A Matter of Heart (26 page)

His smile turns lazy, like
he doesn’t believe me. Etienne smothers his own smile before saying, “The point
is, sweet potato, that you need to take good care of yourself nowadays. We have
no idea when the next Creator will be born.”

Which makes me the only
Magical in all of existence that is now solitary. All other crafts have, at the
very least, three or four living practitioners. Many have dozens.

I’m
suddenly quite lonely in the crowded Assembly room.

Jonah and Karl have met up
with Kellan and some friends for a guys’ lunch across town; none of the
weirdness from the Guard showdown at the hospital has lingered between these
old friends, thankfully. I’m also having a guys’ lunch, only I’m in Etienne’s
office after the meeting went to a tumultuous vote. “Two hours,” Maccon
mutters, kicking his feet up against an immaculate coffee table. “Two.
Freaking.
Hours
we’ll never get back. And all to decide how much time a
hurricane will stay a hurricane before transitioning into a tropical storm.”

I certainly can sympathize.
My head roars with a dull ache that seems to be present far too often lately. I
root around in my bag for some ibuprofen.

Etienne sets a tray with an
ornate white teapot and three cups down on the table, not bothering to shove
his friend’s shoes aside. It’s a rare Elvin tea he treats us with, one that’s
tart and sweet at the same time. I can’t help but wonder if this goodness is
considered a drug on his plane, as I’ll crave it for hours after consuming it.
“Important stuff, hurricanes.”

“I’m not quibbling with
that,” Mac concedes. “I’m just saying, did it really necessitate two hours of
arguing?”

Etienne grins and drops onto
the sofa next to me. “The Cyclones certainly felt it did.”

I’m with Mac—I’m over
hurricane talk. “I want to ask you guys something.”

“Uh-oh,” Mac says, waggling
his eyebrows at Etienne. “Nothing good can ever come of a girl wanting to ask
questions.”

I reach across the table and
swat at his boots. He laughs and finally moves them to the floor. And then, to
my surprise, Alex Himura strolls into Etienne’s office.

“So, I was wondering—” He
stops and stares at me. “Chloe! What are you doing here?”

“You two know each other?”
Etienne asks, a slender eyebrow arched high.

Alex gives him a quick
rundown on our past, which makes Etienne clap his hands, murmur something about
the joy of serendipitous coincidences that leaves Mac rolling his eyes, and
eventually usher Alex onto the couch next to me. “You and I can talk business
later,” the Elf tells Alex. “Right now, Chloe was about to ask us an important
question.”

It takes me a moment to
remember what we’d been talking about before one of my oldest friends strolled
into this office. “What do you guys know about Jens Belladonna?”

My question takes everyone
by surprise. Alex is the first to recover, rattling off information like a good
Intellectual. “Jens Belladonna, an Elf from the Ranguér region, is a Tech. Born
in—”

I cut him off right away. “I
don’t need his bio. I want to know why he would . . .” I force the accusation
out. “Why he thinks I’m a murderer.”

Mac nearly chokes on the sip
of tea he’d conveniently taken in an effort not to answer my question right
away. Etienne gets up to pound his friend on the back. “Well,” he murmurs,
drawing the word out as long as he can, “that’s a complicated story.”

I simply raise my eyebrows
and wait.

Etienne shoves Mac over and
sits down across from me. “The truth?”

Why do people always ask me
that? What do they think I’m going to say?
No, please lie to me. I like
being in the dark.
“Obviously.”

He toys with his teacup
before sighing loudly through his nose. “Chloe, as I’m sure you’re well aware,
there are always bad seeds out there. In the Magical community, they stick out
like sore thumbs because we are so insular and small. Belladonna reasoned your
guilt on the fact that there have been Creators in the past with exceedingly
foul reputations. One was a very dark soul who found the Destroyer aspect of
her craft preferable to any other. Take for example, Atlantis, on your plane,”
he says, tapping his fingers against the china. “It was her task to destroy the
civilization, and while most Creators would’ve been troubled, she delighted in
it. She was on the ground, taking lives, before she finally erased the
continent. It was an embarrassment to the Council, because while Atlantis had
been scheduled for extinction, no joy should have been derived from loss of
life.”

This isn’t at all what I
expected. Abject horror must show on my face.

“She let a few people
escape, just for sport, she said. That’s how there are still legends on your
plane.” Etienne sips his tea. “There was another Creator, the very definition
of vindictive and nasty. Those who went against him, or voted against him in
session, paid steep prices. Many Council members disappeared, but never any
proof one way or another that it was the Creator’s doing. But suspicions?
Absolutely. People were terrified of him. There came a time where no one went
against him. The Council was a fearful place during his tenure.”

There is no hint of charm or
good-naturedness on Mac’s face now. “My mother used to scare me with stories
about him as a child. He’s like a Magical Boogeyman. Make the wrong choices and
Benedict Forgestream will find you.”

An under-the-breath chuckle
escapes Etienne. “How his mother must have regretted bestowing that name on
such an abomination.”

“So.” I scratch the back of
my neck just to get the hairs to go back down. “These other Creators. They’re
well known?”

“Aren’t all monsters in
society?” Etienne asks. And then, “I am surprised to learn you do not know of
them.”

As I am, when I really
oughtn’t to be. Like my parents ever told me this sort of stuff.

Alex gives me a sympathetic
pat on the knee. Of everyone in the room, he knows just how in the dark I’ve
been all my life.

Mac leans forward, hands
laced across his knees. “Jens was pretty much laughed out of the Council
chambers when he accused you, Chloe. Nobody really believes you’re capable of
that.”

