Covet the Night, page 13
"Maybe it's a curse," Hazel pondered aloud. "Do you think they'll ever escape its web, Poppy?"
"I don't know, my love. But I think we shall soon see."
Hazel hummed and nodded at Poppy's reply.
A plague of curiosity enveloped Gwen. She was aware the Roux kept lovers. Laurel had waxed on about affairs and tumultuous romances to satisfy their hearts and wanton longings, but none that went on for years. Certainly, none like Hans, who was effortlessly sweeping the petite vampyré out of the common room.
The hushed conversation that followed the couple's retreat trickled away as Madame Roux took center stage. She peered around at the sisters clustered protectively around their protégés and then to Aster and Delphine. The two women stood solemnly, hand in hand; their sadness reverted to sharply drawn shoulders and rigid spines. Heartache glimmered in Madame Roux's eyes as she gazed upon the forlorn women before the emotion vanished without a trace.
"In this most difficult time, I ask that you all look to Delphine, who, thus far, has handled the loss of her family's legacy, and would-be childe's life, with the utmost grace and poise. Though her heart surely breaks, she perseveres and does not bend or break to the jaws of grief." Stillness permeated the air, with many eyes traveling from Delphine to the closed door where Danica and Hans had departed. "Tonight, we lay fond memories to rest and resolutely look toward our bright future. The events of tonight could not have been predicted but they could have been prevented.
"From this point forward, initiates shall be monitored at all times. They shall be escorted from place to place and kept from the Dark Court's seedier lounges where troublesome supernaturals outside our kind are wont to be." Murmured agreements roused from the sisterhood. Gwen's throat tightened as Madame's gaze fell heavily on her. "As for our fragile mortal initiates, they will follow the instruction of the sisterhood without hesitation. They will curb their brazen appetites for foolhardy adventure and behave in a manner befitting the name they seek to earn. Am I understood?"
Madame Roux's leaden gaze traveled from initiate to initiate, waiting until each gave their consent before moving on to the next. When her regard returned to Gwen, Gwen’s stomach clenched in trepidation. Madame Roux sauntered forward. A cold elbow bumped into her rib cage. Gwen lurched to her feet, keeping her chin modestly up and eyes downcast. As she rolled back her shoulders, dried blood cracked unpleasantly across her skin and flaked off her.
"Whose blood is that on you?"
Gwen cringed, her head and heart aching. "I don't know."
No sooner had the words left her mouth than a sharp sting lit up the side of her face. Gwen's stunned eyes met Becca's, whose pale face registered the slap with as much astonishment as Gwen felt. A cold finger trailed across her neck, circling back until it met the sticky stain of blood there. Though she knew better, Gwen dared a glance at Madame Roux as she sucked the blood from her finger.
The look she sent Gwen could have cut a diamond. "Do not lie to me, Gwendolyn."
"I'm not," she rushed to say. "I swear. I don't know—"
"The blood on you is that of your fallen sister. I can taste her on you, despite the dark magic that taints her blood."
The world came to a crashing halt at Madame's admission. Gwen's entire body went cold as her stomach plummeted to her feet. If she was numb before, this revelation was paralyzing. She fisted her hands in her skirts as her lashes fluttered to combat the fog taking over her mind.
"Brit—"
Another slap stung her flesh. This time she didn’t dare to meet Madame's regard. Fingertips stroked the abused cheek, winding their way to the underside of her chin to return her attention forward.
"Her name is to be stricken from your lips and heart, Gwendolyn," Madame Roux said almost kindly, but her words dripped with saccharine sweetness.
Gwen swallowed thickly as twin rivulets ran down her face. "I understand. Only then may I stand the test of time alongside you."
Madame Roux's lips pressed into a pleased smile and released her. "It is good to see you learning, Gwendolyn."
Gwen strove to compose herself as Madame stepped away, releasing the death grip on her skirts and sniffing back her tears. Unfortunately, the hollow pit in her stomach did not abate.
"Off to bed," Madame commanded with a sharp clap of her hands. "All of you."
