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Authors: Erica O'Rourke

Bound (4 page)

BOOK: Bound
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“You’d have to ask Dominic.”
I didn’t trust Dominic DeFoudre to tell me the truth about the weather, much less the Seraphim’s plans. “You know just as much as the Quartoren do. You hear things they don’t. What’s changed?”
She paused, her eyes sliding to Constance. Then she sighed. “It’s time to choose Evangeline’s successor.”
Constance gripped the teacup so tightly I was afraid it might shatter, but that was her only reaction. Niobe had been trying to teach her to control her emotions. Obviously, the lessons were working.
For a long time, Constance had blamed me—wrongly—for Verity’s death. But in Evangeline’s case, the blame lay squarely on my shoulders. It was something we didn’t really talk about, but the fact that I’d killed her great-aunt hung over us like nuclear fallout.
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Right now, the Quartoren are at a disadvantage. Many Arcs view them as weak and outmoded, and the Seraphim have used that to their benefit. They’ve gained traction. But now that the Water House has concluded its mourning, and is prepared to name a successor, the Quartoren stand to gain strength.
“The Seraphim see it as now or never?”
“Yes. They need to assert their dominance. Strike a blow to the old ways. Starting the Ascendency will do just that, and harming you is the easiest way to accomplish it.”
The room blurred as her meaning became clear.
The Ascendency was Anton’s endgame. He and his vile little cult believed only the strongest of the Arcs deserved their powers. Currently, raw magic was dispersed through the world via ley lines, which tempered the source’s lethal power and made it safe for all Arcs to use. The Seraphim wanted to destroy the lines, triggering the Ascendency—raw magic sweeping across the world, killing the weaker Arcs or stripping them of their abilities, leaving the magic to Anton and the other survivors. They didn’t care if Flats were caught in the crossfire, either. A new age, he called it. Purification. I called it genocide.
“Luc said if I’m hurt, the magic is, too. If Anton kills me, there won’t be any left—they need
some
magic, right? The Ascendency won’t work otherwise.”
The magic needed a protector. Someone to keep its secret. If people knew about its power, and the depth of our connection, they would exploit it. Without any powers of my own, I wasn’t much of a protector ... but I was an expert on secrets. Maybe that’s why it had chosen me.
“He doesn’t want to kill you. Not yet, anyway. He’ll look for a way to break the connection. Should it prove unbreakable, he’ll find a way to use it to his advantage. With the Succession looming, he’s growing desperate.”
“The Quartoren knew this was his angle?”
“Of course. You would have, too, if you’d been willing to meet with them. You chose not to deal with them, and they’ve respected that decision. Until now.”
“The last time I worked with the Quartoren, they tried to trap me inside the heart of the magic.
Forever
.” I wouldn’t have died, but it wouldn’t have been much of a life, either. “Sorry if I didn’t feel like going out for coffee.”
I’d cut ties with the Quartoren after I’d realized that their interest lay not with protecting the magic—or me—but in their own position. They weren’t evil, like the Seraphim. But they were willing to sacrifice me to preserve the status quo, and I wanted nothing to do with them.
Niobe’s words clicked, and surprise slackened my jaw. Not quite betrayal—she had never pretended to be on my side—but surprise, and annoyance that I hadn’t figured it out earlier.
“You’ve been reporting to them. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To spy on me?”
“I’m here because of the Covenant
you
forged. I’m tasked with looking after Constance until she is fully prepared for life with the Arcs and in control of her talents. But considering your importance in our world, it seemed sensible to keep an eye on you as well.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Constance said, slouching back in the chair. I’d almost forgotten she was there.
Niobe ignored her. “You are the Vessel. You’re bound to the Heir. Whatever difficulties you’re having with Luc, you should have known he wouldn’t leave you unprotected.”
“I don’t want his protection.” I was tired of Luc coming to my rescue, of needing him to navigate the labyrinth of Arc society. Was this why he’d come to see me yesterday? Was his concern about my dad’s return all a show? I wanted to believe otherwise—that for once he’d been genuine. That I was still free for a little while longer.
