Much of Madness (The Conexus Chronicles Book 1)
Page 19
A little while later, Finn knocked softly on her door. “We need to talk, love.” He opened the door and stepped inside when she did not protest.
Seraphina sat propped on her bed pretending to compare an herbal diagram in her notes to a more detailed illustration in a wilderness field guide.
“Oh no, oh please, Rhett,” Seraphina said, exaggerating her Southern accent. She threw her arm across her face over-dramatizing. “Don’t break up with me today. My poor, delicate heart could not take the rejection.”
She raised her head in synchronization with her arm dropping. “Let me guess, it’s not me, it’s you?”
Finn sat on her bed and didn’t take the comedic bait.
Uh, oh.
Seraphina tried to deflect. She did not want to participate in what she knew was coming. Maybe Finn would catch the hint and leave it alone. “What’s going on, Finn? Trouble with Khat?”
“No. Khat’s fine. We’re fine. You know what this is about. I know you overheard, well, some of what Marceau and I were talking about earlier. So we must talk about your feelings for him.” Finn looked at her, his expression softened. “I see the signs, love. I know you as well as I’ve ever known anyone. You care for him.”
“Finn, I do not. I mean I like him, of course, just look at all he is doing to try to help me. To help us. But, I’m keeping my distance. I remind myself every day we’re working toward a way to break this curse and not to get too emotionally attached.”
“That is exactly what I mean, love. You shouldn’t have to remind yourself every day not to get”—he raised his hands and emphasized the next words with his air quotes—“emotionally attached.”
“You know I hate it when people do those.” She crossed her arms, sullen.
“Whether you’re ready to admit it or not, you are falling for him. I see the way you look at him when he isn’t watching. I see the way he looks at you too, by the way.”
“But—”
“He does, believe me. Marceau’s affection is written all over his face when he’s around you. You two are in very dangerous territory here. I think you need to stop working together.”
“Stop working with him? Isn’t it enough you’re telling Marceau I care about him and he better not touch me? Like that’s not humiliating enough? Thanks so much for that. But to just give up? To stop even trying to break the curse? Are you crazy, Finn? This is the closest I’ve ever been to an answer.”
“And are you willing to risk death to find it? I’m not saying he has to stop working on the curse, or even that you should. You just need to stop working together. He can work off what he has gleamed from your hex already. I’ll work with him whenever he likes, but you must distance yourself.”
Even the thought of distance made her sad. She would miss him. That realization alone was proof enough Finn was right. Seraphina placed her hand on her chest against the growing ache. Finn nodded at her subconscious reaction.
“Damn it, Finn.” She fell back on the bed. “We’re close. I can feel it.”
Finn lay back beside her, and they stared at the ceiling of her bedroom. “I know, love. I feel it too. I told Marceau to wait for me downstairs. I’ll set up a time to meet him tomorrow. He and I will keep working on the curse. Meanwhile, you figure out what you can from the grimoire.”
“It may be silly at this point,” Seraphina sighed and said, “but I don’t want you two to talk any more about why I’m keeping my distance. It’s bad enough you both spoke about it today. Feelings are a distraction. Marceau needs to stay focused on the curse. Maybe one day I will be free to tell him more, but until then, don’t go there. Okay?”
“Of course, love. I understand. We’ll just make sure you’re otherwise occupied.” Finn sat up. “And the two of you don’t touch. Ever.”
“Curses suck, Finn.”
“That they do, love. They sure do.”
A little later, Khat knocked on her door. “Um, Sera? The guys just left. Look, I don’t know what happened, but Finn kind of hinted I should check on you. So, yeah. Are you okay?”
Seraphina opened her door and met Khat with a deep sigh, her eyes filled with tears.
Khat nodded. “Worse than I thought. Okay. Junk food or whiskey?”
Seraphina looked at Khat and sniffled. “Both?”
“You read my mind. Come on, a hot fudge and bourbon sundae it is.”
“A what?”
