Horns honked behind him. Cal ignored them. “When will it be cleared?”
“Hard to say.” He rubbed at his jaw, darting an impatient look at the blockage. “Could be a good coupla days. Equipment has to be sent up from three counties thattaway. Then we’ll have to survey the road, check it for damages. Might even take a week.”
Fuck. Cal rolled up his window with a jerk, tires skidding in the mud as he hooked a sharp turn in the dirt shoulder that made the man jump back with an angered shout.
It seemed no one would be getting out of Argentum now. At least, not this way.
The house was abustle with activity when he returned, his suit dampened from the rain and giving off the musty scent of wet wool. He could hear the clatter of dishes in the kitchen as anything that needed to be prepared for later was, just in case the power went out. And anything that couldn’t was being moved into cold storage, where they had a backup generator. It was all very efficient.
There was no sight of his father and brother, and Odessa had disappeared—along with the bottle of Champagne. Cal didn’t bother looking for his mother. If she wasn’t out and about playing nice for society docents, she was shut up in her room with a drink of her own.
He went to Nadine’s door and rapped sharply on it. There was a faint creak from within—he thought it might have been the bed, which sent an electric frisson jolting through his veins.
“What? Who is it?” she asked, her voice muted by the wood.
“It’s me. I’m going to the store for candles. Do you want to come?”
Silence. So she was still angry at the two of them. But not so angry that she was going to tell him to go away. Cal listened intently, holding his breath. She was very good at being quiet but he could imagine herself working up to a state of nervousness.
She was even better at that.
“I know you’re in there.” He touched the door, tracing the panels carved into the wood, lingering over their rough andworn edges. “And I’m not above a little quid pro quo. I’ll buy you lunch if you open the door.”
He knew she hadn’t eaten lunch. She was too busy locking herself away like a little maiden in her tower, while those plain eggs she’d had with breakfast slowly became a memory.
The door opened just as he lifted his hand to knock again. That greenish light flowed in through the drawn curtains, providing a dramatic backdrop for her hostility. She darted an accusatory look at his hand before raising her eyes to take him in.
“There you are.” He smiled at her appreciatively.
“Don’t try to buy me,” she told him sternly. “It makes me feel cheap.”
His mouth twitched and he had to suppress the urge to grin, knowing it would only make her more sure of his mockery. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“I don’t know.” She folded her arms beneath her bust like a taunt. “What are you doing?”
Imagining the sounds you make when you come.He bit the inside of his cheek, tamping down the destructive urge to provoke her further until her chest heaved with outrage. “Buying candles.”
She sighed. “I guess the store’s only down the street.”
“No. I’m driving out to Arboreus.”
“Not the general store?”
“Not unless I want to buy some bullets.”
Her mouth dropped. “Jesus. Would she really shoot you?”
“Probably only a dirty look,” he conceded, thinking of the shotgun he knew she kept beneath the register and how manytimes he’d heard people claim that she’d threatened to use it on his sister. “But Odessa likes to fan the flames.”
That was his sister’s specialty—digging her fingers into old wounds just to see what would happen. It had been that way since she was sixteen, when she’d gotten drunk and written “Jesus is risen” in electric green spray-paint over an incredibly crude depiction of an erect and hairy cock and balls. Helena Peters had probably blessed the acetone she’d cleaned it with.
Cal stepped back, allowing space for retreat, and was pleased when Nadine stepped forward to follow him down the hall. Her footfalls were soft and reverent, eclipsed by the creaking of the wooden boards as they walked past the rows of carefully framed portraits that glittered darkly against the gloss of wallpaper behind them.
“Her family has hated ours for decades” he mused, casting his eyes over the assembly of familiar faces, “and far more than most.”
She had pivoted herself automatically towards the front door but stopped as he spoke. “Why?”
Cal took her by the shoulders and turned her towards the narrow hall that led to the solarium. “One of her relatives was Caledon Cullraven’s first wife.”
