by Beth Byers
“I think we can expect a cross of subterfuge and stronger measures,” Severine said. “Though who knows?”
“How far away is the address?”
“At least three days if we went, found nothing and immediately returned.”
“They’ll expect you to try all avenues,” Mr. Brand said. “We’ll have to hide Thorne inside the house and make it seem as though he went.”
“And,” Severine added, “every person who comes to the house will be a suspect.”
“In, say a week?” Lisette shook her head. “We’ll have your cousins, your aunt, your grandmother, various daily maids who’ve come a half-dozen times before. We’ll be wide open.”
“No,” Severine said, “because we’ll never let up on our guard.”
“And,” Mr. Brand added, “we’ll make you quite ill. The moment Mr. Oliver leaves, Severine will come down with a terrible flu. We’ll use her headaches. She’s had them often enough.”
Severine’s eyes widened. “No one knows they’re not from something else.”
“If we aren’t leaving, they can’t weaken us outside.” Mr. Brand rubbed the back of his neck and then rose to pace back and forth.
It was Lisette who paused and demanded, “Do we actually think we’ll be attacked?”
Everyone looked at each other and then Chantae said, “They may well think they’ll be able to do the same thing they did to that servant couple. Burst in, wave around a weapon, and lock you in a bedroom while they search for whatever they’re looking for.”
“I feel paranoid and mad,” Severine announced, not having to pretend to have a headache.
“This is mad,” Mr. Thorne told her with gentleness that she wasn’t sure she deserved, liar that she was. “But so is my sister disappearing. So is haunting an old woman. So is the murder of your parents along with the murder of Antoine Grantley. We aren’t dealing with people who make rational choices.”
“Who are we dealing with, then?” Lisette muttered.
Her mother answered for them all. “Devils with the face of upstanding men about town. You’re dealing with those who chose power and gain over everything else. Those aren’t the type of men to lock you into a room and rifle through your things. They’re the type of men to murder their host and his wife with hundreds of other well-connected people around. They’re fearless and evil. We need to be careful. They may well block the door and set the place on fire.”
Chapter 20
It took three days for Florette to arrive at the New Orleans mansion. When she arrived, Severine ran to the back of the house and up the stairs and threw herself into bed. A few minutes later, Florette came into the bedroom with Chantae, who was carrying tea instead of café au lait.
“I have chamomile for you, cher,” Chantae said. “Try to drink some.”
Severine turned onto her side and rubbed her brow. She tried to avoid being dramatic about rubbing her brow but attempted to convey that her head was hurting. She slowly pushed up to a sitting position and Florette leapt to her feet, shoving pillows behind Severine’s back.
Florette’s voice was a whisper when she said, “Headache? Pain?”
Severine nodded.
“Grandmère said your mother used to have those, too.”
Severine didn’t want to talk about Flora DuNoir, so a subject change was in immediate order. Her voice was a little too fake when she asked, “Did you persuade them to let you live with Grandmère?”
Florette nodded happily. “Grandmère bought immediately into helping me. I was able to get up and dress and Grandmère said I should come check on you and then I left the house alone.”
Florette’s vibrant blush said that Grandmère had said something entirely different. Severine nodded weakly and sipped the tea. Would it have been so hard to make chamomile and mint for this scenario? Chamomile alone was both boring and gross.
“Andre—” Florette blushed prettily this time, but her gaze avoided Severine.
“My brother who shot me, yes,” Severine replied and then rubbed her shoulder as though it still pained her.
Florette bit down on her bottom lip. “He’s been attentive.”
Severine met Florette’s gaze. “I won’t tell you pretty lies, Florette. Not about Mr. Oliver or about Andre. My brother is a villain, and you are beautiful, rich, and well-connected.”
Florette met Severine’s gaze with an unexpectedly stark honesty. “Yes, I know. But he makes me feel better about Mr. Oliver and everything.”
“So you’ll forget he’s a villain?”