“Trust me. They’re magical. No djinn powers needed.” Khat grabbed Seraphina’s hand and pulled her toward the kitchen.
Chapter Twenty-One
Downstairs Finn opened the locks on the shop door and followed Marceau into the alley behind the apothecary. “Want to grab a beer?” Marceau asked.
He was on dangerous ground. If he didn’t continue sending transcriptions from the grimoire, Max would retaliate. That was the last thing they needed.
Finn rubbed the back of his neck. “May as well, I asked Khat to check in on Seraphina. I’ll catch hell from her later too, so I’m not in any hurry to go back upstairs.”
As much as Marceau hated to admit it, he felt compelled to break the curse that bound Seraphina and Finn. Marceau wanted to be the one to free her… for once to be the good, valiant guy who rescued the damsel in distress. Marceau snorted a laugh and tried to hide it.
“I hardly see what is amusing in this situation, Marc.” Finn started pacing. “There’s no telling how long she’d been listening. I had hoped to keep our conversation private. She is sensitive about what we discuss without her present, understandably so.”
“Indeed, my mind wandered for a moment. I agree about wishing our talk had been more discreet. And just in case she does feel anything for me, we’ll work on greater diligence when we’re together.”
“If you work together.” Finn walked back toward Marceau his jaw set.
If?
Finn hadn’t seen her hex’s reaction, but he was suspicious.
Careful.
“My best chance of understanding how to unweave the hex is to continue working with you both. Just tonight, the revelation that Seraphina’s hex shows no reaction to your physical contact with someone you…”—Finn’s brow raised and Marceau hesitated, searching for the right word—“…admire, was a new piece of the puzzle. It would’ve been impossible to recognize distinction without Seraphina’s presence.”
“Look, I want her freed from the curse too, but not if it risks her life. Better to be cursed and alive, than to lose her completely.” Finn turned. “Perhaps we could find another curseweaver to help us, a woman maybe? Surely you know of another who could take over?”
Tension weighed down his shoulders. It wasn’t only arrogance that made the answer to Finn’s question a resounding no, but that was part of it. “No one else approaches curses as I do. My life has been devoted to the exploration of the science behind them. I know others. Older curseweavers who are quite powerful. But none who could be trusted to not hurt Seraphina. Or to not capitalize on her circumstances. Their means are questionable and often involve trickery or superstitious nonsense. Besides, breaking hexes is not a talent we’re willing to advertise—”
Finn’s phone interrupted Marceau. The ringtone sounded like antique alarm bells and Finn’s posture stiffened. He pulled his phone from his pocket and held up a finger. “Excuse me.”
Finn answered his phone with a curt, “Speak.”
Marceau’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Was it Seraphina? Very few people had his direct number. Instead, it was a text message from Vespa… Come get me.
Yeah, he’d get right on that. Marceau put his phone back in his pocket and crossed his arms.
“How many does the term pile refer to exactly?” Finn snapped. “Well, if they’re already dead, you know there is nothing I can do.” He paused. “Administer first aid, CPR, apply pressure. I don’t know, I’m a Sin Eater, not a damned EMT. I’m on my way. Three minutes.” He hung up.
Marceau’s phone vibrated in his pocket again. Need you, now. Giv
e it a rest, Vespa.
Finn said, “I have an emergency, a job. I don’t mean to be rude, but I prefer you not linger when I’m not home until we finish this conversation.”
Marceau nodded. “Of course. I’ll just call it a night.”
His phone vibrated yet again. Marceau sighed and took out his phone. Another text from Vespa, TROUBLE. You can help or Max. Hurry.
What had Vespa done now? Marceau texted, Where?
“Goodnight, Marceau.” Finn hurried toward his black motorcycle. The engine roared to a start, and he yelled, “Tomorrow, we’ll finish our talk.” He put on his helmet and was gone.
Marceau checked his phone. Vespa still hadn’t responded. If she called in Max, his problems had just escalated. He repeated his text, Where Vespa? and then climbed into his rented SUV and hit the steering wheel. This night had certainly gone downhill.
