Is he warning me because he feels it, too? The old man’s desire to do away with me?
Bastian tucks the folder under his arm.
“Did you think I had manners, Prof? Unlike you, I wasn’t brought up with a silver spoon in my mouth.”
Adrien shakes his head. “Now that you’re rich, you no longer have to be a . . .thug.”
“Now that I’m rich?” I scoff. “I already was.” Thanks to my salvaged Renoir.
“I’m guessing this is a whole new level of rich.”
Yeah. It’s a whole new level.
The Bloodstone casts a prick of red light on the manila folder as though it were aiming to shoot. The dot reminds me that the ring can and will destroy me if Cadence doesn’t defeat the final curse. I have complete confidence in her, though.
“So, you wanted to see the translation of theKelouenn?” Adrien nods to the framed scroll.
“Yep.” I pluck my phone from my sweatpants’ pocket and snap a few pics of the aged parchment. How the phone survived last night’s arson show is beyond me, but I’m grateful it did. “Want to come with us, Prof?”
Adrien shrugs. “Why not? It beats combing through the rubble of my house.”
A twinge of sympathy flickers in me. The same way I sense Rainier is rotten, I sense that Adrien isn’t. If only he could get back with Charlotte. Or any other girl for that matter. I really don’t give a rat’s ass whom he beds as long as it isn’t Cadence de Morel.
40
Cadence
Before a summer storm, the lake smooths to glass and every insect quiets. This is how I feel as I head downstairs, my overstuffed bag bouncing against my bruised ribs. Like a stillness has settled inside me, over me. A stillness that heralds something violent. One that sets my teeth on edge and makes swell after swell of chills dash themselves against my skin.
Alma’s been darting worried glances my way. When I asked if I could stay with her in the dorms, she caught on that something was wrong. I suppose she guessed it had to do with Papa since I wanted out of my house.
When we reach the foyer, Slate, Bastian, and Adrien are already there, charred, ash-covered coats on. Adrien’s the worse for wear with his blistered forehead, neck, hands, and back. Last night, I applied a soothing aloe gel to his burns while trying not to dwell on what Charlotte said, but her words wheeled around in my mind. Instead of filling my stomach with butterflies, they filled it with dread and confusion. I love Adrien but no longer romantically.
I’ve been realizing this a little every day since Slate smacked into me on New Year’s Eve, but last night, after Charlotte said what she said, regardless of whether it was true, it hit me that my heart didn’t quicken, my palms didn’t moisten.
I feltnothing.
Well, nothing besides surprise. The only person who gets my body thrumming these days is the infuriating boy with the chaotic black curls, the patchwork of bruises in various states of healing, and the scrim of stubble I long to feel scrape against my skin. The one standing so close to the Gauguin drawing that his breath’s fogging up the protective glass.
I hate what Papa did to him. To us.
The thought of my father sours my mouth. I’m furious that he wrongfully slandered Slate, furious that I believed him, that I didn’t even give Slate the benefit of the doubt, but there’s something else bothering me. Something that has to do with Marianne Shafir.
Why didn’t Papa tell me she had cancer? That she needed money for her treatment? Why take it out of Slate’s account? I know Maman left everything in my name for tax purposes, but I would’ve given Papa access to any amount he needed. He must’ve known this. Sure, I was thirteen at the time, but I would’ve understood.
After I grab a jacket from the coat closet, an old red peacoat I haven’t worn in a while because my silver puffer was my favorite, I walk over to where Slate stands, appreciating the Gauguin. “Admiring your new acquisition?”
He turns those dark, probing eyes of his on me. “No, Cadence. It’s yours.”
I put my bag down between my feet in order to pull on my coat. “Not anymore.”
“I’m not taking it from you.”
I frown. “My brain’s a little sluggish, but didn’t we go over this a few minutes ago? Papa borrowed money from you; I’m paying it back.”
“When I thought it belonged to your father, I wanted it. I’m petty like that. I like to punish people for their regrettable decisions.You, however, have nothing to do with this and shouldn’t be penalized for someone else’s bad choices.”
My fingers slide off the last button. “I’m sorry, Slate.” I study the camber of his eyes, the downturned corners of his mouth, the roughness of his jaw. “I’m sorry I believed him.”
