The Dark Fable, page 15
Ciaran said, “Someone knows what we can do. If the Sirens hid their treasure in that church . . . someone told them how holy ground affects our tricks.”
Dev asked uneasily, “Why is that, exactly?”
“I don’t know.” Ciaran narrowed his eyes. “I’m going to find out.”
Evie wondered why Mad hadn’t mentioned Jason Ra. She couldn’t get the image of him crouched on that church roof out of her head. She recalled the stained-glass windows cracking, the crucifix flying off the wall. A chill settled in her stomach.
“Who knows what we can do?” One side of Dev’s face was darkening with bruises. “The other crews don’t. We’re a secret —well, we were. We’re not anymore. Fenrir will blab about our specialness. But, outside of the Kingdom, no one really believes LFS exists.”
“Someone believes,” Evie said, faking calm. “And someone knows what makes us weak.”
Mad didn’t drive them back to Black Fox House, but to a hotel. Ciaran led them through the hotel’s moss-green corridors to room 707, where Evie discarded her backpack alongside Dev’s. Queenie huddled on the sofa, arms wrapped around her knees. Dev paced, his eyes tawny gold.
Ciaran unzipped the backpack and drew out the Bestiarum Vocabulum. Mad crouched beside him and brushed her fingertips across the cover.
“That book worked,” Evie told them. “For me and Dev. But it’s unpleasant. It needs a key to open it, Priest said. Any pointy object will do.”
Ciaran held out a hand, his gaze never leaving the book. “Mad?”
Mad slid a wicked-looking silver pin from her coiled hair and set it on his palm. Ciaran inserted the hair pin into the lock of the lead clasp. It clicked. He opened the book to pages of gorgeous, jewel-like illustrations—strange creatures—and inky script, charts, and sigils. Gilt decorated some of the pages. Evie laid one hand against a picture of an entity with a face of butterfly wings. The book hummed like an energy source.
“Evie said it liked me.” Dev kept his distance. “I think it likes all of us.”
“We won’t share that info with Mother and Father.” Ciaran looked up at them.
“So, what do we do with it?” Evie recalled Jason’s warning about the Bestiarum.
“We give it to them.” Ciaran shut the book.
“Not so fast.” Mad opened it again, leaning over it. “Let’s look at it more.”
Evie, who was afraid of the book and its menagerie of nightmare creatures, nevertheless was also drawn to it. She knew, she knew, this book was somehow connected to their abilities.
That’s why Silence and Night want it.
They returned to the lair, using one of Ciaran’s Doors. No one wanted to leave the main room that night for their own apartments. Scraped, bruised, and disheartened, everyone remained, playing games or pretending to read, occasionally glancing at the treasure scattered on the pool table. Mad had a bad nosebleed.
Evie had so many questions. She felt boneless and bloodless. It had taken Ciaran a good two hours to recover from whatever had afflicted him in the Church of the Bleeding Saint. He stood at the window, gazing out at the evening-drowned courtyard. A bruise darkened his jawline. He said, “I don’t know if our tricks failed because it was a church or because sacred places have certain protections.”
“Against bad things,” Evie reminded him.
“Against magic things,” he challenged.
Queenie lay on the sofa. “Stuff was happening. Weird stuff. A window cracked. A crucifix flew at Evie.”
Mad shook her head. “We’re thieves. We’re not evil.”
“But remember when we all felt off in the Saint Street Café, which used to be a church?” Evie waited. Into a silence thick as blood, she inserted a dagger of a question: “Why didn’t Father Silence and Mother Night warn us about the church’s effects? It had to be that.”
Ciaran gave her a measuring look. Mad stood still. But Evie noticed her toes were an inch above the floor. Ciaran said, “They couldn’t prove it. It was one time for them, years ago.”
“So, holy places are like our kryptonite?” Dev gazed into his teacup. He continued grimly, “I thought it was just malachite.”
“Malachite?” Evie pounced on that. “What the hell happens with malachite?”
“Malachite,” Ciaran told her, “dulls our abilities. We don’t know why.”
“In the Middle Ages, people wore malachite amulets to protect them against evil,” Queenie whispered.