With all the night's twists and turns, Gwen didn't expect to end it in a soaking hot bath up to her shoulders in bubbles. Not that she was going to complain. She believed baths could soak away even the most pressing of problems, at least for a little while. It might have been nicer if she'd gotten to take the bath alone and cry without an audience.
Gwen's red-rimmed eyes shifted listlessly over her sisters, who lounged on the floor around the bathtub. The hot drag of a washcloth skimmed over the tops of her shoulders and down her back. She sank into it.
On second thought, maybe this is the nicer option.
She'd wept and spoken in fragments about the night's events. She wasn't sure how much of it made sense. Her fear and adrenaline blurred events until she began to question herself and fell silent. Gwen felt like a lost child in their care, with all semblance of strength and courage washing away along with the blood on her body.
A sardonic smile twisted her lips. What had happened tonight was a nightmare, yet it couldn't top the other traumas she'd faced.
The car accident as a child.
Her mother's death.
Her father's constant disappointment.
Her diagnosis.
Tonight would haunt Gwen for the foreseeable future, but experiencing the compassion and comfort from her sisters—a luxury she'd never received before from her father—reaffirmed her resolve to stay true to the path she'd chosen. Even if that path was littered with horrors and blood. So much blood.
"Come, pet." Gwen stood mechanically at Laurel's prompt and stepped from the tub. She was immediately enveloped by a white towel. "We've left your robe just there and will meet you in your room."
They whisked away before she had a chance to speak.
Gwen stood frozen for a prolonged moment before she toweled off and shrugged on the emerald cashmere robe they'd left for her. She shuffled into her room. They were there waiting, as promised.
Violet was curled up like a cat in the wingback chair next to her fireplace, her eyes watching Gwen's every move. Hazel and Lily sprawled out on her bed. Poppy had taken up residence in her desk chair that had been moved to the center of the room, with Laurel standing behind her. A boar bristle brush was in her hand, and she held it out expectantly to Gwen when she hesitated in the doorway.
"Come."
She moved forward obediently, letting the door swing shut behind her. Laurel pressed the brush into Gwen's hand and directed her behind Poppy. The eternal teen's long cinnamon hair had been taken down from its updo and came to a stop far past her shoulder blades.
"What do you want me to do?" Gwen asked.
"What do you think, silly?"
Gwen watched mutely as Laurel stepped away and leaned against the wall. Then she looked to the brush in her hand.
Without a word or thought, she began to brush Poppy's hair. The vampyré relaxed into her touch and gave a little sigh as Gwen idly ran the brush through her hair, maneuvering the silken strands this way and that. All was silent save the slight cracking and popping of the small fire they had started for her. Gwen was surprised at how soothing she found giving rather than receiving. There was a mindlessness to the act that miraculously managed to keep her darker thoughts at bay as she methodically took to her task.
"Your color is returning," Violet commented, startling Gwen from her chore. "How are you feeling?"
Her brushstrokes elongated as she pondered the question. "Somewhere between shock and guilt." Gwen offered a shrug with her answer, the tepid smile she put on dropping at Violet's concerned frown.
Poppy reached back to take hold of Gwen's hand. Twisting, she pressed her lips against Gwen's knuckles before sitting forward once more.
"You've nothing at all to feel guilty about." Gwen's pulse sped up at Poppy's gentle insistence. "There was nothing you could have done to stop the sorcery that ran amuck down there."
Nothing I could have done, Gwen thought, except not have gone down there at all. She'd only gone because she'd thought in the heat of the moment that it might irritate Bailey and River. Now Brit was dead.
"Did Laurel ever tell you why we take to pampering each other in such a way?" Violet's question drew Gwen's gaze. She shook her head. "When situations arose that nettled our emotions, my maker, Coral, used to brush our hair to calm us. I'm not certain if the other sisters still partake in such a ritual, but we do. It offers us a retreat from the madness that is court. It helps us to think more clearly because the court so loves to take advantage of any weakness shown. Know that you may always come to us, to rant and scream and share your burdens and worries with us, but out there—" She pursed her lips. "—you must keep a brave face."
