by Summa, S. E.
“He moved. He’s waking up,” Seraphina said.
“Marceau? Can you hear me? Are you awake?” Finn asked. He placed his warm hand on Marceau’s cold forehead.
“Yes,” he managed as a chill racked his body. “C—c-cold.”
“I’ll get another quilt,” Seraphina said.
“You scared her, Marc. Hell, you scared me,” Finn added.
“Wh-What happened?”
“When those blue swirly marks covered your whole body, you shot to your feet and your eyes went back in your head. You stood with your arms held out wide. Your hair and clothes blew around like you were in a wind storm, but there wasn’t even a breeze. I was trying to decide whether to tackle you when finally your eyes rolled forward. They were glowing bright blue.”
Marceau fought to stay conscious. “I don’t remember any of that.” Another chill. Marceau bit down on his lip in an attempt to stop his teeth from chattering.
“Here.” Seraphina flung two more heavy quilts over him. He realized every blanket they owned probably covered him and yet he was freezing.
“Your lips are still blue,” she said softly.
“Well, at least, he’s finally awake and we can’t see his breath anymore.” Finn tucked the quilts tighter around him.
“How long was I out?”
“More than three hours now, I would have called an ambulance, but I didn’t know how exactly to explain the marks all over you.”
“Marks? They’re still there?”
Marceau started to pull his arm from the blanket.
Finn held his arm. “Best to stay wrapped in for a bit. They seem to be fading now you are awake.”
Seraphina’s nose was red and her eyes were puffy. “I’m so sorry, Marceau. I don’t know why or how, but I think I almost killed you.”
“I’m okay. Really. I’m not sure what happened, but something is different. We’ll figure out what it was later, okay?” Marceau scooted his shoulders back until he was partially sitting up. “Could I have something hot to drink? Coffee or tea or anything? I feel cold down to my bones.”
“Oh, of course.” Seraphina was in the kitchen and putting on the tea kettle in record time.
“Try the black tin of chai, love. The clove and cinnamon will help warm him up,” Finn said as she stood looking blankly at a cabinet filled with colorful tins and boxes. “Middle shelf, right side.”
“I’ll help you sit up better.” Finn grabbed Marceau’s elbows and pulled, propping several pillows behind his back.
A few minutes later, Seraphina held out a steaming mug to Marceau. He reached to take it and Finn yelled, “Stop.”
They froze.
Seraphina’s hand was inches from Marceau’s and hers was illuminated. Red, orange, and amber scrolls traced her knuckles and up her wrists. Identical electric blue, turquoise, and pale sky blue markings traced up his hand and wrist.
“What does it mean?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but please don’t move away. You’re so warm. I thought I’d never feel warmth again.”
Seraphina looked unsure. She raised her shoulder in an unspoken gesture of what to do?
Finn scooted to the side. He sat on the coffee table beside the couch. “Here, love. Sit by me”—he pointed at Marceau—“but do not move.”
Marceau sipped his chai with his left hand and held the right out to Seraphina as if warming it by a fire. His chills softened and then faded away.
One by one, they removed blankets. Within an hour, Marceau was able to sit up with only a throw blanket on his legs. When he sat up, Finn nodded at the other end of the couch and Seraphina stood stiffly. She stretched and moved to sit at the opposite end of the couch.
Khat entered the room, paused, and took in the scene. “Okay, a huge pile of blankets, you are both covered in awesome glowing tattoos, and Finn’s hair is standing up in every possible angle which means you really freaked him out. I hate when I miss the good stuff.” She stomped over and planted a kiss on Finn’s forehead and continued to the kitchen, her hands filled with bags of takeout. “We are still having movie night right? It was my turn to choose.”
Marceau, Seraphina, and Finn all just stared at Khat as she unpacked container after container of food from her bags.
Khat stopped and realized no one had moved or said a word in response. “Okay, I clearly missed some really good stuff. Fill me in over dinner?”
“Sure, Sparrow. I’m not positive we know what happened, but maybe talking it out will help us understand,” Finn replied.
