Authors: Erica O'Rourke
Bound (12 page)
“How should I know? My path’s always been clear, Mouse. While you were learning addition and subtraction, I was being schooled in my fate. Most important lesson I ever learned.”
I tried to picture Luc in kindergarten. He would have been skinny, all knobby knees and sharp elbows, years before he built up the lean cords of muscle I saw now. And his hair would have been a mess. Always in his face, hiding those breathtaking eyes. I’d bet anything he had the same manner about him. Confident to the point of arrogance, quicksilver charm he wouldn’t hesitate to use if it meant getting his way—whether it was ice cream or a girl.
I did not like thinking about Luc getting other girls. I didn’t like thinking about why, either. I shut out those thoughts and tried to understand what was making him so edgy. “Kind of a big burden for a little kid.”
He lifted a shoulder, staring at the picture. “You grew up hearing that the world unfolded according to God’s plan. I grew up hearing that everything that ever happened to me, good or bad, was the hand of fate.”
“And it was mostly bad, I’m guessing?”
He reached out, eyes glittering green, and touched a lock of my hair, wrapping it around his finger. “Not all of it.”
“Luc ...”
He let go and began to pace. “And then you come in, and you don’t believe in fate at all. You change the world, Mouse, and you tell me it’s because of your
choices?
Hard thing for a man to swallow after a lifetime of hearing otherwise, but I figure we can agree to disagree.”
choices?
Hard thing for a man to swallow after a lifetime of hearing otherwise, but I figure we can agree to disagree.”
Which seemed like a reasonable approach. But Luc looked far from reasonable right now. He looked explosive. Carefully, I said, “I don’t think she’s denying fate exists. She’s saying you can have a life of your own, too. That as long as you end up in the right place, you can choose your own path.”
“I have freedom?” His mouth twisted, the word sounding like a curse. “What in the hell am I supposed to do with that?”
“Whatever you want.” I intercepted him as he rounded the sofa. “That’s the point. You don’t have to be the Heir every single minute. You don’t have to give your entire life to it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I do, actually. Remember me? The Vessel?”
He looked at me as if he’d never seen me before. “Everything I’ve done, Mouse. Everything. It was fate. It has to be. Or I’m to blame.”
Whatever it was that Marguerite had tried to tell him, he’d misunderstood. Her words had torn open an old wound, long buried and badly healed. And it had fallen to me to fix it.
I touched his hand, kept my voice gentle. “For what?”
He jerked back, and the lines nearby blazed up, sending a tremor through the room. Pottery and marble sculptures tumbled from the shelves, exploding into dust as they fell.
“Luc!” I reached for him, but he knocked my hand away. Paintings tilted drunkenly on the walls, the canvases in their frames glowing like the end of a lit cigarette, the scent of scorched cloth and burnt oil filling the air.
“I did it. My fault,” he said. “All of it, and she knew, and never said.”
With a whoosh, the drapes caught fire, flames licking their way up the heavy silk.
“Knock it off! You’re going to burn this place down!”
“She wasn’t giving me a gift,” he said, his face drawn and older, suddenly. “It was payback.”
Smoke was billowing, the crackling sound of the fire filling my ears. The magic twisted and shuddered, even as it was drawn into the lines like unwilling fuel for the flames. I took his face in my hands, forced him to meet my eyes. “You’re going to kill us. Stop this. Turn it off.”
He blinked at me.
“She loves you. She didn’t say it to hurt you,” I said, coughing from the smoke. “Please, Luc. Listen to me.
Please.
”
Please.
”
He closed his eyes, drew in a ragged breath, and the flames went out. The portraits lost their ominous glow, and the remaining sculptures ceased their trembling. With a wave, the French doors opened and fresh air flowed in, bringing the scent of sweet olive and rain.
