Authors: Erica O'Rourke

Tangled (8 page)

BOOK: Tangled

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“Your sword,” I said in sudden understanding. “That’s where you keep it? Between?”

“Can’t expect me to carry it everywhere, can you? But it’s good to have at hand.”

Since that sword had saved my life on more than one occasion, I had to agree.

In another group, kids practiced going Between. The older ones were playing tag, dodging in and out of the room trying to catch each other, while a little girl cut a flaming rectangle in the air, tongue caught between her teeth. Before she could close the shape, the flames dissolved and she stomped her foot in frustration.

The whispered language of the Arcs surrounded us, glimmering and diffuse. Everything was drenched in magic, overwhelming me. My knees buckled and I barely managed to stay upright.

“This is what we could give her,” Luc said, surveying the room with obvious approval. He didn’t seem to notice I was struggling. “A safe place to practice and learn. She’d meet other Arcs of her kind. Make friends.”

“They seem so young,” I murmured. The magic was filling my head with a strange pressure, and I tried to concentrate.

“Most of them shouldn’t be here. They only come to a House for training once their powers come through. This room should be filled with kids sixteen, seventeen. With the surge in the magic, we have to take them in early.”

“Because of me,” I said. Across the room, one of the children holding a flame in her hands cried out as it flared up, burning her. With a word, the teacher healed the injury and resumed the lesson.

Luc watched the scene unfold and took my hand, running a finger over the scar on my palm. “You’re the Vessel. You’re meant to take care of the magic. I know you don’t like hearing it, but if we don’t fix this, more Arcs are going to suffer. Flats, too.”

My head spun. “Can we go?”

His eyebrows drew together, but he led the way back through the house. “I’d give you more of a tour, but the Quartoren’s waiting.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

He shrugged as we crossed the verdant lawn and headed toward the French Quarter. “There’s always a choice. It’s just a question of how much you’re willing to pay. But at least you’ve seen what they can do for Vee’s little sister. What you’d be getting if you agree.”

My headache eased as we moved away from Luc’s House, and I wondered why. I’d taken the magic inside me during the Torrent; now something was wrong with it. The idea that there was something wrong with me, too, seemed entirely possible. But I shoved the thought away and focused on the city around me, so different from Chicago in November.

The streets were surprisingly quiet, only a few clusters of people toting giant plastic cups and laughing. Luc steered us away from Bourbon Street, chuckling as I craned my neck for a glimpse. “Nothing you need to see down there. We’ll play tourist another time.”

We passed boutiques, candy shops, art galleries, all with darkened windows. The red brick buildings were soft with age, the corners crumbling, the door frames canting to one side or the other. The cafés were still open, the people in the lighted windows laughing and eating. Some of them even had outdoor seating, and I marveled at the sight of sundresses and capris when everyone at home was wearing scarves and heavy coats.

“It was forty degrees at home today,” I said as we passed an oyster bar with lines out the door, accordion music spilling out.

“Winter has its benefits. Good reason to cuddle up.”

I elbowed him lightly, too intent on taking in the lush elegance of the buildings in the deepening night, the vivid colors, the ornate balconies with riotously blooming flowers. There was a smell, like vanilla and apricots, as we passed a glossy green shrub. I stopped, trying to capture the scent of the starlike flowers, but it was gone.

“Won’t work,” Luc said. “It’s sweet olive. Get too close and the scent disappears. Let it come to you instead of chasing after it.”

I shot him a dirty look, and he held up his hands in mock defense. “Try it.”

Skeptical, I stepped back a few feet and closed my eyes, breathing deeply. The scent enveloped me, so heavy it felt like a caress. “That’s incredible. It’s what heaven must smell like.”

“Told you. Hard lesson to learn, isn’t it?” He led us through a square, bounded by hedges and fencing on all four sides, past a statue of a man on a horse. Beyond was a cathedral, three spires soaring into the night sky.

“You’re taking me to church?”

“Not exactly.”

The sight reminded me of my mom. If I’d worried my absence from school would attract attention, it was nothing compared to what would happen when my mom discovered me missing from church, right underneath her nose. And Colin’s reaction ...

I pulled away from Luc, opened my phone.

“Mouse, you’re about to do business with the Quartoren. This ain’t really the time.”

I ignored him and texted Colin: had 2 leave church. cover 4 me?

“You two an item now? All official-like?” Luc asked. His arm tensed underneath my hand.

