Torn. Part 18

"And you prefer finesse?"

"Oh, Mouse. I am all about finesse." His thumb rubbed a slow circle on the small of my back, and I tripped.

To cover, I asked, "What are we doing, anyway? You never said."

"n.o.body knows who put the order out on Verity, or if they do, they ain't talking. Person we're meeting tonight, though, has the why."

"You said it was to break the prophecy."

"Magic's a funny thing; so's fate. Once you mess around with what's been foretold, you can't predict the consequences, like what happened with you. We need to know why they wanted the prophecy broken, what they hoped to gain. We get that, we'll know who killed Vee."

"What do I do?"

He paused. "Follow my lead."

His nonanswer made me wary. My expression must have shown it, too, because he stopped again, exhaled slowly, and took my hand. "This meeting . . . you ain't gonna like it. But people see you taking offense, we won't get what we need. And truth is, I shouldn't be bringin' you along-this ain't really your kind of place."

"Then why did you bring me?"

He smiled, mockingly. "You said you wanted to be involved, Mouse. Just tryin' to honor our deal." His expression sobered. "Whatever happens, whatever is said, you need to bite your tongue and let it go. Can you do that?"

I'd been biting my tongue for most of my life. Nice girls do not argue with their mothers, their uncles, their teachers, their customers . . . they don't argue. So for seventeen years, I'd been holding back, except with Verity. With her, I could say exactly what I thought, and she welcomed it. "And people always say you're the nice one!" she'd laugh. But I wasn't-I was the quiet one. Since she'd died, I'd been biting my tongue less and less. She would have approved, especially with Luc. But for tonight, for her, I could stay quiet once again.

"You'll explain everything, later? The stuff I don't get?"

"Don't I always?" He started off again, keeping hold of my hand.

"Not really, no."

We walked in silence the rest of the way. It felt different from Chicago, the night air heavy and warm, no hint of autumn. It smelled like flowers and spice instead of concrete and the lake. Luc's fingers laced with mine were strong and real, the only part of this night remotely normal.

"Here," he said, coming to a stop.

It was a boarded-up, dilapidated storefront. Graffiti was scrawled across the plywood-covered windows, a grime-covered For Sale sign was nailed to the door. "This? You're meeting these people here? It's a tenement."

"Spells hide more than people." He pushed open the door, music and voices spilling out, and guided me inside.

The room we stepped into was no tenement-dimly lit, with lamps casting warm pools of light onto scarred wooden tables, and a couple of pool tables with games in progress. In the opposite corner, a grizzled old man played something bluesy on a battered guitar while a stunning woman, her hair a waterfall of tiny braids, swayed and sang about love and lies. Her dress glittered, casting rainbows on the floor and walls. When she spotted Luc, she canted her body toward him, her smile a lush, blatant invitation. He acknowledged her with a nod and a quick gleam of teeth, but his eyes stayed cool and unreadable.

Keeping my hand firmly in his, Luc surveyed the room. People seemed to know him-many of the people seated at the long, copper bar nodded in recognition. Some of the people at the tables stopped their conversation and openly gaped.

He leaned toward me. "Be helpful if you could look a little less like a deer in the headlights. Maybe even pretend you like me."

I tamped down my irritation and smiled at him-a slow, lazy smile like the ones he gave me sometimes, the ones that made me the slightest bit light-headed. He blinked and smiled back, a hint of the predator showing through. I hadn't felt like prey before, but I did now. "You should do that more often," he said, lips brus.h.i.+ng my earlobe, and went back to studying the room.

Finally he focused on a deep booth in the far back corner. The small circle of light didn't illuminate the occupant. The nearby tables were empty. He tugged me forward. "Showtime."

We approached the table, Luc keeping me partly behind him.

"Ah, Luc," came a satiny voice from the shadowy recess of the booth. "I was starting to wonder if you'd show."

"Niobe. Always a pleasure. May we sit down?"

"We?" A woman with skin the color of nutmeg leaned forward into the lamplight. "A new companion? Already? People might talk."

Luc pulled me closer, running his hand up and down my arm, the gesture more possessive than affectionate. "Good to give them something to talk about," he said easily. "Verity's gone. The old rules don't apply."

Niobe inspected me closely, and the pressure of Luc's fingers against my arm kept me from wriggling under her gaze. Her expression turned vaguely distasteful. "My agreement was with you alone. The girl's not welcome."

"She won't say a word," he drawled, toying with the ends of my hair. "She'll just sit and look pretty."

I jerked my elbow, overcome with a sudden desire to ram him in the gut, and he tightened his grip.

"She doesn't belong here."

"She belongs to me," he said mildly.

To him? Only my promise to Verity kept me from telling Luc exactly where he could shove his stupid sword.

"She waits at the bar. I don't conduct business with Flats."

He scoffed. "Didn't know you had such delicate sensibilities."

"The bar, Luc, or our business is concluded. You can have playtime later."

