed you when you said money wouldn’t persuade you to part with the grimoire. And unless I am mistaken, taking the book from you now would be impossible.”

  Seraphina put down her drink and leveled a suspicious frown at him.

  His thoughts were a jumble. Marceau wasn’t setting this up right. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I’ll explain. You picked the book up this morning, I assume?” She nodded. “Then you have taken ownership. The book is now yours and yours alone.”

  “What are you talking about?” She took a bite of the flaky spinach filled pastry.

  “I believe the Blackthorne Grimoire has an ownership hex attached to it. If true, you’re now tied to the book,” Marceau explained.

  “Not another freaking cur—” she started. Seraphina huffed and blew a lock of hair away from her face.

  Marceau leaned in. “Not another what, Seraphina?”

  “Nothing. Just why does every old thing have to have stories and rumors of doom? Can’t some things just be… normal?” Seraphina spoke very quickly.

  The fans blowing an artificial breeze into the Arcade freed some of her red hair from her high ponytail, and Marceau watched the stray lock as it blew near her face. It reminded him of the bright red design he’d seen flash across her skin last night when she finished her spell. There had been something familiar in the delicate curves of scrolled design on her flesh.

  Seraphina’s hair wafted again and so did something else. A thread that didn’t belong caught his eye, a pale, thin trace of old magic.

  Marceau regarded her differently. His eyes no longer focused on her features. He looked around her, through her. He sat still as stone watching as she began to fidget, rolling a small potato from side to side with her fork.

  “Seraphina?” Marceau whispered. “Do be still for a moment, please?”

  She froze.

  Gone was Marceau’s formal, confident tone and smile. He was not being playful. Something was off about her.

  Several minutes passed by, with her not moving and him looking right through her. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t even blinked.

  Then Marceau jumped and drew a loud, deep breath. He shook his head and wiped his damp brow with a napkin, refocusing his eyes on hers.

  Seraphina appeared extremely uncomfortable. “Look, I think I’ll go.” She closed her lunch container. “This is all a little too strange, and I have to work this afternoon.”

  Marceau said, “You’re cursed.”

  Her mouth dropped open and she almost knocked her lemonade over. Marceau caught it mid-fall and set it right.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Seraphina snapped. She ducked her head as she placed the strap of her bag back across her chest.

  “Seraphina. Stop.” Marceau reached his hand out to touch her, but she recoiled.

  “Rule number one with me. No touching. Ever. You got that?”

  He withdrew his hand and nodded.

  She added, “Non-negotiable.”

  “Yes, forgive my familiarity. But give me five more minutes, please. Allow me to explain how I know. Then I promise I won’t try to stop you from leaving.”

  “Five minutes.” Seraphina leaned back in her chair and stilled. She gazed around the area and swatted at the air near her face though Marceau couldn’t see what had bothered her. She took a long swig of her lemonade.

  “Last night, I mentioned my services. I’d planned to trade use of my gift in exchange to access parts of the grimoire.” He waved his hand as if that was far from important now.

  “And what is your gift?” Seraphina asked as she tucked the same loose piece of hair behind her ear.

  “Curses.”

  She leaned in and he did too, mirroring her action without even realizing. Marceau said, “I have a gift with curses. I can see them. Read them. Often, I can find a way to break them.”

  Seraphina drew a sharp breath and asked, “How?”

  “Every hex is as unique as a snowflake. They each have nuances pulled from their creators and intricate ties are fed by the object,” he said, nodding at her, “or person to which they are bound.”

  Marceau closed his lunch container and paused. He wanted her to understand his fascination with curses.

  He continued, “They’re like a puzzle to me. Each requires careful examination. Sometimes the nature of the hex is straightforward, other times it’s more like unraveling a complex web. Also, they vary in strength. The price a person pays to bind a hex determines the curse’s intensity.”

  “What type of price?”

  “A tithe of pain, usually. I see traces of yours. But they are faint, much lighter than they should be. How long have you had it?”

  Her shoulders drooped. She drew in her arms and tucked them over her stomach. Marceau wanted to comfort her, to hold her hand. He lowered his hands into his lap instead.

  “A lot longer than you might think.” Seraphina’s monotone voice trailed off into a whisper. She looked behind him with an empty stare.

  He waited for her to say more, but her mind was somewhere else. “I’ll make no promises, Seraphina, but I am willing to try. I m
ay be able to help with your curse.” Marceau’s hand moved on its own. He reached for the stubborn lock of hair blowing in front of her face again. Seraphina shifted back and lifted her eyebrows in warning. His hand dropped. “I apologize. I don’t know what came over me. No touching, non-negotiable.” He forced a smile.