“Listen to me,” I said softly. The lines quieted, but the link between me and Luc felt dangerously tight, the bones of his face sharp against my palms. “Your mom loves you. I see it whenever you’re around her. She loves you, and more than anything else, she wants you to be happy. She didn’t say it as a punishment.”
“She should.” His voice was hoarse, eyes still shut. Whatever he was seeing wasn’t in this room, and I needed to find a way to bring him back. “Not a soul who would blame her.”
“For what? You’ve done what was expected of you your entire life. Why would she punish you for that?”
“Because if it wasn’t fated, then it was my fault. That’s the nice thing about fate.” He smiled bleakly. “Something bad happens, you aren’t to blame. Nothing you could have done. Isn’t that what people say?”
It’s what he’d said to me, eons ago, when Verity had died.
Nothing you could have done to stop it, Mouse.
Words both kind and honest. But they weren’t absolution. And this wasn’t about Verity. This went far deeper than a girl he’d met only last summer.
Nothing you could have done to stop it, Mouse.
Words both kind and honest. But they weren’t absolution. And this wasn’t about Verity. This went far deeper than a girl he’d met only last summer.
“Tell me.”
He slid his hands to cover mine, and brought my fingers to his lips. “I scared you. Didn’t want that.”
“I’m not scared of you.” Of our future—and the toll it would take on both of us—yes. But not him. Not anymore. “Tell me.”
He ran a hand through his hair, the strands falling back into his face, hiding him from view, and slumped on the couch. I sat close enough that when he stretched his arm along the back of the couch, it brushed my shoulders, far enough that I could read his body language. Tucking my feet underneath me, I propped my chin in my hands and waited.
“I had a brother,” he said quietly. “Theo. I was six. He was seventeen.”
“Big age gap.”
“They had the Heir,” he said, and there was no rancor in his voice. “No need for another kid.”
He trailed off into silence, and I prompted, “What was he like?”
“Thought he was God’s gift. He got his powers real early, before he could even speak full sentences. Dominic said it was ’cause he was the Heir. He liked to show off, you know? Always doin’ tricks to put me in my place, just because he could. Big deal to be the Heir to any House. Throw in the Torrent Prophecy, and it’s even bigger. People telling you how amazin’ you are, wanting to get close, like it might rub off.”
I nodded. I’d seen it with Verity, how people always wanted a bit of her shine, her vibrancy for themselves. It was not something I’d ever had to deal with.
“He was going off to see his friends, and I wanted to tag along. He said no, and I was mad. Told him he wasn’t so special. Told him he wasn’t any better than the rest of us.” Luc’s gaze went far away again, some place I couldn’t follow. “I said the Vessel was the only thing that made him special. Once she was found, he’d be second string.
“He called me names, told me to go home. And I dared him. I said if he wasn’t just the errand boy for the Vessel, he could do big magic without her.”
“So he tried it?” I asked. “There was a line nearby—it’d always been unsteady, we knew not to mess with it, and he opened it up. It got away from him.”
I felt sick, knowing what came next. What he’d witnessed. “Was it like Kowalski?”
“Raw magic kills a Flat almost instantly,” he said. “Arcs ... especially ones with big talents ... it eats them from the inside out. Takes a while, sometimes. But you can’t stop it.”
“Oh, God. Luc ...” I squeezed his hand.
“Dominic said it was fate. That if Theo had been the Heir, he wouldn’t have died. But I’m the Heir, so I lived, and Theo had to die. That’s what I’ve always thought. That’s what they’ve always told me.”
No wonder he put so much stock in fate. It was the only way for him to make sense of his brother’s death.
I laced my fingers with his, my heart breaking for him. “You didn’t make him open up that line. He was old enough to know how risky it was. He could have said no.”
“I knew he wouldn’t. He wasn’t the type to back down from a dare, especially not from his little brother. He did it because of me.”
“She said the destination is fixed, right? That means you were always supposed to be the Heir. You. Not him. He would have died anyway. The circumstances might have been different, but it would have happened anyway.” It felt cruel to speak so bluntly, but I didn’t know how else to make him hear me. “You didn’t cause this.”
