“Lanore! Mon dieu, where have you been?” His voice was thick with concern, almost paternal. “Why haven’t you answered your phone or responded to the emails I’ve sent?”
“I’m sorry, Henri. I’ve been detained. What is it? Why have you been trying to reach me?”
“I hope you are seated, not driving a car or something like that, because I have bad news for you. Your house here, in Paris. It burned to the ground.”
I suddenly felt flattened. The world turned a shade darker.
“Did you hear me? I’ve been in a terrible panic when I did not hear back from you. If the fire bureau hadn’t assured me there were no human remains among the ashes, I might’ve suspected you had been in the building.”
“I’m sorry, Henri, to have caused you worry. Do they know how it happened?”
“They have not finished their investigation yet. They have been asking the usual questions—very rude, really—wanting to know if you are heavily insured, insinuating that you might have set it yourself. I put them straight immediately, as you can imagine. ‘You do not know Mademoiselle Bessender if you think she would be the sort of person to set fire to her own home!’ I told them.”
I could see how it might’ve seemed damning to Henri, though: I’d just sent away truckloads of irreplaceable antiques, none of which had been insured, because I hadn’t wanted to explain to an insurance company how I’d come to own them. Then the house burns down. There were still some important records and sentimental items in it, though, correspondence with friends long dead, records of my previous identities. The only possession it would kill me to lose was the charcoal drawing of Jonathan, and so it was the first thing to leap to mind. I couldn’t mourn my loss at that moment, however.
“You don’t need anything from me right now, do you?” I asked.
“I think the police would like to speak with you as soon as possible. They’ve been very concerned, as you might imagine. Shall I have them call you?”
That was the last thing I needed to deal with just then. “No, not yet, Henri. I have something else I need you to take care of first. That’s why I’m calling, as a matter of fact. I want to buy another house.”
“Another one! If you don’t mind me saying so, this might appear a wee bit suspicious to the police, seeing that your current home was recently destroyed. I don’t suppose this new house is in Paris?”
“No, it’s here in America. I want to pay off a mortgage for someone else, not to purchase a house for myself. I want to make a present of it.”
“It is not a simple thing to do, Lanore. And it isn’t smart, either, if you follow me. There are good reasons why you should keep your property in your name. Is this for your friend, the man who has been living with you? I do not need to tell you that relationships can change, sometimes precipitously. You should not be such a romantic.” I had told Henri when we met that I was an orphan, and that led him to occasionally try to father me when he felt I needed friendly advice.
“Thank you, but there’s no need to worry. I don’t want any part of it, Henri. It’s a simple little house. It belonged to Luke’s parents, but they’re dead now and Luke can’t pay off the mortgage. I’d like him to own the property free and clear. I’ll send the details in an email.”
He sighed. “As you wish. But what about you, Lanore? What are your plans? Now that your house is destroyed, where will you live?”
“I’m fine. I’m traveling. I don’t need a house right now.”
“Whatever is going on, it seems to have left you rather sad—and it’s never a good idea to conduct any financial transactions when one is emotional, you know. It’s far better to look at these things with a clear head. Are you sure you don’t want to think some more about what you are doing?”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’ve made up my mind.”
“It’s only that”—his tone was strained, which was quite unusual for Henri—“you’ve never done anything like this before. Never bought such a large gift for anyone. Especially not for a man.”
“Is that what’s bothering you?” Despite my worries, I laughed in relief. “Luke is hardly a gigolo.”
“He did talk you into giving away all those beautiful things,” he said, referring to the pieces we’d sent to museums. “They were worth a fortune. A considerable fortune.”
“Yes, but in this case it was the right course to take. I do appreciate you’re concerned enough to press the issue, but this is my decision. If you would execute my instructions, please, Henri, with your usual discretion.” Meaning Luke would not be told who paid the mortgage. But he would guess.
“As you wish,” he said, resigned.
