Right now, the only person I’m judging is Slate.
Slate, who’s slotting the brass poker into the accessory stand. He straightens but doesn’t return to the couch, just steps toward the steel-gray wall and leans against it. Adrien drops down beside Gaëlle and takes the glass she’s poured him.
I take the seat closest to Papa’s wheelchair. It almost seems like we’re picking camps, but technically we’re all in this together.
All of us supernaturally screwed.
11
Slate
Ilean my head back against the wall and close my eyes while the little group before me gets settled, babbling on about the wine and the weather.
Meanwhile, I’m dying.
Fifteen days . . .
I don’t have a last will and testament or anything like that, so I need to make a few calls. To my bank. To my other bank. To my other, other bank. To my lawyer. If something should happen to me, I want to make sure Bastian gets everything I own—my money, my apartment, my Aston Martin, and Spike, of course. That prickly soul needs to be taken care of.
De Morel told me what to expect should this all go to shit. He said the magic works like a poison in the blood. It would take a whole day and, during that time, I’d be in such excruciating pain that I’d probably try to peel off my own skin. His wife tried scrubbing her arms with a goddamn cheese grater before he took it away.
I shudder.
The only way around this pitiful end is to get the Quatrefoil pieces and put them together.
So that’s what I’ll do. It’s not like I have a fucking choice.
And like I told Cadence, you’ve got to make your own luck in this life.
The mood in the room changes. Voices less relaxed. Higher pitched. Angry. I open my eyes and see they’re all glaring at me. Oh,goody. De Morel must’ve explained the finer details of how the ring got on my finger.
The professor Cadence has the hots for has been giving Rainier shit about the lack of time. Now he shakes his head at me like I’ve been a bad puppy, annoyed but not panicked like the others. He gives his chin a firm rub with nails shaped into perfect crescents. His skin has that uncracked porcelain sheen to it, like he’s been massaged in lotion his entire life. I bet growing up, he found chocolates on his pillow instead of rat droppings and his shoes never pinched his toes.
After he lowers his hand, he shoots Cadence a reassuring smile. One that says,Don’t worry, I’ve got this. I bet she really believes Monsieur tweed-pants-and-matching-vest can save the day.
I drain my wine glass, and push off the wall for a refill. Gaëlle, who’s been drinking her wine like it’s water, extends her glass, and I fill it up, too.
She scoots back into the couch, nursing her drink as though it were a newborn’s head. “So, now that the Bloodstone’s out of hiding, the pieces are too, right, Rainier?”
“Yes and no. They show up one after the other. But the first should show itself soon.”
Cadence tilts her head to the side. “Or we could save ourselves the trouble and let Slate die. An amoral guy like him must have a kid or two somewhere.”
Cute.“Or we could use the next fifteen days to make a baby instead of hunting down those pieces, Cadence.” At least, I’d die happy.
Her cheeks burn pink, and she crosses her arms over her chest. The usual satisfaction I get from seeing her blush doesn’t hit me. Probably because I’m still feeling like shit about her mother’s grave. Jesus. I’ve got to get it together. I’m too far off my game. I blame the ring.
“There’ll be no procreation. Especially not with my daughter.” Rainier pins me with an impressively unpleasant glare.
Mercier, too, for that matter. I wonder whyhecares.
“If we’re going to have any chance at succeeding, everyone here needs to understand the mechanics of the Quatrefoil. Slate?” I turn my attention back toward Rainier. “Consider this an accelerated lesson in unofficial Brumian history.”
“Unofficial and undisclosed,” Mercier adds. “In other words,secret.”
“Thanks for clearing that up, Prof. Big words confuse me.” What a dickhead.
“Adrien?” Rainier tips his head. “Will you explain it to him?”
