Darkness Becomes Her
Page 23

“That’s the second time you’ve said that name. You are talking about the Athena, the goddess?”
“Yeah. Screwed up, isn’t it?” I said with a small smile. “Your grandmother hid my mother from Athena. It pissed Athena off, and she caused the hurricanes thirteen years ago. Now she knows I’m here and she’s looking for me. From what I heard, sounds like she wants to use me too, just like the Novem.”
He shook his head and let out a large sigh. “Jesus. And you don’t know why?”
“No, not a clue.” I drifted into silence before finally asking the question that lurked in the back of my mind. “I know what you said yesterday at the tea shop. …” But Sebastian could’ve been lying, or afraid to tell me the truth. Hesitantly, I glanced over and met his gray eyes. “Was Gabriel telling the truth? Are you really like him?”
“Gabriel Baptiste can go to hell. He likes to think I’ll turn out like him.” A deep, frustrated groan rumbled in Sebastian’s throat. “Honestly, I might go my whole life without blood, or one day I’ll start craving and needing it just like they do. Who the hell knows?”
Images of what I’d seen and felt in the ballroom flashed through my head, made more intense by the idea that Sebastian might, one day, be among the revelers. What would it feel like to be held in his arms the way Gabriel had held me?
Stupid, stupid thought, Ari.
“He shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that.”
I straightened. “He didn’t take advantage.” He didn’t have to, because you offered yourself on a silver platter. “I need to get out of here. I’m pretty sure your grandmother won’t let me go if she finds me.”
“You came for the others?”
“Yeah, but obviously she lied about that to get me here. Should’ve known.” I glanced around, hoping to see Violet.
Sebastian stood and grabbed my hand. “Come on, follow me.”
I let him guide me through the crowd, keeping my eyes straight ahead and not falling into the temptation of the vampire ball. But I was unable to resist the lure of his hand wrapped tightly in mine. It felt good and safe, even though I knew what he was, or what he was capable of.
Sebastian led me downstairs to the courtyard. The crowd was thinner outside, but we still had to weave our way around groups and tables and servers to get to the small, two-story guest house in the back.
An art studio/apartment, to be exact.
The light from the courtyard spilled into the room as we entered, revealing easels, canvases, paint supplies, and a long counter and sink. Beyond the front room were a seating area, a bedroom, and a kitchen.
“This will be a safe place to talk.”
I stopped just inside the door and removed my mask. “Since when do guys want to talk?”
He paused when he realized I wasn’t following him. He came back, grabbed my hand, and led me to the couch. “Look, if my grandmother wants you to stay in New 2, and there’s a goddess after your ass, then yeah, I want to talk. Start from the beginning.”
My skirt billowed around me as I sat down. I held the mask in my lap. It winked as one of the rhinestones caught the light from outside. I drew in a deep breath, shifting so that I could draw one leg up and face Sebastian. And then I told him everything I knew. From my visit to Rocquemore House, to the letters in the box, my curse, the guys I’d killed, the plantation house on River Road, and everything I’d learned from eavesdropping at Michel’s. The words should’ve sounded far-fetched and ridiculous, but they weren’t. They were my life. And as I spoke, it was as if the words solidified. No more disbelieving. No more thinking any of this was insane. No more hiding. Like Violet, I was different. And here in New 2, in front of Sebastian, I didn’t have to pretend.
“It doesn’t make sense,” he finally said after I finished. “Why would Athena curse the women in your family to have eyes like yours and hair . . . like moonlight?” He reached behind my head and undid my bun, but I grabbed his hand.
“No. Please.”
He continued to unravel my hair. I held my breath. A dry lump rose in my throat, and my heart began to thump harder and faster. “Why,” he began in a low voice, “give your ancestors this beauty and then make them die before their twenty-first birthday?”
“I don’t know.” I looked down at my hands resting in my lap and shivered in the chilly air, thinking of the harpy. “I’m not sure I want to find out.”
He released my hair, took both of my hands in his, and warmed them with his own. “We need to stay off the radar long enough to figure out your past.”
“Too bad we can’t just ask the Novem. They seem to know all about it.”
I paused, listening to the hum of the party outside, the occasional burst of laughter, the clink of silverware, the orchestra. To most of the people here, it was probably a cheerful sound, but not to me. To me the sounds were deceptive and only highlighted the threat existing here. “Where do you think the others are, then?” I asked. “Because they weren’t back at the house. Violet was the only one there.”