Ciaran turned from the window. “The Boy Detective. He knows what we can do.” His face shadowed. “Jason was there, wasn’t he? It was a trap.”
Mad spoke fiercely, “No, Ciaran. Jase wouldn’t do that to us.”
“Then you don’t know him as well as you think.” Ciaran’s eyes went black, and Evie was suddenly terrified for Jason.
She needed to navigate this catastrophe. “Why did the Sirens betray Silence and Night?”
Dev drank his tea, rings flashing on his fingers. “No one really knows. It wasn’t a lucrative betrayal, was it?”
Evie nodded. “Would the Sirens really have gotten so much money for what they stole that it would be worth crossing Silence and Night? And why hide it in the crypt of that church? You said the other crews don’t know what we can do. What weakens us.”
Mad affirmed, “We were a secret.”
“But you said some of them suspect we’re different. Someone told the Sirens the secret.” Evie watched Ciaran as she went on. “Does Reynard from Fenrir know what we are?”
Ciaran looked merciless. “He does now. That new Fenrir with the red mohawk . . .”
“Reynard called him Lycan,” Evie recalled.
“He was here to provide more than muscle.” Ciaran leaned against a pillar, arms folded. “His eyes glowed like a jack-o’-lantern’s. He had the same electric snap I sense in all of you. Then it sputtered. But the bastard had a knife.”
“Fucking Fenrir,” Dev muttered.
“You think he was like us.” Evie didn’t like that at all.
“He was like us.” Ciaran let that statement scar the air. “Only whatever his power was, it glitched as well. Hence, the knife.”
“An assassination attempt by Fenrir?” Queenie was doubtful. “We need to tell Silence and Night—”
“No.” Ciaran shook his head. “Not yet. Not until I’ve spoken to Reynard.”
Evie repeated her question. “Why would Siren crew mutiny? Mutiny would be an act of desperation. Of fear.”
“So what were the Sirens afraid of?” Mad sat on a windowsill.
Ciaran watched Evie. “We’ve several intriguing questions: Who knew the church would fuck us up? Are Fenrir aware of their newest recruit’s—Lycan’s—abilities? Why did the Sirens mutiny?”
Evie thought each question led to the same conclusion, one everyone had reached, judging by the sudden silence.
Whoever had told the Sirens about La Fable Sombre’s powers had suspected holy places would affect their special abilities. They had an unknown enemy who knew more about their powers than Silence, Night, and Ciaran.
Who knew more about their powers than they did.
After making her way down the hall with its peeling wallpaper and flickering antique lamps, Evie stepped into her apartment and leaned against the door, breathing in, out. A deep true-’til-death. She reached for the light.
Something moved in the shadows. She froze, fear a copper taste on her tongue. She glimpsed something, its limbs black, its head a mass of shadows.
She flipped the lights on and met her reflection’s gaze in the big mirror she’d hung on the door. She cursed her tricky imagination. She walked to her bed and curled there, all her bruises and scrapes hurting. She listened to the silence around her. She knew why everyone was quiet.
La Fable Sombre were beginning to realize they weren’t invincible.
Evie woke in the dead of night. She turned over and stared at the ceiling. How had Jason known they were going to be in Marseille and at that church?
She sat up in bed, switched on the light. She lifted the maiden death medallion and studied it. She used her thumbnail to open it—the two photos in the locket were still there. She ran one finger over the lacquered maiden death.
She retrieved a screwdriver from her art toolbox and pried carefully at the bubble of the maiden death image. It popped off. A device like a tiny black seashell fell into her palm, its minuscule light blinking. She’d never seen a listening device before, but she knew it was a bug.
Jason Ra. You bastard.
She set the bug on the floor and raised a hammer from the toolbox to smash it. She hesitated. She picked up the bug, placed it in the medallion, and glued the lacquered maiden death back over it. For now, she would leave the bug alone, let him believe he was looking after her. She tucked the medallion into her T-shirt and curled up in the dark.
Knowing Jason was out there somehow made her feel safer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Darkness
Silence and Night’s second tithe was held in the Marrakesh courtyard of the Palm and the Lotus. There was no ritzy cocktail gathering this time.