Etienne clears his throat
before taking another sip. He is not one for lies.

Mac closes his eyes briefly,
annoyance stark on his handsome face. “Let me clarify: the majority of us thought
Belladonna lost his mind.”

“What . . .” I struggle to
put my worries and thoughts together coherently. “What were his
rationalizations behind why I’d kill”—I hate that word so much—“my team?”

“Why does anyone of our ilk
do anything?” Etienne muses. “Power, naturally.”

This completely throws me
off guard. “It’s not like I can collect power! Is that what he thought? That I
was, I don’t know, stealing crafts?”

Mac quickly interjects, “I
don’t think that’s what he—” at the same time Etienne asks, “Why do killers
kill?” And it makes me want to throw my cup at him in frustration.

“As I’ve never killed
anyone,” I grind out, “I wouldn’t know.”

“Some do it just because
they can,” Alex says flatly. “Or because they like to.”

Okay, I am officially
horrified.

“Chloe, you are not being
accused of murder.” Mac’s words are firm. “Not by us, not by the Council.
Belladonna was stripped of his position for even suggesting it.”

Etienne studies me. “Didn’t
Whitecomb talk to you about any of this?”

I look down at my tea, which
I have to sip due to my throat being so tight and dry. “He said that . . .”
Just what
did
Jonah say? “That Jens accused me because somebody in his
family had been murdered by a Creator.”

Etienne nods slowly. “This
is true, plucot. Many families could claim the same.”

“Plucot?” Mac asks in an
obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

Etienne is incredulous.
“It’s a cross between a plum and an apricot, developed by a Nymph not too long
ago. Gods, Maccon. Expand your provincial palate every so often, why don’t
you?”

Alex fails at holding his
laughter in.

Eventually, Etienne and Alex
discuss a project the Elf is helping Alex with for his class. I’m not
listening, though; I’m too busy mulling over what I’ve just learned. Mac
manages to drag my attention back when he suddenly says, “You do realize what
Jonah Whitecomb did for you, though, don’t you, Chloe? How he went to war in
front of the entire Council, refusing to let Jens Belladonna’s insane
accusations even have a moment of contemplation?”

“A true leader was born that
day,” Etienne says, eyes serious and thoughtful as he rejoins our conversation.
“People have always thought well of him, but he really showed much maturity and
intelligence in his arguments and a natural ability to simply take charge over
a volatile situation. His influence over the Council grows exponentially each
day. I love how that can happen in Annar. He’s eighteen and, at this moment,
wields more influence in sessions than many members who have been seated for
seventy, a hundred years.”

“He loves you.” Mac leans
forward. “He didn’t even think about the consequences he could’ve faced,
insisting that the Council remove the head of the Guard from power. Jens had
his fans, that’s for sure. Still does. But Jonah insisted, and he got his way.”
He looks away from us, out the window. It’s started to drizzle outside.

The mood in the room shifts,
even though Mac tries his best to distance himself from the frustration and
sadness of his own situation. “Mac,” I say softly, “you never know, someday . .
.”

He laughs under his breath.
“Right. Izadorna and I—we’ve got a fairy tale love story going, after all.”

What would he think, knowing
that my love story wasn’t as cut and dry as he envied? That the fairy tale
everyone sees isn’t exactly true? That Connections aren’t the covetous
relationships people believe them to be?

Etienne sets his cup down.
“It’s not too late, Mac. You could call it off.”

But we all know he’ll never
do it. His family, as rigid as he claims, is also close-knit. To say no to
Izadorna would be tantamount to turning his back on his family and culture. He
won’t do it, no matter how miserable and disillusioned he is.

And the funny thing is, I
get it.

Jens Belladonna is staring
at me.

He’s sitting at a café
across the street with some of his cronies, including the new bossman, Paavo
Battletracker. None of the rest of the Guard are staring at me, just Jens, and
it’s done is such a blatant way that heat crawls up my neck and spreads across
my cheeks.

“You’d think,” Cora says,
sliding the magazine she’d been perusing back into its slot, “he has a crush on
you or something by the way he’s staring.”

As Cora has an unhealthy
addiction to celebrity gossip, we’ve spent the last ten minutes lingering at
this newsstand. “Who?” I ask nonchalantly.

“That guy,” she says,
pointing at Jens. Cora never does anything slyly. She’s considers it an affront
to her personality to ever act like anything but who she is. “You know. The guy
that got his ass handed to him for being a dumbshit.”

Somebody nearby coughs and
takes a few steps away. “What?” Cora demands, noticing the elderly Gnome
frowning at her. “It’s true, you know.”

The Gnome chooses to leave
rather than respond.

Lizzie doesn’t look up from
the fashion magazine she’s perusing when she says, “Tact, Cora. It goes a long
way, especially in public.”

Cora issues a long-suffering
sigh. Lizzie smiles sweetly in return.

“So it’s not just some kind
of paranoia?” I ask. This isn’t the first time I’ve caught Jens staring at me.
He seems to be everywhere I go lately.

“Nope.” Cora’s gum snaps
between her teeth. And then, so loudly that there can be no doubt that he can
hear us across the street, “He’s
staring
, like he’s some kind of perv!”

Lizzie throws her hands up
in defeat.

You’d
think this outburst would deter him, but it doesn’t. He simply continues to
stare at me, like I’m a puzzle or—worse—a madwoman on the verge of snapping and
slaughtering the better part of downtown Annar. So when we finally leave, it
feels like I’m making a run for it, even though we’re strolling.