But I knew Luc. Once he heard about today’s attack, my freedom would disappear. “We don’t have to tell him about Anton,” I said, hating the pleading note that crept into my voice. “Not right away.”
“He already knows.”
I bit my lip, suddenly nervous. I didn’t have enough defenses against Luc—against his charm and his challenges. He’d never hurt me, but deep down I knew he posed a different type of danger.
The bell rang, and Constance stood. “I have an algebra test. Can I go?”
“For now, yes.” Niobe waved a hand at the door, the lock turning over with a muffled thunk.
After Constance left, I slumped in my chair. The rapidly cooling tea was bitter on my tongue, and I made a face. “I never thought they’d come after me at school. It’s supposed to be safe here. Separate.”
She shook her head. “It’s always been this way with you. You’ve bound yourself to the Arcs, but you insist on maintaining your Flat life as well. So long as you do,
neither
world is safe. You’re going to have to choose.”
I rubbed at my temples, unable to dispel the headache brewing. “Luc told me that once. Ask him how it ended.”
“What makes you think this is the end?” she asked.
C
HAPTER
5
“Y
ou cannot let Jill mess with your head like that,” said Lena Santos.
I dropped my Chem binder, startled, and tried to compose myself when I bent to pick it up again. “I’ll do my best. Where have you been?”
Lena had missed the entire day, and she hadn’t responded to a single one of my texts. She was pretty much my only real friend at St. Brigid’s, and I’d been terrified that Anton might try to use her against me, too.
“I had stuff,” she said vaguely, waving a hand. “It took longer than I thought, so I’m just grabbing my books. I heard lunch was interesting.”
“You’ve been gone all day,” I said. “When did you have time to hear anything?”
She shook her head in mock disappointment. “I’m hurt you would even ask a question like that.”
It wasn’t quite right to say Lena was a gossip. She was a sponge. She soaked up all the news and scandal around the school but rarely spread it around. She was the most relentlessly inquisitive person I’d ever met, and people were happy to talk to her. Sometimes I thought Lena used her curiosity the way I used my camera—as a way to deflect attention. If you ask enough questions, keep the lens on the other person, they usually forget about you. I’d used it to my advantage for years, and I was beginning to think Lena had learned the same trick.
“Well? Lunch? Come on, spill.”
“Pretty much the usual,” I said, hoping my bland tone would discourage further questions.
“Jill McAllister went after you in front of the entire cafeteria. Even for you two, that’s not really the usual.”
“She said that?”
“No. She’s telling people she wanted to ask about your NYU application and she got a migraine so bad she passed out.”
“There you go, then.” I slammed the locker shut and hefted my bag, settling the strap across my chest.
“You don’t think I actually believe that, do you? Someone said she grabbed you.”
“She was showing me where the headache was.”
We’d been heading toward the front doors of the school, but she stopped. “The secretive act again? I thought we were past that.”
Lena knew the truth about my family’s Mob connections, and that was dangerous enough. She was completely, blissfully unaware that magic existed. If the Seraphim wanted to hurt me, she was an easy target. I needed to keep her out of this, for her own good.
I ignored the whisper of conscience that reminded me how much I hated people doing things for my own good.
“If you’d been there, you could have seen it firsthand,” I pointed out. “Seriously, where were you?”
She looked down, her voice soft. “Family thing. I needed to help my mom.”
“With what?”
“Work stuff.”
“What exactly does your mom do, Lena? I don’t think you’ve ever told me. I don’t think anyone here knows.” I was genuinely curious, but I also had a point to make. Wrapping my scarf around my neck, I continued, “You know more about my life than anyone in this school, but you never tell me anything. And I’ve never pushed. Not once. Maybe I’m not the one with trust issues here.”
“I trust you.” Her hand crept to the St. Anne medallion she always wore. “But I can’t talk about it. It’s not mine to tell. I’m sorry, Mo.”
I was sorry, too, both for shutting her out and for prying when she wanted to leave something hidden. I’d done enough digging in people’s lives to know that what you uncovered was usually the last thing you wanted to find.
“If Jill says she got a migraine, why argue?” I said, peering out the window. No rusting red truck yet, and I tugged my gloves on. “I feel the same way whenever I’m around her.”