“Easy for you to say. Seein’ as how you don’t believe in fate to begin with.”
“The hell it’s easy! I know a little something about living at the expense of other people, Luc. I don’t have to believe in fate for that.”
“Guess not,” he mumbled.
I tried again. “She isn’t saying you were to blame. She’s saying you shouldn’t make your entire life about one prophecy. Maybe it should be about your heart, too.”
He glanced up at me then, and the anguish in his eyes was almost more than I could stand. “And if it comes down to the same thing?”
I didn’t answer. The rain beat down steadily, filling the silence between us.
“Been enough truth for one day,” he said. “Let’s set the cloaking spell and take you home.”
“Thank you for telling me. For trusting me with it.”
“Trust you with my life, Mouse. With more than that, even. Give me your hand.”
I did, managing to keep it steady. “This part hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Sorry.” From Between, he produced a small silver pocketknife. “You don’t have to look.”
I turned my head, managed not to flinch at the jab of pain. He started to speak in the language of the Arcs, and the magic rose up and joined in, pulling the protection of his words deep into me, spreading under my skin like a flush. The damp air grew heavier, almost oppressive. Then it lightened again, and Luc’s fingers were still pressed against my stuttering pulse.
“You can look now.”
The cut itself was tiny—a quarter of an inch at most, and shallow. A single drop of blood welled up, and Luc dabbed it away with a napkin.
“Darklings won’t be able to find you now,” he said.
“But Anton will.”
“Yeah. Sure as hell would like to know how he’s doin’ that.” He shook his head. “You’ll still need protection.”
“Not for long,” I said.
C
HAPTER
14
HAPTER
14
“S
omething’s up with your friend,” Colin said as we drove home. Luc had dropped me off at school, where Colin had been waiting. “Should I be worried?”
omething’s up with your friend,” Colin said as we drove home. Luc had dropped me off at school, where Colin had been waiting. “Should I be worried?”
“You’ll worry no matter what I say,” I pointed out. “She doesn’t want to talk about it.”
He humphed, and I was struck by a sudden suspicion. “Did you follow her home?”
“She knows the truck,” he said. “She would have noticed me.”
“So you thought about it.”
He smiled, just a little. “Are you sure whatever she’s mixed up in isn’t dangerous?”
“No idea. But it doesn’t matter. She’s my friend.”
He scowled but didn’t argue further, and we pulled up in front of the house. “Do you want to come in?” I asked.
“Your dad’s home,” he said. “And Billy has eyes on the house. It’s a little crowded.”
He kissed me good-bye and waited until I’d unlocked the front door. I flashed the porch light at him, and he pulled away, leaving me to a dark house and darker thoughts.
I climbed the stairs, waiting for my dad to come and greet me, but there was only silence. I poked my head into my parents’ bedroom. It was strange to see evidence of my dad in what had been my mom’s territory for so long. The nightstand no longer carried a neat stack of food magazines, but
The Economist
and mystery novels. The top of the dresser held his wallet and keys, and the closet door was cracked open, revealing his new, post-prison, post-accountant wardrobe of jeans and T-shirts and flannels, so new the fabric was still crisp.
The Economist
and mystery novels. The top of the dresser held his wallet and keys, and the closet door was cracked open, revealing his new, post-prison, post-accountant wardrobe of jeans and T-shirts and flannels, so new the fabric was still crisp.
No wonder Colin hadn’t come in. He’d spent the day working side by side with my dad. That was more than enough quality time.
My phone rang, and I checked the caller ID. Jenny Kowalksi.
“What?”
“You didn’t answer yesterday. Did you find anything?”
It took me a minute to remember what she was talking about. Yesterday afternoon seemed like a lifetime ago. But I thought about the password-protected computer, the fruitless search of my uncle’s office. Nearly getting caught. “He keeps all that stuff on a computer, and I don’t know the password.”