“No,” Florette said and then added, “but I’m vain enough to like the attention.”
“Just don’t fall in love with the lies. I’m sure he’s quite convincing.”
Florette shook her head. “Once you see his nastiness, you can’t not see it. He’s mean all the time. But he tells me I’m pretty and he brings me chocolates and flowers, and I like those things.”
Severine closed her eyes against the idiocy of it all. Florette was nearly half a year older than Severine, and it seemed that Florette was still a child. Or maybe, Severine thought, Florette was a normal young woman, and it was Severine who had aged beyond her years.
“Just remember that Grandmère is Andre’s first defender. If she has to choose between your happiness and his, she’ll choose him every time.”
Florette nodded, but Severine didn’t believe that Florette truly thought that applied to her.
Severine changed the subject again or she’d have been forced to lecture Florette further. “Andre, what? What were you going to say?”
Florette flushed. “He saw Mr. Oliver and Mr. Thorne leaving.”
Severine stilled, and if she weren’t pretending to be ill, she’d have sat up, spine straight, and then leaned in for more information. Andre had been watching their house? Severine examined Florette for signs of guile, some sign that she knew she’d been sent for information.
“Yes, I believe so. I was already in bed at that point. Lisette mentioned a short trip.”
“Do you know where they went?” Florette asked and it took a moment for Severine to revel in the idea that it was Florette who was leaning in excitedly.
“Just family business. I didn’t really pay attention.” Severine finished her lie with a long sip of tea and met Florette’s gaze around her teacup.
There was awareness in those pretty blue eyes. There was guilt in the light blush on her cheeks. Severine pretended she didn’t see it and leaned back. “I’m sorry, Florette. I need to lie down again. My head—” Her voice was weak and dramatic, and Severine wasn’t going to continue this charade.
Florette had found out what the ones who sent her wanted to know. Yes, Mr. Oliver and Mr. Thorne had left town. They had packed their bags, driven far outside of the city in a field where one could see for quite a distance and unloaded Mr. Thorne’s bags into Mr. Brand’s car.
Mr. Brand had then brought Mr. Thorne back to the city, smuggled him into the DuNoir mansion, and he was just across the hall.
“Well?” Lisette asked as Severine exchanged her pajamas for a day dress and met her friend’s gaze in the mirror.
“She found what she was seeking.”
Lisette winced. “You don’t know she’s their creature.”
Severine nodded and then parted her hair in the middle, severely creating a bun at the base of her neck. “Do I look like a hobgoblin?”
Lisette stared, having no idea what drove the question. “You look a bit serious. Like you’re ready to face a potential house-breaker as Mrs. Grantley’s servants did. No time for hair in your face, but Severine—” Lisette’s eyes moved over her face and she gently asked, “You do know you’re quite beautiful, don’t you?”
Severine smiled as if she believed Lisette, but given the look on her friend’s face, she didn’t think she sold it. Instead of replying to that bit of nonsense, she asked, “Do you know that you saved me? I don’t know what I would have done to come here, having left behind all those I l
oved, and only found the monsters that are the DuNoirs and their associates. It seems you only need one ray of light in an otherwise benighted world.”
Lisette laughed and they found their way back down the stairs for lobster rolls and bouillabaisse. Severine possibly indulged in a cocktail on the sheer joy of the name—Angel Tears—and then stopped after one cocktail, so she wasn’t drowning her sorrows with gin and fruit liqueur.
One full day later, after another boring afternoon brightened only by another Angel Tears, there was a knock on the door. The air of the room shifted from bored to oppressive. Mr. Brand met Severine’s gaze and then moved to Mr. Thorne. The two men nodded at each other and Mr. Thorne patted his pocket where a heavy iron weight lay.
Mr. Brand rose. He crossed to the door and opened it. They all leaned forward to listen and heard a surprised, “Ms. Grantley?”
Severine relaxed and then gasped when she heard a thump and the dogs all sat up, ears forward. Anubis let out a low growl and she gasped.