Then I was compelled to add something. “I should say . . . you won’t be hearing from me for a while. Nothing to worry about. It’s just that I’ll be going away.”
“Away? But you’re away now. How much farther away can one be? Will you at least tell me where you are going?”
“I can’t say, Henri. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. Just don’t worry.”
“You say ‘don’t worry,’ but how can I not? You’ve got me very concerned, Lanore, I must say. . . . Are you sure you’re not in shock over the news of your house? I should have broken it more gently. . . .”
“No, Henri, I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not fine. It sounds like you’re saying good-bye to me, in so many words. . . . Quite frankly, you sound so melancholy that one might think . . . I might worry that you are thinking of harming yourself.” The words came out in an embarrassed jumble. How do you respond to a statement like that, from a man who has been taking care of you for decades? Especially when he’s right. For soon I would cease to be, one way or the other; either Tilde would help me slip the bonds of my curse so I could end my life, or I’d spend the rest of my days in Adair’s custody, a ghost, as Uzra had been.
“Don’t worry about me, Henri. Tomorrow I’ll be much better. I’m sure of it,” I said to him, hoping I sounded convincing. “Good-bye.”
I tossed the phone aside and held on to the steering wheel. Throughout the conversation, I’d held in my alarm at learning my house had been destroyed, for I knew it had to have been Adair’s doing. I would’ve screamed out loud if I didn’t think someone would hear me. In the span of a few minutes, my situation had become much worse. It was as though Adair was circling me like a wolf, just beyond the range of my vision. He’d killed the sheriff and taken Jonathan’s body; he’d burned down my house. He was systematically destroying everything that was precious to me. It didn’t seem I had a chance to escape. He was coming for me. I couldn’t bear to think what torture he was capable of inflicting.
I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to calm down. I had a plan, I reminded myself. Find Tilde, pray that she is as forgiving as Alejandro says she is, convince her to help me. As I reached down to slip the transmission into gear, the passenger-side door opened.
“Luke, I—” I turned, my heart in my throat, thinking he had come back to try to get me to change my mind. Who else could it be, here in the middle of nowhere? But the man who’d climbed into the car wasn’t Luke.
TWENTY-FIVE
There was something familiar about the man who slid into the front seat. I’d seen his features before—the impertinent grin, light leaping in his eyes like the flames of a bonfire—but his name eluded me. There was something odd about him. He seemed out of place, as though he belonged to another time. He waited patiently while I searched my memory.
“Jude,” he finally said, tipping his head in a mock bow, a hand pressed to his chest.
Once I heard his name, of course I remembered him as the wild-eyed charismatic preacher I’d first met as a teenage girl. He had been Adair’s emissary, scouring the New World for flawed individuals to turn into companions, and a new vessel to carry his soul. Sly and conniving, Jude had been perfect for the job. His appearance tonight could not have been a coincidence, and it didn’t bode well.
“What are you doing h
ere?” I asked, gripping the steering wheel tighter and trying to look past Jude’s shoulder into the blackness. “Is Adair with you? Where is he?”
Jude unzipped his jacket, making himself comfortable as he settled into the seat. “Not in Michigan, I’ll tell you that much. Now I know why he sent me to watch the ex-wife’s house: it’s a wasteland around here.”
I was relieved to hear that Adair hadn’t bothered to come after Luke and had sent a lackey instead, but I still needed to know what he was thinking. “So he’s looking for me. Where is he, Jude?”
“I don’t know,” Jude replied. “He doesn’t tell me everything. You know how he is.”
“I’m starting to recall, yes.”
“You’ll know soon enough: I’m bringing you to him now. And do us both a favor and don’t think about giving me a hard time, because we both know I can easily overpower you, and I don’t think you want to ride all the way to Green Bay in the trunk.” He nodded at the dark road ahead. “Drive. Before long, you’ll see a car on the side of the road. Pull up behind it. We’re going to take my vehicle and leave yours here,” he instructed.