“Can’t you figure it out? Try the street he grew up on, or his first pet, or something. We need that information to make the charges stick,” she said. “Nick says without something solid, your uncle and the Forellis will just walk again. Nothing will change.”
“I’ll find it,” I said. The furnace switched off, and in the sudden silence, I heard my dad’s voice, oddly muffled. “I have to go. I’ll let you know if something turns up.”
I padded into the kitchen, noting the casserole dish on the counter. My mom had a church thing tonight, so she’d left us dinner. She’d be horrified to know, but I’d be eating mine over the kitchen sink. No need for a cozy family meal, after all.
The door to the basement stairs was just off the kitchen. The latch was tricky—you had to really tug on it to keep it closed, and my father must have forgotten that trick, because it stood wide open, letting in a faintly musty smell and blanketing the linoleum with cold air. My father’s voice drifted up, echoing off the stairwell, and I stopped to listen.
It was a jumble at first—his voice was low, and I had to let the sounds roll around in my head until the words sifted through, like wheat from chaff.
“I told you I’ll deliver the numbers,” he said. “I keep my word. You should know that by now.”
My hand stilled on the lid of the casserole dish, and the hollow feeling in my stomach wasn’t from hunger.
“They’ll be clean.” A pause. “That’s why you need me.”
The blood pumped through me in a fury, and the magic stirred as well. There was a roaring in my ears like when you listen to a seashell. I thought of the ocean, envisioned endless blue water and forced myself to calm down.
“... our deal,” my father said.
The casserole lid slipped from my grasp and hit the floor with a ringing sound.
The conversation broke off. A moment later, my father stood in the doorway, sporting a too-hearty smile and a new cell phone, which he quickly tucked in a pocket.
“Didn’t hear you come in. When did you get home?”
“Just now.”
He bent to retrieve the lid, weighed it in his hands as he studied me. “You smell like smoke.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t smoke.”
He sniffed again. “Not cigarettes. Like a fire. Where were you?”
“Studying with Lena.”
“Arson techniques?”
I brushed past him toward the fridge and rummaged for something to drink. “Lena and I were studying. Colin brought me home. Who were you talking to?”
“Nobody you know. Trying to find work.”
“Aren’t you working for Billy?” My mom would have scolded me for leaving off the “uncle.” My dad hardly blinked.
“It’s never a bad idea to diversify,” he said.
“It is if you end up back in prison.” I popped open a Diet Coke. “Or dead.”
“I don’t plan on either of those things happening,” he said.
“If you get caught again, it will kill Mom. If Billy and the Forellis find you’re working side jobs, they will kill you.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you know your mother sent me your report cards? Every quarter. Every year.”
“I know.” Part of her attempt to keep us a happy family, to ensure my dad knew me even in absentia. It had failed pretty spectacularly.
“You’re plenty smart, but you don’t know as much as you think you do. No more deliveries, Mo.”
“I don’t have to listen to you. I am almost eighteen, and I’ve been managing just fine without your input. Besides, in a few months, I’ll be gone.”
“I’m glad. But you’re out of the business starting now. I will handle Billy.”
“Why? So you can go to jail again? Break Mom’s heart again? Do you know how long she’s waited to have you home?”
There was something in his eyes, a hint of the anger he’d almost unleashed on the cops at Morgan’s. “To the damn day.”
“If you go back, it’ll kill her. It really will.” He’d leave us. Again. “Don’t ruin this, Dad.”
“I won’t. You’re doing a bang-up job of that yourself.”
I sputtered, trying to form a response. None came—the accusation struck so deeply, I was afraid he might be right. And the consequences, if either one of us was caught, would be disastrous.
Headlights played across the windows as my mom pulled into the driveway. He jerked a thumb toward the stairs. “Go take a shower so she doesn’t ask questions.”
For once, I listened to him.
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