Page 73 of The Beautiful Ones

ELIN

Cécile’s scream seemed to remain in the air after the last panes fell.

I covered my head as glass rained over us, chiming against the flagstones and breaking into pieces no larger than sugar. When I looked again, Monsieur Lebon was on his knees beside the open grave. The blue roots had wound around his boots and climbed beneath the cuffs of his trousers, tightening with a patience more terrible than violence.

He fired the empty pistol a second time.

The hammer struck with a useless click.

“Étienne!” Madame Lebon rushed forward.

I caught her around the waist before she reached him. She fought me with a strength I would not have believed her capable of possessing, tearing one sleeve against my buttons as she stretched both hands toward her husband.

“Help him,” she demanded of Adrian. “You have made your point. Whatever Nathaniel promised you, I will pay it.”

Adrian stood beyond the broken grave with a flattened pistol ball resting in his palm. Behind him, Nicholas and Octavia watched without expression. Nathaniel Vale lay between them beneath his covering of blue gardenias, untouched by the collapse of earth and stone.

“You have already paid,” Adrian said. “Every day of your life has been purchased with him.”

The roots pulled.

Monsieur Lebon fell hard upon one shoulder. His pistol skittered across the floor and disappeared among the white blossoms. He clawed at the flagstones, but the broken edges sliced his palms, leaving bright smears upon the pale stone.

“Cécile!”

He did not call to his wife. He called to his daughter.

Cécile took one step before stopping. Blood ran from a shallow cut along her cheek where the falling glass had touched her, but she appeared not to feel it. Her father reached for her with both ruined hands.

“Tell them,” he gasped. “Tell them I am your father. Tell them what becomes of you if I die.”

The effort of speech shook her entire body.

“Y-you k-killed him.”

Monsieur Lebon’s face changed. For a moment, fear loosened its hold and left only offense, as though she had accused him of cheating at cards before the wrong company.

“Nathaniel Vale would have destroyed us.”

“He meant to expose you,” Adrian said.

“He meant to destroy my children’s future!”

“No,” Cécile said.

The single word carried no stutter because she gave it no place to hide. She pressed one hand against her throat and forced the rest through.

“Y-you d-did that.”

Monsieur Lebon stared at her. I saw the instant he understood that obedience had left his daughter before life left him.

He turned upon the Fairhavens.

“Dewey signed the orders. George arranged the ships. If there is blood beneath this house, there is blood beneath theirs.”

“There is,” Nicholas said.

Hope flashed across Monsieur Lebon’s face, hideous in its eagerness.