A black sports car came into view beneath a stand of trees, as Jude had described. Jude took my elbow and led me to the second car, then pushed me into the passenger seat. He looked through my purse to make sure I had a passport and retrieved my suitcase from the trunk of my rental car.
Turning the key in the ignition, Jude swung the car onto the empty highway. Light flashed hypnotically overhead as we passed streetlamps, and just as I’d begun to think he meant to travel the entire way in silence, he spoke. “For the record, I don’t have anything against you, Lanore. It’s not like I was in any hurry to have Adair come back. I’d just as soon have lived the rest of my life without seeing him again. We all felt that way—Alejandro, Tilde, Dona. It was just that none of us were eager to attempt what you did. We knew what would happen to us if we’d failed.”
“Lucky for you, then, that I succeeded.” I held my gaze steady on him while he looked away, ashamed. I changed the subject. “How is he? Adair, I mean,” I asked.
“How do you think he is? It’s like having a hurricane blow into your life and turn everything upside down,” Jude said, hotly. “Or having a child suddenly left on my doorstep. I have to explain everything to him: phones, cars, televisions, computers. He knows nothing. It’s a nightmare. And I forgot what it was like being around him. . . . He’s a tyrant, a megalomaniacal despot. Once you’ve been free, you can’t live like that again.” His words spilled out in a torrent. He must’ve been desperate to complain to someone who could appreciate the impossibility of his situation.
“It’s worse than you know, Jude. Why do you think I walled him up in the first place? He’s not what you think he is, Jude. He’s not the defenseless peasant boy he pretends to be in the stories of his youth. He’s the physic, the monster in his own story.”
By Jude’s reaction, I could tell that I’d surprised him. “That’s impossible,” he said, but he sounded unconvinced, as though turning what I’d said over in his mind.
“He’s more powerful than you know. You won’t believe what he can do.”
Jude kept his nervous gaze on the road. “Try me.”
I drew in a deep breath and braced myself for his reaction: “He can put his consciousness into another body.”
Jude was quiet. Putting the pieces together, maybe.
“He took over the peasant boy’s body. And that’s why he sent you and the others out scouting for someone like Jonathan: he was searching for a new body. That’s why he had me bring Jonathan to him. He wanted a new vessel, one that was irresistible, whom people would want to befriend and trust. One that would give him everything he wanted.”
There was still no objection from Jude, no questioning of my sanity. He stroked the corners of his mouth. “What makes you think this is what Adair was up to? What evidence do you have?”
“I saw a room at the old mansion that was just like the physic’s workspace in Adair’s story. He’d re-created it and tried to hide it away. It was chilling, Jude. It was filled with the ingredients from his story, the herbs and roots, all this ancient equipment,” I told him. “I found his books, the two he talked about, the ones with all his spells. Then I made a terrible mistake. I took a few things to be verified, so I could be sure I was right about him. I think that’s why he killed Uzra: he realized someone had been in the room and knew he’d been found out.”
Jude seemed to be struggling with a thought as he drove, his hands restless on the steering wheel, his brow furrowed and his mouth pressed tight. “I’d known—all of us knew—that he was interested in alchemy . . . magic . . . but it didn’t seem like more than a casual interest. A lot of people in my day were; it wasn’t that unusual. Then, a few weeks back, when Adair escaped, he came straight to my house. He was able to find me, just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers. “The first thing he did was to look for his books of spells. I knew about the books—I’d seen them once or twice when I lived with him—but I didn’t think much of it at the time. He never made a big deal over them. . . .
“Since he’s returned, though, it’s been intense. . . . He made another person immortal like us, he brought Jonathan back from the dead—”
“He brought Jonathan back from the dead?” I interrupted. His news left me feeling as though I’d taken a punch to the head. “I’d heard he’d gone after Jonathan’s body, but you’re saying Adair brought him back to life?”
