Devil's Pawn, page 17
“My brother enjoys a chase,” he says casually enough that if Angelique is listening, she won’t understand. “But he definitely doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
He extends his hand to me again. I wonder if he wants to give the impression that this is somehow my choice. It doesn’t matter though. There’s only one way this is going to go.
I slip my hand into it and let him help me out. When he tucks my arm into his, I glance up at him, surprised, but don’t pull away. He only pauses for a moment to lift Angelique up on his other arm and we make our way across the courtyard and toward that small chapel where Jericho had me on my knees last night.
The courtyard is lit by what seems to be a hundred candles. Fires burn in various pits. Only men are gathered, I notice, and all of them formally dressed in their cloaks, hoods up, masked, drinking drinks.
I glimpse Angelique as she sees them and watch how she hugs her arms around her uncle’s neck.
“They’re just playing dress up,” Ezekiel tells her.
“I don’t like their dress up.”
Neither do I.
“Then don’t look, silly. Look at how pretty Isabelle looks instead,” he says with a glance toward me that I can’t quite read.
Once we’re past the men Angelique wriggles free of her uncle and comes to my side. She takes my hand and in the same moment, I hear a familiar voice behind me.
“Well, there’s the blushing bride.” It’s Carlton.
I stiffen at the sound of his voice. I don’t know why. He’s my brother, half-brother, whatever. It’s not like I’m afraid of him. And between him and the St. James family, I should know which side I’m safer on.
Leontine casts a wary glance in his direction, but Ezekiel’s look is dark. I turn to find Carlton is wearing his cloak and thankfully his mask is pushed to the top of his head.
Angelique stares at him wide-eyed and not without fear.
“Take Angelique inside,” Zeke tells his mother in a tone much like his brother’s.
“Come, Angelique, we’ll wait inside, and Uncle Zeke can walk Isabelle in,” says Leontine.
But the little girl shakes her head, drags her gaze from my brother and looks up at me. She tugs at my hand.
“Go on,” her uncle tells her. “You have to toss rose petals at the bride’s feet. Don’t you remember?” he asks but this time I hear the strain in his tone.
“Oh,” she says, gaze warily landing on my brother. “I forgot.” She looks up at me again.
“Will you come home afterwards? To live with us?” she asks me.
“Home?” Carlton asks and I see him watching with some amusement.
“Of course, she will,” Leontine answers, stepping in to take her hand and lead her away, but again, the child tugs to remain in place.
“Promise?” she asks. “You and daddy will come home? I’m not allowed to stay after the wedding.”
“I’m sure it won’t take that long,” I say, thinking her bedtime is eight o’clock. It’s only a little after six now.
Leontine gives me a disapproving look but Ezekiel steps in. “There’s a second ceremony. Then they’ll both be home,” he says, that second part spoken in Angelique’s direction.
“Come on now,” Leontine says to Angelique.
“Promise?” she asks me again. There’s something earnest in her tone and I remember what Leontine said. How she’s been living like a fugitive. I wonder what that does to someone’s trust, especially someone so young. And I think about how they think Carlton had a hand in her mother’s murder. But it makes no sense. Why would they allow him here, near her, if that’s true?
“I promise. I’ll kiss you goodnight when I’m home…when I’m back,” I add, just catching myself, thinking of what her father is doing. Of how it could hurt his daughter when it’s over. When I’m gone.
The image of the well followed by the one of Nellie Bishop’s grave seem to call up a sudden chilly breeze.
When I’m gone.
A gong sounds then and I’m so grateful for the intrusion.
“You’ll kiss her goodnight?” my brother asks as we watch Leontine lead Angelique away.
Once Angelique is safely inside the chapel, Ezekiel steps up to Carlton. Like right up to him, his chest butting up against my brother’s.
“You’re not welcome, Bishop,” he says. Extending his arm to me, he nudges me away from Carlton and behind him.
