Crossing the yard to Woolly, I rested a hand on the nearest column, the paint faded, flaking in places.
“I’m so glad to be home.” I rested my forehead against the aged wood and smiled as her warmth flooded me, better than a hug. “Linus still in the office?”
Woolly grew distant, checking on his location, but indicated the kitchen.
“Lethe and Hood aren’t back yet.” I scanned the yard, thankful for the extra security to keep an eye on them. “Let me know when they show?”
A faint strain of music, her wards recalibrating, filled my head that I took for her agreement.
I found Linus at the stove, humming softly while he stirred a pot that smelled faintly of cinnamon.
“I baked blueberry muffins, though blueberry is a generous descriptor considering the mix came from your pantry, and they’re blue pellets instead of anything found in nature.”
“You’re such a food snob.”
“There are also steel-cut oats with dried cranberries, pecans, and golden raisins mixed in.” He handed me a tall glass with frosty sides. “Your smoothie, with an extra shot of Vitamin L to make up for the stress put on your body during the trip.”
Relief hit my gut like a fist on the first sip, untangling the knots lodged there since yesterday. “Are you eating?”
“I ate earlier.” He popped a raisin from a small dish into his mouth. “I couldn’t hold another bite.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I took another sip or five. “Would you like some milk to wash it down?”
He wasn’t the only one capable of embracing the role of caretaker. I just had to be sneakier about it.
From the way he explained his bond with Cletus and the other wraiths, I wondered if his ability to draw on their power had struck him as a more economical food source. Hardly a surprise, but he had admitted to running a few experiments on himself during his adjustment period. Such as skimping on food and water in order to determine how long he could survive on his new powers alone and then how little he could ingest to remain at peak efficiency.
Since he was a man who enjoyed cooking, and was good at it, I had a working theory of my own.
Linus didn’t take care of himself. That wasn’t theory, that was fact. So if he discovered he could cut more corners in his self-care routine by not cooking healthy meals for himself, or even ordering them in, he would in a heartbeat. What likely started as an experiment had become routine, and I aimed to break him out of his rut.
This might all blow up in my face. It wouldn’t be the first or last time I was wrong about him. Linus may not need sustenance taken in through traditional means, but I couldn’t help wondering.
Lately, he was eating more. At first it was to fool me into believing his appetite was normal, then it was sampling while he worked in the kitchen.
After our confinement at Woolly, where we took all our meals together, I had caught him stealing single grapes from the fridge or biting into a strawberry here or there. Now he had a second raisin in his hand, and I pretended not to notice him pop it into his mouth while I poured him a glass of two percent.
To placate me, he took a few sips, but I caught him drinking from the corner of my eye while I mixed extra toppings into my bowl of oatmeal. While he was in no danger of polishing off the full eight ounces, he had managed two or three. A couple more pulls, and he just might set a record.
A balanced diet was the first step, and then who knows? Maybe he could be eased into REM too.
Pleased with the progress of my own experiments, I hummed as I claimed my seat at the counter.
“I need to make a few calls.” He topped off his glass for me. “I’ll be in the office when you’re done.”
I took my time eating, and I cleaned my plate. It was weird not having Lethe breathing down my neck or stealing food. Maybe that’s why I chewed thoughtfully, enjoying the novelty of cleaning a plate without help. When I was done, I washed the dishes I’d dirtied then meandered to check in with Linus.
The office wasn’t an actual office. Well, it was an actual office, but it was also a façade. Maud had done all her work in the basement, in her sanctuary. The room where I found Linus had a desk, chair, laptop, and the other amenities you would expect. Including the printer/scanner/fax machine flashing as it awaited further instruction from him.
Amelie had worked out of that room, and I had updated the antiquated equipment as needed. I hadn’t expected to get much use out of it, seeing as how I didn’t need to entertain clients the way Maud had on occasion, but it looked like the investment was paying off.
“Well?” I leaned against the doorframe. “Any news?”
When Linus turned, he held a bronze bowl no larger than his cupped palm. A tight ball of paper filled the center, and he palmed a box of matches off the desk then offered them to me. “Not yet.”
The matchbox weighed fifty tons in my hand. “You scanned and sent it?”
“I forwarded a copy to your email,” he said, understanding my hesitation. “You can access it any time you want, or never again. It’s your decision.”
