Stealing Infinity, page 37
“It’s not a hologram, if that’s what you’re thinking. Everything you see was brought back by Trippers.”
“Seriously?” I take another, more appreciative, look at the madcap collection of strange artifacts and extravagant mishmash of relics.
“You know how Arthur lets you keep a trophy when you return?”
I nod, remembering the diamond swan hair clip that Mason should have by now. And of course, the gold ring I took from the duke.
“After a while, they just sort of started taking up space, so Arthur agreed to let us turn this club into an archive of our own. Then, of course, everyone started getting competitive about the types of things they brought back. And, well, what you see here is the result.”
My gaze lands on a human skeleton displayed in a coffin made of glass. Its skull inexplicably encrusted in jewels; the body adorned in a black velvet robe with elaborate gold and silver embroidery trailing down the front. The piece strikes me as simultaneously beautiful and unnerving.
“And Arthur doesn’t mind?” My attention lingers on the strange, haunting thing—the jaw embedded with diamonds and rubies, the skull paved with bits of gold and pearls.
“As long as we return with his list of Gets, he’s fine with it. And as for that—” She motions toward the coffin. “That’s one of Braxton’s contributions.”
I turn toward Elodie, sure that she’s bluffing. Unfortunately, my barefaced show of surprise looks like it only delights her more.
“I thought for sure he would’ve mentioned it,” she says, not even trying to hide the glee behind her reveal—of knowing something about Braxton that he hasn’t gotten around to sharing with me. “He’s ridiculously proud of his find.”
I glance between Elodie and the jewel encrusted skeleton. On the one hand, it’s eerie, creepy, and morbid as hell. On the other, knowing Braxton’s taste in art, it makes sense.
“It’s an old Roman catacomb saint,” she explains. “They became controversial, which is why there are so few of them left these days. Of course, Braxton brought this one back from the sixteenth century.”
I try to picture him rushing for the portal with this thing strapped to his back. It’s impossible to imagine, but who am I to dispute it?
“Now that you’re a Blue, you can finally hang here on the weekends. It can get pretty wild, and you wouldn’t believe the bands and special guests Arthur brings in.” She hooks her thumb toward a stage at the far end of the room. It reminds me of the one I saw in Arcana.
“You mean hologram bands.” I return my focus to Elodie, though my mind lingers on the memory of the torch singer and the hypnotic song she sang.
Elodie tips her glass to her lips. “Do I?” She grins coyly. “Anyway, tell me about your Trip. I want to hear all the juicy details.”
I uncross my legs, settle deeper into my seat. “It was all pretty standard,” I lie. “Though there is something I was wondering…”
She shifts closer to the edge of her cushion and leans toward me. Her face lit with anticipation, as though the moment she’s been waiting for has finally arrived. The moment when I accuse her of things of which I have no proof, so she can go running to Arthur, and I can be stripped of Blue status and demoted to work as her maid.
My fingers play at the stem of my drink, my gaze locked on hers. “When you Trip back to times like that, are you ever tempted to smuggle in things like tampons and birth control? You know, to give our bygone sisters some semblance of autonomy over their lives?”
For a moment, Elodie freezes. Then I watch as she breaks into the sort of full-bodied laugh that has her rocking back in her seat so abruptly, she inadvertently splashes her drink down the front of her dress—a slinky sequined slip nearly the same creamy buttermilk shade as her skin.
Between the dress and the way she wears her blond hair coiled high on her head, she looks startlingly similar to the sculpture of Deceit, and I can’t help but wonder if the look is deliberate, intended to taunt me.
Though it’s also entirely possible that, where she’s concerned, I’ve grown so paranoid, everything surrounding her falls under a veil of suspicion.
Elodie continues to laugh as she reaches for a cocktail napkin to sop up the stain on her dress. And while I know it’s not the accusation she braced for, I’m glad I managed to amuse her, if for no other reason than it served to lighten the mood.