“No, I suppose I’m not. But she is my sister. And I wanted to wish her happiness and a long life and all that crap.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Ezekiel deadpans. “You come that close to my niece one more time and I’ll break both your legs, you understand?”
“What are you? Your brother’s bloodhound?”
“No, I’m my own. Disappear, Bishop, before I make you disappear.”
“It’s what the St. James’s are good at, isn’t it? Nellie and who knows how many others?”
Others?
Carlton glances at me. “I just hope you don’t plan on adding my sister to that list of disappeared Bishop girls.”
Before Ezekiel can answer the chapel door bursts opens and Jericho is in the courtyard, face ablaze, eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them. He stalks toward us, taking a look at me, half-pausing when he does before resuming his progress toward my brother.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jericho asks, taking Carlton by the collar and shoving him backward into the wall. I hope Carlton is smart enough to realize he is no match for this man in size and brute strength, much less in rage.
Carlton holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I came to see my sister wed but I see I’m not welcome.”
Councilor Hildebrand approaches, two guards following, and it takes one lift of his finger for those guards to pick up their pace and take Jericho’s arms. They can’t budge him though.
“Go wait by the chapel door,” Ezekiel tells me, never taking his eyes off the scene.
“Call your dogs off!” Jericho tells Hildebrand in a voice that’s almost unrecognizable without ever taking his eyes off my brother.
“This is not the time!” Hildebrand hisses.
“You stay the hell away from my family,” Jericho tells Carlton, shifting one of his hands to wrap around Carlton’s neck.
“She’s not your family just yet,” Carlton taunts stupidly. “And since she will still have Bishop blood running through her veins, I don’t assume she’ll become that anytime soon.” I swear he’s trying to egg Jericho on. Even as he begins to choke trying to catch his breath.
“You god damned piece of shit,” Jericho starts.
“Get him off!” Hildebrand orders and two more guards arrive but before they can grab hold of Jericho, Ezekiel moves toward him, shoving one of the men who has hold of his brother away.
“Brother,” he says. “He’s right. Now is not the time.”
Jericho’s nostrils flare and I can see the effort it’s taking him to not kill Carlton.
“Jericho,” Ezekiel says more forcefully. Jericho closes his eyes, loosens his grip.
But Carlton doesn’t get it. “Not that being family would keep her safe. I mean, look at Zoë. Or your father.” Carlton’s grin is a hateful, ugly thing as he shifts his gaze to Ezekiel.
When Jericho closes his fist this time, he squeezes. I watch Carlton’s face go red. His eyes bulge. I scream, stumbling backward, my flowers falling to the floor.
“Go,” Ezekiel commands urging me in the direction of the chapel.
“You don’t know anything about my family,” Jericho growls.
I can’t move, and the moment seems to play out in slow motion. Jericho choking Carlton, Carlton’s face, his eyes looking so wrong.
“Enough!” Hildebrand calls out and it takes four of them to drag Jericho off. Four men the size of Jericho to free Carlton. They keep hold of Jericho as Carlton slumps against the wall, sputtering, choking, hand around his throat where I can see Jericho’s fingerprints. It takes him long minutes to stand upright but he does it and stupidly he steps toward Jericho who lunges like some trapped animal.
I scream again but the men have him and Carlton grins. Just grins. “Violence is all your family knows, isn’t it? Your father taught you well,” he taunts.
Around us a crowd has gathered. I look at all the faces, many masked, staring at us, enjoying the spectacle. Certainly no one is stopping it.
“Gentlemen!” Hildebrand says through clenched teeth as he tries to take control of the situation. “This is not a zoo. We are not animals. You’ll both be reprimanded for this spectacle but now is not the time.” He turns to Carlton. “Bishop!”
Carlton’s gaze snaps to Hildebrand.
“Out!” he spits.
“I just came to—”
“Out!” Hildebrand orders and his men move toward my brother who puts his hands up, making a show of backing away. When my brother is gone, he takes one look at me then turns to Jericho. “Are you ready? I need to bear witness, as you know, and I don’t have all night.”