"Do it," I whispered, curling my fingers around the back of his neck, doing my best to look like a vapid girlfriend. I'd practically grown up at Black Morgan's. Magic or not, this was an environment I understood. People got funny when it came to doing business in front of others. "I'll be fine."

He scowled, but walked me over to an empty stretch of the bar. The bartender, a giant of a man with an intricately tattooed skull and biceps as big around as Christmas hams, started over.

"Don't you move from this seat," Luc hissed. "Don't talk to anyone, don't make a fuss. Just wait here all quiet-like and we'll be through soon."

"Diet c.o.ke?" I said to the bartender, not wanting to give Luc the satisfaction of a response. My drink appeared before me instantly, in a frosted mug. I turned back to Luc. "Go!"

"Stay here," he said, and headed back to the sleek, terrifying Niobe.

I had a perfect view of the room from where I sat, of the stage and the pool tables, the entrance and Niobe's booth. Colin would have approved, at least from a tactical standpoint. Of course, if he knew I was here, Darklings and other magical bad guys would be the least of my worries.

"Anything else?" asked the bartender, polis.h.i.+ng a nonexistent spot on the counter.

"No, thanks." I was content to nurse my drink and people-watch, and he made his way back down the counter to the other paying customers. It wasn't much different from Morgan's-smokier, but the scent only made me nostalgic. There were games running at both pool tables. The staccato clack of the b.a.l.l.s and the soft thwock as shots were made was a nice counterpoint to the music. The singer seemed to have forgotten about Luc. She was back to singing to the entire room. I felt her gaze drift toward me a few times before shying away.

I couldn't tell if the pool players were using magic to throw the game. Maybe it cancelled out-if both players were drawing on ley lines, neither had an advantage. I wondered how much magic Verity's killers had, how good they were. They'd sent Darklings instead of going after her themselves. Were they not strong enough, even before she'd fully refined her powers? Or did they want to be untraceable? Was the attack a sign of desperation or a show of strength?

Someone sat down next to me, a nondescript guy in a T-s.h.i.+rt and khaki shorts, probably a little older than Luc. He looked like most of the University of Chicago grad students I saw whenever I was in Hyde Park, down to the scruffy blond beard and wire-rimmed gla.s.ses. He ordered a beer, and turned to me. "You need a refill?"

I held up my mug, two-thirds full. "I'm good."

"Aw, c'mon. Just a top-off." The bartender dropped off a second mug for the stranger, and waved his hand at mine. Instantly, it was refilled and iced over again. Considering the number of coffee cups I topped off every day, that was a talent I could actually use.

"I haven't seen you here before," Gla.s.ses Guy said.

"First time."

"Hey, welcome to the Dauphine! How about a toast?"

Luc had said not to talk to anyone, but it seemed harmless. Being rude would only draw more attention. It might be better to play along and not make a scene. My mother's mantra was finally serving me well. I s.h.i.+fted in my seat and lifted my drink.

"To trying new things," he said, and I echoed him. We clinked mugs and drank. I felt uneasy, too light in my skin. I wished Luc would hurry up. Gla.s.ses Guy kept sneaking looks at me, a small smile playing over his face. He was kind of homely, with small eyes behind the gla.s.ses, a weak chin, and a faint, grasping air of desperation. I kept my eyes on Luc's booth, reflected in the mirror behind the bar.

"It's funny," he said after a while. "You seem so familiar. Have we met before?"

"I doubt it," I said politely. I didn't have a lot of experience with pickup lines, but now wasn't the time for practice. "I'm not from around here."

"Chicago, right? You've got the accent." I flushed. I'd always noticed Luc's accent but never considered I might have one of my own. This guy didn't seem to have one at all-he had the precise, untraceable voice of a news anchor.

"Is it that obvious?"

"No," he said cheerfully. "You're a long way from home."

I nodded and glanced at Luc's booth again, then my watch. Still not too late. How long before Lena noticed I was gone? Before she told Ms. C? Before Colin decided to check in with me and noticed that a bar sounds nothing like a journalism cla.s.sroom?

Gla.s.ses Guy drummed the countertop erratically. "You waiting for someone?" he asked.

"Kind of."

"Just wondered. You keep checking the booths. I'm not making you nervous, am I?"

"No." Not until now, anyway. But I'd been riding CTA buses for years. You never-never-let someone know they were getting to you.

He held his hands up to show he was harmless. "Sorry. I just can't believe someone would keep a girl like you waiting here, of all places."

A girl like me. There was that phrase again. Granted, it seemed a little less insulting when it was coming from a guy trying to pick me up.

"Thanks." Despite a p.r.i.c.kle of unease at ignoring Luc's instructions, I smiled at the guy. "So, you're from New Orleans."

"No, no. That's the funny thing about the Dauphine, you know? It's a crossroads. You meet people from everywhere . . . I knew another girl from Chicago," he added, stopping the incessant drumming. "About your age, I think. Maybe you knew her."

