The Girl at Midnight (23 page)

Ivy had thus far kept her peace, but at Jasper’s words, she said, “Do you really not care about the fate of your people?”

He shrugged. “They’re hardly my people.”

“You’re Avicen,” Ivy said, as if that alone should have been enough.

“So?”

Ivy scowled. “Does loyalty mean nothing to you?”

“Look,” Jasper said, propping his elbows up on the table. He was so nonchalant, they might as well have been discussing the weather. “I understand loyalty well enough. It’s admirable, really, it is. But loyalty won’t put food on my table or a roof over my head. I do what I have to do.”

Ivy’s scowl deepened, but she said nothing.

Caius cleared his throat. “Jasper, a word?” He rose, walking toward the bank of windows on the far side of the room. Jasper waited a beat, as if to refuse the request on principle, but with a sigh, he followed Caius. Echo wanted to tag along, but Ivy’s drawn face gave her pause. Dorian stewed in his own tense silence, his eyes glued to Caius’s back. Leaving the two of them alone was probably not the best idea.
Echo was flipping through her mental Rolodex of awkward conversation starters when Dorian spoke.

“You changed my bandages while I slept,” he said. He wasn’t looking at Ivy so much as in her general direction.

“Yes,” Ivy said. She started fluttering about the kitchen, picking up plates and forks and dumping them in the sink.

Dorian cleared his throat, very quietly. “Thank you.” He looked at Ivy then, at the angry bruise on her cheek. “And I’m sorry.”

Ivy nodded, just once, then turned her back to him and began washing dishes.

If someone had told Echo that one day she’d witness a Drakharin humble himself before Ivy—quiet, unassuming Ivy—she would have laughed. But seeing it happen now? Not laughable. Not even close.

Jasper spoke before Caius had the chance to. “I don’t like being ordered around my own home.”

Caius might not have been a prince any longer, but he couldn’t forget a century’s worth of ingrained behavior any easier than a leopard could change its spots.

“My apologies,” he said. It had been a while since he’d had to utter an apology, and never had he offered one to an Avicen. He felt rusty.

Jasper sat on the edge of a windowsill, its gothic arch coming to a point high above his head. Fragments of colored light dappled his skin as the sun shone through the window’s stained glass. The effect was so striking, Jasper might have planned it. He seemed like the type who would.

He also appeared to be less than mollified. “Another thing I don’t like is having my motivations questioned in my own home,” he said, “which I have a feeling you’re about to do.”

Caius shook his head. “No, I believe what you said was true, though perhaps not the whole truth.”

Canting his head, Jasper looked every inch the bird his feathers mimicked. “Is that so?”

“I may not know you well, but I know that a man like you does nothing for free.” Caius met Jasper’s eyes, but they were unreadable. The Avicen had the best poker face Caius had seen in years, a self-satisfied smirk glued in place. “If you’re going to help us find the firebird without laying claim to it, I assume you’ll expect compensation of a different sort.”

Jasper smiled. “Now we’re talking. Echo’s a good thief, but she doesn’t quite get how this game works.”

“She’s a child,” Caius said.

Jasper snorted. “I don’t think Echo’s ever really been a child. But that’s neither here nor there. You’re right. I don’t make working for free a habit. What have you got to offer?”

Caius cursed his sister for stealing his throne and the royal treasury that went with it. He didn’t have much to offer—a new and uncomfortable feeling—but Jasper didn’t need to know that. When in doubt, improvise.

“I would give you my share of the Drakharin’s reward,” he said. There was no reward, but once he’d returned triumphant and taken back his crown, he’d have more gold and jewels at his disposal than even Jasper would know what to do with.
If
he returned. And
if
he reclaimed his title. The number of ifs in the scenario was unsettling. “I was never in it for the money anyway.”

With a soft chuckle, Jasper shook his head. “Never promise to pay with money you don’t have.”

Caius shrugged. “It’s all I can offer you.”

“Is it?” Jasper asked, gaze drifting to a point beyond Caius’s shoulder. “Money isn’t the only valuable currency in the world.”