Jude shivered. “He sure has, and it’s the spookiest thing you ever saw. When he first showed up at the house, he looked only half-alive, like a wet, bloodless lump of meat. His corpse must’ve been in a terrible state, half-decomposed by the time Adair got to it, and looks like it’s trying to rebuild itself—”
“Jude—no more details, please.” My beautiful Jonathan reduced to a lump of raw flesh. That was what I’d done to him, taken away the magic that had kept him perfect and left him to rot and ruin like any other human. It hurt to hear Jonathan described like this. I didn’t want to think of him in any way other than how I had known him. I’d been tormented these past three months, questioning whether I’d done the right thing by giving Jonathan his release, but I hadn’t given a thought to what his body would go through.
“I’d say he’s almost back to normal now,” Jude continued, “but I didn’t know him before, so it’s hard for me to tell if he looks the same. As for his mental state, I’d say he’s awfully calm for someone in his position.”
My conscience had gotten the better of me now, and I hugged my upper arms to chase away the chill of my guilt. “Has he said anything about dying? What it was like to die? Did he mention if he was in pain at the end or if he wished he hadn’t done it?”
“He hasn’t blamed you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Jude rested one of his hands at the top of the steering wheel. “He claims he can’t remember any of it clearly, but I think it’s just an excuse to put Adair off, since he’s so desperate to know about the afterlife. Adair’s worried about what might be waiting for him on the other side.”
My ears pricked up. “Is he?”
“Oh yeah, especially after Jonathan told him about meeting the ‘queen of the underworld.’”
“‘Queen of the underworld’?” I didn’t like the sound of that, even if I didn’t know what it meant.
“Out of the billions of souls in the afterlife, trust your boy Jonathan to come to the attention of the head girl.”
“Did he say anything more about this queen?”
“Adair says he’s her consort or something like that.” Jude warmed to his tale. “It’s not exactly clear what’s going on, but it shook up Adair. He’s afraid of this queen, there’s no doubt. He says she’s a powerful force, strong magic.”
“I’ve never heard of a queen of the underworld,” I mumbled to myself, thinking back to the conversations I’d had over the years, trying to find a way out of my condition. None of them—not the p
rofessors or the back-room magicians, self-professed alchemists or holy men—had mentioned a queen of the underworld. A tremor of awe and fear ran through me. As for Jonathan being her chosen companion, that didn’t surprise me in the least. I’d never known a man or woman able to resist Jonathan, so why would a deity be immune to his appeal? “How is Jonathan? Adair hasn’t hurt him, has he?”
“I wouldn’t worry about Jonathan. He doesn’t seem to be afraid of Adair; it’s more the other way around. I’d say he’s got Adair figured out. And you should know, Lanny: Adair has changed in some ways. Those two hundred years behind the wall changed him. It’s hard to say how, exactly . . . knocked down a peg, maybe. He thinks before he acts.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of this news. If Adair was sparing Jude his vitriol, that meant he undoubtedly was saving it for me. As I thought over what Jude told me, he cleared his throat for my attention. “There’s something else you should know. A few nights ago, he said he was able to go to your house in Paris. He didn’t need to leave his room; he said he went there through ‘projection.’ He said that’s how he knew you were with this doctor. That’s why he sent me here.”
The fire. Fear spiked in my heart as I realized that the fire that destroyed my home had been his doing, even though he hadn’t actually been there. He didn’t even need to strike a match. His mere intent could be dangerous. Why shouldn’t it be? By his hand and intent—that was his curse.
And suddenly I was hit by the enormity of what I was up against. For whatever reason, the Fates had seen fit to allow Adair to bend reality to his will, to make the impossible possible, and there was no way that I would be able to defend myself against this. I could try to outrun him, but in all likelihood that would only make him angrier. He had Jonathan, he knew about Luke; he had at least two levers to try to control me, and probably more that I hadn’t yet thought of. How had he been able to know which way I would turn, where I would run? How could he have been so many steps ahead of me?