“Julie!” Dahlia cried.
Fiona’s hand flew to her mouth, and eyes widened all around the room. Poppy made a frightened choking sound. She’d seemed so tough on the street with the souls, but this was different. This was family.
“Ohhh, my baby,” Chatham said, stroking Julie’s face.
She softly smiled. “But it is I who remember when you were born.”
“Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable and take a look at that thing inside you.” Chatham took her from my arms and passed her to Fiona. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
The girls fluttered around their mother as she rattled off instructions. Flowers to bring her. Crystals. Tonics.
Edgar asked, “Isaac, where is Adele?”
“Yes, is she at the Borges’?” Chatham said. “Can you get her? I want her here with us. Especially given the circumstances with Mac. When the boys get back from this soul-run, we’ll convene with Ritha’s coven. I’m still not exactly sure what’s going on, but I can count on one hand the number of times the Quarter has gone on magical lockdown!”
My gaze dropped to the floor. I hadn’t just failed Adele tonight. And Mac. I’d failed everyone. All the witches of New Orleans. The entire city that was just starting to feel like home. I should have gone out to the swamp with Nicco. I should have come straight to Edgar and Olsin when he suspected Callis’s coven was up to something for Beltane.
“Isaac,” Edgar asked more sternly, “you did find her after the incident at the party, right? Codi told us you were together.”
“What incident?” Chatham asked.
“With the . . . Fire witch,” he answered.
“He’s not a witch,” I snapped, and the room went silent. The aggression in my voice felt like an unfamiliar beast. I hated it. I hated all of this. I looked up, checking my tone. “She’s with him.”
Chatham’s chest puffed, and Edgar clutched a fistful of his kimono.
“I couldn’t stop her. She’s scared. She said it’s the only place she feels safe.” The thought killed a little piece of me.
Chatham adjusted the glasses on his nose as if he wasn’t seeing the picture correctly. “Adele is with the Medici vampires?”
I nodded, and he made a beeline for the door.
“Darling!” Edgar yelled, kimono fluttering behind as they exited the tearoom.
I breathed a sigh of relief. They’ll bring her back.
“Isaac, do you want to help me pick flowers for Julie?” Lilly, the littlest Daure girl asked, taking my hand and wagging it.
“Um . . .”
If I was here when Adele got back, she wouldn’t want to stay. But where else would I go? I could go to the Voodoo shop, but Dee might have heard what I’d done . . . What if she didn’t want me there anymore?
I pulled out my phone and sent a text to her and Codi: SOS. HQ. ASAP.
I turned back to the little girl. “Maybe later. I’ve got to go out there and help, but I’ll be back to check on Julie. Take good care of her for me.”
She nodded. I glanced at Poppy, who was giving me a look that said I was up to something.
But I wasn’t. I was the opposite of being up to something.
I opened the door and soared down the street to the brothel.
I had to tell them everything.
CHAPTER 3
Il lato oscuro
Seven nights, seven moons, seven gates, seven tombs. Ren’s words looped through my head as I ascended the stairs next to Nicco. I was scared that if I stopped repeating them, if I stopped focusing on my father, I’d mentally bleed out after the fight with Isaac. Each chant, each step forward, was a stitch in the freshly salted wounds.
I reached for my medallion, but it wasn’t there. It had been too clunky for the delicate Beltane dress. My cheeks burned as I thought about the silk organza lying on the bedroom floor in the brothel. An invisible stitch popped. I clenched my fist tighter.
Breathe, Adele.
I took a shuddering inhale, Désirée’s magic still slowly working on my bruised ribs.
The shadows darkened the deeper we went into the Medici house. The temperature dropped throughout the parlors, and the air dampened, and in the silence, Isaac’s words, Adeline’s warning, and Olsin’s premonition echoed like taunting goblins, telling me to stay away from Nicco. “He’s a monster, Adele.” “Ne fais pas confiance à Nicco—!” “You’re dead; your blood is on his lips.”
My nails dug deeper into my palm. Maybe a monster was just what we needed to beat Callis.
I gazed at the flame in the wall sconce as we walked by, and an image rose from the back of my mind: the Fire witch. The sound of his bones crunching as I slammed the iron rod into his spine. His eyes closing. Maybe I am a monster.
I felt Nicco glance my way, and a magical chill swept up my spine.
Guilt pecked at my soul, but I refused to let it. I don’t want any eighteenth-century side-eye, Adeline. When Gabriel threatened you and your coven, you didn’t run and hide, you got closer and closer to him. You would have stopped at nothing to save the Count and our family’s legacy, and that’s what I’m doing now.
I imagined Cosette standing up to the pirate to protect her sister, and Morning Star storming through town looking for her brother. Would they all think I was a traitor for being here? Naïve? I remembered a ghostly version of myself sitting with Nicco at the Clover Grill less than a year ago—that girl had been a pawn, a rook; she hadn’t even known she’d been thrown into the game. But now I knew exactly what I was walking into.
Emilio had killed my mother and left his own sister for dead. He was a psychopath. Gabriel might be the playboy-diplomat, but he’d stalked Adeline with deadly intent. And as for Nicco, he was the only vampire to ever kill his Maker, and whom León Saint-Germain—as close to a brother as one could be without sharing blood—considered so formidable, he’d hidden from for all these years. Rightly or wrongly.
They were vampires.
Predators.
Medici.
Sworn enemies of my family.
And despite all of that, each step I took next to Nicco felt more magnetic than the one before. This was where I belonged. They were the best chance I had of saving my father. Ironic, given that they’d spent centuries hunting Adeline’s. I might have come to the dark side, but not with a blind eye. Ever since Callisto Salazar had come into my life, my guard was up—I couldn’t imagine a day when I’d ever let it down.
As we crossed the final parlor, voices arose from the dining room ahead: Gabriel, Emilio, and Lisette and Martine, speaking aggressively in Italian and French.
Nicco paused and gave me a quizzical look.
“What?”
He inhaled deeply and took my clenched fist. Gently, he stroked my knuckles until I released my fingers to reveal the contents of my palm: the five burnt buds of chamomile. I hadn’t even realized I was holding them.
His brow furled. “What are they from?”
The invisible stitches started popping faster than I was prepared for. “Nothing. They’re nothing.”
I let them drop to the floor.
My fingernails had dug bloody gashes in my palm. I pulled away, but he gripped me tighter. “It’s noth—” I swallowed a gasp as he pulled my hand to his mouth, his tongue sweeping my palm.