“Mr. Brand?” Lisette called.
“Hide,” Severine told Mr. Thorne. “They aren’t looking for you.”
“I’m not here to hide,” he told her.
“I know,” she hissed back. “But if they overpowered Mr. Brand, they can overpower you. Be sneaky.”
He frowned and then slipped out the side entrance to the dining room and, she guessed, directly into the silver closet. He was just in time as Landon Gentry, Andre, and Amelia Grantley entered the house.
“Your poor grandmother,” Severine said to Amelia, who flushed.
“We asked her to come live with us time after time,” Amelia hissed.
“Is your father Philip?”
Amelia paused and Severine could see it was true. Philip, the probable murderer of his own father. There was something on Amelia’s face that told Severine the woman didn’t know why the name of her father was significant but she nodded. Severine wasn’t surprised.
“I can see that your grandmother was kinder to you than you were to her.”
Amelia waved a gun and Andre ordered, “Quiet, Sevie.”
“The hidden office was in the tunnel at the big mansion,” Severine told him. Her brother responded by reaching out and slapping her hard. Her head snapped to the side and her cheek pulsed with pain. She could taste blood in her mouth, but she turned and met his gaze without a sound.
Anubis growled, and Severine grabbed his collar, holding him to her side.
“He had one here too.” Andre eyed Landon and Amelia, ignoring the bristling dogs as he said, “We’ll lock them in a room and search.”
“Where?” Amelia demanded. Her eyes never touched Severine, as if she didn’t want to see what happened next.
“Upstairs,” Andre ordered. “The rest of the hidden spaces have been on the bottom floor.”
Landon grabbed Lisette’s arm in one hand and Chantae’s in another. Severine went ahead of the man without trouble or comment, calling her dogs. Their good behavior was the only reason her brother hadn’t shot them, she knew. That and the sound it would make.
She wouldn’t risk them. She walked up the stairs and entered her father’s bedroom silently. Lisette and Chantae followed and Landon locked them in a moment later. He eyed them all, scoffed darkly, and said, “You should have just come.”
The statement was dark enough and mean enough that it conveyed another message. They weren’t supposed to live through this. Why lock them in the room? Severine voiced the question a moment later and Chantae answered, “Probably the girl. I bet she thinks she didn’t sign on for murder.”
“They’ll do what they want, kill us, lock her in before she can object, and then she’ll be their creature.”
“Do you think the mastermind is this Philip Grantley fellow?” Chantae asked.
“If we survive,” Severine answered, “I would like to find that out.”
“Granny—” Lisette murmured, her eyes on the ceiling. The elderly woman had disappeared up to her bedroom to nap after lunch. Would she be all right?
Severine closed her eyes and prayed with her whole heart, hoping that someone was listening. When she opened her eyes, she gasped. All three dogs were eyeing the window and a moment later it was pushed open and Grayson tumbled into the room.
Severine rushed to help him, guessing his ribs were aching once again.
“They’ve bound Brand to a chair,” he said. His green eyes were alight with fury, and he added, “Andre is in the office. The girl is searching the library. The big one is watching the front door.”
Severine looked at the others. “I lied to you.”
All gazes landed on her. She decided to show them rather than to explain. She crossed to the closet, pushed the dusty clothes aside, unlocked the door with the key she’d added to her cross chain just the day before. She moved the panels and then stepped back so the light from the bedroom windows could show the panels.
“Oh my heavens,” Chantae breathed.
“There’s no way this is the cache of a man who isn’t a criminal,” Lisette told Severine with her usual blunt honesty.
“I know. It’s why I didn’t want to show you. I am full of shame.”
“This isn’t you,” Grayson told her. “None of us think that. And now—” He grinned and took the rifle case. In moments, he’d cleaned and loaded the gun, handing Severine his own. “I know you won’t hold back.”
“I shot the ground, not him.”
“We still need to get out of here,” Lisette pointed out. She took the next cleaned and loaded gun from the cache.
