“He’s not a fashion designer.” Yet. Give him time, money, and free rein, he might well become one. “But that does sound like a Neely thing to do.” I caught Linus on his way to the bunkroom. “You don’t have to put it on.”
Either Linus had excellent natural taste, or he learned how to dress well as a protective measure during his formative years. Adhering to his mother’s exacting standards while living under her roof had turned out a son whose polished appearance gave the impression that he must be a clotheshorse but, as evidenced by his acceptance of my often holey and ill-fitting wardrobe, was fashion blind outside of the rules hammered into him for himself.
Button-down shirts were casual for him, but ties were rare. I didn’t want him to feel he had to change to please me, and I didn’t just mean his outfit.
A shrug rolled through his shoulders. “I don’t mind.”
“He’s actually going for that matchy-matchy crap,” Clem marveled. “A guy like him…what he can do…who he is…and he gets his jollies matching his fiancée like you’re teens about to head out to prom.”
Eyes narrowed, I dared him to make an issue of it with Linus. “He knows the value of a good presentation.”
While that was true, it wasn’t the whole truth. The fact was, Linus enjoyed being included. It had been such a rare occasion in his life up until now, he leapt at the chance to belong. And when it came to an outward sign of belonging to me, he was a sucker for symbolism.
As I thought it, I groaned inwardly. I had just outlined my failures in the proposal department yet again.
Bishop flicked a glance toward the door leading down to the cell. “I’d better go plant the vamp before he wakes.”
The vamp implied Bishop wasn’t one, but dang it. I had manners. I would not ask him outright.
“I’ll help,” Clem volunteered, not sounding suspicious. At all.
After they left, I waited on Linus, who had decided to shower while he was at it by the sound of things, in the control room. “Anybody home?”
Three out of the four monitors showed movement, but there was no sound.
When no one answered, I claimed Bishop’s chair, pulled out my phone, and texted Lethe.
Change of plans.
>>I heard. Midas called earlier. Wimp. He could fight Mom, he just won’t. He’s such a momma’s boy.
Not that. Johan Marchand paid us a visit. Severine is dead, and so is that lead.
>> Sorry to hear that. Not about her, but about the lead.
You have a heart of gold.
>>It’s only gold plate. I had to up my game if I wanted to hang out with Dame FancyPants.
That’s not my name, and no one has ever called me that.
>>To your face.
I’m the least fancy pants dame in the history of the Society.
>>You’re fancy by association. Linus is a walking billboard for the Society. He ups your street cred.
How are things in Savannah?
>>Not great.
We’ll figure out something.
>>The Society would cry about it, but we could burn the vamps out of their nest.
An image of the Lyceum shrouded in smoke popped into my head, and I cringed. I had no love for city hall’s secret subbasement. Nothing good had ever come of me going there—except for my proposal to Linus in its elevator. But I could respect its history, its value, and its symbolism.
The Lyceum was a bastion for necromantic arts, and its loss would cripple how other supernatural factions viewed us. Worse, it would prove Clarice Lawson couldn’t hold on to the power she had so recently been granted. There would be a coup, likely more than one, and it would get bloody before it was done.
Savannah had bled enough for my grandfather. I wasn’t about to let him rip open her very heart.
I’ll touch base before we head home.
>>Bring food.
I already owe you donuts…
>>That’s dessert. I want something that bleeds.
Fine. I’ll see what I can do. It’s going to be hard enough smuggling what I’ve got across the barricade.
The sentinels, who had been switched to rations served at their chow hall, would smell the fresh donuts and descend on us like locusts. Factor in fresh burgers or steaks, and we would have a riot on our hands. I had already decided to buy extra glazed to hand out, but meat got expensive fast when you multiplied it by those numbers.
Maybe Linus had a point. I was a wealthy woman, and those men and women were serving their community. They deserved what little reward I could give them.
Linus is calling me. Gotta go.
>>Liar.
>>MOO.
With that text handled, I shot Amelie an update to let her know to expect us back early so she could tell Woolly, who would inform Oscar.
Despite our trip sucking royally so far, Linus had arranged for the first shipment of nonperishable food items to be delivered to Woolly ahead of schedule. According to Amelie, she expected to have the first deliveries prepped and ready to go once the bottled water arrived.