“I don’t know. When my grandmother’s runner found us looking for you down by the river, Henri said they’d go back to the GD. I came here to clean up and wait for you.”
“What about your dad?”
“If he’s back, he’ll be here tonight. But first we need to make sure Josephine didn’t have someone pick up the others once I left. She’s lost her mind if she thinks she can hold you here against your will, or use my friends as bait.” He glanced at his watch and stood. “We have enough time.”
I rose with him, hiking up the strap to the τ?ραζ blade under the material of my skirt. “Time for what?”
His eyes darted away. Instantly his posture was stiff and his body language uncomfortable. “The ball gets a little crazy around midnight.”
My heart skipped. “What do you mean, crazy?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew what he meant.
“’Tis the season,” he said. “The time to . . . indulge. Once Mardi Gras is over and Lent begins, we fast too. It’s tradition. So during Mardi Gras . . .”
They gorge themselves on blood, and probably sex and any number of decadent pleasures. I understood. He didn’t need to spell it out. I suddenly felt very small standing before him. “So you’ve really never had the urge? Not even once?”
“I never said I didn’t have the urge. I don’t want blood to rule my life like it does some. Once you take it, it’s like a drug.” He stared out the window to the masked revelers in the courtyard. “Warm, rich, never enough.”
I nodded, fidgeting with my mask. “Kind of like chocolate.” I tried to hold in my grin. Casey always said I had a weird sense of humor that came at the oddest times.
He blinked before bursting into laughter. He had the nicest laugh and the most incredible smile I’d ever seen. It lit his gray eyes and sliced attractive little dimples into his cheeks. “Yeah. I guess it is like chocolate.”
Some of the tension left the room.
He grabbed my hand and opened the door as I slid the mask over my face. “Just stay close and you’ll be fine. We’ll find Violet, make sure the others aren’t really here somewhere, and then you’re getting the hell away from this house.”
Fifteen
AS SEBASTIAN LED THE WAY THROUGH THE CROWD, IT WAS impossible for me to keep my eyes on his back; the lure of sequins and satin, masks and mystery, was too hard to avoid. The soft murmur of voices, the music, the colors, and the light reflecting off everything made the entire house pulse.
He moved fast, weaving through bodies, allowing me to catch only small glimpses of things, things I tried not to search out, but couldn’t resist. I was drawn so easily, finding dark, hidden places, couples engaged in more than just dancing or conversing. My heart leaped at the flash of small, white fangs, the single drop of blood that gleamed on the corner of a smiling mouth with the same luster as a teardrop ruby, before a tongue darted out and licked it away.
Sebastian tugged at me, the movement drawing my attention. We’d stopped near the second-story balcony. The air was even cooler than before, easier to breathe, and it sure as hell helped to clear my head again.
The loud bang of cymbals and drums from outside drew closer, drowning out the orchestra. The guests inside the house surged to the balcony. Sebastian cursed, squeezing my hand tightly as we were carried with the tide and jostled onto the balcony railing as the Mardi Gras parade rounded the corner.
All around us, the guests yelled and cheered, their drinks sloshing over their glasses, their eyes lit with alcohol, their cheeks flushed with blood, excitement, and the sensory delights of the parade.
Floats began to pass by, one after another in slow succession, each depicting life at sea in some way or another. “The Poseidon Parade,” Sebastian said.
Men stood aboard what appeared to be a centuries-old warship, their faces turned toward the balcony, eyes subdued beneath plain gold masks with hooked noses. They wore Napoleon-style hats and long, decorative coats and white stockings. Some of the crowd called down to them, but they didn’t move a muscle, just continued to stare at us. The effect was unnerving.
Mermaids occupied the next float. They tossed beads into the crowd lining the street and up to the balcony. The people behind us pushed forward, pinning us even harder against the railing. Sebastian’s arms went around my waist, and I knew it was an instinctive gesture—not because he wanted to hold me that closely.
He leaned down, lips close to my ear so I could hear. “We should check the house while everyone’s distracted.”
As he spoke, another float passed by, a scene depicting a sea cliff where half-naked sirens reclined, waiting for unsuspecting sailors to approach. The music that came from the float was designed to sound like a lure, a siren’s call.
Suddenly gleaming flashes—bronze, glittering bodies— darted through the onlookers below. Delighted squeals burst from the crowd. Men in nothing but loincloths and bronze masks jumped onto the sirens’ float. They crouched down, waiting. And then the sirens gestured with sultry, secretive smiles. The masked men approached, crawling up each siren’s body and covering them with their own. The crowd cheered.