“Leave him out of this.”

“Be happy to. You’re the one who lets him tag along. Always nicer when it’s just us.”

My phone rang, as expected. But I thought better of answering and tucked it into my pocket instead. “I’ll call him when it’s over.”

“Won’t be over for a long time,” Luc said, not unkindly. “Tell yourself anything else, you’re lyin’.”

C
HAPTER
12

M
agic was good for a lot of things: transporting you instantly from one corner of the earth to another, healing a near-fatal injury with a touch, and fighting off creatures intent on eviscerating you, for example. But it was especially good at hiding stuff. The Arcs were masters of it, and the result was that nothing and no one were ever quite what they seemed.

We stood outside a massive cathedral with three soaring spires. As we crossed the threshold, the air quivered and the nave disappeared, revealing an echoing white room. There were no windows set into the high ceilings, but it was bright as day, illuminated by an enormous iron chandelier overhead, crammed with candles as thick around as my arm. The scent of beeswax permeated the air, cloyingly sweet.

“What is this place?”

“This? Just the waiting room. The Quartoren meet through there,” he said, pointing to the second set of doors. “Ready?”

Probably not. He raised a fist and knocked, the sound deeper than I expected. His knuckles left a glowing reddish imprint on the metal, like superheated steel. On the fifth strike, the doors opened as smoothly and silently as if they’d been oiled. Luc stepped inside, and I followed.

It was a cavernous room, rows of seats stretching skyward like a theater. They were empty, except for the first row. Marguerite sat alone, her expression serene. She tracked the sound of our footsteps as we made our way down the black and white checkered aisle. Along the walls, torches flickered noiselessly. Shallow stairs led to a stage at the front of the room, where Dominic, Orla, and Pascal stood behind a massive wooden table.

“Be nice,” Luc murmured as he drew me up the stairs to the stage. This close to the table, I could see symbols carved into the ebonized wood, similar to the ones I’d seen in the Binding Temple. It was the language of the magic, and the markings shifted as I studied them, rearranging themselves at will.

Very slowly, I backed up, goose bumps raising on my arms and legs. If there was one thing I’d learned about magic, it was that anything that powerful deserved a wide berth.

Luc stood behind me, fingertips brushing the back of my neck, a tangible, reassuring presence. I turned, about to question him, but he shushed me.

“Welcome, Maura. The Quartoren are honored by your presence here.” Dominic winked before nodding solemnly, like he’d remembered his role.

Directly to his right, Orla pressed her lips together, as if she wanted to argue the point. She settled for wafting an old-fashioned silk fan in front of her face. To Dominic’s left, at the far end of the ominously shifting table, stood Pascal. His hair was pulled back with a narrow strip of leather, and his fingers twitched, though he didn’t seem to realize it. Between the two men, an empty chair stood, like a reproach. Evangeline’s, I guessed, and quickly looked away.

Luc bent, touching his lips to mine. The gesture was so brief I didn’t have time to pull away. “For luck.”

“I need luck?”

But he was already nudging me forward, directly into the Quartoren’s scrutiny. He sat next to Marguerite, who patted his arm. I wrenched my attention back to the scene before me. The weight of the magic, their solemn expressions ... I wanted to turn around and run back out the door, into the sweetly scented New Orleans night, away from this world and what it wanted of me. What would happen to Constance if I did?

So instead of fleeing, I locked my knees and folded my hands in front of me. I’d come to them. The next move was theirs.

Orla’s fan beat faster, and finally, Dominic cleared his throat. “We summoned you here, hoping we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement. We got off on the wrong foot today. My son has suggested that perhaps we rushed you, and if that’s the case, I apologize.”

There was the barest hint of irritation underneath the words. I didn’t know if it was directed at Orla, for storming off, or Luc, for daring to correct him, or me, for not falling into line. I pasted on a neutral smile and let him continue.

“Fact is, we are in a dangerous situation. The longer we wait, the more destructive the magic becomes. Our children suffer more every day. Weaker Arcs can’t risk casting spells, because they can’t control what happens. The Darklings are seeking out the breaches, killing any living thing that happens nearby—including Flats.”

I shuddered.

“It’s what the Seraphim wants,” Dominic added. “To destabilize the Quartoren and all we stand for. They want to use this crisis to bring about their Ascendency.”