Bear witness. Something about the way he says it makes my skin crawl.
Jericho takes a deep breath in, grits his teeth, and pulls free of the men holding him. He locks eyes with Ezekiel. “I need a word with my brother.”
Hildebrand studies them, then lets it go. When he’s gone, I’m left with the brothers and, beyond them, the collection of onlookers who are pretending not to watch.
“What the hell are you thinking bringing Angelique here?” Jericho demands.
Ezekiel may be the only man on earth who isn’t cowed by that tone. By the menace in it. By the energy crackling off Jericho’s body. And where I would have backed away, he steps toward his brother, the challenge clear. “It’s your wedding day. Don’t you think your daughter should be a part of it?”
Jericho didn’t want his own daughter here? It makes sense, doesn’t it? Considering.
“You don’t decide those things. And now you leave me with a mess to clean up.”
The brothers study one another for a long, long moment before Jericho finally turns to me, expression strained as he looks me over. Without a word he takes hold of my arm and walks me unceremoniously toward the chapel.
I wonder about my brother’s visit. His ability to cause so much disruption, wreak such havoc. That was his intention, wasn’t it? He knows how to get under Jericho’s skin. Just get near his family. His daughter. She is his weakness. Carlton wouldn’t hurt her to punish him, would he? No. I can’t believe that. But what about the disappeared Bishop girls? And the comment about not being safe even if you are family? And mostly, what of Jericho’s rage? I think he could have murdered my brother today and that terrifies me.
But before I can consider any of that, Ezekiel opens the chapel door and Jericho marches me to the altar. No walk down the aisle for me. No soft music. Nothing but the once comforting smell of incense overwhelming my senses as I’m pushed once again to my knees before the altar, this time a cushion softening the impact as I speak the words that will bind me to Jericho St. James forever.
However long my forever will be.
27
Jericho
I watch her throughout the brief ceremony. I have Hildebrand to thank for the brief part. Father John wanted a full mass said. Good for the soul, I believe was his argument. He can go fuck himself. And so can Hildebrand and so can every other man out there who witnessed the spectacle Carlton Bishop orchestrated so perfectly. Even recruiting my brother and myself as unlikely actors.
Fucking asshole.
And what the hell did he mean mentioning Zoë and my father. I should have broken his nose just for speaking my sister’s name.
As far as my father’s accident, it wasn’t one. I’m sure of it. Bishop had a hand in killing him. I know he did. Even if Santiago De La Rosa finds no evidence, I know it in my gut. My father was murdered. His car skidding off the edge of a mountain road like it did? It’s too fucking convenient. All evidence lost. Car and man burnt to a fucking crisp.
No. I don’t buy it. He was murdered. And the whole thing stinks of Carlton Bishop.
Isabelle’s low voice murmuring the Lord’s prayer along with Father John brings me back to the here and now.
I glance at her. My beautiful, innocent bride. She’s simply dressed in the gown my mother wore for her wedding to our father. The gown is a white silk that is designed with the marking ceremony in mind with the single button closure on the neck holding the silk in place.
That brings me to thoughts of my mother. Did she know what my father would do? Did she know he meant to open the dress and brand her publicly? Did she then bow her head of her own accord, tears drowning her as she touched her lips to his shoe to say the words required of her? To make her pledge and bestow upon him the power of lord and god.
Isabelle glances at me, her lips ceasing their mutterings. The prayer has ended. In her eyes I read her questions but there is a stillness to her. A quiet. She had it that first night too, when she sought shelter in this very chapel before those men entered. Before I stepped out of the shadows where I’d been sitting watching her. Was it a stroke of fate that carried her in here that night? That let me observe her before she even knew of my existence.
Beauty and her devil. She, innocent in that feather dress. Me, cloaked and masked, horns curling to high heaven. A terror to behold.