“Can you even imagine?” she says. “We’d probably be dragged before an all-male council, who’d waste no time accusing us of witchcraft so they could get their rocks off watching us burn at the stake.” She shakes her head and tacks on a grimace. “No thanks.”
And just like that, the tension between us has vanished. We’re friends again. Or, at least on the surface.
And then it dawns on me that maybe the superficial appearance of friendship and loyalty is all Elodie is capable of.
Maybe she’s been under Arthur’s wing for so long, molded under his hand, forced into playing various roles, and made to compete for his favor, that she has no idea how to be a good friend—has no idea who she really is outside of performing for him.
Is it possible she deserves more of my mercy and less of my mistrust?
“I used to think it would be so cool to live back then.” I sigh, deciding to drop my misgivings, at least for a while. “In the movies, they make it look so swoonworthy.”
“Sometimes it really is,” Elodie says, settling back in her seat, her face overtaken by a soft and dreamy expression. “I’ve waltzed with handsome princes, ridden in gilded horse-drawn carriages…”
“And bedded King Henry the Eighth,” I tease, still not sure I believe it.
“That too.” She nods and takes a careful sip of her drink.
“Still, while it is interesting to visit, I think I’m more suited to a world of flushing toilets and blow dryers.” I laugh.
“Hear, hear!” Elodie raises her glass, and I do the same. But when she looks at me, the laughter fades, and her expression turns somber. “You want to know the truth?”
She speaks as though everything that came before was a lie—and of course, there’s a good chance it was. And that this will be, too.
“From the moment I arrived here at Gray Wolf, I never dreamed of living anywhere else. It’s only recently that I’ve come to understand that not everyone feels the same way.”
Her gaze lands on mine, and I get the feeling she wants something from me. Probably a display of gratitude for changing my life.
When I don’t respond, she inhales deeply and says, “Are you still angry with me?” She holds her breath puffed in her cheeks. But I delay for so long, she’s forced to repeat it. “Are you angry with me for bringing you here?”
If I answer too quickly, she’ll never believe me. Elodie, like Arthur, is a hard person to fool.
“No,” I finally say. “Not—” I start to say, Not for that. But at the last second, I change it to, “Not anymore.” And when I meet her gaze, I hope what she sees is the truth.
Because I’m no longer angry with her for bringing me to Gray Wolf.
I’m angry because she tried to sabotage my mask so that I’d never return.
Despite my momentary lapse of pity toward her, I know she’s responsible, and someday I’ll prove it.
She reaches for the shaker, about to refill our empty glasses, when my slab begins to buzz, and my hand shoots for my bag, sure it’s a message from Braxton.
But when I notice Elodie’s slab buzzing as well, I figure it must be something else, something not nearly as exciting.
“The new recruit is here.” Elodie stands, smooths a hand down the front of her dress. “Arthur wants everyone to meet downstairs.”
But all I can think is: Braxton is back!
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Elodie holds the door, then follows me into the hall. I’ve barely walked more than a few steps when she places a hand on my shoulder to stop me.
“What happened?” She motions toward my chest.
At first, I think maybe I dribbled my drink on my dress, but then I realize she’s reaching for my talisman.
“It’s dented. Right here.”
While I really don’t like the sight of her fingers grasping the charm Braxton gave me, I soon realize she’s right. There’s a place on the front where two of the gold bars appear to curve slightly inward when they didn’t before.
I guess it must’ve happened when I lost it, but I was so happy to have it back, I didn’t take the time to examine it.
Elodie peers hard at the jewels nestled inside. “Good thing you didn’t lose that star,” she says. “It could’ve so easily slipped through those bars without you even realizing until it was too late.” She tilts her head, and the way her gaze latches onto mine causes a prickle of chills to race up my spine.
“Reminds me of that quote from Ovid,” she says. “Beauty is a fragile gift.”
