Curio (53 page)

She sent an image to Adante's mind. The Grey in her message fell to her knees before him, begging for her life. Begging for release.

Black brows lifted. “Oh, very good. I guess experience is the best teacher. You've managed to push your thoughts into
mine, or perhaps your terror merely leaked out now that I've torn down your little Defender fortifications.”

Grey kept the image of herself begging like a shield over her thoughts, but willed the little charge lurking behind her Defender mark into her hand. Electricity skimmed up her torso, into her shoulder, and down her arm. She curled her fingers into a fist.

Adante leaned close again, his voice a purr. “Very well, I suppose I'll start the cleanup with you.”

White blurred through the air. Grey's porcelain fingers closed over the Chemist's neck before she realized she'd willed her limb to do so. The enchantment broke, and Adante staggered back, Grey propelling him with the force of her hand.

He clawed at her fingers. “Burns. Burns!”

Grey pinned him to the end of an aisle where two shelves came together back to back. Her hand clenched tighter and tendrils of green smoke drifted from his skin.

He left off scrabbling at his throat and dropped his hands into a loose oval in front of his torso. One jerk of her knee broke his attack position. Grey yanked him off his feet, her hand translucent. Beneath the skin, the clockwork glowed green. She opened her fingers, and Adante flew over Blaise's stretched-out form and crashed into the shelves of books behind the counter. He slid down and Grey rounded the corner, hand poised.

Dark blood trickled from the Chemist's mouth. He looked at her. “Chemia? How?”

Grey slid her eyes to Blaise then back to Adante's blanched face. “It's in his blood. And now it's in mine.”

With a swipe of her hand through midair, Adante's eyelids closed. He remained where he'd landed, in a broken heap amid piles of old books.

Grey dashed to Blaise and checked his pulse. A thready
thump-thump, thump-thump
. Such a welcome sound.

She strode to Haimon, and as she crouched to probe his scarred neck, Whit stirred only a few feet away. He sat up.

“Grey?”

“I won,” she said over Haimon's limp form.

Whit hauled himself to stand. “Adante. Where is he?”

She gestured to the other side of the room. “He shouldn't wake for a while.”

“How? How did you—?”

But Grey couldn't answer. She shook Haimon and slapped his cheek. “Haimon, wake up.”

The man groaned and blinked.

“Help me.” Desperation choked her voice. “You have to help me with Blaise. He gave me his blood in Curio. It was too much. I didn't know and Weatherton didn't stop in time.”

A tear slid off Grey's nose. “Haimon, help me. I don't know how to fix this.”

She tugged on his arm, gaze whipping from the wakening man to the unconscious boy.

A scarred hand rested on her human fingers. “Grey, look at me.”

“You have to come.” A sob broke through Grey's lips.

“Look at me.” Haimon pushed up on one elbow.

Grey forced her eyes to Haimon's colorless face. Iron-gray eyes set in a deeply scarred face traveled over her features, assessing.

“Are you looking now?”

She swallowed a sob and nodded.

He lifted himself up to sit against the counter, then he pulled his sleeves up one by one, revealing endless stripes.

“I am like Blaise, half Defender, half Chemist. Or at least I once was. Now, well, now I'm this.” He twisted his scarred
arms. “Adante made Blaise's prison with my blood and added a drop of ordinary blood to ensure he could never break out. Your grandfather and I found a way. You found that way as well. But, Grey, I lived. Blaise will live as well. We're hard to kill, those of us with melded blood.”

“Will he . . . will he—?”

“Be like me?” Haimon shook his head. “I don't know. I was a prisoner, already weakened, when Adante discovered I'd suit his purpose.”

Whit came to stand by Grey. His presence filled a hole deep inside, a place not connected to Defenders, Chemists, or magic. He was sunlight and card games, licorice and walking home from school. She breathed in the comfort of him and leaned her shoulder into his arm for a moment. He stiffened, but the tension melted and he leaned back.

“We'll get your friends back, I promise.” She shot a glance up at him. He nodded, but a muscle worked in his jaw. A brittle cold lined his blue eyes. But then he turned away to help Haimon stand.

Grey stepped around debris and moved to stand by Blaise. She captured his hands, pulling them off the cold glass and holding them between her own. Warmth spread from her fingers into his.

She dropped her cheek to rest on his chest and closed her eyes. The motion of his breathing carried through her body, hooking her Defender mark and setting it ablaze. The electricity danced over her skin, and when she lifted her head she saw the blue of Blaise's mark glowing through his shirt.

His lids drifted up. Dark, liquid eyes focused on her.

“We did it.” She put her porcelain hand over his mark. Heat curled up through her fingertips. “We made it. Welcome home, Mad Tock.”

E
PILOGUE

G
rey studied the yellowed grass, so dead and hard-packed it barely crunched beneath her feet. If she lifted her head, the grief would escape her mouth in some hideous form. She balled her fists in the pockets of the brown duster she wore over her blouse, knee pants, and tall boots. A hard swallow brought her emotions under control.

Ahead, Father climbed, his broad shoulders still bandaged beneath the layers of clothing. He carried his end of the wooden plank, and its precious burden, with careful strength. Haimon and Whit supported the other end of the board, their tall, lean figures leading the funeral procession up the wind-bitten hill.

At the sound of scrabbling feet, Grey turned and stretched her porcelain hand to steady her mother. “Are you all right?”