I set the mug down carefully, trying to catch Luc's eye in the mirror. He'd moved farther back into the booth with Niobe, impossible to spot. If I was on the bus, I'd be looking for another seat to come open right about now. "Chicago's a big city."

"Sure," he said agreeably. "But something about you reminds me of her. She was a nice girl. I heard things didn't go so great for her once she got back to Chi-Town, though."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Only tourists and newspaper columnists call Chicago Chi-Town. I pressed my index finger against the condensation beading on my mug, willing my hand to stay steady. "Really? What happened?"

"Oh, you know how rumors are. Some people said she got in over her head with raw magic. Someone said she actually thought she was the girl from the Torrent Prophecy. Like anyone would believe her."

"The Torrent Prophecy," I said. "You don't think she was?"

"Well," he said, leaning so close I could smell the beer on his breath, yeasty and sour, "if she really was the Vessel, she wouldn't have been so d.a.m.n easy to kill, would she?"

I froze. What the h.e.l.l was taking Luc so long? Were he and Niobe discussing Oprah's latest book club selection?

I turned the mug in my hand, trying desperately for nonchalance instead of terror. Whatever Niobe knew, this guy knew more, and his presence here was no accident. I needed to keep him talking. "Did you know this girl well?"

"Not at all."

"Then how can I remind you of her?"

"She was overconfident. She thought she was the Vessel, thought she could save the world. She had a mission." He spat the word. "And look where that got her. Her life leaking out of her in an alley, a toy for Darklings, and the world won't remember her, except as a failure." His face was flushed now, and his mouth opened and closed, little strands of spittle collecting at the corners.

The anger blazed up, uncontrollable. "She wasn't a failure!"

He stood up, knocking his seat over. "Without the Vessel, you can't stop the Torrent. It will sweep through the world like a cleansing fire. You and yours will fall before it. The Seraphim will not be stopped."

"The Seraphim?" Hazy memories of religion cla.s.s with Father Armando came to mind, but somehow I didn't think this guy was talking about Bible pa.s.sages. "I don't know what you're talking about." I scrambled off the stool and began to back away. Everyone in the room-bartender, customers, singer-pointedly ignored me.

His eyes flashed malevolently as he lurched toward me. "You don't know anything. You're a deaf and dumb Flat. I don't know why they think you're special."

"Who's they?"

"They think you've got something worth knowing. Should we see what it is?"

Suddenly, he brought his hands up and pressed his palms against my temples, crus.h.i.+ngly hard. My sight blurred. A feeling of pressure and . . . wrongness . . . bloomed in my head as he snarled incomprehensibly. The room receded around me, except for the stranger's furious face, and a keening noise blotted out all other sounds. Visions of the attack in the alley, of Verity's body in the hospital, of the ring flas.h.i.+ng on my finger sprang up in front of me, overlaying everything else.

At the very edge of the visions, I saw Luc vault out of the booth. He was moving so slowly I knew he'd never make it, not in time to save me, and I figured he was probably tired of doing that anyway. In the last desperate seconds before I lost consciousness, my flailing hand knocked against the nearly full mug. I fumbled, wrapping my fingers around the handle, and swung it across the side of Gla.s.ses Guy's face. There was a dull cracking sound, and his hands fell away. My legs crumpled beneath me.

Luc snapped into focus, bursting in as if he'd suddenly been released from slow motion, catching me before I hit the ground. "Mouse! You okay? You there? Talk to me!"

"I'm here," I said, my head lolling back. The words sounded watery and garbled in my own ears. "That guy isn't right."

He shoved me behind him and whirled to face the stranger. I stumbled against a table, knocking over stools, sending a tray of gla.s.ses to the floor and me after it. I landed on my side, cheek slamming into the ground. The ringing in my ears wouldn't stop, and I shook my head to clear it, pus.h.i.+ng up to my hands and knees with effort. The other people formed a ring around the three of us, jostling and murmuring.

"This is neutral ground, Luc," said the bartender. "There'll be no fighting here."

"He violated the truce," Luc shot back. "He was Rivening her d.a.m.n mind. If that ain't cause . . ."

"She's a Flat," the guy wheezed, staggering upright. "Neutrality doesn't apply to outsiders."

"She's my companion, under the aegis of my House. She has the same rights here as anyone else." Luc's lips were white with fury. He prowled toward the other guy, all refined, deadly rage.

"She accepted my offering. Her protection ceased." The stranger's voice had a petulant, whiny note.

Luc's gaze slipped to me. "She didn't know."

"Men," Niobe said, shaking her head and helping me to my feet. Her voice was low and amused. "They're always convinced they should be the ones to settle things."

"What truce?" I asked. Luc lunged, rus.h.i.+ng at the guy and slamming him into a table. Around us, the crowd jeered and shouted.

"Magic may not be used to harm another within these walls. It's an ancient decree, and a useful one. Men always find a way, though, don't they?" I watched Luc slam his fist into my attacker's gut, dodge a blow, land another punch to the jaw.