Jasper tilted his head toward the kitchen area, where Echo and Ivy were tidying up, but Caius knew they weren’t what interested him. Jasper was staring at Dorian, golden eyes guarded but keen. Caius tried to see his friend as Jasper did. Scarred skin impossibly fair. Gray hair with a soft luster that made it look almost silver. A single blue eye, as clear as the sea at morning. Jasper’s nest was a testament to his appreciation of beautiful things, and Dorian was lovely, even with his scars, even if he never recognized it in himself.

“I see.” Caius turned back to face Jasper. “But some things aren’t mine to give.”

Jasper smiled, and Caius found he didn’t much care for it. “Oh, I think some things are more yours than you realize.”

Dorian’s affection was far from secret, but Caius had no desire to divulge the details to a thief he’d only just met, a fact he telegraphed with a meaningful silence.

Jasper unfolded his slender legs and stood. “I’ll help you. After all, some rewards are far more precious than gold or jewels.”

Jasper extended his hand, and Caius merely stared at it. He had vowed to find the firebird, but what Jasper was implying left a foul taste in his mouth. The seconds ticked by and still Jasper did not move.

Slowly, Caius reached out to shake Jasper’s hand. It felt like sealing a deal with the devil. His captain might not have
been his to give, but Dorian would follow Caius’s orders, no matter how distasteful he found them. Dorian might never forgive him, but what was friendship in the face of peace? Caius had promised to put an end to this war, and that was precisely what he would do, whatever the cost.

By the time Jasper and Caius returned, Dorian was ready to jump out of his skin. The tension in the room was so thick, he felt as though he could walk on it. Ivy was doing her best to ignore him, a compulsion that Dorian didn’t mind at all. Echo busied herself with a quiet running commentary designed to soothe Ivy’s nerves. As she mumbled about the cherry blossoms in Japan and her favorite bakeries in Strasbourg, Ivy responded with absent nods at appropriate intervals.

Dorian caught Caius’s eyes, asking, without words, if his conversation had gone well. Caius looked away, just a hair too quickly, and Dorian frowned. His scar tingled beneath his eye patch.

“So, what’s the plan?” Dorian asked, mostly because no one else would. Again he tried to make eye contact with Caius, and again Caius avoided his gaze.

Echo pointed to the map on the table. “The plan is we
follow this trail of bread crumbs to the firebird. According to this handy-dandy map, our next stop is the Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

“The Met?” Dorian asked. “Isn’t that in New York? As in, the central seat of Avicen power?”

“Yeah,” Echo said. “But, you know, no pressure.”

Caius looked at Dorian for the first time since taking his seat. “I didn’t realize you were familiar with human museums. Or art.”

The question made Dorian bristle. “What?” he asked. “I read.”

Echo carried on, and Caius’s attention drifted back to her, both of them oblivious to Dorian’s hurt feelings. “Grab your gear, Jasper,” she said. “We should leave ASAP, scope out the place. You know how it goes.”

Caius rose from his seat. “I’m going with you.”

“Not wearing that you’re not,” Jasper said. He went to the wardrobe on the other side of the loft and began pulling out items that would blend with humans far better than the bloodied clothes both Caius and Dorian still wore.

Caius ignored Jasper. He waited, patiently, for Echo to speak, as if he expected her to argue. She didn’t disappoint.

“Jasper and I can do this alone.”

Ivy’s quiet intake of breath escaped everyone’s notice but Dorian’s. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He caught her looking back at him for a quick second before her gaze flitted away, settling on the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Caius, unaware of the small drama unfolding next to him, said, “We’re all in this now, Echo. We do this together, or not at all.”

“You know, I liked you better when you weren’t being bossy,” said Echo. “Are you sure you can keep up?”

Caius smiled. “I caught you once, didn’t I?”

Gods spare me
, Dorian thought, trying to ignore the pang of jealousy he felt. They were flirting. At a time like this.

“Not to interrupt whatever
this
is,” he said, waving a hand between Echo and Caius, “but, shouldn’t you be more concerned about venturing behind enemy lines, Caius?”

“None of the Avicen know me,” Caius replied. His eyes flicked between Echo and Dorian. The message was clear: Tread lightly. Give nothing away. They had no idea who he was, and he intended to keep it that way. “I’m good at evading attention when I want to.”

“So, it’s settled,” Jasper said. “The three of us have an after-hours date at the Met.” He had returned with a pile of clothes thrown over his arm. There was a sweater on top that matched the blue of Dorian’s eye. Jasper had considered his choices carefully. As his words sank in, Dorian’s stomach did something strange and acrobatic.

