Chapter Thirty-Nine #2
“I must admit,” Walden begins after an appropriate amount of time has passed, “I was surprised to receive an invitation tonight, and from such a prestigious family, as well. The Alilovi?s are founders of the Court, are they not, my lord?”
“Indeed we are,” Babbo Alilovi? replies with a polite smile. “I was great friends with an ancestor of the Macabre and Quillen families a few centuries ago, and we founded La Cour Macabre as a means to protect our kind from those who would harm us.”
“It is a great honor then to be received by you and your family.”
It sickens me, the speed with which Walden’s eyes light up with excitement. The way I can see him greedily grasping at the opportunity put in front of him, as if there is any hope of him using this connection to his advantage.
Is that why he targeted me, I wonder? Was I just convenient happenstance, or did he seek me out? Did he know what I was when we met? Was my family well known enough to draw his attention?
“Tell me,” Azizi’s older brother, Dorian, interrupts as Mr. Allard circles the table, replacing our bowls of soup with the fish course. “I’ve not heard of the de Klein family before my sister informed us you would be in attendance tonight. Have you been in the Court long?”
I watch Walden swallow his first bite, half wishing the fish might get stuck in his throat. Wishing for him to choke on it, to collapse on the floor while I stand over him, watching the life fade from his terrified eyes.
But the food goes down easily, and Walden only waits another moment to wipe his mouth before answering.
“Oh, only a few decades at most. You are correct, my family was not part of the Court at all until myself. I happened to be quite adept at magic and learned from a very wise mentor when I was young. My skill in the art earned me a place, much to my mentor’s delight. ”
“And this mentor? Would we know them?” Dorian prodded.
“Perhaps, yes! He is a gentleman in London by the name of Gideon Amnevar. We met at an auction actually,” he says excitedly. “I was in search of some spellbooks for my collection and I outbid him. He took an interest in my practice and assisted in making me the man I am today.”
Babbo Alilovi? scratches at his beard, his brows pinched above his blood-stained eyes. “Amnevar, yes, that name does sound familiar. He specializes in necromancy, if memory serves.”
Necromancy.
The word echoes in my mind and I tap Jonas’ hand to draw his attention, pointing at the pendant on my necklace and then holding my hand out to show him my wrist, tracing an invisible design across the thin skin.
He frowns at me in confusion for a moment, so I point at my wrist again, before pressing my hand over his chest where his heart rests silent beneath his ribs.
“Lord Macabre,” Theodore says, much to my relief. “She means Lord Macabre.”
Jonas gasps and nods. “Oh! Yes! My Zagreaus is also quite adept at necromancy! His specialty rests mostly with blood magic, but necromancy is a particular interest of his.”
“Yes, I was rather upset his dinner was cut short,” Walden says with a put-upon sigh.
“I was looking forward to speaking with him about it actually. My own fault of course, I should not have been late, but time has been getting away from me lately. I’m just thankful I remembered your invitation for tonight! ”
“Now that you mention it, we did find various symbols carved into the stones in the cellar,” Azizi says, offering Mr. Allard a quiet ‘thank you’ as he refills her wine glass.
“Your work, I presume? I must admit, I’m terribly hopeless when it comes to magic, but it looked like a rather complicated piece of spell work. Is all necromancy as elaborate?”
Walden laughs in that demeaning way I recognize. The way he always laughed right before saying “Oh duck, what am I going to do with you?”
“Ah, yes. While the spell itself is not necessarily necromancy, it has similar aspects to it,” Walden answers. “It was my attempt at hiding from the one thing we all fear: Death. Unfortunately, it did not work out quite as planned.”
My fingers clutch around my knife, and it is only Jonas’ hand settling gently overtop mine that keeps me from launching across the table and driving the dull silver straight through his deceitful tongue.
Babbo Alilovi? takes a long drink from his glass, the plate of fish Mr. Allard takes from him left untouched. “I recognized the spell,” he says. “It comes from a very old spell book. You chase immortality.”
“Don’t we all?” Walden asks, shrugging his shoulders and waving a dismissive hand at Mr. Allard as he takes his plate as well. “Death is the one thing we humans cannot escape. I simply seek to prolong it indefinitely. I feel as if you of all people should understand such a concept.”
