The Wicked Within

when I’m left in the dark,” I muttered lamely.

As more Arnauds flocked to the scene, tensions rose. Wails and murmurs of disbelief filled the square. Several groups huddled together, some casting speculative glances Sebastian’s way. He was her heir, after all.

Sebastian didn’t seem to notice any of it. “They’re going to fall apart now.”

“What?”

“The Novem. They’re already fracturing, taking sides. Athena’s offer is too tempting. And now . . . Half of them already suspect my grandmother knew about the Hands way sooner than any of them did. They’ll think whoever killed her did it to get information or the Hands themselves. They’ll start pointing fingers at each other.”

“Did you see Josephine last night?”

“She called me into her office and lectured me about family responsibility and traditions. But that was it.” He paused. “I was able to go through some of my mother’s things yesterday too.” Before he’d come home and worn himself out playing the drums.

“Find anything?”

“Actually, yeah. Sometime before the War of the Pantheons, Josephine’s grandfather was captured by Athena. The family never saw him again, so my guess is he didn’t survive. The Arnauds have been sworn enemies of Athena ever since.”

I remembered what the River Witch had said about Josephine and her family, about how her grandfather was instrumental in helping the Capetians rise to the French throne in the tenth century. The fact that Athena had captured and possibly—most probably—killed him was a good reason for Josephine to despise Athena.

“Who could’ve done that to her?” I asked, gesturing to the murder scene.

“I don’t know. She was powerful. But no more than Simon or my father. Any one of the Novem could have done it if they lured her under false pretenses and struck her off guard.”

“Your grandmother was smarter than that.” I might have hated her for what she’d done to my mother and father, but I had to give her props—she was intelligent and extremely cunning. It suddenly occurred to me that my father had a very strong motive for ending Josephine’s life. Her murder might not have had anything to do with the Hands.

But that notion seemed wrong somehow. He’d just started his life here and was getting to know me. I didn’t want to believe he’d be willing to risk everything at this stage. But then, after what she did to my family, I couldn’t really blame him if he’d confronted her and that’s what happened.

Heated voices drew my attention. Michel and Simon were arguing. Bran put a hand on Michel’s shoulder. The fracturing of the Novem was already starting.

“If someone does have the Hands now,” Sebastian said, “and takes them to Athena, we’re just exchanging one powerful psycho for another.”

“No matter what she offered,” I said, “I can’t believe Athena would give up her powers. She has to be lying, setting a trap instead.”

I leaned closer to him, dropping my voice. “Can you trace through walls and into the study?” I’d only ever seen him trace outside, never through anything.

“I’ve been practicing. Last night I was able to get inside the office next to the study.”

“What about the wards?”

“Depends on where I go in, I think.” He studied Presby. “I’m not sure, though.”

“They’re distracted,” I said. “This might the only opportunity to see if the Hands are still inside the jar. . . . ”

Then fear went through me. What if he tried tracing into Presby and couldn’t, what if he slammed into the wall, or worse, got stuck in it? It’d kill him. Somehow I knew he was thinking the same. And then he was gone, a rush of air slapping me in the face.

Shit. I swung my gaze to Presby, heart leaping into my throat.

FIFTEEN

HIS BODY WENT LIGHT AS he vanished. Just energy directed with thoughts that were still his. His father had told him there were very few beings who could trace like he did. So quickly, so easily. Disappearing and reappearing at will. But he hadn’t mastered it yet. He might slam himself right into the stone walls of Presby. . . .

He’d do it for her, for Ari. To show her he was sorry, that he still cared.

In his mind’s eye he saw the gray shadow of the school and pictured the small glass window on the third floor. If he hit, at least he’d crash through glass and not end up in a crumpled heap on the street below. He ended up in the study, his body solidifying in a blur of speed.

There were guards inside the room. Shit.

His entrance was so swift, at first they didn’t notice him. But then two hulking demigods stepped toward him, and he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Wait.”

He felt the power of persuasion course through him, the dark, poisonous gifts that made others obey him. He hated the feeling; it was so strong, too strong. Too malevolent.

One of the guards opened his mouth.

Sebastian cut him off. “Don’t speak. Stay where you are until I say otherwise.”

His entire body was amped up, vibrating. Shit. Okay. He was in. He’d done it. Now he needed to get Ari. He closed his eyes and willed himself away. And just like that, he was sitting next to her again. He grabbed her in his arms, concentrating on wrapping her with his power as they traced back into the study.

Once they were there and solid, he released Ari. She stumbled out of his hold. “Jesus!” Her body tensed as she saw the guards, her hand moving to grip her firearm.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand. “We should go.”

Ari waved at the guards. They didn’t even blink. “What did you do to them?”

“Just told them to wait.”

They crossed the Persian rug to the ancient vase sitting in the corner. Anesidora’s Jar was as tall as he was. It was made of clay, with sloping handles on either side. Symbols and writing had been stamped into the sides, and decorations had once been painted around its body, but many of those were only in traces now, just flecks of black and red color. The jar had a slim neck and a fat body that slimmed down again near the base.

A large, jagged crack ran from the neck to just above the base. It was a thick crack you could put your hand into, a deep space, black and eerie, and it always gave him the chills.

Ari wasted no time. She slipped her fingers into the crack. Light spilled around her fingers as she pried it open and stepped inside.

He drew in a deep breath and followed.

Darkness surrounded them. The jar was a vast dimension with no noticeable boundaries. Ahead, a faint light illuminated the long marble counter. It was quiet. “There’s no music,” he whispered. The Keeper always played opera on an old phonograph.

As they approached the counter, Sebastian heard the scratch and skip of a record player. Ari looked over her shoulder at him, concern written on her face, and then she jumped the counter and hurried down the long rows of study tables to the phonograph. She picked up the needle and set it aside.

“He’s got to be here somewhere,” she said.

The library spread out in never-ending rows, its shelves containing books, manuscripts, scrolls, statues, and treasures the outside world had never before seen. It was vast, and daunting, all surrounded by black empty space.

“I’ll start at this end,” he said. “Call if you find anything.”