Her perfect rosebud lips curl up at the sides, and though there’re a number of ways I can translate her expression, it’s not a trail I’m willing to follow. Right now, I’d rather focus on Braxton—his return to Gray Wolf, to me—and the happy reunion to come.
Without a word, I remove the charm from her fingers, and make for the staircase.
When I see everyone already assembled downstairs, my mind hurtles back in time to the night I arrived.
I remember how I stood awkwardly beside Braxton, simultaneously angry and scared out of my mind.
I remember taking in the odd assortment of wingback chairs swinging from thick silver chains, and the strangers who occupied them, people who are no longer strangers today.
Oliver, Song, Jago, Finn—I tried my best to keep them all straight.
All of them are here now, except Song, who is notably missing.
When Elodie strode into the room with that tiara perched on her head, she was clearly the star of the show.
As she strides in beside me now, I realize her reign is far from over.
Back then, I didn’t know what any of it meant.
Why the chairs hung like swings.
Why Elodie was dressed like royalty.
Why everyone was so unsettled by me.
Why I was chosen to live here among them.
But now that I’m one of them, I promise myself that whoever this recruit turns out to be, I will be kinder and more helpful to them than any of these people ever were to me.
I don’t care if Blues are expected to keep to themselves—a little more guidance would’ve been nice. And as far as shoving a bag over someone’s head and dragging them off to the lighthouse—it’s time for that sadistic tradition to end.
Elodie claims the last vacant chair, leaving me to occupy the pink velvet divan. As I settle onto the cushion, I feel jumpy, twitchy, like there’s a swarm of bees building a hive inside my belly, but I chalk it up to excitement over my reunion with Braxton.
I turn to Oliver, who’s sitting in the chair beside mine, about to ask if he’s seen Song, when he leans toward me and says, “Good to see you made it back.”
I’m about to respond when I realize there’s more.
“And I see you brought a friend.”
His dark eyes flicker toward the staircase, where a tall, gorgeous boy dressed in a loose silk shirt, a pair of soft faded jeans, and velvet slippers makes his way down the steps.
When I catch sight of his golden curls, recently cut to fall just shy of his shoulders, leaving the front bits to casually tumble over his forehead, I realize the boy is Killian.
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I guess I must’ve gasped out loud, and not just in my head like I thought, because Oliver laughs. “An appropriate response to that hot piece of smolder,” he says. “Just don’t let Braxton hear you do that. He and Killian are not exactly what one would call friendly.”
It’s the first time I’ve seen Killian without a mask, and it takes a moment to adjust to the sight. The nose that I once thought of as prominent appears less so when taken in with his other features. Still, his is a strong face. The face of ancient Roman coins, of statues molded under Michelangelo’s hand. There’s a hard, almost brutal quality to the square of his jaw, the thrust of his cheekbones and chin. But his blue eyes are warm and friendly, and his lips are smiling brightly.
“Greetings, old friends.” As his gaze bounces among the gathered crowd, I use the moment to study their varied reactions.
Finn swipes a hand through his straw-colored hair, his shoulder nudging Oliver’s. The two of them exchange a look that’s probably meant to be discreet but falls far short.
Jago just nods. He’s clearly too new to have any idea who Killian is.
Elodie shoots a wary look between the two of us, but surprisingly keeps her lips sealed.
“So, this is the new millennium version of you.” Killian’s gaze drags over me with lazy appreciation, taking a slow, leisurely inventory of my hair, my dress, my bare legs. “I have to say, this century suits you.”
When he drops down beside me, I whisper, “Are you sure you want to sit so close? Last time you saw me, I was pressing a blade to your throat.”
He laughs in a deep-bellied way, throwing his head back and exposing a strong column of neck with a small puncture mark where I pressed my weapon just a little too hard. Then, settling in closer, he says, “I have been known to hold a grudge. But not toward you. Turns out, I’m saving that up for somebody else.”
