power he’d exhibited in Xavier’s office, and the first two fingers of his gloved left hand were unnaturally stiff.
Still, just like a cockroach, the menacing fucker just wouldn’t die. Afraid of telegraphing my intent to stomp him in the very near future, I smiled like I was happy to see him.
“Olivia dear,” he said, holding out one gloved hand as he pulled to a stop before me. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. I read the news reports about the unfortunate events in your home last night. I hope you weren’t too badly injured?”
“I-I bumped my head at some point, I think. I don’t remember anything at all.” Lindy had no doubt already told him that, but his gaze still sharpened fractionally, and the softest mental probe whispered over me.
“But you’re fine now?” he asked, all concern and sweetness beneath the soft, and hard, pulse.
I smiled. “Perfectly. Ready for a wedding!”
His brows winged down and his gaze narrowed on my palms. “Then why are you bleeding?”
He inched closer, nostrils flaring. My heart jumped as he reached again for my palm, and a quick glance up revealed Warren smiling smugly over the Tulpa’s left shoulder. Agents, including the Tulpa, could scent out their enemies through blood, though they all had olfactory blind spots when it came to their own. I had the Tulpa’s blood running in my veins, so I was safe. Thus, my nervousness curdled into bile. “Thorns,” I said, meeting the Tulpa’s darkly inquisitive gaze. “The rose bouquets are enormous, and the florist accidentally left some of the thorns on mine, so I had to pull them off myself. See?” I made sure he got another good glimpse of my fingertips-printed, mortal, obviously harmless despite anything else he may or may not be smelling-and had the pleasure of watching Warren’s face fall when the Tulpa released my palm.
“You should wash up quickly, my dear,” he said, angling his chair away. “The ceremony’s about to begin.”
“Yes, but first…” But first I had an idea. Furrowing my brow, I let my gaze soften again as I stared into his eyes. It was easy to bring back the feeling I’d had last night in Xavier’s office, and in the conference room when the board of directors had fallen so completely under his spell. I swayed, blinked slowly, and repeated his demand to tell him anything I remembered about “…the Serpent Bearer.”
His expression shifted, skin thinning over the sharp bone. Even his vocal cords tightened. “What about it?”
Another pulse of thought energy had me swaying for real, and I swallowed hard before flattening my voice into a liquid roll. “A man…he gave me the photo of that symbol. He was so strange, talking in riddles…”
“What exactly did he say?”
“I didn’t understand…but he said he planted the treas ure chest for me. The bachelorette party was his opportunity…” I frowned, like the thought was escaping me. My next words slurred. “Because I’m an Archer… Xavier’s daughter, which makes me somehow special.” I tilted my head and let my gaze slide from his face.
The Tulpa squeezed my arm until I refocused. “What man, Olivia?”
Keeping my gaze liquid, I smiled softly, then pointed over his shoulder. “Why…him.”
The Tulpa whirled in his chair. Warren’s eyes widened and he visibly jolted and started backing toward the exit, but they’d shut the glass doors leading back into the hotel to keep the photographers and gawkers out…and the rest of us in. Warren licked his lips, considering his options. He finally settled against a faux pillar lining the groom’s side of the pool. As if on cue, the preceremony music swelled.
“Well, I guess it’s time,” I said brightly, shaking my head as if coming out of a daydream. I smiled down at the Tulpa, who was overly still as he considered his own next move. I made it for him. “Oh, don’t look so worried. I’m going to make sure you have the best seat in the house.”
And before he could object, I motioned to one of the attendants. “Center aisle, front row, closest to me,” I instructed, and while the Tulpa paused, what could he really say? I was smiling sweetly. Warren was in the same room, though he didn’t know why. And as he was supposed to be Olivia Archer’s advisor, appearances had to be upheld.
So he rolled away, and I headed back to the bridal chamber. This could all go very, very wrong. But the new seating arrangement would definitely keep the Zodiac leaders busy. Maybe, I thought as I headed back to the scrolled staircase, they’d be so busy watching each other that I would be a mere, and deadly, afterthought.
