Lead Heart (Seraph Black Book 3) (20 page)

“I’m Arnold, Miss,” the driver said. “Welcome to Le Château.”

“Thanks Arnold, I’m Seraph.”

“You don’t look like one, Miss.”

I chuckled faintly. “No, I don’t,” I confirmed, pulling at a lock of my dark hair.

Confidence
. That was something that had changed within me. A year ago, I would have silently fretted if someone had made fun of my name, but not anymore.

That seemed like a harmless enough change.

Le Château was a ghost town as we climbed the pretty cobbled streets, past silent stone houses and boarded-up windows. If I had to guess, I would say that the greater part of the property had been uninhabited for more than just Weston’s generation. Paint was peeling in most places, and a few tiled roofs had cracked or cratered; one house seemed to be full of debris, and the front door was missing completely. Despite the fact that the houses were falling apart, the road was obviously well-maintained, with neat shrubbery sprinkling multicolored petals onto the edges of the cobblestones, and tall lampposts lighting the way. We passed through an arch with yet another guard standing by, and seemed to enter a different part of Le Château, where the houses were not so run-down, but still clearly unused. It seemed that there were several layers to the city, which made sense when I thought about Weston saying that Materialists over the years had added to the original structure. Each layer was wrapped by a strong, stone wall, cutting into what seemed to be a man-made hill—for the surrounding terrain was completely flat. A gate marked the spot on the winding road where another layer began, and I was hanging out my window by the time we finally arrived at the top, where only a single, multi-tiered mansion remained, with the giant spired tower right in the middle of it.

Arnold parked in an open Romanesque gallery, which seemed to be reserved as a parking space, as it had only leaves upon the ground. Bordering colonnades supported a giant, vaulted ceiling with open circles cut into each point to allow the moonlight to spill in. The air blew right through, catching my hair as I stepped out of the car and walked alongside the columns to where I thought the entrance to the mansion was. Weston followed close behind and Arnold stayed with the Audi. I passed two heavy stone urns that were currently being strangled by tumbling vines boasting blood-red flowers, and then I was through a doorway and inside a hallway of some kind. I had to stop, then, because I simply couldn’t continue without acknowledging the miracle of architecture that sat before me. The hallway was so wide an army could have passed through it… but considering the other gothic defence fortifications that I had spotted on the drive up, that wasn’t entirely surprising.

The ceiling captured me first, since the eye was naturally drawn up thanks to the pointed window skeletons lining the walls—it was almost as though they were demanding you to look up and acknowledge the masterpiece that hovered above you. I didn’t know what kind of material it was made of, but the patterns carved into the roof caused it to resemble the underside of a leaf; with intricate, spindly veins running between almost translucent, gold-painted tones. The delicate designs sat inside heavier impressions, which curved and pointed and arched with the ceiling until I was almost dizzy with it all. I turned away when Weston cleared his throat, and then I trailed slowly after the man as he chose the hallway leading to the left: it split off from us at a ninety-degree angle, probably walking around the entire outside of the place. The floor beneath me was smooth and ancient-looking, white marble interspersed with granite, polished to an impressive sheen. The windows boasted both stained glass and normal, rippled glass, but the windows were all in the same arched shape, with three large vertical panes of glass below several smaller, decorative panes.

Weston’s dress shoes made a sound against the ground that was both sharp and muted at once, and my chameleon sneakers made no sound at all as the rubber soles brushed against the smooth stone. We walked for a long time, and I almost wished that there was some kind of medieval elevator to take us to where we needed to go, though I suspected that had more to do with my headache. Eventually, we stopped at one of the sliding, stained-glass doors that dotted the giant hallway, and Weston pulled them open, revealing an indoor courtyard.

I gasped, spilling into the room before him and moving to touch each of the exotic plants. I ran my finger through the elaborate fountain, peered at the gargoyle currently spitting a slow stream of water, and tested out at least two of the white stone benches before Weston was on the move again. He started up a large marble staircase with balustrades polished to a blinding sheen, and I reluctantly followed him. The courtyard had been lit by dim lanterns, but as we passed up the staircase and back ‘inside,’ it grew darker. Weston fiddled for a moment in the dark and then light snapped into existence, too bright after the magic of below. He dimmed the lights after seeing my wince, which was oddly thoughtful. I followed him to the nearest wall, where he pressed a button to call…
an elevator? Really?

Sure enough, the wall slid aside to reveal an elevator car and I walked on auto-pilot, delivering myself into the space as Weston pressed the button for the fifth floor. When we exited, I had to wait for Weston to switch on more lights, and I found myself in a sitting room that actually managed to look lived-in.

“Most of the livable wings are on this floor,” Weston explained to me, sounding tired himself. He kept sneaking glances at my collar, too. Probably wondering if it was going to make his pretty castle go
boom
. “I didn’t actually have time to ask the servants to ready any of the other wings, but three of the residences have been maintained in my sons’ absences. The closest is Cabe’s, it’s the first door in that corridor over there. Jack should be here soon, and we’ll get that… collar dealt with.”

I nodded, twisting my hands awkwardly. “You never answered my question before. I really don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing here. You’ve managed to get to me before the Klovoda, you’ve managed to get me away from Gerald—where
is
he, by the way? He’s not going to appear while I’m staying here, is he?”

“No,” Weston answered solemnly, “he’s dead.”

I paused, confusion worsening my headache until I was forced to take a seat in one of the armchairs in lieu of collapsing. “He died once before.”

