The Girl at Midnight (20 page)

“I don’t know.” The phrase fell awkwardly from Caius’s lips, as if he wasn’t used to that particular combination of words.

“It’s funny,” she said. Caius tilted his head in place of asking what. “The magpies on the knife. That’s what the Ala calls me, sometimes. Her little magpie.” She didn’t know why she felt the need to tell him that, either.

“Magpies.” His voice was hushed, as if he was talking to himself. Echo felt positively incidental. “They make excellent thieves, you know.”

There was something unbearably sad about him. For a brief moment, she thought she saw the person he might have been, long ago, before the war had taken its toll.

“They’re smart, too,” she said.

That ghost of a smile returned to Caius’s face. “Is that so?”

Echo nodded. “And they’re the only birds that pass the mirror test.”

“What’s the mirror test?”

“It’s a way for scientists to measure intelligence. The humble magpie is the only bird that can recognize its own reflection.”

Caius looked back at the dagger, turning it over in his hands. “Your human scientists do the strangest things.”

“I don’t know that I’d call them
my
human scientists,” Echo said. “I haven’t had many dealings with”—she curled her fingers into quotation marks in the air—“ ‘my kind.’ ”

He responded with a quiet huff. He had eyes only for the dagger and the seven little magpies flying around its hilt. “Why did you steal it?” he asked.

“There was a map in the locket. It told me to go to the Louvre, and so I did.” Echo wasn’t sure how much she
should tell him. She didn’t trust him, not yet, and she knew that being guided to the dagger by some unseen force wasn’t exactly what one would call
normal
.

Caius held the dagger at eye level, turning it slightly so that it glittered in the light. “Yes, but why
this
?”

“That’s classified,” Echo replied, for lack of a better response.

Letting out a small laugh, he said, “You know, we’re going to have to start trusting each other sooner or later.”

Echo smiled, just a little. “Baby steps.” She watched him study the dagger, seemingly mesmerized by the play of light across its surface. “Why is it so special to you?” she asked, hoping to distract Caius from his line of questioning

“It’s not,” he said. “It just … it reminds me of someone I used to know.”

There was a weight to his words that Echo thought she understood. “A girl?”

A different breed of smile graced his face, but there was no joy in it. “Isn’t it always?”

The sum total of Echo’s romantic endeavors was limited to the past two months she’d spent with Rowan. She felt young and inexperienced in the face of Caius’s centuries. “So they say.”

She watched him trail his fingers down the hilt, tilting it to better catch the light, the onyx and pearl of the magpies’ wings and bellies glinting prettily. With a sigh, he handed it to her, hilt first. “Here. It’s like you said: finders, keepers.” He left off the
asshole
. It was nice of him.

Echo took the dagger, turning it over in her hands. If the music box had led her to the locket, and the locket had led her to this, then there had to be something about it that was
special, something that would tell her what her next step should be. She examined the dagger closely, her gaze raking over every detail. The silver on the handle had darkened from age, but it had otherwise been well maintained. The onyx and pearl inlays shone as bright as new, and the blade was sharp enough to pierce skin. She squinted, searching for a clue.

If I were hiding something in a dagger
, Echo thought,
where would I hide it?

With methodical fingers, she traced every centimeter of its surface, from the guard between handle and blade to the rounded edge of the pommel on the bottom of the hilt. There were only so many places to conceal something in a dagger. Caius kept quiet as she searched by touch, and after a few seconds, she felt it. A seam, right where the base of the pommel was screwed on like a cap. Caius leaned forward, watching as she coaxed it loose. It was screwed on snugly, which was hardly a surprise since it clearly hadn’t been opened in years. Echo held the handle tightly, grimacing as her palm went raw. She twisted and twisted and twisted until the rounded cap came off. Caius slid off his seat, coming to kneel near Echo.

“Well?” Caius asked. “Is there anything in there?”

“Oh, I bet there is.” Holding the dagger firmly, she shook it, hoping to dislodge whatever might be hidden within the handle. A rolled-up piece of paper slid out, falling onto her lap. “God, I love it when I’m right.” She looked up at Caius to find him smiling back at her, eyes alight with curiosity. The game was afoot, and they were playing it together. Drakharin or not, maybe he wouldn’t make such a bad partner in this adventure after all.