She watches me and finally blinks, lowers her gaze. She makes the sign of the cross as Father John brings the crucifix to her lips.
I can’t take my eyes off her. Will she be so calm in the moments that will follow this ceremony to the next one?
The priest clears his throat and we both look up at him. Time for the vows to be said. The promise to love, honor and obey. It’s a sacrilege, this sham.
Love. Useless.
Honor. I could give a fuck.
It’s only her obedience I’m interested in, and I listen to her repeat the words. Do they have any meaning to her? Her eyes give nothing away.
When it’s my turn, I say my part, then take her hand and slip a simple gold band onto her finger. She looks down at it as if surprised. Did she expect diamonds? A big, fat ring?
I hold the band she’ll slide onto my finger out to her.
She glances at the ring of gold on my palm then at the small gathering of people she doesn’t know. None will help her out of this one.
I wait for her to look back at me and gesture for her to go on.
She takes the ring and pushes it onto my finger and a few moments later, the priest declares us husband and wife and gives me permission to kiss my bride.
I close my hand over the back of her bare neck to pull her to me and, eyes open, I kiss my bride. A symbolic gesture. And then it’s over.
I rise to my feet, thank Father John, and help my bride stand. I keep hold of her hand as we turn to the company gathered, the only women my mother and daughter. Even they shouldn’t be here according to custom.
Angelique slips her hand free of my mother’s and runs toward us. She’s the only one in this whole room who is smiling. I scoop her up with one arm to hold her and think about how her life depends on mine. Of how much she needs me.
“Daddy!” she hugs my neck and leans her slight weight toward Isabelle so I have no choice but to let her hug Isabelle into our little circle that has been two for all her life. Now made three.
I consider this as I feel her little arms squeeze us tight. What will she expect now? What does she think this makes Isabelle?
I hadn’t wanted to bring Angelique tonight. Hadn’t wanted to mention a wedding at all. It has nothing to do with her. This marriage is a means to an end. And when that end comes…
I look at Isabelle once Angelique releases us.
When that end comes, I’ll deal with the consequences. I’ll rearrange the pieces for Angelique then.
I set Angelique down as my mother steps toward us and, after kissing her on the top of her head, I hand her over to my mother.
“You’ll come home. You promised,” she says to Isabelle.
Isabelle crouches down to kiss her cheek. “I promised and I always keep my promises.”
My mother takes her as Isabelle straightens and the two of them exchange a look. Two generations of women given to Society men. One knows what is coming. The other is still innocent. But not for long.
My mother gives Isabelle an almost imperceptible nod. I’m confused by this and glance at Isabelle whose expression is unreadable.
Courage I think she’s saying.
I won’t use the irons. My mother suffered more than Isabelle will.
Isabelle gazes softly down once more to my daughter but when her eyes land on me, she adjusts her features as if putting on armor. I’ve done that, I remind myself. Made her terrified of me within a few days of knowing me.
I tug her toward me. “What did you promise Angelique?”
“Only to kiss her goodnight,” she says.
“Take care with your promises to my daughter.”
Her eyes search mine as she takes this in.
The procession of guests makes their way toward us, and I turn my attention to them. I paste a neutral look on my face as the men, all upper echelon members who, I’m sure would rather not have been in attendance considering I’m not like them. Not blood. They line up to congratulate me. I shake hands as the thought circles. I am not one of them. I will never be one of them. My father may have bought our entry tickets, but you can’t fake blood.
I don’t give a fuck, though. My father used to, and I saw what it did to him, that wanting to belong where you don’t belong. Wanting to be where you’re simply not wanted.
Once that majority of witnesses has gone, the only men left are Zeke, Santiago De La Rosa, Judge and Hildebrand along with his two personal guards.
Isabelle moves closer to me as Santiago approaches, and I realize it’s her first time seeing the man with the half-skull face tattoo. Judge, no less menacing with his height and build, stands at his side. Judge acknowledges Isabelle with a nod while Santiago studies her a moment longer.