Meeting La Fable Sombre in the hall, Evie surveyed her crew. Dev and Ciaran proudly displayed their bruises from the Marseille Strike. So did Mad, sporting a fading shiner around her left eye. Queenie and Evie had spent nearly a half hour in front of the mirror with concealer and strategic eyeliner to cover their welts. The things Queenie vowed to do to Fenrir were imaginative and sadistic.
Comfortable in tartan capris, a black turtleneck, and battered black Converse, Evie asked warily, “If Fenrir are there . . .”
“I want to see the expression on Reynard’s face”—Mad stuck her thumbs through the straps of the small backpack that held the Bestiarum Vocabulum—“when we give this to Silence and Night.”
“Come on then.” Dev walked gracefully, resembling a college aristocrat in a cable-knit sweater and houndstooth trousers. The lamplight gilded his profile. “You ever wonder why these events are always held at night?”
“Silence and Night are not vampires, Dev.” Queenie seemed to be continuing an old argument.
“We’ve never seen them in daylight,” Dev slyly reminded her.
As Evie listened to them, the tension slid from her shoulders. Ciaran’s fingers brushed hers, and he cast her an encouraging look. She smiled fiercely.
They passed beneath an arch of stylized lions to ascend an outside stair. The courtyard of spiky plants was a lamplit space where the crews, unmasked, sat on walls, stairs, or crouched near pillars. Torches flashed elemental swathes of orange over solemn and grim faces.
Silence and Night moved from the shadows, both in white linen that rippled in the arid wind.
There were no deaths to honor or traitors to brand, which relieved Evie. She leaned on the railing as the crews presented their best. Last were Reynard and another Fenrir, who set a fancy railroad trunk next to the offerings. Reynard flung the lid up to reveal a wealth of flash: watches, jewelry, and other small, expensive items.
“Bank heist in Austria.” Mad’s mouth curled in scorn. “We should’ve snatched that job.” She began to amble down the stairs, unslinging the backpack. Evie saw Mother Night turn and raise a hand. Father Silence said, without looking at them, “La Fable Sombre may present their tithe at dinner.”
Silence and Night withdrew. The other thieves began to mingle. Ciaran descended into the courtyard and walked straight toward Reynard. To his credit, the leader of Fenrir didn’t move. Evie forgot to breathe as Ciaran laid one hand on Reynard’s left shoulder. The poison ring gleamed. Ciaran said, “We’ll keep Marseille between us, Reynard.”
Reynard quickly stepped back. His crew surrounded him in a crescent formation. Evie, Dev, Queenie, and Mad moved to stand near Ciaran.
“No hard feelings?” Reynard’s smile was vicious.
“None at all.” Ciaran’s languor reminded Evie of a predator sizing up his next meal. “How’s Lycan?”
“Who?” Reynard asked innocently.
“Lycan. The big guy with the mohawk and the glowing eyes.” Ciaran’s smile was beautiful. “The one who tried to stick a knife in me. Your newest recruit.”
Reynard shrugged and slid out of Ciaran’s grasp. “Yeah. Lycan. He quit. Father isn’t happy he’s gone.”
The threat of violence smoldered in the night air. Ciaran turned the skull ring on his forefinger. “Well, whoever he was, he pricked himself on something fierce.”
Reynard stared at the ring. Then, at Ciaran. His lips peeled back from his teeth. “You mother—”
Ciaran turned and walked away, back across the courtyard. As Dev, Queenie, and Mad formed a little battalion behind them, Evie strode beside him.
“Ciaran.” Her voice was taut. “You didn’t . . . that big guy back at the church . . . Lycan . . .” She had seen them fighting. Not how it had ended.
“He intended to kill me, Evie.”
Evie didn’t look at his poison ring. It was self-defense, she told herself.
The fear that had flickered across Reynard’s face told her he wouldn’t be interfering with any more of La Fable Sombre’s jobs.
Mother Night and Father Silence waited for La Fable Sombre in a splendid pavilion of gold and scarlet lit by hanging lamps of azure and topaz glass. Mother Night, in a sleeveless white gown, poured mint tea, while Father Silence studied each of them. Outside, the desert was a realm of midnight blue and star-strewn sable. In the distance, Evie could see bonfires and hear bass music as the other crews celebrated.