Caius nodded at the paper in her lap. “Go on, open it. Maybe it’s another map.”

“Here’s hoping.” She set the dagger aside and slowly unrolled the paper. It was old, just like the maps of Kyoto and Paris, and one of the edges crumbled at her touch. When the paper was flat against her lap, she needed only seconds to recognize what it depicted. It was a small section of New York City. Her home. A straight line bisected the map’s length, with FIFTH AVENUE written down the center in neat block letters. The numbers on the street were so small, they were hard to read, but Echo didn’t need them to tell her what she was looking at. A building in the center of the page was circled in faded red ink. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Beneath it, another four-line poem had been written in the same hand that had penned the clues on the other two maps. Caius leaned over to read it, breath ghosting on her hands.

“ ‘The bird that sings at midnight,’ ” he recited, “ ‘from within its cage of bones, will rise from blood and ashes to greet the truth unknown.’ ” He sat back on his heels, brow furrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Echo said. “But I have every intention of finding out.” She met Caius’s gaze. “You in?”

He smiled again, widely enough for her to notice that his teeth were almost disturbingly perfect. He nodded. “I’m in.”

Oh yes
, she thought.
The game is most definitely afoot
.

Sleep tickled at the edges of Dorian’s mind, but he knew it would elude him until he all but passed out from exhaustion. He had fought against the Avicen for too many years, lost too much to them, to be able to rest in one of their nests while hiding like a common outlaw. And that was what they had become. Yesterday, Caius had been a prince and Dorian had been the captain of his guard.

How the mighty have fallen
, he thought.

Dorian was on the verge of feeling sorry for himself when Jasper descended the three steps that separated the bedroom—if it could be called that—from the rest of the loft, two steaming mugs in hand. Dorian’s hand twitched to the bedside table against which Caius had rested his sword.

Jasper clucked his tongue disapprovingly, as if he were a disappointed schoolmarm and Dorian a naughty student.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that,” Jasper said, setting one of the mugs down on the bedside table. “It would be
earth-shatteringly poor manners for you to whip out your sword in my home.” And then, oh sublime horror, Jasper winked. “After all, we’ve only just met.”

Dorian’s mouth opened and closed, but there were simply no words.

Jasper shook his head and smiled. “Too easy.” He settled on the edge of the bed, dangerously close to Dorian’s left hand. It wasn’t his sword hand, but it would do in a pinch. He hadn’t realized that his fingers had curled into a tight fist until he felt the tiny pricks of pain from his nails digging into his palm.

“Relax,” Jasper said. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

The thought was so absurd that Dorian couldn’t not respond. “As if you could.”

In hindsight, it wasn’t his wisest choice of words. Jasper poked the bandage Ivy had so carefully applied to his wound, and Dorian hissed as the muscles in his abdomen jumped.

“There, now that that’s settled.” Jasper offered the mug to Dorian. “Drink this. Doctor’s orders.”

Dorian accepted the mug with tentative hands. If Ivy had wanted to harm him, she’d had ample opportunity, but still. He sniffed the contents of the mug dubiously.

“It isn’t poisoned.” Jasper rolled his eyes. “Gimme.” He snatched the mug back, quickly but carefully, and took a sip. “See? Perfectly safe.” He stuck out his tongue, gagging. “Gross, but safe.”

Jasper returned the mug and watched as Dorian took a small sip. It was bitter, but not nearly as intense as Ivy’s last concoction. The aftertaste was vaguely citrusy this time. It wasn’t pleasant, but Dorian choked it down, mindful of Jasper’s golden eyes on him.

It had been a long time since Dorian had seen an Avicen male up close, and he’d never seen one quite like Jasper. Everything about him screamed
peacock
. The angles of his face were graceful yet masculine, a sharp counterpoint to the riot of color that was his hair, if one could call Avicen feathers hair. Jasper’s were the familiar blues and greens and subtle golds of peacock feathers, but also deep purples and bright fuchsias. His skin gleamed a warm brown, complementing the molten gold of his eyes.

“Like what you see?” Jasper asked, voice low and dark and all too intimate. It was a bedroom voice.