"I will," Gwen responded. "I promise."
"Make sure you do, pet," Laurel said softly. Gwen's gaze swiveled to her sire-to-be. She stared into the embers of the fire without a hint of emotion on her face. "There is no mercy for the weak in the Dark Court."
VIII
G
wen thought the Lunarium was the most spectacular room in the court, but she was wrong. It was here, in the Turkish bathhouse located on the second sublevel. They'd been sent here to relax after their "trying experience" the other evening.
Gwen glanced at Liv as she secured her towel against her body. This was where Liv had procured her secret for the sisterhood. Gwen wondered what other hidden truths might be uncovered in this place.
Hopefully not hers.
Four nights ago, she'd taken the miracle tincture, and now its wellspring of energy and stamina was starting to wane. The more temperate of her symptoms were rearing their heads.
There'd been a number of bruises littered across her fair skin from her tumble in the Cellar, William's desperate affections, and Madame Roux's reprimanding hand. Bruising was a common symptom in AML, but Gwen didn't think each bump and slight warranted such obscene violet marks. The number had shocked her soon-to-be sisters, who rushed to fix the blemishes with a magical balm before she was carted off to the Turkish bathhouse with the other initiates and select sisters.
Laurel had observed the fussing with wary concern written all over her face, both soon-to-be sire and childe aware that mixing such magical medicine with Gwen's tincture would not go well, though they knew not how.
It will be fine, Gwen told herself. So far, the consequence of the healing balm was mild cramping that could be soothed away with a simple breathing technique.
"Hurry along," Cassia drawled as she exited the changing room and led their group into the main thoroughfare.
The walls and ceiling gleamed with pearly white and vibrant aqua and turquoise tiles that stretched up and across a sequence of domed peaks. With every breath, Gwen's lungs tingled pleasantly from the scent of eucalyptus. Her eyes shot down each offshoot of rooms and halls they passed. The tile work extended seamlessly in every direction. Heat wafted from some in welcome temptation, others allotted enticing cool drafts, but their group walked past each one.
"Who were those people in the changing room?" Becca asked Cassia.
"Which ones?"
"The attendants."
Cassia spared a glance at her soon-to-be childe. Her nose scrunched in mild disapproval.
"Dormice shifters. They perform various acts of work around the court and keep mostly out of sight. Be mindful of your tongue if you happen to see one. They have remarkable hearing capabilities. Left here, dear hearts." Cassia swept her arm out, and the group entered a room where the air was thick with dry heat. Moisture quickly gathered along Gwen's hairline and lower back.
"Remember," Cassia went on. "The women claim the rooms to the left and the men the rooms on the right. The center of the bathhouse holds the public pool where we'll meet after. Take as much time as you wish at each station. At least one or two of us will linger nearby to keep an eye on you should any trouble arise, though I doubt anyone would be so foolish."
Becca's sire-to-be placed a kiss on the top of her head before sauntering off, dropping her towel in one of the wicker baskets at the hot room's entrance. The other Roux were already inside. They lounged upon a deep-set grandstand in one of the corners. A different kind of heat enveloped Gwen as she studied Cassia's confident strut toward their numbers. Half the sisters welcomed her with smiles. The others ignored her.
Gwen's hand tightened on her towel. There were several other occupants in the room who sat or draped themselves across marble benches and circular platforms in the nude. A few eyed the initiates as they hesitated in the entryway.
"Who knew Americans were such prudes?" Antonia tossed the comment over her shoulder with a sly smirk as she untucked her towel and dropped it in the basket as well. Gwen caught Becca's eye roll as the Eastern European woman strode to one of the unoccupied platforms. A dry grin rose to Gwen's lips at Antonia's sass, but it fell when she saw the smattering of hash mark scars over her lower back.
The others copied Antonia, ditching their towels and walking after her, but Gwen's feet were stuck to the ground. The sight of Antonia's scars left Gwen acutely aware of her own as she unfastened her towel and let it pool at her feet. A lump stuck to the bottom of her throat as she walked the open gauntlet to reach the others. A few vampyrés aimed curious glances at her, but none noticeably lingered over her or her scar.
