Page 59 of What Is Dark Within Me

“Oh,” Louisa said. “That’s… that’s too bad. We were supposed to spend the night together.”

“He was never going to heal you,” Aleja spat. Her voice was full of grit, like she’d swallowed a handful of garden dirt. “He kidnapped my friend. He was going to kidnap you too, or worse.”

Louisa sighed. “I know. I was a barista at the coffee shop he went to every day, and he even didn’t recognize me when I showed up at his hospital. To be honest, I was only trying to get a bit of the well water so I could take it back to a lab for analysis—see if I could break down the chemical composition into something I could reproduce in greater quantities. I’m, or rather, Iwas, in pharmacy school.”

Aleja hadn’t expected that answer. Nicolas shifted her weight to his hip as he fished something out of his jacket pocket. It was a small vial, the same size as the Unholy Relic around his neck but filled with what appeared to be water.

“Then you’re in luck,” Nicolas said. “I have merely one request. Answer what questions of ours you can. Other lives may depend on it.”

For the first time since they were in James’s study, Louisa looked nervous.

She smoothed her dress. “I’ve heard enough tales about the Adversary to know I should be afraid of him, and I’ve never lit the black candle, even at my most desperate. This isn’t a bargain, is it?”

“No, and the vial is yours whether you agree or not,” Nicolas said. “You seem to have some idea of what the doctor was intending for you, but there are other women out there who weren’t so lucky.”

“Please,” Aleja added.

Louisa bit her lower lip, seemed to notice the taste of mascara on it, and frowned in disgust. “All right. What does it matter either way? At least I don’t have to put those heels back on, do I?”

“Fuck no,” Aleja told her.

“I know his type,” Louisa said after a moment. The words were sharp and bitter, as if she’d been holding back her true feelings about James for a long time and now at last had the chance to release them. “He always took aspecialinterest in his young female patients. They were vulnerable. They needed him. Hellfire, he didn’t spare me a second glance until he learned I was sick. After that, he invited me to every party in this big mansion, even though I could barely afford this drugstore makeup after my treatments.”

“Sorry,” Aleja muttered. It was all she could manage. She was doing her best to hold on to Louisa’s every word, but Aleja thought she might throw up if she tried to speak again.

A window shattered at the house, but the flames had not yet reached the exterior.

“Don’t be. He realized how desperate I was early on and told me about an Unholy Well full of water that could heal me. He wouldn’t reveal where it was, not until—in his words—he knew he could trust me.”

“Did he ever tell you?” Nicolas asked.

“No. Maybe I wasn’t sick enough for him. It took weeks before he even confessed he had a vial at his home. I’m guessing that’s what’s in your hand.”

“It is,” Nicolas said. He spoke with none of the harshness he’d directed toward either James or Thierry Laurent. “You must have some idea of where he was sending those women.”

Louisa buried her face in her hands. “I don’t. I’m sorry. I tried to tell myself that he wouldn’t do that—that hewasn’tdoing that. That the bad vibes I got from him were just that, vibes. And every time I wondered if I should go to the police, he would do something so kind; pay a student loan bill, or have dinner delivered to my apartment. I even think the whole Satanist thing was an act to impress his social circle. He always wore a pendant with six wings beneath his shirt.”

Nicolas stiffened against Aleja. With her head pressed against his side, it felt like leaning against a sun-warmed rock. “Six feathered wings arranged in a circle?” he asked.

Garm’s ever-wagging tail stilled.

“Yes, just like that. But I swear that’s all I know.”

“It’s okay,” Nicolas said, handing the vial to Louisa. “Here, for your troubles. I hope you’re able to gain some knowledge from it, and if not… light the black candle with plenty of time to spare. I can only offer refuge to those the Third has not already set his sights on.”

“The house,” Aleja murmured, as the first lick of flame appeared on the climbing vines outside. “Should we call the fire department?”

“No,” Louisa said. “Let it burn.”

* * *

A Spell for Grieving

Plant a single sprig of rosemary in a clay pot.

Place the pot in the shadows. Do not water your sprig, even as it shrivels. Imagine it is the force of your grief that causes the plant to sag, to brown, to shed.

Let yourself weep for this small life.

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