After that, I checked in with Neely, who had volunteered for packing duty and was dragging Cruz along.
Marit had also pitched her hat in the ring and was supervising while the gwyllgi unloaded the truck. The pictures of taut biceps she forwarded, I ignored. The abs got deleted. When the pictures started following happy trails, I cut off my phone.
Still, a warm glow ignited in my chest when I thought of my friends working together for a cause that impacted us all, human and necromancer alike. The uninitiated citizens of Savannah might be aware they were barreling toward a crisis, but they had no clue what it was or who had orchestrated it. I was lucky enough to have friends unafraid of opening their eyes to the reality of our worlds, how they intersected and often collided.
“We’re at your disposal as well, you know.”
Jolted by the intrusion into my thoughts, I glanced around. “Are you talking to me?”
“Whatever we can do to help,” Anca reiterated, “we’re happy to do so. For Linus. He’s such a dear man, and he’s given so much to us all.”
About to do the polite thing and wave off her offer, I hesitated to first consider. “Can you track books?”
“I assume you mean rare and expensive tomes, not quarter finds at the bargain bin.”
“Rare, yes. Expensive…” The blood drained from my cheeks, leaving me cold. “The information they contain is priceless, but I don’t think they were sold. I believe they were donated.”
The note from Severine hadn’t given me much to go on, but I had a gut feeling she hadn’t accepted cash for the transaction. No, she had been paid in spite. Buckets of it.
“That muddies things. Unless provenance is a concern, which is more often the case with a purchase and not a donation, there is little paperwork to form a trail to follow.” She hummed low in her throat. “Do you have the seller’s information?”
Without making a conscious decision to do so, I sought out Linus for support he was too distant to offer.
I had to make this call alone. He wouldn’t have brought me here if he didn’t trust these people, so I would show a little faith too. “Severine Marchand.”
“Oh, dear.” Anca brought her fingers to her lips. “Your grandmother. I can guess what she gifted, but gods. The possibilities. A woman in her position, in possession of that particular information…”
“You’ve brought the term goddess-touched back in vogue,” Milo chimed in, his monitor flickering. “You and your kind were a well-kept secret until the ball. Now those who didn’t know are learning all they can, and those who had forgotten are remembering what you can do. There have been few goddess-touched necromancers named in what remains of our history on the subject. You’ll be the first in modern times, and having your face out there… It’s going to be tough. People will want you to perform miracles for them, and some won’t stop with paying for a one-time service. They’ll want to own you exclusively. They’ll want all rights to your designs, your services, your everything.”
“I’m beginning to see why Maud kept her secrets,” I admitted, and it was a bitter confession.
As much as I wanted to continue railing against her memory, discovering Cletus’s true identity had burst my self-righteous bubble. I was so much in need of Maud’s forgiveness for trapping her in a wraith’s existence it was hard working up the mad to call in my own markers. She had done what she thought was best for me. I could see that now.
While her efforts had stunted my growth as a necromancer, they had also allowed me to live a normal life. Well, as normal as any High Society darling’s life ever was when their adoptive mother was Maud Woolworth. The fact was, if she hadn’t been murdered, and if I hadn’t been blamed, I might have lived my entire life certain I was a no-talent hack. I would have kept to my wards, my small magics, and let my pedigree go to waste.
A Marchand raised by a Woolworth. The Society had expected great things to come of that combination, just as my grandmother’s letter claimed. Two prominent names, two powerful bloodlines. I should have been a rising star instead of a falling one.
“Secrets?” Linus eased into the room. “Whose secrets are we sharing?”
“Maud’s.” A twin pang of loss moved through me as his features tightened before he schooled them back into neutral lines. “I was saying I understand her better now.”
“Hindsight.” Joining me, he rested a cool hand on my shoulder and curled a strand of hair around his long finger. “It’s like spending months painting a mural, focused on the individual details and small sections of your canvas. You spend all that time pursuing one goal: completion. You develop tunnel vision where you see only what’s in front of you. And when your last brushstroke is done and you step back for the final time, you get your first complete look at what all those hours and days bought you.”
“But,” I pointed out, “you can touch up a mural. You can correct imperfections. The past is what it is. There’s no changing it. We can step back and take it all in, soak in the details we missed at the time or didn’t assign enough importance, but that’s all we can do. Reflect and regret.”