Seraphina nodded. “It looks like you brought a feast.” She turned to Marceau. “You will stay, right?”
“I’m starving,” Marceau said with so much enthusiasm Seraphina let out an unladylike snort of laughter.
They all joined in and laughed. The tense nature of the afternoon was finally broken.
“So, what did you choose?” Seraphina asked as everyone calmed.
“Mexican food, margaritas, and The Three Amigos.” Khat smiled and did her best Three Amigos dance.
Once they managed to stop laughing again, Seraphina said, “Perfect choice. We need something lighthearted. I’ll help set everything up.” She rose. “But Finn is the margarita master, so get busy, Sin Eater.”
“Among my many talents,” Finn teased. He headed to the bar while opening the bottle of Espolón tequila, its distinctive label ringed by playful Dia De Los Muertos-esque skeletons.
Marceau watched the others. They were so relaxed and natural with each other. He was fascinated by their little jokes and playful banter.
Khat threw limes at Finn. Seraphina ducked under the line of fire to bring the food to the table. She set up three platters of still steaming fajitas—shrimp, chicken and beef, and a vegetable assortment.
“Mm. Thanks for getting the ones with portabella mushrooms, Khat.” Then Seraphina came back with chips, salsa, and guacamole.
As they sat around the table, feasting and drinking margaritas, Marceau had to agree Finn did make them well. Everyone filled Khat in on what had happened during the afternoon. They examined the matching hex pattern fading into Marceau’s skin as they rehashed it all through dinner. Their only consensus was no one was sure what it meant.
Silence.
Seraphina broke the ice. “I think we could all use some time to veg out. Can we agree to let whatever happened settle the rest of the night and analyze it to death tomorrow?”
“Agreed. I’m too overwhelmed to think about anything serious right now.” Marceau turned his wrist back and forth.
“Do you still see the blue marks?” Finn asked. “They’ve faded too much for me to see.”
“Yes. Faintly now, the way I see most hexes. I can’t stop staring at them. It’s as if I am suddenly branded or tattooed.”
Marceau helped Khat clear the plates away while Seraphina arranged pillows and readied the movie. Finn mixed a fresh pitcher of margaritas.
Marceau asked, “Do you always have such elaborate movie nights?”
“Oh yeah, at least once a week,” Finn answered. “We take turns choosing the theme. It’s quite serious business. The food and movie have to go together and a bad choice is rather hard to live down. Isn’t it Miss Cowboys and Aliens?”
“Hey. At least, the chili was good,” Seraphina grumbled. “And I had a thing for Daniel Craig.” She winked at Khat.
“Mm. Who doesn’t?” Khat waggled her eyebrows.
“Enough, ladies. You’ll wound our fragile egos,” said Finn. “My last choice was epic, Chinese takeout and Ghostbusters.”
“And don’t forget the Twinkies for dessert.” Khat laughed. “I had a sugar rush for like two days.”
Seraphina said, “Well, you did eat a whole box of them, Khat. Next time, I vote it’s Marceau’s turn.”
“Seconded,” Finn said.
“Thirded.” Khat laughed.
“It-it would be my pleasure,” Marceau replied. A foreign feeling made him frown. Marceau was starting to believe h
e belonged. He was one of them, not an outsider. For just a few moments, he relaxed. He let his careful control slip and watched his friends’ playful banter. This was what freedom looked like. What true friendship and family felt like.
Finn was watching him when Marceau realized he must look like the Cheshire cat standing there smiling. He schooled his expression.
Nodding as if he understood, Finn said, “Pick something good, Marc. Oh, and for heaven’s sake, do not go all The Notebook on me, trying to come off as romantic. Seraphina hates chick flicks anyway.”
Marceau was getting accustomed to Finn’s use of a nickname for him, another way to prove he was different than Max.
“True. I have a strict no-tears policy,” Seraphina conceded.
“Noted,” Marceau replied.
Back in his hotel room, Marceau lay on the bed and stared at his hands in the dim light of the television. Faint traces of blue still swirled across his skin.