AAA. Hurry.
Marceau turned onto Second Avenue and headed toward ground zero for all supernatural activity in Nashville, Absinthe & Alchemy.
A sign spanned the alleyway with PRINTER’S ALLEY illuminated in bright letters. Between the words, a red circle had been drawn around the white image of a print boy. A more welcoming sign than he’d imagined, given the reputation of Nashville’s former red light district of speakeasies, gambling, and brothels.
Several young men stumbled around the corner, two holding one up between them. Their unconscious friend’s feet drug the sidewalk as they worked to move him out of the alley. A stream of blood tinged drool fell from his lip. One of them stared at Marceau with the eye not rapidly swelling shut, before slurring, “Man, I’d go somewhere else if I was you. AAA is shut down while they clear out the bodies.”
His drunk friend was rambling, “I should’ve hit him even harder. You see the dude’s face? A fire Spellcaster too. I knocked him out cold before he could even light a damn match. Let’s wait. I’ll kick his ass again.”
Marceau walked past them with only a nod.
The friend argued, “Shut it. We’re taking my brother home. I bet he’s got a concussion from that crazy bitch. She kicked him right in the head.”
Sounded like Vespa’s usual tricks.
Marceau approached the club and was stopped by a large framed security guard. “Club’s closed. No one goes in.”
“I’m here to pick up an acquaintance, I believe she is inside.”
“Third floor’s on lockdown, no more girls dancing tonight. Move along.” The guard flexed his shoulders.
Marceau noticed a familiar black motorcycle parked in the alley. Not good. But he saw an opportunity. “I’m here to assist the Sin Eater. I suggest you let me pass. Or should I explain to him that you hampered my progress?”
The guard’s lip curled in distaste. “Should’ve known you were with him. You the cleanup guy? Go on in, mind the blood. Zeke’s up on three. Whatever’s left of the girl when Zeke’s done with her, will be up there too.”
Marceau hurried past and entered Absinthe. He was surprised by the distinguished appearance of the place. A long, elegant wood bar lined the right wall. Victorian sconces illuminated each booth along the left wall. Halfway down the narrow room, a man’s shins lay atop a booth table. His cowboy boots glistened with blood. The man stuffed into the tufted leather seat had a deep puncture through his left cheek through which Marceau could see a few of his upper teeth. Marceau sincerely hoped the hole wasn’t from one of Vespa’s designer heels.
An antique elevator door slid open at the end of the bar. Two men wearing black shirts with SECURITY printed on their muscled backs carried out another body by its wrists and ankles. This one was an older man in an expensive suit with a pencil mustache. His eyes were open but unseeing.
“Does this one still go to the Sin Eater? Think he stopped breathing halfway down.”
“Naw, he’s toast. Zeke’s gonna be hot too, had a big ol’ tab,” answered the other guard. “But take him in there. I ain’t waitin’ to see if’n he gets possessed, no ways.” The guard with the thick accent nodded at Marceau as they carried the corpse through an exit door.
Marceau stared at several pairs of feet lined up on the floor of the back room. An ominous figure in a flowing black robe turned toward the guards. Although Marceau saw only his chin, combined with his rigid posture and a flash of his pale hand, it was enough. Finn.
Rushing into the empty elevator, he slid the heavy, iron gate closed. He pushed up the antique lever and the elevator began to rise.
As the second floor came into view, he lowered the lever and it stopped. Alchemy, the second floor, was a wreck. Round tables lay on their sides. Cards, poker chips, small bottles and vials of various colors, and chairs covered the rich, green damask carpet. The walls were draped in black. Round booths were shielded by draperies along the walls. At the far end of the room, several wait staff dressed in crisp white shirts and black slacks were righting tables and stacking chairs. They paused when the elevator stopped, turning to stare at Marceau. An imposing bartender, muscular and covered in tattoos, stepped forward. He tilted his head and ran a hand through long, blonde hair that was shaved tight on the sides. Something vaguely familiar about his blue eyes made Marceau wonder who he was, but he did not want to be delayed.