“A migraine,” she said slowly, staring out at the courtyard. “Got it.”
Colin’s truck pulled up to the snow-covered curb. “I’ll see you tomorrow. And Lena?”
She turned back to me. “Yeah?”
“It works both ways, you know. If you need help, or want to talk.”
“Sure,” she said, but I knew she didn’t mean it. “Thanks.”
I hurried out into the frigid afternoon. Chicago in late February is winter at its least appealing. The mountains of snow from the plows have turned gray from exhaust, the sidewalks are lumpy with ice, the cold air slaps you across the face. No matter what the calendar says, everyone knows spring is months away, not weeks, and summer seems like a myth.
Before I could run for the warmth of the truck, a familiar voice called my name.
“You couldn’t have come inside?” I asked Jenny Kowalski. Her fleece hat was pulled low over her ears, her face buried in the collar of her jacket.
Jenny’s dad had been the homicide detective assigned to Verity’s case. Convinced her death was related to my uncle’s Mob connections, he’d followed me into a Darkling attack and was killed by a blast of raw magic. The Arcs had covered it up, putting out the story that he was caught in a gas leak explosion that had leveled the Chicago Water Tower. Jenny didn’t look like her father, but she was following in his footsteps—she blamed my uncle, and she wanted me to help take him down.
“Would you rather I come to Morgan’s? Or your house? There’s an idea,” she said. “I could meet your dad. My invitation to the party got lost, I guess.”
“This isn’t exactly discreet,” I pointed out. “Colin’s right there.”
“I’ll be fast. Nick wants to know if you still have access to your uncle’s books.” Nick Petros, a political reporter for the
Chicago Tribune
who was working with Jenny.
“The hard drive was a fluke,” I said. “I told my mom I threw it out when we put the new one in, and she never asked about it again. Usually, I don’t have that kind of access.”
“It helped a lot,” she said. “They’re really close to making their case against your uncle and the Forellis, but they need more evidence. Something ironclad.”
I hugged myself to keep warm. “Isn’t that what the cops are for?”
“You can get things they can’t. The Forellis don’t suspect you. Mo, we need this. I need this. You promised to help.”
I sighed. Teaming up with Jenny had seemed like a good idea at the time. She’d appeared at The Slice one afternoon, brandishing a file on Colin’s history and information about my dad’s trial, offering a trade: answers for evidence. Now it was a complication, but I couldn’t go back on my word, and she knew it. “I’m working tonight. I’ll see what I can do. Now go away, before Colin starts asking questions.”
When I hauled open the door of the truck, a blast of warm air enveloped me and I sighed with relief. Colin laughed. “You were out there for all of ninety seconds. I think you’ll live.”
“Try wearing a skirt in this weather. We’ll see how long you last.” I pulled my gloves off and blew on my fingers to warm them. By now I should have gotten used to the jolt of pleasure that ran through me every time I saw him. But it was always the same—his eyes would meet mine, gray and knowing, his mouth would tug up on one side, and the happiness flashed through me, like stepping into an unexpected patch of sunlight on a miserable day. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He leaned over and kissed me, slow and thorough. I slid my hands beneath his coat, feeling worn flannel, hard muscle, and sanctuary. Eventually, he pulled back and studied me, rubbing a thumb along my jaw. “Bad day?”
Of course he knew. Colin knew me better than anyone. It was pointless to try and hide things from him, so I almost never did.
There’s a lot of wiggle room in almost.
I’d seen so much evil in the last six months. I’d seen killers and madmen and betrayal and greed. At times, I’d thought it would break me.
But compared to Colin’s past, everything I’d witnessed was a fairy tale.
His story was horribly, horribly true. He and his siblings had been abused for years by their stepfather, but a run-in with Child Services caused the man to snap. He’d killed Colin’s mom and brother, beaten his little sister so badly she’d suffered brain damage. He’d only stopped when an eleven-year-old Colin shot him to death.