His cell phone rang and right away Marceau’s heart sank. Only Maximilian would call him at, he rolled over to look at the clock beside the bed, two o’clock on a weeknight.
Marceau was stalling and hiding everything happening here as best he could. Max was never known for his patience. Marceau had continued sending copies of the Blackthorn Grimoire transcriptions. Once when too many days passed without a transmission, Max suggested a few new inventive ways to kill Seraphina. He argued it was the easiest option. Marceau had been ready that time, though and also had a counter-argument ready. He claimed the book’s curse made killing Seraphina too dangerous a gamble. The power within it could force the grimoire to disappear and never reveal itself to anyone who had participated in, or would benefit from, the death of an owner. It was bullshit, but it was convincing bullshit, at least, he hoped. No telling what Max would want this time. Marceau needed to stall him yet again.
“Hello Maximilian,” Marceau said after the fourth ring.
“Marceau, how nice you answered.”
Marceau sighed. Max had left a clipped voice mail yesterday, and he’d not returned the call. “I apologize for…”
“Save it, Marceau. I do not require your false excuse. Clearly, you’re avoiding me, or you would have returned my call by now. So, tell me… when do you plan to return to New Orleans?”
“I am still examining the grimoire. I’ve been sending you the transcriptions. Surely, you recognize the complexity of translating such a book. There are three dead languages involved, not to mention the symbols and hieroglyphics.”
“You would not have to waste so much time translating the book if you’d procured it as instructed in the first place,” Max replied with frozen words.
“I know, Maximilian. I’m trying to compensate for my failure by providing you with as much of the book’s contents as possible.”
“So you have, and I’m sure spending so much time with the cursed young woman has been only academic, as well?”
“I have another appointment to examine the book today. And I’ll have another email for you by the weekend.” Marceau was tired, so damned tired of placating Max.
“I’m beginning to wonder if you are hiding something from me, Marceau. Perhaps I should come back to Nashville, but stay a while this time. My Ettes did seem to enjoy their time there. I could introduce myself to your fair Seraphina. Maybe after making my acquaintance, she would feel inclined to simply sell me the grimoire and end this nonsense.”
Marceau’s heart stopped and he leapt from the bed. It took significant self-control to keep his breathing even. No, no, no. Max had never said her name before.
“Silence, Marceau? You are usually so verbose. I am enamored with Babette. But I have been toying with the idea of adding another to my Ettes and a crimson haired Spellcaster might make a fine addition.”
Marceau wanted to reach through the phone and strangle Max for even suggesting such a cruel idea. “I will not raise her into one of your playthings, Maximilian. There is no punishment or threat that could persuade me to do such a monstrous act.”
“Monstrous, indeed. Tell me this, does your young lady friend know what you do for me? Would she judge you as fondly if she knew you hex the dead into my servitude?”
Marceau was already treading such a fine line here, trying to keep Seraphina safe and finding a way to release her from the curse. Max in Nashville would not be good, not good at all. He didn’t take the bait. “Maximilian, I assure you…”
“Your assurances mean nothing to me. Your defiance and silences spoke volumes. I will make the arrangements and arrive on Friday.”
Max hung up.
Damn. He only had four days. In four short days, Marceau needed to figure out why his skin was now marked with a hex, treasure each moment with Seraphina, find out what Finn was hiding about her death, and break the curse and free her.
Then, Marceau would leave Nashville for good and return to his life in New Orleans. It would hurt, but in NOLA, he could keep Max far, far away from Seraphina.
Max was singularly focused on the book and would punish Marceau for being otherwise, severely. But distance meant safety. Marceau would admit defeat and claim the book was inaccessible due to its curse. He could handle the repercussions as long as Seraphina was safe.
Knowing he could do nothing more tonight, Marceau grabbed the extra blanket from his closet and gave in to exhaustion. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next morning, Marceau woke up freezing again. He turned up the hotel room thermostat to its highest setting.
Three days before Max arrived and he had to find a way to protect Seraphina. He’d told her very little about his guardian, as little as possible, in fact. Maybe that was a mistake.