I sink back against the seat. He sinks back, too, spreading his legs so wide, they take up all his space and a good chunk of mine.
“Another thing that’s happened in your absence,” I say, knocking my knee hard against his. “Manspread has been banned. In fact, the entire patriarchal system has been put on notice. You have a lot of catching up to do.”
In an instant, he corrects himself by crossing one leg over the other, then leans closer to whisper, “Sounds like I missed the revolution. Though I do look forward to you teaching me all about this brave new world I’ve found myself in.” To the room at large, he says, “Tell me, how has everyone been?”
Oliver and Finn merely shrug.
Jago eagerly introduces himself.
As Elodie continues to swing back and forth on her purple wingback throne.
“Okay, so nothing has changed.” Killian pulls a sardonic grin. “Except apparently, or at least according to my new friend Natasha here, some rather restrictive courtship rules have been put into place. Though, not to worry, I have every intention of ridding myself of my barbaric ways so that I may once again mix with polite society. Seeing as how Natasha has volunteered to tutor me, it shouldn’t take long. Least she could do, really, considering how she dragged me back here against my will.”
“Natasha. Dragged you. Back here?” It’s the first thing Elodie has said since Killian arrived, and there’s an audible bite to the words.
Killian regards her with a cool, measured gaze. “Held a bloody knife to my throat. Well, actually it was a shiv that she crafted from her corset, but still.”
“Pannier,” I correct.
“What?” His eyes squint with amusement.
“Panni—whatever.” I frown and dismiss it with a wave of my hand.
Killian leans his head back against the cushion and studies the enormous crystal chandelier hanging above. “Corset, pannier, fancy lace knickers, still a brilliant bit of genius, I’ll say. Also, scary as hell to be caught on the killing end of that stick.”
He’s adopted a cockney accent now, and I get the feeling that he’s always playing a role or wearing a mask of some sort. This is a guy with so many personas, I wonder if he’s even able to determine the real from the fake.
But then I remember the grim line of his lips, the sharp barb of his tongue, when he named Braxton as the one he suspected of sabotaging his long ago Trip, and I realize that was probably as close to his truth as he’ll ever reveal.
“Funny how you conveniently left out that part when I asked about your Trip.” Elodie anchors a foot on the floor and uses it to swing her chair back and forth, all the while her gaze shooting daggers at me.
“Did she?” Killian regards me through a sleepy, half-lidded gaze. “Well, that’s probably because this one here’s too modest to brag.” He bumps his shoulder playfully against mine. “Not that you would know anything about that, El. You’ve never been known for humility, have you?” When he turns that gaze on Elodie, it takes on an entirely different affect.
I’m pretty sure we all suck in a breath, curious to see how Elodie will respond. Surprisingly, she just rolls her eyes and silently seethes, leaving me to wonder what might’ve happened between them to make her surrender so easily.
“Well, at least we know people can return,” Finn says, eliciting a look of warning from Oliver. “That means there’s still hope for Song. Not to mention Anjou,” he mutters in a much quieter, but still bitter tone.
“Song is missing?” I say, but Jago speaks up at that exact moment, and his voice easily overpowers mine.
“Did that really happen?” Jago leans forward in his chair and wags a finger between Killian and me.
“You mean, about the shiv?” Killian laughs. “Course it’s true! Don’t underestimate this one, she’s a freakin’ beast.” Killian slaps a hand on my knee. Then, with a pained expression that’s clearly faked, he says, “Aw, damn, did I just break another one of your rules?”
“They’re not just my rules, they’re—” I’m about to really lay into him when Braxton walks into the room.
His gaze darts straight from me, to Killian, to Killian’s hand clutching my knee.
But all I can see is the recruit standing directly behind him.
He’s terrified, angry, and looking for someone to blame.
In an instant, his eyes settle on me.
And I’m out of my chair, out of my mind, as I cry, “What the hell is Mason doing here?”