Dorian sipped Ivy’s home-brewed tea and refused to dignify that question with a response. The mug just barely hid the flush on his cheeks. Having skin as fair as his was far more curse than blessing.

Jasper smirked and took a sip of his own tea. After a tense few minutes, he said, “Quite a shiner our resident healer’s got.”

It wasn’t a question, so Dorian said nothing.

“Hard to believe a gentle soul like that could have done anything to deserve it.” There was a lightness to Jasper’s tone that didn’t quite match the hard look in his eyes. Dorian shifted, as much as he could in his current state, and wondered how Jasper knew. He’d been trying to listen in on Caius’s conversation while Ivy and Jasper had been in the kitchenette. Perhaps she had told him.

Almost as though he could hear Dorian’s thoughts, Jasper said, “I’m good at reading people. Between the two of you, your body language tells a hell of a story.”

Dorian grunted into his tea and looked at the seating area over the cup’s rim. Caius and Echo were deep in conversation, tones too hushed for Dorian to overhear.

Jasper followed his gaze. “Hmm.”

Dorian went still. He hadn’t meant to be so transparent. “What do you want?”

Jasper’s half smirk returned. Dorian recognized it for what it was. A mask. A face to slip on to keep one’s secrets secret.

“I wasn’t aware I needed a reason to be in my own bedroom,” Jasper said.

If that was how he felt, Dorian would happily relinquish the bed. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he tried to lift himself up. Jasper laid a single hand, warm from the mug he’d been holding, on Dorian’s chest, and pressed. Dorian fell back against the mattress with a shameful lack of resistance, tea sloshing in his mug.

“Down, boy,” Jasper said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

It was almost an apology. Not that Dorian wanted one. He sipped at the remnants of the tea and prayed for an end to the conversation.

“Besides”—Jasper smiled, teeth pearly white and predatory—“it’ll be a cold day in hell when I complain about having a hot piece like you in my bed.”

Dorian choked, sputtering tea down his front. Judging from Jasper’s grin, it was precisely the reaction he’d meant to elicit.

With a quiet laugh, Jasper pushed himself off the bed. Looking down on Dorian—in more ways than one—he said, “Drink all of that before you fall asleep. I suspect our little dove has a stern mistress hiding beneath all those pretty white feathers.”

And with that, he was gone. Dorian was left alone, covered in tea and the unholy pink of his own blush.

The porcelain of the bathroom sink had appeared white before Ivy laid her hands on it. Next to the paleness of her skin, it looked like more of a cream color. Breathing deeply through her nose, she relinquished the iron grip she had on the sink, prying her fingers away from the cool porcelain one by one. She wanted to be proud of how she’d maintained her composure while tending to Dorian’s wounds, but all she felt was hollow.

Looking at her reflection didn’t help. Her skin was pale, but that was nothing new. What
was
new was the purplish bruise on her right cheekbone, the burns that formed patterns on the soft skin of her chest, and the legion of scratch marks on her face, a reminder of Tanith grabbing her by the feathers on her head and smashing the side of her face against the rough-hewn stone of her cell. The interrogation had been brutal, and the bruise Dorian had given her paled in comparison. Ivy swallowed thickly and closed her
eyes. The darkness only made it worse. It made her want to remember things, like the sound of Perrin’s screams and the eerie silence that fell after he’d drawn his final rasping breath. She opened her eyes. At least the girl looking back at her was clean now, even if Echo’s clothes hung a little loosely on her. It was a low bar to live up to.

She needed to not be alone. Alone was bad. Alone left her with her thoughts, and they weren’t very good company at the moment. Smoothing her feathers as best she could, she squared her shoulders and went out into the loft.

Jasper was in the bedroom with the tea she’d mixed for Dorian using the best ingredients she could find in his cupboards. For someone who wasn’t a healer, he was remarkably well stocked, but the tea would do little more than alleviate the pain. While she watched, Jasper sat on the bed beside Dorian.

Interesting
, Ivy thought. She was surprised Dorian allowed it.

She left them to it, padding to the couch, where Echo and Caius were sitting. He was kneeling by Echo’s feet, their heads bent together over a scrap of paper on her lap. They looked unusually chummy.