Ree’s face stung. She hadn’t—it would be impossible to forget her pain, to forget his. “But I don’t know why you called me herenow.”
“Don’t lie to me. It’s too early for that, princess. And to think”—he leaned in, gray eyes bright with bitter regard for her—“we haven’t even gotten to the work of confession.”
So, he’d come to torture her then. Just not in the way she’d thought. The Inquisitor had come to draw a different kind of truth out of her.His.And it was one that couldn’t be pried with instruments of agony or holy rituals. Despite the venom in his words, his eyes did not lie. He might feign disinterest, but she saw a glimpse of hurt beneath it all. And she deserved it, didn’t she? He waspurposely digging at her, prying out a truth that had nothing to do with the Harbinger. And somehow that made it worse. How to tell him that she couldn’t leave?
Eight years ago, they’d met in the Aurelia on a Sunday night, at this very table. And it was here that Henryk Broussard had asked her to run away with him. She remembered it like it was only yesterday, the way her heart leapt into her throat, the light in his eyes when she agreed.
That old wound between them, finally torn open at the seams. The one neither could admit was bleeding all over them.
She wavered, then said, “Just tell me what you want.”
“I am told you were friends with the prisoner they hanged in Congo Square,” Henryk said. Ree closed her eyes, shutting out the image of Marcel’s swinging corpse. She gripped the glass hard enough she might break it. “I am also told you started a very public and very nasty magical disturbance. You’ve been busy. After today’s events, I would say you might need that drink after all.”
“It was Marcel. Did they tell youthat?” If he was not moved by the sight of her in chains, then perhaps he would be by the knowledge that one of their oldest friends was now dead.
He puffed out a surprised breath and leaned back, sadness in his eyes. “No,” he said quietly. “They didn’t. Marcel was supposed to leave this place. Out of all of us, he was the one who was supposed to make it out.”
And yet he hadn’t. Ree could taste his dream of Haiti on her tongue. The smell of wind and sea and the dancing freedom of rituals by moonlight and sunlit day. No need for secrecy. If she closed her eyes, Ree could still feel some piece of Marcel here with them. He’d loved the Aurelia—the shining silver constellations that drifted across the ceiling, the bright spell of music that played on a carousel, the theater of it all. Every bit of it felt hollow now. The magic was lost.
“He told me he was going to run away once. Risk it all. But he didn’t.” His voice twisted, heavy with an accusation he did not say. Not directly. “Because he loved you.”
Because he loved you.Hot tears stung at Ree’s eyes. Marcel, the only proper brother she’d ever had, stayed in this godforsaken citybecause of her? Everyone who had ever loved her ended up hurt or worse, it seemed.
Henryk finished his drink, set it down on the table with a loudclink. She felt the mood shift, their pleasantries finished. Behind him, a dancer tossed glistening beads into the crowd, showed her naked breasts to a gaping man, kissed another on the mouth.
“Now, where is your mother? Where is Marie Laveau?”
Despite the ache of tears pressing at her throat, Ree found the will to keep her voice level. “The Quarter Queen has more important business to attend to than sharing whiskeys.” Empty posturing on her part, but she didn’t need her mother’s secret in the hands of two enemies today. One was enough.
“More important than checking on her beloved daughter? If memory serves, Marie Laveau was fiercely protective of you. To a fault.Controlling,I believe you always called her.”
“Is this why you went through all of that trouble to send me a message, Henryk? To torture ourselves with the past?”
“No.”Yes.That same tightness at the corners of his eyes. “When news of a Harbinger reached the Vatican, I was sent to inspect these claims. You do understand the grave significance of a Harbinger, don’t you? A demonic prophecy means that your city is likely under the siege of evil. And that evil is Jon the Conjurer.”
“The only siege this city is currently under is a plague of wealthy white men with whips and collars.”
“Fair enough. But when demons foretell the second coming of one of New Orleans’s greatest enemies, then I fear you may be wrong. This city may very well be in need of a second Holy Inquisition.”
“Why ask to meet here? Why not leave me in jail?”
“Because in the jail, you would become the property of the city and fall under their jurisdiction. Unfortunately for you, if there is going to be a formal inquiry into the Harbinger, the Church cannot allow that.”
So her freedom was a matter of bureaucracy then. Nothing more and nothing less.
“And now that you have me?” She took a lingering drink, painfully aware of the way his eyes flitted to her mouth, the splash ofwhiskey that wetted her lips. “Are you going to torture me now? Make me confess?”
“Do not be so eager for punishment, Marie Laveau the Second. It will come to us all in due time.” He sighed, as if it all couldn’t be helped. “I am forbidden from formally interrogating you until seven days have passed since my arrival. I suppose you’ve got God’s favor, princess.”
“And why the hell not?”
“Maybe you should ask Father Antoine. He always did have a painfully soft spot for Marie Laveau.”
She recalled her mother’s frantic plea to the priest:You must delay their coming. Antoine,please.I would need time to gather protections for my people. For my daughter.
And so he had, in a way. Ree had admittedly never cared for the priest, but it was possible that he did not share her indifference. She had one week. A week to find a way out of this entire ordeal. A week to save her mother.
“Of all the things to become, you chose the enemy.”