“I can do that,” Severine replied, locking the panel and replacing the clothes. She took the key from the lock and crossed to the bedroom door, and easily unlocked it from the other side. “You’d think that Andre would have remembered Father and his love of master keys.”
“Who cares about that?” Lisette demanded. “Mama, go for granny. I’ll try to get Mr. Brand free.”
Severine and Grayson eyed each other and he said, “Clearly, I’ll handle your brother.”
Chapter 21
Severine had learned to be quiet when she spent time in the woods outside the nunnery. You didn’t get to see birds and fawns if you cracked branches. She was silent on the stairs with Grayson just as quiet behind her. There was a part of her that wanted to ask him if he was naturally quiet, but instead she slipped into the kitchen. Lisette had headed up the stairs with her mother first, gun at the ready.
She met Grayson’s gaze and separated from him. He went first, heading towards the library while she slipped inside the open door of the office.
Amelia Grantley was the perfect young woman. With her golden hair and ready smile, she had been exactly what Severine’s own mother dreamed of. She moved with grace as she dumped the books off the shelves and searched for a hidden lock.
Severine placed the gun against the back of Amelia’s head with casual ease and the girl froze.
“I told Landon he should have tied you up,” Amelia said.
“Into the closet,” Severine ordered.
“You aren’t a criminal.” Amelia turned and eyed Severine. “You were raised by nuns.”
“Into the closet,” Severine repeated.
Amelia smiled. “To be feared, you have to be believable.” A breath later she shouted, “They’re loose!”
Severine’s eyes widened in surprise and then she heard a shot. She pressed the gun against Amelia’s chest. “You had better hope I didn’t just lose a friend,” Severine told her and then heard another shot and shouting.
Severine stepped back, lifted her gun, and brought it down hard against Amelia’s head. She crumpled and Severine took a moment to tie Amelia’s hands behind her back. She then darted to the corner of the room just as her brother threw the door of the office open. He stepped only far enough into the room to take in the sight of Amelia, then shouted, “Sevie!”
Of course she didn’t answer. A moment later she heard pounding on the steps and guessed that Landon was
searching up the stairs.
Hide, Lisette, hide.
Severine heard loud cries from Chantae and Granny and then there was another thump and the sound of breaking glass.
“Was that your little black friend, Sevie?” Andre called in a sing-song. The gun in his hand arrested her. “Is she dying just now? Bleeding and alone, regretting helping you?”
Severine adjusted her grip on her gun and wondered if she’d be able to shoot her brother. Would she be able to strike him down? Her earliest memories included him. They weren’t necessarily good memories, but they were hers and they had defined her. Didn’t Sister Sophie say that being your brother’s keeper meant more than people realized? You looked after those who God gave you. You took care of them. You made sure they were all right.
You didn’t shoot them.
“Sevie!” her brother sing-songed again and then there was another clatter from near the front of the house. She gathered her courage as she heard Mr. Brand call, “I’ve got you in my sights, Andre. I’ll shoot you and I won’t lose sleep over it.”
“Sure you will, servant.” Andre sounded so smug. “Do you know who I am? Do you know that this town will crucify you for messing with one of its chosen sons?”
Severine moved slowly. She could see his smug face through the crack in the door. He held his hands out in mock surrender, but she could see the finger moving on the gun.
“Are you a chosen son?” Severine asked, stepping out and lifting her gun to aim it at her brother.
Their gazes met. She with her father’s eyes. He with their mother’s eyes. Years seemed to flash between them. Time after time of discord. Moment after moment of shared history. Pain that belonged to them both and divided them.
“Sevie, you won’t shoot me.”
She cocked the revolver without a word.
“I’ve got this, Sev,” Mr. Brand told her with worry. “This isn’t your burden. It’s mine.”
“Shooting your brother will ruin you, Sevie,” Andre said with complete confidence. “The self-righteous acolyte of a slew of nuns. Do you know why your father chose that nunnery, Sev?”