Adamant Spirits, page 145
“Right, well…” Julian hunkered on the bed and focused. Charlotte splashed around in the other room. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I don’t know if I would have believed it.”
“Describe it again for me.”
“I had closed the door by then, but there was a gap between the door and the frame, you know, like older houses have. So I could see a little bit. She picked up the receiver of a phone. A land line, not a cell phone. I guess this was what the man was getting her for… because she had a call. Before she said anything, she glanced around, the way someone might do if they’re afraid of being discovered. Once she decided, I suppose, that she was alone, she bowed her head and there was this… shimmer in the air.”
“A shimmer.”
“I don’t know how else to describe it. Nicolas might know what I’m saying. I’m sure he’s seen an illusionist change their appearance. The closest thing I can compare it to is when it gets really, really hot in New Orleans and the air seems to waver in front of you.”
“Right, I know what you mean. Go on.”
“It hurt my eyes a little bit, so I closed them, and when I opened them again, she was a man.”
“And there’s no way she could have left and someone else entered in her place?”
“This room wasn’t all that big, as I said. Smaller than a bedroom. More like one of those rooms some people have to take off their boots before they come in the house.”
“A mud room?”
“Yeah, that. And anyway, I saw her do it. Shimmer, you know. And we already know she’s an illusionist.”
“I’m not doubting you,” Lauren assured him. “Just trying to keep everything straight.”
“Well, so now, she’s a man, but she still has her Gabrielle voice. Whoever she’s talking to on the phone, I can’t hear them, of course, and she dropped her voice low.”
“But you still heard some of what she said.”
“Yeah, I did. Some.”
“Let’s walk through that.”
“First, she said, ‘Lawrence better be looking for a way into the office, because if I find he’s doing anything other than what we came here for, I’ll kill him myself,’ and then another about the ‘money not being enough, and she’s tried to get this through Lawrence’s head, but he’s not as enthusiastic as he should be.’ Whoever was on the other end must have known what she meant because she never clarified what money, or what it wasn’t enough for. But then she also said that ‘Lawrence wasn’t taking this very seriously.’ There was a pause, and then she said, ‘I don’t think he fully appreciates the gravity. They never do, really. If this fails, he won’t be the first, and he won’t be the last.’ And the last thing I heard was something else about access to an office, but it was garbled. Then I heard her coming, and I ducked into a servant’s closet across the hall until she was gone.”
“And the man she turned into, what can you tell me about him?”
“I only saw the back of his—er, her—head, and from that angle he looked like every other man in a tuxedo at the event.”
“His hair color?”
“Dark, but so was the lighting in the room. But I think dark brown.”
“And about how tall?”
Julian scrunched his mouth. “I’m not a good judge of that. Probably about as tall as my dad.”
“So about six feet, give or take.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Lauren scribbled on paper. “And you’re sure Gabrielle didn’t see you, either as herself or as the illusion? From the files, my understanding of an illusionist and their abilities is that they aren’t changing their appearance so much as manipulating a target’s mind to cause them to see the change. Unless she’s a different sort of illusionist?”
“No, I’m not sure, but I think if she had, she might have killed me or something. Or at least asked me what the hell I was doing. It seems really, really unlikely she would have just let me go.”
Lauren laughed, but she sounded distracted. “That’s a fair guess. Okay, Julian, I think I have what I need from you. I’m sorry I made you go over it so many times.”
“It’s fine.”
“I do have something for the two of you, though. Charlotte still in the bath?”
Julian sighed. “Still in the bath.”
“Well, I suppose you can fill her in. I told Charlotte the other day that we were digging deeper on the Henry business. Ashley put out a few feelers. You know he used to be in financial investing, so he used his connections to see what his peers know about the types of investments the Henrys are involved in, and what, if anything, it might have to do with what Lawrence and Gabrielle are getting up to in Paris.”
Julian waited.
“Seems they might be a little dirty, the Henrys. They’ve helped some clients, if you want to call them that, set up some shell companies to clean money, and some of those have come to the attention of the feds. The assets have been frozen as a result, something to the tune of multimillions, and as you can well imagine, said clients aren’t thrilled about it. The Henrys are said to be personae non gratae as a result.”
Julian considered his vision. The siblings at the end of the tunnel. Danger. “What do you think that has to do with Paris?”
“Nicolas and I don’t know yet,” Lauren admitted. “What you heard from Gabrielle seems to line up, at least in an abstract way, with what we know about their business. What that has to do with Paris is a connection we have yet to make. But we’re sending a telepath into the Henry office.”
“Is that a good idea, do you think? If Gabrielle and Lawrence are witches, doesn’t that mean others in their family are?”
“There’s risk involved,” Lauren conceded. “But we’ll go in with what will seem like legitimate business. They’re under water right now, and we’re counting on them being eager for new clients in the wake of the investigation and all current assets frozen. New clients are how they’ll stay afloat. Besides, we know Gabrielle is not Lawrence’s sister. If Charlotte is right about his blocking, then Lawrence isn’t a witch at all, and the Henrys might not be any threat in that sense.”
Julian fell back on the bed. “This makes my head hurt.”
“Relax and let us manage the headaches,” Lauren said. “That’s what we’re here for. For now, let the situation cool off. See the sights. Pose with the Mona Lisa. Oh, and call your mom so she’ll stop blowing up our phones, yeah? Once we have more info, you’ll be the first to know.”
