Page 65 of Lux

Her creepy fae brother is coming for her, looming ever closer.

We both will have a choice on whether to forgive or kill.

I, for one, will happily kill.

“Well, here we are,” Altaris announces, gesturing to the black building before us.

The mortal beside him cranes her neck to get a better look, her expression is wide-eyed, obviously impressed. “So this is the clinic’s entrance?”

Altaris laughs. “Oh no, darling. That would be the basement entrance. Scythe, could you show her the way?”

The Pol-spawn obeys without question while the mortal beside him excitedly asks him questions he doesn’t answer. “Oh, where do you source your specimens? Is there a delivery system? Can I see the…”

“Well, now, there is one small matter we must discuss,” Altaris says, turning his focus to Niamh. “You, my darling, will not be allowed inside my dwelling. Not any time soon. To repay your contract, either Poppy or myself will retrieve you from the other house. Do you understand?”

“Why?” I demand, gripping her hand so tightly she gasps.

Altaris looks at me and sighs. “If she hasn't explained it, I won’t. But she is a risk to my darlings, and that cannot stand?—”

“Why?” she asked, her voice pained. Constricted.

Anger rises in me. I’d rip out Altaris’s throat if I thought I could.

But he is not Cassius, and is one not to be trifled with. So I hold back. For now.

Altaris blinks. “So you haven’t realized. You don’t know. Tell me, dear one, have you noticed any strange marks on your body since your return? Any strange, little voices in your skull, other than your own?”

She stiffens, but I answer for her. “On her back,” I say. “There are two birds.”

She frees her hand from mine and steps away. Not out of shock or shame. Just surprise. She didn’t realize. It scares her to know that yet another change has taken place on her abominable form. Another sign that marks her as different.

“Those would be jackdaws,” Altaris murmurs, his green eyes glittering in the dark. “The result of very, very dark magic. Very twisted. To attract their attention, you must have witnessed something terrible. It will take yet more of my resources and contacts to find out what.”

“So then why punish her?” I snap.

He shakes his head. “You misunderstand. Jackdaws are reactive by nature, driven to protect. As you have seen, my darling ones can be a tad skittish. There is no telling if someone may stumble across her and have an accident. Jackdaws do not play nicely and they do not stop until their prey is dead. I’d rather not take that risk, I am sure you understand.”

She doesn’t, but she nods along anyway. Standing alone, on this winding street, she seems so small, nearly swallowed alive by shadows. I reach for her. She doesn’t seem to see my hand.

“What does it mean?” she asks Altaris, her voice soft. “What does it mean?”

“It means, my darling, that we need to figure out what really happened to Cyrus Triarc. As interestingly demented as you may be, I know for a fact you didn’t kill him.”

Of course she didn’t. I eye her hands, delicate and slim. When provoked, she wants to fight and bite, but she couldn’t if she tried. She’d break her bones the second she tried to drive a blade into another creature.

That is what I am for.

“That wasn’t the work of jackdaws, either,” Altaris remarks. “Oh no. Only a very powerful and very twisted being could be capable of such violence.”

“I’ve ripped out hearts,” I say. As if it is hard. As if it isn’t easy. As if mortal and mundane limbs don’t squish and give to the slightest pressure.

“Ah, but that is the problem. Several creatures enjoy employing similar methods,” Altaris murmurs, his head cocked, brows drawn. “I would like to wait until our autopsy confirms it, but I have my suspicions as to the culprit. I have seen such a shoddy little circus before. I thought I had ensured that such a creature could never dare to stalk this city again.”

I frown at his words, sensing a mystery cloaked within a riddle.

Niamh, however, gasps. “The fae. You’ve seen her. You know who she was!”

A strange thing happens. Altaris’s eyes remain blank, his expression blank—but it is an act. A lie. He schools his expression into a mask to hide the real emotion flitting underneath. A fae, she said. Had he seen her?

---