Mother's fingers wrapped around Grey's new limb then dropped back to her side. “Trust your father to pick a mountain instead of a hill for this occasion.” Her voice broke on the last word, belying her complaint with the depth of her sorrow.

Grey eyed the final two figures in their group, one in crimson and one in pinstripe trousers and a borrowed coat. Josephine Bryacre caught up to them and took the hand
Mother offered. The two women helped each other up the steep path leading to Excelsior Peak, leaving Grey to contend with the mandate of her Defender mark. She planted her feet to keep from running back down the trail.

Blaise looked up and answered the tug between them with increased speed, despite his still weakened condition. He stopped just below her position and gazed up, his dark eyes pulling her in. After a few days of rest and recovery, only the faintest tinge of green remained about his lips and eyelids.

Grey motioned to the charged space between them. “Will it always be this way?”

“You mean will the very sight of you make me wish for wings? I expect so.” The wind snatched his now shoulder-length hair, whipping it about the back of his head. No copper wire remained among the black locks to catch the mountain sunlight, and though she was infinitely glad he was free of his prison, part of her missed his tock disguise.

He joined her and nodded to the procession ahead. “Olan once told me about the day he met Valera, your grandmother. He said he could feel her coming when she was still a mile off, and while she lived the connection remained as strong.”

Moments passed before Grey trusted her voice. “I hope he's with her now.”

Blaise took her hand, winding his fingers through her porcelain ones without hesitation, and together they continued up the path. When they reached the mesa where the others gathered, Haimon and Whit were already guiding their burden to a low plinth erected for this purpose. Father raised the other half, steadying Granddad's stone shoulders.

The scene captured Grey, breaking her defenses. Once she allowed herself to look, she could do nothing but stare at Granddad's hardened features. With raised fists he leaned
into the spell Adante had cast, the spell that had turned him into stone. The spell meant for her. His face was locked in determination, his brows narrowed at his opponent. Only his mouth showed a trace of vulnerability. The stone lips were open, not in a scream but in mild shock as if he'd been stung by an insect.

The end of her grandfather's Defender service signaled the beginning of hers. Grey made a fist with her human hand. Her other hand still rested in the grasp of a half Defender, half Chemist boy in blatant defiance of the Council Codes. The blood key hung heavy against her chest, a symbol of hope—a melded and mended solution to an ancient curse.

When Father began his eulogy, Blaise withdrew to the edge of the mesa where the trail connected this secluded spot to the Foothills Quarter. Even after the explanations and apologies, the two men avoided each other. Blaise had spent a hundred years as a bargaining chip, an insurance policy held against a failed treaty, and though his imprisonment was meant to prevent bloodshed, the conditions went against his nature. The growing connection between Blaise and Grey only increased tensions between her father and him.

After Father finished speaking, Grey fell in line behind her mother and took her turn gazing up into her grandfather's hardened eyes.
Thank you
. She didn't know how to command her mind's voice or whether Granddad's spirit remained close enough to hear, but it was enough. His Defender's death meant life for her, and if their hopes proved founded, life for all of Mercury City.

Grey turned to go and the floor of her stomach caved in. Two dark forms crested the hill and strode toward Blaise. Adante, knife-thin and menacing, and an older Chemist who walked with an odd, creaking gait. He wore his dark hair cropped close, and his flat black suit hung off his long
bones. His nose and chin bore the same faint dent she saw the first time Blaise removed his mask in Curio.

Haimon and Father moved to stand on either side of Blaise, and Grey rushed to join them. Two pairs of pale-green eyes swept her head to toe, no doubt noting her renegade appearance.

Father leaned in. “Jorn, nice of you to pay your respects to Olan.”

The Chemist glanced to Granddad's ossified remains and flinched. “I didn't come to witness Olan's final resting place. I'm here for my kin.”

Blaise straightened and flicked a hand toward Adante. “The only kin you have here is the filth you brought with you.”

Jorn Amintore's green features rippled with fury. “Be careful, boy. I might rethink my decision to claim you.”

Father's hand clenched at his side, a small gesture but one that didn't fail to catch the notice of the two Chemists. He spoke low and steady. “The two of you are no match for the four Defenders here.”

“And the four of you are no match for the Council, Steinar.”

“I don't see the Council here on this hillside.”

Jorn's attention shifted back to his grandson. “If you come with us, your friends will be left in peace. You have my word.”

Clouds shifted above, hiding the sun and casting a shadow over Blaise's face. The muted light played with his coloring, highlighting his warm brown skin tone one instant then shifting to pick out the hints of green that lay underneath.

“Your mother still lives.” Jorn moved in. “I can make arrangements for you to see her.”

Blaise jerked as if slapped but then took a step back, away from Jorn. “My mother hated the Chemia in her veins just as
I do. If she lives, I know she would want me to embrace my Defender side.”

“He has a home with us as long as he wishes it.” Father met Blaise's eyes, a firm promise in his gaze.

“Then you should know, Steinar, that we hold your son in the tower, and the conditions of his imprisonment are not as pleasant as Blaise's.”

Grey's heart leapt and Mother's gasp carried into their midst. With a final glare, Jorn turned and started down the trail, Adante following. They'd only gone a short distance before Adante snagged a potion bottle from his belt and dashed it on the rocks at their feet. The two figures vanished in a column of green and red smoke.