  After moving her own hair behind her ear, Seraphina pressed her forehead with her fingertips as if she had a headache. “I guess I could let you see inside the grimoire. I don’t know…” Seraphina hesitated.

  “It’s okay. Take time to think it through. Are you still unavailable tonight?” Marceau’s confident air was gone.

  “I, yes, I have plans.”

  “When can I see you again?” He hated the vulnerability in his voice, but if not tonight, when?

  “I’m not sure. I need to think.” She stood. The table screeched as its metal feet slid against concrete, and she held her head and said, “I-I need to go. Thank you for lunch.”

  Marceau sighed. “Of course. It was my pleasure.”

  Seraphina waited, the to-go container in her hand looking down at the box of masks and then around her.

  Marceau took the Styrofoam box from her, careful his hand was nowhere near hers. He stacked his own lunch on top and walked to a nearby trash can. He had an idea of what was going on and it wasn’t good. Seraphina was already distrustful of him. He’d shared too much about his power with curses, and now this?

  “May I carry your box to the apothecary for you, Seraphina?”

  She stepped back. “How do you know about that? I never mentioned the shop to you.” Her voice raised louder and louder while checking the area behind her again.

  “Seraphina, breathe, it’s going to be okay.” Marceau held his hands up. “I think you may be feeling disoriented? Unwell?”

  She pressed her lips together and her brow wrinkled.

  Marceau continued, “I believe your hex has reacted to my power. It’s difficult to explain. It flared brighter right before I pulled my control back, almost like a built-in defense mechanism. Your curse seems tied deeply with your emotions. This unwanted side effect should be very temporary. I do apologize but couldn’t have known it would react so vibrantly to my power. I only want to walk with you until I’m sure you’re okay. I meant you no harm. Truly.”

  “If you mean no harm, then how do you know about the store? Are you stalking me?” Her voice had turned demanding.

  “Your mail. The box and the envelopes all have the same address for the apothecary? On Second Avenue?” He pointed to the peeling mailing label on the package. “I remember spotting a clever sign with same name a few blocks from here. On an old Victorian fire station?”

  Seraphina nodded.

  “You have several pieces of business mail and mentioned you were working this afternoon. It wasn’t a challenging mystery. I assure you I’m not stalking you. I only met you last night.”

  Her shoulders lowered as he spoke. “Sure. I guess I could use a hand since I’m… I seem to be a bit… I’m discombobulated.” She covered her mouth to stifle a hysterical laugh.

  Marceau frowned. “Discombobulated indeed. Yes, that about covers it.” He picked up the box and tucked her mail under his arm. “Shall we?” He made light conversation as they approached Broadway and walked past a line of legendary Honky Tonks. Marceau read each sign aloud and peered in with curiosity as they passed. “Legends, Tootsies, Robert’s Western World, The Stage.” It was early afternoon and already a steady stream of tourists filled the sidewalk lining the famous landmarks and gift shops. This was the heart of the Music City.

  He asked about living in Nashville. Hoping the easy-going conversation about her home would help her feel grounded again. By the time they turned onto Second Avenue, she sounded more like herself.

  “It reminds me of New Orleans in many ways. The tourism, the music pouring from bars, and the street performers. Of course, in New Orleans, it’s beads, Mardi Gras, and the music is zydeco and jazz.”

  “And here it’s honky tonks, cowboy hats, and boots, The music is mainly bluegrass and country. Though Nashville also has gospel, rock, and all kinds of music, really. But the crowds? They come to pay homage to the Opry.”

  “You love this city.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I do.”

  Seraphina stopped in front of the Victorian fire station. It was a beautiful, three-story brick building complete with a turret. “Here we are. Thanks for walking me and carrying the mail. I am feeling better now.”

  Marceau didn’t want to leave her. The sign on the door read CLOSED, but he wished she’d invite him inside. “I want to help with more than your postal deliveries, Seraphina. Will you let me try? To help you? I’d like to examine your curse further, whether you decide to share the grimoire or not. Your hex is quite complex.”

  Seraphina bit her lower lip and finally said, “The shop is closed until Monday. Finn’s doing inventory. We’re having Italian tomorrow for dinner.” She looked up at him. “You could come. I’d like you to meet Finn. I want to get his opinion about your offer.”

  “Finn?”