I cannot tell if Walden understands the position he’s put himself in, if he can feel the thick tension in the air, like everyone at the table is just waiting for Babbo Alilovi?’s permission to pounce.
Can he feel the house trembling around us?
Can he feel the thick vines that blanket the floor beneath our feet, twisting and writhing with impatience, desperate to cut into him, to drag him down into my rotting garden to serve as fertilizer for the peonies and roses?
To my surprise, it is Azizi’s sister, Carmilla, who chimes in next, her voice steady and deep. “You said the spell did not work? And yet you do not look nearly old enough to have purchased this house decades ago. Have you found another means of immortality then?”
Walden straightens his back, a disgusting sort of confidence plastered on his face as he addresses Carmilla.
“Well you see, the spell itself works very well. I have managed to use it multiple times over my lifetime, but it isn’t nearly as permanent as I’d like it to be, you understand.
The spell itself simply drains the life from a familial sacrifice and gives it to me.
It does not prolong my life indefinitely. ”
“I see,” she responds, her piercing, red-brown eyes locking onto Walden’s so suddenly that he shifts in his seat. “I would imagine that the call for a familial sacrifice would run your resources dry rather quickly, would it not? There is only so much family a person has.”
Walden shifts again, the corners of his eyes pinching with discomfort as he offers her a tight smile. “Yes, well, there are of course ways around that. Magic cares little about how one is related to a person, so both blood relation and marital relation work well enough for completing the spell.”
Marital relation.
Between one breath and the next, the tide rises and threatens to swallow me up, his words drowning beneath the crashing waves.
He’d been chasing immortality for decades at least, if his story is true. Had Walden been married before me? Had he sacrificed his previous wives to the same selfish ritual he attempted with me? How many women has he killed for the sake of his own existence?
I think I should feel more hurt by the fact, but instead there is just…
emptiness. Betrayal, yes. Confusion, of course.
But I think the hurt had been swallowed by anger the moment I found out about his role in my death.
Now I am a corpse clawing my way through the current, making my way back to the ship I willingly jumped from, desperately reaching for the safety ladder Azizi’s family have let down for me.
It strikes me that none of the Alilovi?s look particularly shocked at the conversation happening around them. Ana-Lucia looks a touch bored, perhaps, but they all look well-apprised of the situation.
Had Babbo Alilovi? told them ahead of time what happened? Do they know what he tried to do to me? What I did to save myself?
Shame is an ugly, vicious thing, and it settles in my chest like mold, spreading over my ribcage and between my muscles, inching towards my unbeating heart.
An infection brought on by the man sitting across from me, smiling as if he has done nothing wrong.
As if he has not sacrificed life after life to keep his own.
“Marital relation,” Carmilla hums, raising an eyebrow. “You said your wife passed many years ago, correct? And yet her ritual to keep you young did not work?”
Walden’s jaw clenches, and his next bite of food seems to go down slower, louder. I wonder if he is beginning to catch on, if the worry and paranoia are eating away at him like my anger and grief eat away at me.
“Pardon me, my lady, but I did not think this to be an interrogation,” Walden says politely. “Nor did I think the Court cared about what its members do so long as it does not interfere with the secrecy of our kind. Do you yourself not sacrifice the lives of others to keep yourself alive?”
Carmilla laughs, the sound dark, yet charming in the otherwise quiet room.
She bats the question away with her hand and holds up her wine glass, staring into the red liquid with an almost fond look.
“You are right of course. We are no strangers to sacrifice, nor death. Forgive me, I did not mean to sound accusatory. I am only curious, is all.”
Whether he believes her or not, I cannot tell, but he seems mollified, regardless.
“No apologies needed, my lady. You must understand, warlocks like myself tend to be met with disdain and distance amongst the Court, in my experience. Learning magic as a human, rather than being born into it, seems to bring forth the opinion that I do not belong. I do hope that is not the case here.”
“Certainly not,” Azizi answers him. “How one becomes a member of our Court is of little consequence, supposing it was done within the rules of our charter.”
The man’s fingers tighten around his glass, but he offers Azizi a polite nod. “I assure you, it was. My mentor can attest, should you find the need to check.”