My foot had just struck the bottom stair when the gilt door opposite me opened to reveal Arun Brahma, looking handsome and rich and imposing in silhouette. He looked… well, like a prince. Flanked by two bodyguards, one holding the door, the other at his back, he also looked nervous.
My mind winged back to all the home videos I’d seen of brides bursting into giggles and grooms falling into faints. If I had to put money on it, I’d bet the pot on Arun Brahma going down.
Maybe I’d get lucky, I thought, shooting him a smile, and he’d even do it before the vows.
Then a scream shattered my thoughts. It broke off as I whirled, turning into a series of thumps before ending in one hard crack. It took a moment for me to recognize Cher, half airborne, tumbling down the marble stairs like a helpless rag doll, but I was running before she even stopped.
“God. Cher, you okay?” I cradled her face as Suzanne wailed from the top of the staircase and began her dangerously hurried descent. She was covered in so much gold tulle it would be miraculous if she didn’t join Cher in a crumpled heap. “Someone call an ambulance!”
“My arm…” Cher wailed, squeezing her eyes shut as she turned in to herself, hugging her right arm to her chest.
“You, back in your room,” I ordered Arun. He frowned, probably some aristocratic response to being accosted by a plebeian. “You’re not supposed to see her,” I said, jerking my head at his bride, now crouched next to Cher, murmuring and stroking her stepdaughter’s cheek.
Suzanne lifted her head, caught his eye, tears in her own. “Just go, Arun.”
He hesitated, his desire to be by her side apparent even despite the circumstances, before turning mutely. I inched closer to Cher, now rocking and wailing in sharp staccato breaths. We were beginning to draw a crowd, and I scanned the faces, worried about Mackie, but it was all hotel personnel and, moments later, medical staff.
“She fell down the stairs,” Suzanne was saying as we moved aside, her own sobs warring with Cher’s for the limited airspace. “She was right next to me, but when I turned to check my reflection one last time at the top of the stairs, she was gone.”
“No,” argued Cher, wincing. “I didn’t fall! I was pushed.”
I stilled. “Pushed?”
Suzanne leaned closer, smoothing the hair back from Cher’s beautiful, red, pained face. “Darlin’, there was no one near us.”
“I know when I’ve been pushed, Mother!” Cher snapped. “I did not fall down those stairs.”
Then she moaned, leaning over herself, and the paramedic edged Suzanne back. We gazed at each other over Cher’s head, before I broke to canvass the top of the staircase. Anyone could be up there. Just because Suzanne hadn’t seen someone push Cher didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Agents could cover the entire pool area in a blink. But to a mortal mind, one used to making sense only of that which they could see and touch and sense, there had to be some other explanation. Suzanne searched for one now.
“Maybe it was my dress,” she fretted, running her hands along the full skirt. “Maybe it pushed you with the force of its layered tulle, beads, and endless beauty.”
Cher’s head shot up, eyes hot. “Or maybe it was the hands planted on my back!”
Suzanne began to weep openly. “Somebody tell Arun the wedding’s off.”
“No!” Cher’s anger evaporated as she lunged toward Suzanne, crying out when the movement jarred her broken arm. The attendants moved in closer, but she shooed them away. “You can’t do that! You have to get married.”
“But my baby is injured.”
“No, Momma. I won’t be responsible for ruining the happiest day of your life. So much planning went into it. And all these people are here-”
“All these people,” I interrupted, “will be happy to come back.”
But Cher wasn’t hearing it. She grabbed Suzanne’s arm, her face etched with pain, but her voice pleading.
“Momma, Arun is the love of your life. He is a prince. And I am going to call him Daddy. Please, please, don’t call it off.”
Suzanne let out a great sigh, turning her head to the vaulted, gold-brushed ceiling, then closed her eyes. “Okay,” she whispered, though she was shaking her head.
The paramedics worked quickly, stabilizing Cher and picking her up when she refused a stretcher. It would make too much of a scene, she said. Yet even leaving via the back doors couldn’t prevent that. The yells of