Would telling her about Max be terrifying enough to keep her from falling for his charm? Max could be quite convincing. But somehow Marceau thought Seraphina might see right through the handsome exterior to the cunning beast Max truly was inside. It was something to consider.
An inner chill shook his body. A hot shower would help warm him up. First, he called room service and ordered a pot of coffee.
After Marceau had dressed, he drank several cups and cradled the steaming mug in his hands. He missed the hints of chicory at Café Du Monde. The coffee was helping, but he had a feeling he’d not feel truly warm until he was with Seraphina this afternoon. He’d layered on two shirts and a sweater until then.
When his phone rang, he thought it strange. Seraphina always texted. “Hello?”
“Marceau, how fast can you get here?” Finn sounded frantic. He covered the phone and Marceau heard a muffled, “Get more ice.”
“I’m on my way. What is it?”
Marceau grabbed his keys and was out the door before Finn replied, “Seraphina is burning up with fever. I can’t get her to wake up.”
Marceau skipped the elevator and ran down the stairs full speed.
“I heard a noise and found her on the floor of her bedroom. She said your name and then passed out. Hurry, Marc. Khat thinks she’s at risk of brain damage if she doesn’t cool down fast.”
Marceau slammed open the parking garage door, ran to his rental, and peeled out of the structure. He broke the speed limit racing to Broadway and beat the steering wheel until his hand throbbed while he waited at the light. Finally, green. He floored it and wove through the morning traffic. The vehicle skidded around the right turn onto Third Avenue, turned left onto Elm Street, and took the alley to park behind the old fire hall where Seraphina lived.
Khat waited at the back door. As he flew past, she said, “Thank goodness, you’re here.”
Marceau climbed the stairs two at a time. He ran to Seraphina’s room and skidded to a halt at the foot of her bed.
Finn had large, plastic bags of ice placed along her arms and legs. Seraphina wore only a green tank top and plaid boxer shorts. She looked so vulnerable lying unconscious on the bed. Tiny beads of sweat trickled down her flushed face. Her hair lay damp on her pillow. Her chest
moved with weak, panting breaths.
“Damn it. Wh-what do I?” Marceau wrung his hands. He wanted to grab her but didn’t dare.
“Come closer. Don’t touch her, but come as close as you can,” Finn answered. “It’s like… This seems to be the opposite of how you were yesterday. You were freezing, had chills, and would not wake up. I’ve tried everything else I know to do and she’s not responding. Yesterday, you said she was the only thing that finally warmed you. Well, it damn well better work in reverse.”
Marceau took off his sweater and laid it on the floor as he crouched by the bed. He rolled up his sleeves. Finn nodded and Marceau raised his arms holding his hands over her, one centered above her chest and the other above her head.
Scrolls flared an electric blue in his hands and Marceau hissed as power cracked like a whip through his body.
Seraphina’s hex reached up in a single, thin and slow winding tendril. It showed pale translucent pink. Weak, damn. She was so weak.
Her hex feathered along his palm to his wrist.
Come on. Wake up, flare, wrap around me, anything.
The hex trailed around the top of his wrist and darkened a shade.
That’s it.
Another tendril raised, slowly twisting through the air toward his hand. The first one wound around his wrist again like a vine.
Seraphina took a deeper breath and another thin strand rose near his other wrist.
“What the hell is that?” Khat stood at the doorway, her eyes wide.
“Shh, Sparrow. I think it’s okay. His marks are how they looked yesterday, brighter, maybe, but I don’t know what the hell that stuff is coming off her, though. That’s definitely new.” Finn pulled Khat into the room, tucked her under his arm and squeezed tight. “But I think Marc is helping her. She is starting to breathe easier.”
Marceau whispered, “You see the hex? Not only the patterns on her skin but now you are able to see the hex rising away from her too.”
“Yes. Yesterday I only saw marks, like tattoos. Now, I see, I don’t know what it is. Tentacles or vines or something coming from her and wrapping around you. What is going on?” Finn asked.