  “My best friend and roommate. And he’s tied into the curse. So that makes whether we accept your help his decision too.”

  “I’d like to meet him. And I happen to love Italian.” Marceau’s eyes peered up at the old building. “So, you live upstairs?”

  “Yes. Dinner at seven? I’m making pasta. Finn is fixing his sinful garlic knots.” She giggled.

  Marceau’s eyebrow rose, an unspoken question.

  “Oh, uh, a little inside joke.” She paused. “You could bring wine if you like? I prefer red. Though I’m not sure about Khat.”

  “Your cat has a preference on wine, as well?” Marceau’s brow furrowed.

  Seraphina laughed again and Marceau’s eyes closed for a moment. He enjoyed her amusement.

  “No. No, Khat is Finn’s girlfriend. I meant I’m not sure what type of wine she likes. Finn will drink whatever. He’s more of a beer guy anyway.”

  “Okay, I’ll be sure to cover the bases. Until then…” Marceau reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. Engraved in elegant print were his name and phone number. No title or other information. “In case you need to reach me before seven tomorrow.”

  Seraphina blushed as she carefully took the card, mail, and box from him without touching his hands.

  “Bye, Marceau. Thanks again for lunch.” She took a couple steps toward the door and turned back. “For the offer too. No matter how things turn out tomorrow night. Thank you for offering to help me and Finn.”

  “Seraphina, I saw death in your curse,” Marceau admitted.

  “Oh, I know. It was really scary the first time I died.” She smiled, spun on her heels, and entered the store.

  Marceau’s mouth hung open as she closed the door. “The first time you died?” he asked no one.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I invited someone to join us for dinner. And I want you to have an open mind, Finn,” Seraphina said as she chopped vegetables for a salad with a large chef’s knife.

  “An open mind? I’m the very picture of acceptance and charitable nature.” Finn laughed, pleased by his own ridiculous answer, but when he met her unsmiling eyes, he stopped kneading the dough under his hands. Suspicion was now written all over his face.

  “Okay, let me start again. Someone else wanted the grimoire the other night. And when my spell prevented them from bidding, they recognized my magic.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this when you came home? You only said you were tired and you won the book. Was it a human? You know the dangers these days with their smartphones and video websites.”

  She grabbed a tomato and gave him a look. “No, of course not. I’d have told you right away if it was a human. And try not to sound like an old man, Finn.”

  Finn usually smiled when she caught him sounding his age, not today apparently. “I thought you’d been acting strange since the auction. So who was it and
why exactly did you invite them to our home?”

  “Well, first, I was tired when I got home that night. I’d had a stressful week, remember? Second, I didn’t quite know what to say about being caught. I’d already agreed to meet them yesterday. I wanted to see how went before I…” she sighed. “I’d planned to wrap up any loose ends at lunch and send them on their way.”

  “At lunch? And that didn’t happen, I take it, or she wouldn’t be coming to dinner?” Finn scrunched up his face.

  “He.” Seraphina looked up in time to see his jaw tighten. “He is coming to dinner.”

  “He.” Finn resumed kneading a little harder than necessary. “And what does he want exactly, love?”

  “He knows about…” She put down the knife. “He knows about the curse, Finn.”

  Finn smacked his hand on the dough and leaned forward. “You told some stranger about that? Why the hell would you do that, Seraphina?”

  Crap. He said her name. Finn was upset. Big surprise.

  “I didn’t. You know I wouldn’t just go tell someone I barely know all about our curse. Jeez, give me some damn credit.” Hands on her hips, she glared at him. “He saw it, Finn. He figured it out on his own.”

  Finn leaned back, took a deep breath, and washed his hands. He dried them slowly. By the time he turned back to face her, he seemed calmer.

  “I’m sorry. Really, I apologize.” He rubbed a hand down his unshaven face and the white stubble made a scratchy sound. “I’m still on edge from my sin overdose, as you call it. I… You do know I don’t mean to snap, right? I know it’s no excuse that I’m on edge.” He paused and tilted his head, “Wait, you said he saw it? He saw what?”

  “I understand, Finn. But don’t snap at Khat like that at dinner tonight. She’s not used to your moodiness after a job.”

  Finn nodded.

  “Anyway, he has a gift for seeing—no, that’s not what he said—for reading curses. He was talking to me one minute and the next moment it was as if he were looking right through me.” She added the chopped tomatoes to the salad bowl. “I felt a brush of energy or power. But not on my skin, against something around me. It’s hard to describe.”