31. FRANCOIS
Having the wolf once again incapacitated is greatly improving my peace.
Aurora doesn’t like it.
She’s not speaking to me currently, so I’m enjoying some much-needed peace.
Mother said that being alone was when she was least lonely.
Not exactly what you wish to hear from a parent as a young child, but I know why she felt that way. Being constantly misunderstood, or choosing not to embrace the crowd, is a busy, noisy kind of solitary.
The French hold that notion deeply in their culture.
Do not disturb during the afternoon sieste, and certainly feel no pressure to return a friendly smile from a stranger.
They understand that a life is built behind closed shutters, chez soi—the sacred, unassailable fortress of the home where the outside world is firmly locked out.
Privacy is not considered a luxury; it is the boundary of civilized elegance.
I cannot underestimate the joy she must have felt, leaving my father behind in Havengard as she and I returned to her home country.
Returning to this island has been…c’est un peu lourd.
A little tedious.
Will Aurora love Paris as much as I do?
Will her eyes widen with excitement as she adopts the exquisite restraint of French life? Vulgarity is banished, and understated elegance is everything.
Since moving back to Havengard, the loud, exhausting ostentation of the Havengard Elites had become increasingly hard to tolerate.
For some reason, even the desperate clannishness of the Diggers is preferable to that.
I shock even myself with the thought.
But reason soon prevails as the panicked scuttling feet of Daniel destroys the moment. Of course these people are all hideous, what was I thinking?
He bursts into the room, chest heaving under his sweat-stained coveralls.
“Boss!” he wheezes, clutching the doorframe. “It’s the Guild! They’re attacking!”
I don’t move, but my temper fizzes as I realize my repose is not to be. “Explain, Daniel. Briefly.”
“A crew of ‘em caught Alanna and Carson in the back service-tunnel,” he whines. “They’re saying if they have to freeze, we’re gonna bleed. They’ve got pipes, shivs… they caught them completely off guard.”
A gasp comes from the cage. Aurora is on her feet, fingers curling around the bars of the cage. “Where’s Sky? Is she with Layla? Are they safe?” Her blue eyes are wide, not with fear for herself, but for the “family” she’s found in this gutter.
It’s irritating. She should only be worried about me.
Daniel sneers at her, then turns his back to stare at me, waiting for the “Boss” to perform. I don’t approve of his attitude, but that will be something to fix later.
For now, I stand slowly, the movement a stark contrast to Daniel’s frantic energy. Fighting factions. The thought of it almost gives me a cold thrill.
The monotony of the morning, the tedious talk of laundry and sewage—it’s gone. Finally, the prison is offering me something I’m interested in: pain and power.
“How many of these invaders have encroached on our territory?” I ask.
My mind begins to calculate even while I shudder at the shared “our” I just used.
“Five? Six?” he yelps. “The guards are just backing off, letting it happen! They want us to cull each other!”
That seems likely. I’d do the same in the warden’s position.
“Wait,” an annoying raspy voice cuts into my thoughts.
The wolf stirs. He’s pale and sweat-slicked, but his golden-brown eyes are finally open—and they’re fixed on my minion. “Are they in the bottleneck?”
“Yeah, and the door to the workshop is bolted from the other side.”
Of course these two know the layout. It’s not a shared language I will bother to learn. Taliesin groans then pulls himself to sitting.
Bevan looks at me, and for the first time, the hatred in his gaze is tempered by a desperate pragmatism. “Let me out of here, de Vaux. You’re useless in this context. They need me.”
“You?” I arch an eyebrow, looking down at his trembling frame. “You can barely draw a breath, let alone a blade.”
Aurora helps him to his feet. “Do as he says, Francois.”
With one hand clinging to the bars, Bevan attempts to straighten. “You may think you’re the Boss,” he croaks. “But they won’t listen to you. If I’m there, I can end this without a massacre.”
He’s quite possibly right, of course. Heightened emotions will make my little “diggers” logic fly out of the window—if this place had any.
Mostly, I’d like to defenestrate Daniel.
But I must consider. If the wolf is in the thick of a fight, he could easily find himself in the path of a stray pipe without me having to lift a finger.
That could be interesting.