Filing emails wasn’t so different from filing away memories. The information was there, on your computer (or in your head), when you wanted to access it. But clearing your inbox erased it from the forefront of your mind, giving you an excuse to forget, for a little while.
“Let’s do this.” I struck the match and dropped it before I changed my mind. The hateful words blackened and curled, and Linus used the eraser on a pencil to mash them into fine ash. “I do feel better.” I took the whole thing from him and tossed it in the trash. “I should set fire to more of my problems.”
The old house creaked around me, nervous about me getting any ideas.
“I was joking about the fire.” I patted the nearest wall. “Sadly, if you go around setting fire to every person who annoys you, you get labeled a murderer for some reason. I’ve done my time. I’m not going back in the clink.”
Even if the mental picture of the Grande Dame running circles while swatting at her hair as it haloed her in a plume of flame did amuse me.
And then there was what I would do to Boaz…
“I don’t entirely trust that smile.” Linus reclaimed the matches and tucked them into his pocket. “What were you imagining just now?”
“I don’t want to lie to you.” It set a bad precedent. “I also don’t want to tell you the truth.”
Head angled to one side, he pursed his lips. “Did it involve my mother?”
Dang it. How did he always know? “When did you say Bishop would get back with us?”
Willing to let it go, he pretended I hadn’t invited his mother to a mental BBQ. “The comparison shouldn’t take more than a few hours.”
Nodding to myself, I murmured, “So anytime now.”
That was great and all, but confirmation might still come too late. We had to act, and soon, if we wanted to prevent the media from discovering the truth, that an unnatural disaster had hit Savannah.
As much as it pained me to accept defeat, it had to be asked, “When do we start talking next steps?”
“I’ll speak with Commander Roark and request a meeting. We can coordinate with the sentinels, combine our efforts.”
“That works.” The bustling lawn scene drew my eye. “We can’t keep going like this. We’re already pushing the limits. If the Society didn’t have the mayor and the governor in its pockets…” I rubbed my arms, but I couldn’t banish the chill. “We have to drive Lacroix out of the Lyceum, even if that means we smoke him out.”
“Corbin’s intel makes it impossible to guess how many of Lacroix’s followers are loyal by choice and how many are acting under compulsion. We need to minimize casualties for the sake of the innocents, but you’re right. We have to take action before our situation draws national attention. We have to end this, and we can’t afford to wait any longer.”
A chime rang out from Linus’s phone, and he checked his messages.
“Bishop confirmed the note matches the signature.” A frown cut his mouth as he read. “However, Anca crosschecked those against historical data she compiled while performing the initial search you requested. Neither sample matches letters of record on file for Severine Marchand.”
Foolish hope kindled in my heart. “Does that mean she didn’t write the note?”
Confirmation she didn’t hate me wasn’t the same as her loving me, or liking me, but it was something.
“He’ll touch base when he can confirm an ID.” He put away his phone. “Perhaps I was too hasty in urging you to burn her note. It might have come in handy.”
“Do you think the new Dame Marchand might have taken steps her mother wouldn’t to punish me?”
“I’m not sure.” Linus rubbed his jaw. “From what we’ve heard, she appears to be the quiet sort. Her lack of ambition is evident in the fact Severine kept her granddaughters, and not her daughter, close. Heloise was driven to impress her grandmother, and Eloise has proven she was paying attention to all the lessons her grandmother taught them, but there’s no evidence their mother has shown any initiative.”
“Assuming the new Dame Marchand is as delicate as we’ve been led to believe, I would put money on the note being Eloise’s doing.” I fisted my hands on my hips. “But how did she talk her mother into handing over the collection? It’s a Marchand family heirloom, and our bloodline is a closely guarded secret, or it was.” I dropped my arms. “Severine’s heart must be turning in its box.”
“The new Dame Marchand might not be aware of what her daughter has done.” Linus picked up his phone. “With Severine and Heloise gone, Eloise may be assuming that role as her mother is assuming the title. I’ll tell Bishop to check Eloise’s handwriting against the note and the signature.”
“Family drama makes me tired.” I sank into the chair behind the desk. “I never thought I would say this, but I was better off before I learned Dad’s name, and I was definitely better off before I met Mom’s side of the family.”