Orla rapped her fan on the table. “Rumors. There’s no proof, Dominic. The Seraphim’s back was broken when the girl defeated Evangeline and remade the lines. They’re no threat to us any longer.”

“You’ve heard the talk, same as I have. The Seraphim are coming back, and they are bent on ruination,” Dominic said.

“It’s nothing but people who feel wronged, talking to hear their heads roar,” she replied.

Pascal held up a hand. “We’ve all heard the rumors, but there’s no evidence. No conclusive proof. But the danger to the magic is real, and we need to devise a solution. Immediately.”

Dominic squared his shoulders, trying to regain control over the conversation.

“We realize we’re asking much of you, but we’re prepared to offer something in return.”

Orla’s face seemed to twitch just a little, and her eyes were hard. “I can retract my decree. We can make a place for the Grey girl in my House.”

“She needs more than a House. She needs a guide. Someone who will teach her to use the magic and how the Arcs work. I don’t want her getting in trouble because she broke a rule she didn’t know existed.” I’d had that happen too many times in my dealings with the Arcs. I wouldn’t let Constance run into the same problem.

“And in return, you would aid the Quartoren? Fix the magic?” Dominic said.

“I’d do whatever I could.”

“That’s a broad statement,” said Pascal. “Do you know what you can do?”

I swallowed, searching for my connection to Luc. It was faint, like an
AM
radio station, and I wondered if the symbols carved into the table were interfering. “I can save Constance’s life. That’s all I care about.”

Dominic smiled broadly. “Let’s make it official then, shall we? We propose a Covenant. A formal agreement, sealed with magic. When the terms are met, the seal is broken and everyone goes about their lives again. But if either party doesn’t fulfill their portion, their life is forfeit.”

“They
die?
”

“It ensures neither party walks away,” said Orla. “Or fails.”

“She won’t fail,” Luc cut in. “Mouse tells you she’ll do something, she’ll follow through. I guarantee it.”

“We’d need something a bit more reliable than your word, Luc. You’re hardly unbiased,” she said.

Pascal pushed at his glasses and then held out his hands, palms up. One cupped a darting green flame, the other a wisp of gold mist. “Your cooperation, Constance Grey’s life.” He made a show of balancing the two. “We will tend to her as carefully as you do our magic,” he said, and the two strengthened. “If you fail ...” He let the green light fade, but my attention was riveted on the gold mist. With a short, sharp movement, he threw the mist to the floor, where it disintegrated noiselessly. “We will cast her out. All of us.”

I looked to Luc, silently begging him to tell me there was another way, but he only nodded, an odd tension radiating off him. I was on my own.

“Will you agree to the Covenant?” There was an unmistakable finality in Dominic’s voice. If I said no, there would be no second chance—for me or Constance.

“Yes,” I said, my voice swallowed by the cavernous room.

With a rustling noise, Dominic lifted a sheet of parchment from the table, displaying it to all of us. Then, setting the paper down again, he reached for a glass pen sitting nearby and dipped it into a pot of ink. With a bold, sure movement, he signed his name. Orla and Pascal both signed in turn, the room so silent you could hear the faint scratch of pen on paper.

When they were done, Dominic held the pen out to me with both hands. “Maura?”

I glanced at Luc again. He stood completely still, lips parted as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His eyes were shadowed and intent in the torchlight. It was hard to tell what he saw when he looked at me, and I was afraid, all over again, that whatever he saw wasn’t truly there.

Pascal whistled absently, bringing my attention back to the choice before me.

My life, I thought. That’s what was on the table. My life and Constance’s, and Verity’s, too, twined together like a braid. I’d seen how cruel and unforgiving a force the magic was, how easily it could destroy people. The only reason I was alive, able to make this deal, was because Verity had sacrificed herself for me in that alley months ago.

I crossed the stage and took the pen from Dominic.

It was made of clear, cool glass, sinuous and heavier than it looked. The ink gleamed, black as Luc’s hair, along the finely etched tip. I bent and signed my name, Maura Kathleen Fitzgerald. Next to the ornate script of the other signatures, my writing seemed messy and childish. The ink soaked into the thick, creamy parchment, the edges blurring. Dominic whipped the contract away with a flourish, and I jerked upright at the movement.

“That’s all?” I whooshed out a breath. That wasn’t so bad. The Binding Ceremony with Luc had hurt a lot more.

Dominic patted my shoulder. “One last task.”

There always was, with these people.

BOOK: Tangled

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