“A fair point,” I pretend to concede. “Daniel, leave us.”
The rat disappears, I’m sure off to a safe hiding place.
Bevan wavers on his feet. Releasing a sigh, I come to the conclusion I’ll have to aid him. I step toward the cage, and reach through the bars.
My palm presses against his chest and for a moment, the acid-green light flickers. I draw back just a portion of the black film I left in his marrow—enough to give him his feet, but not enough to give him his teeth.
“What are you doing to him now?” Aurora demands. “Stop with that shit.”
I ignore ma mie, and watch, fascinated as the wolf gasps, his back arching as the paralysis lifts.
“Better?” I ask.
He stumbles, catching himself on the bars. “Feeling just peachy.” His voice has gained a fraction of its former power. “Let’s do this.”
As I unlock the cage, Aurora pulls at Bevan’s shoulders. “Make sure Sky isn’t down there. Imran too.”
He gazes at her through bloodshot eyes. “Of course, top priority, babe. But you need to stay in the cage, just in case. This might get real ugly.”
The wolf has a point. I will be leaving Aurora unattended, but ironically the bars will keep her safe.
“Come along, Bevan. Let us see if your leadership is as robust as your ego.”
Taliesin follows me out of the cell, his gait unsteady but determined. “Tally!” Aurora’s yelling follows us into the corridor, as the scent of smoke and adrenaline rises to meet me. “Be careful.”
Touching.
At the junction leading to the back service-tunnel, shadows at the end of the hall shift. “Ahead.”
“I see it.”
Four figures in navy jumpsuits step into our path.
“That’s Thad, Dimitry’s number three,” Bevan hisses in my ear.
This Thad-person, plus his three stooges, approach with rudimentary weapons held fast.
“Well, well, well.” Thad speaks and swaggers with an unearned bravado. “The pussy-whipped loser and Frankie the Frog.”
He spits onto the concrete floor.
That crude gesture is tiresome and far too frequently used in this place.
The wolf steps forward. “Leave, Thad, now,” he growls. “This won’t end well for any of you.”
The air is already thick with the scent of impending violence. “For once he is correct, un autre imbécile,” I nod.
“What did you call me?” Thad sneers. His knuckles whiten around the handle of his weapon, then he spits again, in my direction.
Enough.
I take a slow step closer and simply let the darkness within me leak into my gaze, my pupils expanding until the world is nothing but the shadows I control.
“I said you are un idiot.” I allow my voice to ripple through the air like a physical blow.
One of his henchmen lunges forward with a sharpened piece of piping, aiming straight for the wolf’s throat. Bevan meets him halfway.
Despite the poison still singing in his veins, his instinct is impeccable. His fist connects with the man’s jaw in a perfect, brutal arc. The bone gives way—crack—and the Guilder is down before he can even grunt.
Keeping Thad locked in a mental prison, I watch the wolf move. He’s slow, his coordination hampered by the dregs of my poison, but his instinct is a primal thing that doesn’t need a clear mind to function.
The hall turns into a blur of motion. The second Guilder charges, but the wolf grabs the man’s shirt and slams him into the concrete wall with a force that makes the light fixtures rattle.
As he hits the floor, Taliesin spins to engage the third, who was trying to circle around his flank. Dropping into a deep knee-bend, metal whistles harmlessly over Bevan’s head.
I almost smile as he stands again, driving the heel of his palm into the man’s solar plexus.
Wheezing for air, the Guild man struggles against Bevan’s arm as it presses his windpipe shut.
Now, where was I? Ah yes, Thad.
He’s frozen, hands trembling. I place my cold hand on his forehead and reach into the soft, malleable parts of his mind.
“You want this attack to stop,” I hiss, leaning into his ear.
“You are desperate to get all the Guild men back to their blocks where they belong. Spread the word, make it happen.”
Thad falls to his knees beside his broken crew, face turning a sickly, translucent gray as his mind fractures under the weight of the compulsion.
I straighten my cuffs, looking at Bevan as he stands over three broken bodies, chest heaving. “Efficient, but messy. Shall we continue?”
I glide past the whimpering Thad, the wolf following in my wake, heading toward the screams of the service-tunnel block.
The peasants are revolting, as they say.