Ciaran had killed Lycan. It was the second time he’d killed. The thought haunted her.
Evie presented Mother Night with the Bestiarum Vocabulum as they sat on embroidered cushions around a Moroccan feast. The book hummed in Evie’s hands, as if alive, causing her unease. What had made it? It had belonged to an Elizabethan wizard, but Evie could sense it wasn’t from this world. Mother Night accepted the book as if it were a newborn, her perfectly manicured nails tracing the images on the embossed cover.
“Was there any opposition?” Father Silence asked with a hint of humor.
“Our tricks didn’t work very well,” Ciaran spoke amiably, before anyone could say anything. “But we managed the few thugs the Sirens hired. Jason Ra showed up.” He didn’t mention Fenrir.
Father Silence’s humor vanished. His pale eyes met Ciaran’s. Clearly, neither was afraid of the other. She wondered if Silence knew about Fenrir, if he suspected there was more to Lycan’s “disappearance.” Reynard wouldn’t be able to tell him, because Fenrir had come to Marseille without Silence and Night’s blessing.
A chill shot through her—how had Fenrir learned about their mission?
“Jason Ra.” Father Silence said, and it was a death sentence. Evie felt it in her bones, in the splintered way Silence spoke Jason’s name.
Silence flashed a smile and turned his formidable attention on Evie. “You brought the Bestiarum Vocabulum out of its hiding place. You’ve done extremely well, Evie. This lot”—he flicked a fond look at Ciaran, Dev, Mad, and Queenie, who were gently arguing over the spectacular food laid out before them—“they’re easy to please. But we don’t quite know you yet.” Father Silence sat with an arm on one bent knee. His white linen clothing gave him a deceptively saintly air.
He suddenly looked up. “Pardon me.” He rose and walked out to speak with one of the young guards.
“You want knowledge.” Mother Night spoke to Evie. She absently stroked Mad’s hair as Mad laid her head on one of her shoulders and bit into a pastry. A bracelet of obsidian beads glistened around Mother Night’s wrist.
“Yes,” Evie admitted. “I want to know about things more than I want to own them.”
Ciaran glanced at her, approving.
“Go to Father. He’ll answer any questions you may have.” Mother Night nodded to the desert outside of the tent, where Silence stood alone now, smoking a cigarette and gazing outward. “That is your reward for un travail bien fait. A job well done.”
Evie reluctantly separated herself from the others. As Queenie leaned toward Mother Night to say something, Ciaran reached out and clasped Evie by one wrist, whispered, “No personal questions.”
Evie nodded and walked to Father Silence. In a tense situation, her instinct was to become invisible. She had to fight that urge. She asked Silence, “What is La Fable Sombre? You told me some history before.”
He dropped his cigarette into the sand. He was barefoot. He gazed up at the dazzling display of stars. “Walk with me, Evie.”
They moved across the sand, Evie aware of the desert stretching endlessly to either side. In the distance, she saw the Thieves’ Night celebration continuing amidst the blossom of bonfires.
Father Silence spoke like a storyteller. “The Dark Fable was created long ago to collapse kingdoms, to destroy monarchies, to give power to the powerless. Every assignment is part of a plan that goes back centuries—destroy the status quo, the machine of order, the establishment. We are a secret. Rebels and revolutionaries. Everything in that vault beneath Paris was collected to keep the world from harm. We were never shown what was in it before our predecessors met their end.”
Evie chose her words carefully. “What were your Mother Night and Father Silence like?”
“They were Mother Night and Mother Silence.” He spoke tenderly. “When Ruby and Annabelle found me, I was fifteen and living on the streets of Belfast. Night was fourteen when she ran away from an orphange in France. And the others in our group . . .” His mouth hardened. Evie watched him, fascinated—he radiated power and myth like some ancient emperor. “All of us, taken in like stray cats.”
He turned to her, his eyes pale in the starlight. “That is not how Night and I see any of you. Nor the other crews. Ruby and Annabelle collected us as if we were pretty pebbles. We see you as our children. The Sirens’ betrayal was all the more wrenching to us because of this.”
Evie continued to walk with him. “What will you do with the Bestiarum Vocabulum if you can’t put it in the vault?”
