Tangled (7 page)

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Authors: Erica O'Rourke

BOOK: Tangled
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C
HAPTER
11
M
aybe it was because I was out of practice, or because I’d done it too many times in one day, but the brief journey to Luc’s apartment left me retching and miserable. I wasn’t meant to go Between. An Arc had to bring me through each time. Maybe it was the magic’s way of telling me I didn’t belong, a reminder that I was trespassing, a warning not to do it too much. Maybe the magic just didn’t like me.
The feeling was mutual.
Like a gentleman, Luc waited in the living room while I put myself back together in the bathroom. I sank down, feeling the solidity of the floor beneath me, pressing my cheek against the cool tile wall, willing the room to stop spinning. Every heartbeat sent a fresh pulse of pain through my temples. The mere thought of my dad coming home sent a new wave of nausea running through me.
Living in the same house as my dad would be impossible. I’d given up being mad at him years ago. My anger had turned into something bleak and vast, a wasteland of indifference. He’d been stupid, laundering money through my uncle’s many businesses. Greedy, too, because when that wasn’t enough, he’d embezzled. After my dad left, Billy had stepped in, making sure that my mom could pay the bills, covering my tuition, selling my mom The Slice so she could be independent. Billy saved us. It was what my mom had always told me. My uncle had saved us when my dad had bailed.
The truth was a lot less noble. I didn’t know the specifics. Colin wouldn’t talk, and my mother refused to say a word against either my dad or my uncle, so I was left with nothing but the newspaper accounts of the trial. And while the official story was that my father had taken advantage of his brother-in-law’s trust and generosity, I knew now that they’d both been mixed up with the Chicago Outfit the whole time.
New York was supposed to be my escape. After Verity’s death, it had seemed more important than ever, a way of fulfilling our promise to each other, of living out the dream we’d shared. But it turned out, Verity wouldn’t have gone to New York anyway. Her plans had changed when her powers came through and she’d discovered she was the Vessel, destined to save the Arcs and their magic. The last thing we ever did together was fight about her plan to move to New Orleans instead of New York. And now, here I was, in New Orleans, fulfilling a different promise to her.
“You okay?” Luc called through the closed door.
“Yeah.” I stood, bracing myself against the wall. I made my way into the living room. I loved Luc’s apartment. The crown molding, the old pictures, the careless clutter of beautiful art from around the world ... everything here begged to be examined and touched and explored, because a quick glance wasn’t enough.
The boy sitting on the couch was no different.
He stood as I entered the room, all long lines and lean muscle, concern softening the harsh angles of his face. He watched closely as I shuffled to the sleek black couch.
“You’re looking a mess,” he said, and even though his tone was light, the worry underneath was genuine.
“Thank you.” I sank into the buttery leather, tucking my feet under me.
“Out of practice?”
“Maybe you are,” I said. “Operator error. Isn’t that what they call it?”
“I operate just fine,” he said, amusement brightening his sharp, exotic features. “And you must be feelin’ better already. You asked to come, remember?”
I shivered. The French doors to the balcony stood open, and even though it was warmer here than at home, I was chilled. Luc noticed—nothing escaped him—and with a single, shimmering word, the fire in the hearth caught.
“Here.” He went to the kitchen and returned a moment later with a steaming teacup. “Want a little something extra?” He cocked his head toward the sideboard, with its cut crystal decanters.
“No thanks.” Luc muddled my thoughts all on his own. I didn’t need to hand him any unfair advantages. I sipped at the tea, aware of his eyes on me, a shifting green gaze that reminded me of trees in summer, warm and beautiful and secretive.
He sat down, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. He wasn’t quite touching me, but warmth radiated from him. It made me want to curl up like a cat. “Church was ... nice,” he said.
“Church was a train wreck.” I inhaled the sweet, flowery scent of the tea, shoving back the memory of my mom’s announcement and Sister Donna’s “grave concerns.” “I’m screwed. You know that, right? I need those teacher recommendations to get into NYU.”
