“Bon appétit,” I answered, cutting into the oversized ravioli. If there was to be a battle ahead, my body could use the calories. The pasta melted on my tongue. As I chewed, I belatedly searched my dress for reactions to any of the food or drink I’d had thus far. All was quiet on the possible poison front. I was relieved.
“The one who found the eggs was wearing a selkie’s skin.” Odilon picked up his story. “The male guarding them was a simple rockfish. Not a Magical. Rockfish are extremely vigilant when it comes to protecting the unborn.”
“Did your employee kill the fish to get the eggs?”
“Mais non.” Odilon’s face registered disgust. “That would have been a cruel and tragic end for a creature simply doing the job it was born to do.”
“How long have the eggs been in your possession?”
“They have been under my protection,” he said, emphasizing his rewording of my question, “for decades.”
My fork stopped on its way to my mouth.
“Thirty-six years, to be exact.”
I returned the uneaten bite to my plate and daubed at the corner of my mouth. I managed to take a sip of the wine and return the delicate glass to the table without spilling a drop. “Who found the eggs for you?” I asked, trying to steady my trembling vocal cords.
“His family was Clan Courant.” Odilon cut his second ravioli into thirds, chewed his bite slowly, swallowed, and added, “His first name was Benôit.”
“Does he continue to work for you?”
“He is here, on this boat, resting as we eat.”
The vines sewn into the dress squirmed. Embroidered wings, anxious to unfurl and beat at the air, tugged at the skin between my shoulder blades. The two rings Christoph gifted me grew heated, expanded, and threatened to slide off my thumbs.
“My father’s name was Benôit,” I said. I tried to make it look as though I was debating which piece of ravioli to spear first, not throw my wineglass to the deck and scream at him to show me his Benôit.
“What a small world.”
As if on cue, Armand appeared and said, “Dessert has been plated and is under the cloche. If there is nothing else you need, I shall depart. The rest of the crew has boarded the tender.”
“Au revoir, mon ami.”
“Au revoir et bonne nuit, mon prince.”
Armand donned a navy pea coat and disappeared. I set my utensils on the tablecloth and slid the rings off before they fell onto the deck. I tucked one into each of the dress’s side pockets.
“Does this mean we’re alone?” I asked.
“Seulement nous trois,” Odilon answered.
An engine starting up from the other side of the boat underlined his answer. As I stood, swearing silently at my lack of French, my napkin slid down the front of one leg and landed on my shoe. I stepped on the linen and walked to the railing. A single-engine craft, with four men on board, moved through the inky sea, away from the yacht.
“You were right about the bioluminescence,” I said. I watched the boat’s wake glitter in an ever-widening inverted V against the dark backdrop of the water before the flickers of light faded along with the sound of the motor. “It’s beautiful.”
“I would trade you something for this Benôit.”
“What do I have that you could possibly want?”
“Your blood.” Odilon was next to me, the fabric of his shirt and pants brushing against my dress and sleeves. “Calliope. Viridis. Du Sang. Have you never wondered at the meaning of your name, why clan names carry weight from one generation to the next?”
“I never knew my true name until a few days ago,” I said, turning to face him. I could barely contain my fury.
“Then you know nothing of Clan du Sang, of the legacy left by your ancestors, especially the females?”
“Not. One. Thing.” As soon as my confession left my lips I knew I should never have highlighted my ignorance, especially not to this man.
“Oh, Calliope.” He tsk’d three times, shaking his head. “Had I known this I might have chosen a different route.”
“A different route to what?”
“To getting what I want.”
He pointed to the delicate bracelets encircling both of my wrists, slipping his index finger between the warmed metal of one and my cooling skin. “My clan’s symbol is similar to these vines you wear, Calliope, but ours is no decorative frippery. When we find a host—willing or not—we act the patient admirer. With time we surround the host, be it a being or a business, until all that is visible is our new creation.
“Clan Vigne acquires and consumes. We do not work side by side; we do not create balanced alliances—we devour and remake anew. I have grown impatient with my inability to fix this situation with the Melusine, to unravel their mystery.”
“Would it kill you to change your methods this once?”
“No. But it would kill the Melusine.” He held my elbows. “Will you give them life, Calliope Viridis, verdant one? Will you share your blood, as the du Sangs have done for generations?”
Every thread Maritza and Leilani had stitched onto my dress tugged to be released. I had to keep my physiological responses within my normal range, or the symbols would begin to act. “What do you mean, share my blood?”
He squeezed my wrists. The metal Malvyn had shaped bit into my bones. I kept my features impassive as he leaned back and turned his head slightly to one side. “A simple donation, much as you would make at a blood bank. One pint should be enough, though I would require you to remain nearby in case my research is incorrect, and more blood is needed to sustain the Melusine’s growth.”
In that moment, I understood why Odilon dangled the possibility of a threat to my sons in order to secure what he wanted. Harper and Thatcher carried the du Sang blood. And as far as I knew, I was still fertile.
Fuck. “Will you give me time to think?”
“You have until the banker’s notes on the three properties I plan