“This time he’s really dead. He made the mistake of paying the dungeons a visit to taunt Silas, and Silas overpowered his guards and attacked. It served Gerald right.”

I groaned, letting my head fall into my hands. “I’ve been through this before. It’s like history repeating itself.”

“You can’t really be mourning that man. He was an idiot. If Silas hadn’t killed him, I was planning on having him convicted or killed myself.”

“He’s my brother’s father. I care about Tariq—”

“Tariq isn’t your brother—”

“
And
, it’s not
Gerald
I’m mourning for. It’s Silas.”

Weston shook his head, but this time there was a glimmer of hardness to his expression, a sliver of hatred in his eyes. “Another lost cause.”

Not wanting to hear any more, I hastily stood. “Just tell me why I’m here. Tell me what you want from me, and we can move onto me accepting or refusing.”

“You won’t refuse. I only want you to be yourself. You’ll be allowed to attend school as usual, but you’ll need to return here every night. You may treat this as your home. There’s no need to fret over my presence, as my permanent residence is in Seattle. I only stay here when it is needed… though I
will
have my staff reporting back to me, so that is in no way an invitation to renege on our deal. No more sleeping around with my sons, unless you decide to seriously date one of them. Any of them,
except
Silas. You need to drastically improve your reputation. I can’t have you championing our people if our people all think that you’re a dishonest slut.”

I balked, my face rapidly turning red, but Weston held up his hand to cut off my spluttering protest, shaking his head again.

“I’m not testifying as to the truth of the rumours, but they’re rumours we can ill-afford. You aren’t the only one receiving constant threats, Miss Black.”
Oh, really
? “I have my people to protect, and you are my means to protect them, so you must now present yourself in a way that they find trustworthy. Every day I receive an anonymous threat from some human or another. Maybe tomorrow it will be a wannabe military hero with nothing better to do than chase after a race of people that some conspiracy blog on the Internet has deemed impure, or maybe it will be a teenage hacker, who wishes to be rid of us because we won’t respond to their constant, childish blackmailing. Maybe it’ll be a former Zev, who was expelled from our society and resents that the benefits of our society are no longer accessible to them. Whoever it is, I need to be able to burn that threat
knowing
that our bluff is as great as theirs.

“You probably haven’t thought of our situation in these terms yet, but over the centuries, the humans have only grown stronger while the Atmá power in each passing Zevghéri generation grows more diluted. They tried to wipe our people out completely in the middle ages, and now they’re gearing up for another genocide. Dominic knew it, I know it… they haven’t conceived of us growing
stronger
, so they think that it will a simple, clean operation. It won’t be. And once we train you and the other test subjects up, you will stand at the forefront of our race for all the humans to see: pillars of strength and power.”

“I get it,” I croaked, wanting Weston to stop talking more than anything. I retreated in silence, pushing upon the door that Weston had indicated earlier and disappearing into the room.

Weston was insane.

His plan would never work, and I wasn’t sure how I was going to prevent it… but I would. I wasn’t an instrument of persuasion, or a symbol to rally around. I was… I was just Seraph Black, and what that meant was something that only I could decide. I wasn’t a test subject without parents, searching for purpose, desperate to protect the underdog—the way Weston apparently saw me. I
had
family, I
had
purpose, and I was well aware that I
couldn’t
protect every person out there needing protection. Weston had invested too much in a desperate plan to change the world, and now it was too late for him to admit that the plan was a failure, so he was going to force it into being, and the rest of us would suffer.

I would have to be the one to stop him.

Cabe’s ‘residence’ began with a formal sitting room to greet you as soon as you left the hallway. It looked entirely unused, and even though everything had been kept spotless, I still
felt
as if there was a layer of forgotten dust that blanketed the space. I was quick to pass through the room and into the bedroom beyond. The bed had a headboard that stretched almost three times the size of a normal headboard, and between the dancing patterns carved into the wood were panels of golden suede padding. I shook my head a little, running my fingers over the pale gold bedding, briefly enjoying the slide of silk beneath my touch before I moved on to the windows. They were set high and wide, tempered glass held between the careful fingers of dark-toned wood, forming doors that I suspected led out to a balcony of some kind. I could see the winding, cobblestoned road below lit by lampposts and disappearing gradually into darkness. Beyond that, the moonlight barely hinted at a long stretch of flat, empty terrain.

There were no personal effects left inside the room, though the wardrobe was half-filled with clothes, and several pairs of shoes lined a special shoe cabinet. There were no photo frames, no paintings on the wall, and no books lying around. I shrugged off an uneasy shiver, moving to explore the attached bathroom. There were no toiletries inside the marble shower, but a full bottle of shampoo and conditioner had been stacked under the cabinet, waiting for someone to use them. I frowned, opening the cap and smelling the shampoo. A light spring scent hit me, causing something suspiciously like a sob to catch in the back of my throat. Cabe still used the same kind of shampoo.

I moved the shampoo and conditioner into the shower and then turned back to consult the mirror, notching my hands against the marble sink. My hair was a mess, my bandages were beginning to unravel, and my eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. If I was honest with myself, I looked like a crazed person. The collar glared at me from the mirror, looking annoyingly perfect and unmarred in contrast to my general appearance. I wanted to rip it off and shove it down the messenger’s throat, and now that my valcrick was back… I almost
wished
that he would hunt me down and try to end it once and for all. I would make both of us go
boom
, and if I was lucky, the valcrick would put me back together again afterwards.