“Taken care of,” Viggo answered without elaborating. He pushed past them up the steps, heading to the bloodletting room. Hunter Black followed at his heels, but Anouk took her time, looking at the townhouse with new eyes. It had been her home as much as it was Mada Vittora’s. She had cared for it. Cooked in the kitchen, swept the floors, convinced Beau or Luc to make any repairs that were needed. Beau went to the kitchen to scarf down whatever leftovers he could find in the icebox, and Cricket went with him in search of a whetstone to sharpen her blades.

“I should change clothes,” Luc said, and he climbed the stairs to his attic. Anouk followed slowly, up the turret to her own bedroom, where she ran her hand over the baby shoes, the playbills, the little things from the Pretty World she had so loved. A sheen of dust covered her desk, and she grabbed a cloth to clean it as she’d done countless times, but then stopped. All those little tasks, sweeping and polishing and cooking, belonged to another person’s life now. No matter how hard she scrubbed, she’d never be that person again.

She went back downstairs, pausing at Mada Vittora’s room. The door was open a crack. A sense of foreboding overcame her as she remembered the last time she’d stood here and mistaken the blood for red wine. She inched open the door. No body, as Viggo had said. Even the bloodstain was gone. She knelt down, ran her fingers over the rug. None of her cleaning products could have gotten it out so well—?someone had done this with magic.

And then she whipped her head around to the portrait above the bed. Prince Rennar. She could feel his lingering presence. Smelled a trace of his cologne. He’d been here. Viggo must have invited him in for the day. Rennar had taken care of her mistress’s body. She wondered if he’d gone into her room too, if he’d touched her things as she had once touched his.

Could Rennar see her from the portrait now? She climbed up on the bed and turned it around to face the wall. The townhouse was protected by ancient magic that not even he could break—?he couldn’t set foot beyond the front step without an invitation—?but she didn’t want his eyes in the house either.

Outside of the bloodletting room, she heard the hiss-hiss of the chair’s machinery. She pushed open the door hesitantly. Hunter Black was seated on a wooden bench by Viggo’s side. Viggo had his eyes closed. His lips were very pale. The jar was fuller than she had ever seen it before—?it held four pints, at least.

Hunter Black didn’t look up when she came in. His gaze stayed focused on Viggo’s pale lips.

Anouk sat next to him. “He’s asleep?”

“He passed out after three pints.”

“He might make it,” she said. “It’s possible to survive with only six pints left. His chances of surviving are probably better than ours will be at Montélimar.”

Hunter Black didn’t answer.

Anouk hesitated, unsure how to ask the question on her lips. “You love him, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

She considered her words carefully, thinking of Luc’s fairy tales, the prince and his footman. “I mean, you’re in love with him.”

His back jerked upright as though he’d been attacked. His dark eyes flashed. He looked ready to deny it, but then he let out a long growl of a sigh. His silence said everything.

“The love spell,” she said. “It wasn’t real. You know that, right?”

“Of course it wasn’t,” he snapped. “He would never love you.”

She didn’t take offense at his words—?she knew a wounded animal when she saw one. And she also knew hopelessness. A boy in love with a boy who liked girls. A cruel twist of fate.

“He can’t love you back,” she said quietly. “Not romantically.”

“Thank you for reminding me of such a painfully obvious fact.”

“But he cares about you. You’re his best friend. His only friend.”

Hunter Black grunted for an answer. They sat on the bed, watching the machinery continue to pump Viggo’s blood. Five pints now. Anouk tried not to think about having to drink it, instead focusing on how strong it would make her. Both Mada Zola and Prince Rennar had told her that she was capable of amazing things. She was going to get her chance to prove it. But as she watched Viggo grow more and more pale, it sat uneasily with her. Beasties weren’t susceptible to the vitae echo, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that magic would still have a cost. No life was taken without consequences. If Viggo died, that magic wouldn’t have come for free.

“That blue-flame spell,” she said quietly to Hunter Black. “Do you still want to learn it?”

He looked away from Viggo at last and gave a single nod.

Anouk found a pouch of borage herb in the attic, and they consumed leaves of it and she taught him the words of the Selentium Vox spell and the accompanying hand gestures. Hunter Black tried again and again to master the right tone. As an assassin, he was used to being quiet—?he wasn’t used to being calm.

At last the pump clicked off, and Hunter Black stuffed the borage in his pocket and checked Viggo’s vital signs. Anouk unbuckled him from the machine. Six pints. When she lifted his arm, it felt alarmingly light, like a limb without bones.

“His pulse?”

“Still there,” Hunter Black said. “Weak, but steady.”

Viggo suddenly gave a slight moan. “Need . . . wine . . .”

“How about water,” Anouk suggested gently. She went to the bathroom to pour him a glass while Hunter Black carried him from the bloodletting chair to the bed, pulled off his shoes, and laid the blanket over his body. Viggo was shivering slightly. She paused in the bathroom door as Hunter Black smoothed Viggo’s hair off his forehead. It felt like something she shouldn’t be watching.

Tags: Megan Shepherd Grim Lovelies Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net