I pressed my knees together. I wanted to bolt out of the office and never return—and I wanted to stay, no matter how uncomfortable this conversation got, and wring every bit of information possible from this man.
Odilon continued. “I, however, have no such outdated ideas. A child is a child, and I would find any sex acceptable. You’ve proven your fertility, Calliope du Sang. Do you desire more?”
“More what?” I asked.
“More children. More wealth. More—” he spread his fingers wide and contemplated his upturned palms “—power?”
“Odilon, what I desire is not more power.”
“Then by all means, let us explore what it is you do desire.” The glamour he held in place wavered. His skin shared the same underlying cool, bluish hue as Meribah’s, only now his eyes glinted with lustful curiosity.
Apparently, I was prey. I avoided getting pinned by his stare and shifted the direction of my questioning. “Are you aware that the hidden folk who tend the sacred trees here and elsewhere are being murdered? We know of four thus far and we’re working to see if any missing have gone unreported.”
“That which you profess to desire has a rather macabre ring to it.” He shrugged his shoulders, smoothed his tie between his fingers, and straightened the tie clip. “In answer to your question, yes.” He looked over at me. “Before you ask your next question, you should know that I did not have the hidden folk, or any other beings, magical or otherwise, killed.”
He smiled to himself. “Well, not recently and certainly not on Canadian soil.”
“You do know that Josiah and Garnet Flechette are in custody and that they have confessed to killing the two hidden folk we found in July?”
He nodded and recrossed his legs. “Josiah and Garnet are a perfectly matched pair of greed-filled Fae. I abhor the blatant show of their…appetites. I prefer my employees and potential business partners take a more refined approach. Those two took my musings as gospel, my interests as doctrine, and warped my vision to suit their own. Their actions were purely their choice, and I wipe my hands of the barbaric nature of their acts.”
Odilon twirled one of his cuff links. “Would you care to have dinner with me, Calliope du Sang? Allow me to tell you tales of my home and my family, share with you my dreams and visions for the future?”
I wiped my palms on my dress and slid my hand into my pocket, discreetly palming my wand. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Then let me see if I might convince you otherwise.” Odilon’s full name coursed down the sides of my tongue. I was on the verge of pointing my wand and speaking three names when he moved to the desk and picked up the lone object on its surface—a large tablet. He turned it on, swiped twice, and handed it to me. The steel gray backing was cold to my touch. The front was a photo album.
The first images were of Sallie, by herself and then with Azura. Their surroundings weren’t familiar, but as soon as I saw Christoph’s wings in the next set of images, I knew the photographs had been taken during the mentoring weekend.
“Please, continue,” Odilon said when I stopped at the first image of Harper without his shirt, his back a map of delicate bones and translucent skin. The next image was Thatcher, laughing. I turned off the tablet.
“Do you see anyone you know?”
“Maybe.”
“Do not test my patience, Calliope.”
I set the device on my lap and stared. Or glared. Odilon’s glamour shifted again, revealing more of his face. This time, his skin took on an even darker bluish cast. Wavering panels of light smoothed his sharp edges, highlighting his cheekbones, then the aquiline curve of his nose, as though I was looking at him under the surface of the sea.
His eyes went from the icy color he showed me when our conversation began to turn, to the warm, trusting brown he had greeted me with. These eyes radiated compassion, longing, and the desire for connection. I came unmoored as the open window behind Odilon let in the breeze coming off the harbor.
Salt water.
Maine.
Mama.
Odilon slid cool hands under my overheated palms and squeezed. “You will dine with me, Calliope du Sang. This Thursday night. Seven o’clock. On the Merry Widow.”
“What if—” I stammered. I was caught in a net of my own making.
“I have neither the constitution to offer nor the inclination to accept what-ifs. We have much to discuss. You will be there. For the sake of this island and for the sake of your children’s future. Or else.”
Chapter 12
I regained my faculties from the front seat of my car. My clutch purse was on the passenger seat and my seat belt was engaged. I fumbled for the release, adjusted the strap so I could take deeper breaths, and pressed the door lock. Hands on the steering wheel and eyes straight ahead, I wondered how I had gotten here from Odilon’s office. The last thing I remembered was—
The last thing I remembered was his threat. I show up to dine with him on the Merry Widow, or else. The or else was tied directly to my sons, to Sallie and Azura, and to the health of the very soil under our feet.
I was in a fine mettle by the time I turned right onto Fortune’s Folly Road, drove over a random gardening tool, and jerked to a stop on the grass. I parked, ducked around the side of the house, and located Christoph. He was balanced on a ladder, hammering away at the roof of the bunkhouse. I called, waved once, stomped into