That’s where my uncle came in. He’d known the stepfather—the guy was a low-level enforcer for the Mob. When Billy heard what had happened, he swooped in, pulled strings to bury what should have been a front-page story, and arranged for Colin and his sister Tess to come back to Chicago. Doctors said Tess’s catatonic state was part physical, part psychological, and most likely permanent—so Billy had placed her in a nursing home and taken care of the bills, made sure she was safe and cared for. Colin had been loyal to my uncle ever since.
Until we met.
Not surprisingly, Billy did not approve of our relationship. Bodyguard was one thing; boyfriend was another. The only thing keeping Colin alive was the deal I’d cut with my uncle after he found out—Colin’s life and Tess’s continued care in exchange for my promise to stay in Chicago after graduation and work for the Mob.
It was the one thing Colin could never, ever know. The day he discovered what I’d learned and what I’d done would be the day he walked away. I had survived a lot, but I wasn’t sure I could survive Colin hating me.
“Mo?” He jostled me lightly. “Something happen?”
I couldn’t mention Jenny’s visit, but there was still plenty to tell. “Promise you won’t freak out.”
“Very reassuring. Something with the magic?”
I twisted my fingers together. “The Seraphim. They came after me at lunch.”
“In public?” He sounded incredulous.
“I think they’ve passed the point of being subtle.”
He scowled and put the truck into drive, the movements jerky as he worked through all the implications.
“Morgan’s or home?” he asked.
“Morgan’s.” My uncle’s bar was the last place I wanted to be. Curled up on the couch with Colin was infinitely more appealing, but I’d made a promise, and Colin’s life depended on me keeping it.
“You’re not hurt,” he said as we drove.
“Just a headache.” His hands flexed, and I was quick to reassure him. “A regular headache, I swear.”
“Was Luc around?”
“Niobe came in at the end, but I had it under control.”
He glanced over, eyebrows raised. “You did?”
“There wasn’t time to wait around for a rescue.”
He drew a deep breath. “We need to get you out of this. Hide you somewhere.”
“Where would I go? The magic’s everywhere. I can’t hide from this. And I won’t abandon it, either.” I knew that with absolute clarity. It wasn’t about escaping one world for the other. It was finding a way to balance my Arc life and my Flat one. “And let’s say I did hide. You stash me somewhere the Arcs would never find me. Would you come with me?”
Amazing how he could withdraw in a space as small as the cab of his truck. “We’ve been over this. I’m not leaving Chicago.”
Of course he wouldn’t. He could never leave Tess. If I wanted them to be safe, I couldn’t leave, either.
“Then I’ll stay, too.”
“Don’t do that,” he said. “Go to New York, the way you and Verity planned. Or we find a place to hide you away from the Arcs. But don’t stay here because of me.”
I tried to look out the window, but it was frosted over, obscuring the familiar sights of my neighborhood: the auto parts shop, the dry cleaners, the insurance agency. I scraped at it with my thumbnail, concentrating on the lines instead of the pain of his words. “You want me to leave?”
“I want you to be safe. If you stay here, you’re going to get caught up in Billy’s world. You deserve better than that.”
“I deserve to make my own choices,” I said. “Why do you get to decide what’s right for me?”
“Because I love you.”
I twisted to face him, shocked. And then thrilled, giddy with delight, my seat belt the only thing keeping me from throwing myself across the cab at him.
He checked his mirror and changed lanes, then glanced over. “What? You knew that.”
“You’ve never said it. Not really.” He’d never said the actual words. Holding back, the same way he held back the truth about his past, and I’d assumed it would stay that way. So I’d been careful not to say it, either, afraid talking about our future would only end badly. We’d slipped into that conversation, anyway, like a river where the most dangerous eddies and rocks were hidden under the surface. The kind of discussion where we had to navigate carefully or risk being smashed to bits. His words felt like someone had thrown me a life preserver.
He jerked a shoulder, but I could see the nervousness in the way his eyes flickered between me and the road. “Now I said it. Does it change things?”
I looped my arm through his. “Yes, you jerk.”
He loved me. Maybe I could tell him the truth about what I’d done, and he’d forgive me. You forgave the people you loved, right? Wasn’t that what my mom was always saying? Maybe we’d be okay.
He parked a few doors down from Morgan’s. “Does it mean you’ll listen?”
BOOK: Bound
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