Seeing no sign of Vespa, Marceau raised the lever again and the elevator ascended. The instant the next floor was revealed above him, Marceau could hear her. He pressed his temples and centered himself as the opening lowered.
By the time the third floor of the club, Ass as Khat had called it, reached his eye level, Marceau stood calmly ready to soothe whatever situation Vespa had caused. He had a plan: be sharp, be composed, and take control. Anything to keep Max from getting involved.
Vespa argued, “It’s not my fault they started fighting. Maybe you shouldn’t serve so much alcohol. Ever think of that? Probably because your dancers weren’t keeping them properly entertained. I could show them a thing or two, to help satisfy your guests.”
A man’s voice boomed. “And maybe whatever you released in a crowded bar caused a riot. Every man in here went berserk. What the hell were you thinking?”
Marceau slid the iron gate open. “Oh, I’m sure a few women went berserk as well if she released her pheromones in such an enclosed area. They overcome both sexes with fervor when she’s this careless.”
Two guards parted and the semi-transparent form of an angry man turned toward Marceau. “Who the hell are you? I called in the cleanup crew.”
Marceau stepped over the body of a Sanguine. The pale, nightmarish creature was dead though the bloodsucking tentacles that made up its mouth still moved. One reached out near his leg as he stepped over it. Marceau’s lip curled in disgust at the black blood oozing from the monstrous skeletal head.
He said, “Mind your manners, spectre. You should be thankful it was me she summoned, or the mess in your club would be the least of your troubles.”
Vespa was secured on a raised stage. She was on her knees with her arms bound to the long metal pole behind her. Her skirt was pulled up too high. A dark shadow colored her cheek and her eye was swollen.
Someone had hit her. Max would not be pleased if he walked in on this scene, not at all.
“It’s about damned time, lover. Tell these idiots to let me go.” Marceau fought to hide a grin.
“Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t talk to the boss like that,” said one of the muscled guards standing beside Vespa. At least, he’d taken his eyes off her body long enough to look up.
Marceau ignored the muscles and addressed the ghost, “The boss? Excellent, saves time. You’re Zeke?”
The ghostly form turned to face him, forearms folded over his chest. “This had better be good.”
Marceau maintained eye contact as best he could with the semi-solid club owner and walked forward. Zeke was imposing despite his present state.
“I am Marceau L’Argent.” He leaned to the side and looked at Vespa. Straightening to full height, he shook his head and tsked. “
Ahem, yes. And the woman you have chained to what I believe is an exotic dancer’s pole is Lady Vespa. While we generally prefer to maintain our anonymity, this situation is forcing undesired introductions.”
“As in the Vespa?” a guard asked.
Relaxed, composed, in control.
“I doubt she has waited this long to introduce herself.” Marceau put his hands in his pockets and glared at the guard.
“Did she tell you her name?” Zeke asked.
The guard raised his hands “Well, yeah, Boss. She said all kinds of things, but I didn’t believe none of it. Audra’s spells keep charms and powers from workin’ as strongly on us. I figured she was just trying to talk her way outta trouble. I mean we all know the stories. The real Vespa ain’t gonna just show up in the AAA unannounced.”
“Silence,” Zeke snapped at guard.
Marceau noticed a slight tremor in the man’s baseball glove sized hands. Zeke turned and stared at Vespa for a moment, nodded, and said, “You should’ve let me know you were coming. I have a private area set up for those with unusual appetites.”
Vespa’s face split into an evil grin, “Where’s the fun in that? Who wants to be locked away from the fresh meat?”
“Release her.” The moment Zeke barked the command, the second guard jumped and stepped back. “But boss, it took six of us to chain her. She kicked a hole right in Mac’s cheek. I carried him down to Absinthe myself, but the Sin Eater said it was too late. What if she comes after us?”
Zeke turned and floated into the guard’s face. “Make me repeat myself and I will take your eyeballs out with a jagged spoon and feed them to her.”