Gwen's shoulders relaxed as she realized nobody cared about her appearance. It was only her.
"We don't really do this kind of thing in America," Becca was saying to Liv as she sat on the edge of the platform striving for nonchalance.
"Surely you have spas with pools, though, non?" Liv cocked her head to the side as she lay out flat on the platform. The artfully messy bun on the top of her head leaned precariously to the side at the action.
"Some," she conceded, face red. "But people wear bathing suits. Right, Gwen?"
Gwen shrugged as she ventured to the other end of the stone platform and draped herself across it. Antonia took up the majority of the space with arms stretched out above her head and legs left long. She appeared completely relaxed while laid bare to the world. The smarting hooks of jealousy pricked Gwen from the inside, wishing she could achieve such aloofness.
"Most, I think," Gwen said once comfortable on her side. The platform was deliciously hot and eased her cramps. She stretched like a big cat among the African wilds. Apparently, achieving Antonia's state of relaxation wouldn't be as hard as she thought. "Think big fluffy robes and private baths for a more American interpretation. I don't know of any true Turkish bathhouse experiences where I lived. Maybe they're in the more major cities."
"How strange." Liv rested her chin on her shoulder as she peered over at Gwen. "And how very prudish." The sting was taken out of Antonia's first remark thanks to Liv's teasing note, and Gwen and Becca laughed.
As they lapsed into companionable silence, the room filled gradually with the latest court gossip. Talk of the Cellar killings dominated almost every lip, but other morsels trickled in as well. The latest ménage à trois, matters of outstanding debt, and rumors of new laws were spoken about unabashedly, voices rising and falling in delight and disgust. Quickly gaining traction was talk of the upcoming pit fight where vampyré, shifter, and sorcerer would take center stage in what was said to be the battles of the century.
Gwen allowed their words to drift over her, listening enough, so their ramblings filled her head instead of the sadness and regret she felt for Brit. She inhaled deeply as she forcefully pushed her fallen comrade out of mind and let the muted spices tickling her nose relax her.
"Did you hear the news from this morning?" Antonia offered as Becca rearranged herself to lie on her back like Liv.
"About the death count?" Becca's eyes fluttered open. "Cassia said three shifters, four sorcerers, and three vampyrés died."
And Brit, Gwen thought.
"Mon Dieu, so many?" Liv gasped. "I had no idea the casualties numbered so high. What other news did you hear?"
"I wasn't told anything," Gwen said when neither Antonia nor Becca spoke. "But before we came here, Violet questioned me."
A chorus of “Me too” sounded, but it was Antonia who broke the mold. With her back arched, she twisted and rolled to her belly, pillowing her arms beneath her chin as she kicked her feet up into the air behind her.
"Everyone was asked about what happened," Antonia informed her with a smug smirk. "All the matriarchs reported back to Peony. She needed to know everyone's version of events before speaking with the other heads of households."
Gwen arched an eyebrow back at Antonia, a twinge of anxiety prompting a cramp. Her grimace was ignored as Becca rolled over to face them directly. Her dark red hair was frizzing fast and clung to her skin wherever it touched.
"I heard they already dealt out punishments," Becca said matter-of-factly.
Antonia scowled back. "From whom?"
Becca rolled her eyes again. "Who do you think? Cassia." She checked surreptitiously if her sire-to-be overheard her remark.
"I heard the same," Liv volunteered. The quick flash of ire on Antonia's face dropped. "I heard it was the bartender all along—"
All at once, the women piped up with various claims of alarm and rebuttals.
"That's not true," Becca said above the rest. "I was at the bar helping to grab drinks. The bartender was a human thrall."
"He could have easily slipped some kind of potion into the drinks," Liv argued, finally flipping onto her stomach to join the conversation.
"But why go after another human and a vampyré with whatever devious plot he had in mind?" Becca's voice was drenched in skepticism. "Why not the shifters at the end of the bar?"