“They’ll be falling all over themselves trying to land a girl like you. But the news about your daddy rattled you pretty good. Thought you were going to keel right over.”
“I didn’t.” It seemed important to remind him.
“I’d have caught you.”
“What did the Quartoren say?”
“You sure you’re up for it? Little worried ’bout you, Mouse.”
“I’m fine.” Sort of.
He stood abruptly. “Think you’re steady enough for a walk?”
“You brought me nine hundred miles so we could take a walk? We have sidewalks in Chicago, you know. Lots of them.”
“It’s a beautiful night. You could see my city. I’ve certainly been spending enough time in yours.”
Reluctantly, I set my teacup down. “Where are we going?” He watched my hands instead of meeting my eyes. “The Quartoren’s willing to deal. But it has to be tonight.”
“It’s only been a few hours,” I protested. “Why the hurry?”
“It’s a bit of a pressing situation. Besides, what is there to think about?”
We walked side by side down the narrow staircase, Luc’s hip bumping against mine. “They don’t like me very much.”
“It’s not you, exactly.” He looked faintly ashamed, a rarity. “You’re not an Arc. And they’re none too fond of Flats.”
“Shocking.” I’d witnessed that firsthand, when the Seraphim had tried to kill me in a bar full of Arcs and everyone had very deliberately looked away. “They’re bigots.”
“What would happen if Arcs were revealed in your world?” We crossed the familiar courtyard, gravel crunching under our feet. He opened the gate with a word and a touch. “Do you think Flats would accept us? Or would they think we were dangerous? Call us witches? Burn us at the stake, press us under stones? Human race is a lot of things, but tolerant ain’t one of ’em.”
We passed another couple on the street, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, goofy, love-struck expressions on their faces. They smiled at us, so caught up in their romantic haze they assumed we must be, too. I stepped away from Luc and kept my voice low.
“I’m not just some Flat. I nearly died saving your stupid magic. And rather than return the favor—by helping one of your own—the Quartoren want to blackmail me? I’m having a hard time seeing them as the good guys.”
“The Quartoren put the well-bein’ of the Arcs above everything and everyone else. They have to look at what’s best for all our people, not just a single girl. Whatever’s wrong with the magic is putting us in danger. It’s costing us
lives
. It ain’t noble, but if the Quartoren need to use Vee’s baby sister to convince you, they will. And they won’t lose sleep over it.”
“These are the people who are going to take care of Constance? Maybe she’d be better off without them.”
We turned down a brick-paved street, so narrow it was more like an alley. Luc had slowed his pace for my benefit, despite the strain between us, and I appreciated it. In the darkness, the streetlamps turned the candy-colored houses into something shadowed and lovely, the fanciful wrought-iron casting lacy silhouettes on the clapboards and bricks. My fingers itched for my camera. Verity’s pictures of the city hadn’t done it justice. No matter where you looked, the past overlaid the present like the finest layer of dust. Every corner had plaques displaying the Spanish names of the streets, every third building bore a historical marker. Knowing the Arcs existed here added another layer of stories.
“You’ve seen what will happen to Constance if she’s left on her own. Maybe you’d best reserve judgment until you see what we could do for her.” He kept his hand on the small of my back as we walked, turning down streets seemingly at random, leaving behind the overbright neon and raucous noise of the Quarter.
“Where are we going?”
“The House of DeFoudre.”
“There’s an actual house?” I shook my head. It was just surreal enough to be funny.
“ ’Course there is. Each element has one. You can come here with me, since we’re bound. Bein’ the Vessel, you’re allowed into the other three.”
“Then let’s go visit the House Constance would be in.”
“Because you and Orla are such good friends? Don’t think so. Besides, I can’t play tour guide half so well in another House.”
We walked for a few minutes longer, alongside an elaborate fence, the wrought-iron posts tapering to wickedly sharp points. Our view was blocked by dense green bushes towering overhead. Luc paused in front of the main gate, and it swung open.