“The
three
of us?” Dorian asked.

Caius turned to look at him, as though he had forgotten that Dorian was there. “Dorian, you’re in no condition to go.”

Dorian struggled to his feet, his wound screaming in protest. He was unable to bite back a soft hiss of pain. He wanted to smack the sympathy right off Caius’s face. “My place is at your side.”

He’d been saying those same words for a hundred years, and he’d say it for a hundred more. It would be nice if Caius listened for once.

“I’m sorry,” Caius said, “but it would be best if you stayed, let yourself heal. It wouldn’t do to have you worsen
your injury.” He settled a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian wanted to shrug it off but refrained. “I’ll be fine.”

There were a myriad of things Dorian wanted to say, but he settled on, “It’s my job to make sure that you are.”

It was the truth, albeit the abridged version. Not that it mattered. He’d already lost. If Caius ordered him to stay, he would stay, even if it tore at him in a way that hurt far worse than the sword that had bit into his flesh.

“Am I staying, too?” Ivy asked. She sounded small and scared. It was Dorian’s fault, and he hated himself for it.

Echo looked at Ivy, then Dorian. Her indecision was as plain as day.

“It’s safer here,” she said, but she was assessing Dorian as though she wasn’t entirely certain that that was true. Echo didn’t want to leave Ivy alone with him. Ivy didn’t want to be left alone with him. Dorian wished that he had the moral high ground to be offended, but he had given that up when he had tossed Ivy, alone and scared, into a cell. When he had struck a prisoner who had no hope of hitting back.

Dorian was so preoccupied with his guilt that he almost missed the way Jasper was appraising him.

“I’ll stay,” Jasper said.

“What?” Caius and Echo replied, as one.

“I’ll stay,” Jasper repeated. “And make sure everyone plays nice. You don’t need me, Echo. Breaking into museums is old hat for you. Go, find whatever it is you’re looking for. I’m only in it for the endgame anyway. Take whatever supplies you want.” He smiled, his gaze settling on Dorian. “Free of charge.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Dorian grumbled.

Jasper’s smile widened, and Dorian was reminded of a fox baring its teeth. “Maybe I do.”

It was strange, traveling alone with Caius. Having been raised on a steady diet of horror stories about the Drakharin’s cruelty, Echo kept expecting to feel uncomfortable in his presence. She couldn’t reconcile the ghoulish figure of the Avicen tales with the person who offered her his hand on the shore of the Ill River beneath the Ponts Couverts.

“I don’t get why we had to come all the way back here,” Echo said, placing her hand in his. The magpie dagger tucked into her boot was a comforting weight against her skin. Caius wrapped his fingers around hers, and Echo was keenly aware of the calluses on his palm. “I saw what you did at the Louvre. You could have turned any old doorway in that cathedral into a threshold.”

Caius summoned the in-between, black tendrils emerging from the ground like smoky weeds. Echo was grateful for the bridge that hid them from view. Daytime Strasbourg was
a bustling smorgasbord of tourists and locals, and the river was at the heart of it all.

“Creating a gateway from a man-made door without the help of shadow dust takes a great deal of energy,” Caius said, black smoke swirling around his ankles. “Magic is like a muscle. Abuse it, and it’ll abuse you later.”

“Smart,” Echo said.

Caius nodded, eyes half closed. He was focused on summoning the in-between. “Just because you have power doesn’t mean you have to use it. It’s a lesson I wish my people understood.”

Echo wanted to respond, but the black cloud rose, engulfing them completely. The ground dropped out from beneath her, and she was falling, Caius’s hand her only anchor. She held it tightly, and when he squeezed back, her stomach lurched in a way that had nothing to do with the in-between. Echo wanted to blame the bacon waffles, but she knew they were innocent.

Soon enough, light penetrated the darkness, and they reached their destination. They stood upon a patch of grass, shielded by the cast-iron archway of a bridge on the east side of Central Park, close to the Met. The feel of dirt beneath her boots was a solid, welcome comfort.

Dropping Caius’s hand, Echo doubled over as the contents of her stomach did an unhappy jig. Now, that was most definitely the bacon waffles.
Why did I ever think bacon waffles were a good idea?