“What did Papa say?” Cadence asks.
Adrien lowers my phone even though his fingers haven’t uncurled from around it.
“Well?” I could use an answer.
Emilie could use an answer.
We all could use a fucking answer.
“The leaf. Rainier thinks she may need to touch it. Again.”
32
Cadence
Slate hasn’t let go of the cursed child, and she of him.
He held her hand while he put on his coat and boots. And then he scooped her into his arms and carried her over to my house, hiding her inside his coat, so she wouldn’t catch cold and be spotted by the passersby.
Although, can ghosts catch a cold? Is she a ghost? My stomach dips, and all the wine I drank last night gathers at the back of my throat.
The little girl’s being brave, but she’s asked for her maman several times. It’s breaking my heart not to look her up and phone her—she must be worried sick—but the less people know about what’s brewing in our town, the safer they are. Or at least, the safer they should be . . .
I see the little girl step into Matthias all over again, and I shudder so hard my teeth knock together.
“You okay?” I hear Slate ask.
It takes me a moment to realize he’s addressing me. I nod to reassure him, but the truth is, I won’t be okay as long as this girl isn’t cured. I pray touching the leaf will help her body stop flickering, the same way it stopped Papa’s curse from spreading to the rest of his body.
I feel Slate’s eyes on my cheek but don’t look over, afraid he’ll spot how frightened I am. I’m trying to think best-case scenarios, not because I’m a particularly fervent optimist, but because it’s keeping my mind off worse-case scenarios.
When we reach my house, Gaëlle’s standing outside, dark circles rimming her eyes. I’m guessing she got as much sleep as I did. Probably not for the same reasons. While I spent way too many hours replaying the feel of Slate’s mouth on mine, she probably spent her night replaying the feel of her dead husband’s bones against hers.
Her eyes flash to the wrapped bundle of small limbs and pink pajamas peeking from Slate’s jacket, then to Bastian, and all the tendons of her neck rigidify. The door opens before I can take out my keys. Papa rolls backwards to make room for us all. The moment he notices Slate’s brother, he looks at me, and I know what he’s thinking because I’m thinking it too: Bastian shouldn’t be here. We should’ve insisted he stay put in the dorms, not that Bastian would hear of it, and unfortunately, we’re not endowed with the supernatural ability to wipe minds, so there was little point in arguing.
“Upstairs. My office,” Papa says.
Gaëlle goes with him to the elevator while the rest of us take the stairs. Adrien hasn’t said much, but the strain on his face tells me he’s worried. Possibly more than I am, which is worrisome in and of itself.
When we reach the first floor landing, Slate finally sets Emilie down on her slippered feet. The poor child trembles like a leaf, and not the kind made of gold and magic she’s about to touch.
Why didn’t I bang on the shop’s window yesterday? Why didn’t I yell? I should’ve gone outside instead of cowered inside. Heat replaces the chill that’s enveloped me since morning. I yank off my hat and peel off my jacket, then dump both on the iron handrail and barge into Papa’s office before the elevator doors have even released him and Gaëlle.
Adrien touches my arm. “Cadence, it’s going to be okay.”
“Okay?” I shriek, and he flinches. “I saw her walking into Matthias. And I just stood inside the shop and didnothing.” The tears that didn’t come earlier well up and spill over.
Adrien gathers me in a hug, and I let my head drop in the crook of his neck, dampening the fabric of his beige jacket with my guilt and inhaling the familiar scent of his peppery aftershave.
“This isn’t your fault,” he says softly, then repeats it twice more.
I don’t know if he’s trying to convince me or himself. “I was there. Right there.”
His fingers slide through my snarled hair, catching in all the knots, but it feels nice.
“I hate magic,” I whisper.
The rubber wheels of Papa’s chair squeak over the veined marble floor, and I pull away from Adrien. As I rub my wet cheeks, I catch Slate staring at us. I take another step away, but then wonder what the heck I’m doing. Adrien’s my friend. He’s been my friend for years. And all he did was hug me. There’s really no reason for Slate to be looking like he wants to smother the poor guy.