“You didn’t even try to open it,” I said. “What kind of spell was that?”
“Spell’s in the lock. It recognized me as one of the House, so I don’t need to cast anything.”
“What if I came here without you and tried to get in?”
He winced. “Don’t try that.”
“Are the other Houses the same way?”
“Sure. Makes for a pretty safe environment. You wouldn’t have to worry that Constance was bein’ looked after.”
I started to respond, but my breath was snatched from my chest as I marveled at the sprawling mansion. Three stories, white clapboard, a Georgian-style dream. Mansions on the North Shore had nothing on this place. “
This
is your House? Or is this just headquarters?”
“The Patriarch resides here. The rest of the Arcs have their own places. Spelled, usually, to conceal them from Flats.”
“Like the Dauphine?” An Arcs-only jazz club, sumptuous and moody inside, an abandoned storefront on the outside.
“Yeah. They cluster together, most of the time. There’s whole blocks of the city Flats don’t see.”
“You don’t live here now, do you?” I’d always assumed Luc’s apartment was his home.
“No. Once an Arc’s powers come through, they usually leave home within a year or so. I’ll be back eventually.”
Because he was the Heir, I realized. When he took over as Patriarch from Dominic, this would be his home and his work. This place was Luc’s future. Because we were bound, he assumed it was mine, too. I wrenched my attention back to the present.
“Constance couldn’t move down here,” I said. “We couldn’t explain it to her parents.”
“Wouldn’t need to. She could come down for trainin’ and be home again before anyone noticed she was gone.”
“You trained here?”
He hesitated. “My upbringin’ was a little different.”
“Because of the prophecy?”
“Somethin’ like that.” He jogged lightly up the porch steps and opened the door to a massive, two-story foyer. A staircase spiraled upward, the dark wood floors contrasting sharply with the delicate brocade wallpaper and wide white trim. I tried not to gape, but it was like something out of a movie. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see debutantes sashaying down the steps in heavy satin and lace gowns or a duel being fought on the lawn.
“I can’t believe you grew up here.” The air was so heavy with magic, it seemed to cling to my skin. I brushed at my arms, but the sensation remained.
“You get used to it,” he said absently, guiding me through the foyer. “This is what I wanted you to see.”
In the movies, it would have been the ballroom—glossy parquet floors, a soaring ceiling, Palladian windows and French doors lining one wall. The same debutantes who would make a grand entrance in the foyer would glide across this room on someone’s arm, twirling until their dresses were a blur.
But here, now, it wasn’t a ballroom. It was a school. Scattered across the room, groups of kids, from grade-schoolers to teenagers, practiced different spells. The room fell silent as we entered, everyone bowing their heads and extending a hand, palm up, to Luc—a gesture of respect. He cut a glance toward me and then returned the gesture, almost self-consciously. The kids went back to their activities, but many of them darted nervous glances at us as we passed by.
In one corner, I watched a girl a few years older than me work with a group of five or six little kids. She held out her hand and a ruby red flame appeared in the center. Nimbly, she passed it to the cupped hands of a gangly looking boy, whose thin face was screwed up in concentration. He passed it to the next child, whose shaking hands made the flame gutter and nearly go out, until she passed it to the next. Faster and faster, the flame traveled around the group, the teacher nodding encouragement and offering words of advice, until a pudgy redheaded girl dropped the flame. There was a faint pop as it went out, the scent of sulfur lingering.
“Beginners,” Luc said, nodding at them. “Once they’ve gotten some control, they’ll call it up themselves.”
In a far corner, three kids Constance’s age practiced pulling objects out of thin air. Oranges, a book, and a skateboard, of all things, would appear in their hands and then, just as suddenly, be shoved into space and disappear. “Always liked that lesson,” Luc said fondly. “You find a little pocket of Between, stake your claim, and it’s like a moving storage unit.”

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