“They’ve seen our faces. Both of us.”
Charlotte rifled through her closet with one hand, holding her towel in place with the other. “They saw a lot of faces tonight.”
“Pretty sure yours is going to be memorable for Lawrence after you did whatever you did upstairs.”
Charlotte yanked a nightgown from the metal hanger. “We talked. He helped me find shoes. Nothing more illicit than that, and the implication is, frankly, a little insulting.”
“I didn’t mean it to be,” Julian demurred. “He barely gave me the time of day, and he disappeared with you for almost half an hour.”
“I guess he wasn’t wowed by the charms of a one Jack Dempsey.”
“Funny,” Julian said. “At least I didn’t give him my real name.”
“Why shouldn’t we? Isn’t our goal to make contact and bring them into our fold? Relationships that start with a lie aren’t likely to last long.”
“That was our goal before we realized they were up to no good.”
“Don’t lose sight,” Charlotte chastised. “We’re still here to befriend them, if that’s possible. We don’t know if they’re up to no good. We need to figure that out.”
Julian realized she hadn’t yet looked at him. Charlotte wore her truth in her eyes before anywhere else, and he wondered if her avoidance was intentional. “I told you what Lauren said. That doesn’t concern you?”
“That Lawrence’s daddy is dirty? Don’t be naïve, Jules. You think the Deschanels and Fontenots got all their money through honest means? A family of mind readers and persuaders?”
Julian hid his shame. It honestly never occurred to him, and he didn’t want to think about the possibility. But he also didn’t know why Charlotte was so unruffled by everything, unless… “You like him.”
Charlotte froze. “Don’t be silly. You have to get close to someone to read them. I did what I needed to do.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
She disappeared behind the half-wall with her nightgown. “You’ve overthinking things,” she called from the other side. “We had a long night, Jules. Get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day.”
Julian knew when an argument with Charlotte was lost. But he refused to let this go. The foreboding swelling in his chest wasn’t subsiding, and it had never been so strong as it was when she was alone with Lawrence, away from the safety of someone who had her best interests in mind.
Charlotte was smarter than him. Tougher. More savvy about the world, perhaps. But she could not see what he saw, and Julian felt strongly, deep in his belly, that ignoring his instincts would lead to their peril.
Specifically, Charlotte’s.
Lauren
The French Quarter was still a mess of backed up drainage and flooded streets. Nicolas kept repeating how he would get her home as soon as he could, that the rain would taper off soon and then the waters would recess quickly, but the situation was beyond his control, and Lauren was tired of hearing him assume responsibility for yet another thing that wasn’t his to own. Maybe he hoped she would see it as a sort of selfless kindness, or a means of ingratiating himself to her, but she couldn’t help questioning the sincerity. Everything about his behavior these past months read to her like a bomb disguised as a gift, wired to go off, only revealing the true extent of destruction when it was already too late. She loathed herself for this skepticism, especially after he had come to her aid, but equally could not shake it off. Lauren didn’t want to feel beholden to Nicolas Deschanel, for anything.
He’d given her a change of clothes he said belonged to his cousin Anasofiya, but Lauren suspected were probably left by one of his conquests. She wore them anyway, grateful to be out of the fishnets and leather.
Nicolas occasionally regarded her with cautious, moony eyes, as if he expected she’d want to talk about what happened after the meeting with Adrien. She didn’t want to talk about it, not with him, not with anyone. Lauren wasn’t even certain she was ready to consider the full extent of what had happened with herself in private, because focusing on something bad only gave it more power. Adrien’s move had been all about taking that power from her, and she wasn’t prepared to give even an inch back by dwelling on it.
Nicolas had taught her something valuable, though. The instruction on blocking was one she could have used when she first agreed to work with Colleen, though. Who knew how many Deschanels had rifled through her brain, unannounced? She would never know, which was the worst part of all. How many times had Nicolas rooted around inside, searching for a way into her life? Lauren cringed inwardly with revulsion. And Cameron? He had Deschanel blood, too, not that he’d ever talked to her about what he could do… not now, or back then, when she might have cared about these other aspects of him. Knowing about Cameron back then might have helped her ease into being around Deschanels now. Had he, too, been searching around for strategic information?
Lauren wanted to believe neither man would do that to her, but she could hardly place ironclad trust in a man who had slept with all of New Orleans, or the man who had ditched her for her sister. Twice.
Across the room, Nicolas’ face was buried in his laptop as he looked through Lauren’s notes and the pictures Julian sent. While she was sleeping, he’d called Colleen to fill her in on the incident with Adrien, and Colleen clearly and unequivocally ordered them to stop their research on the LaViolettes until further notice. James and Kristen, Quillan’s researchers, had finally come back with more information about the LaViolettes in the Storyville days of New Orleans, but Colleen was clear: nothing from here on out. Lauren was surprised Nicolas had acted so fast, before the two of them could talk about what to include in their report of the incident. But she supposed he did what he had to do, given the unfortunate and swift turn of events.
Lauren examined him with varying levels of suspicion. He’d helped her, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t ventured where he shouldn’t before he rose to the occasion to assist her. She knew now how to keep away the unwanted intrusions, but that didn’t change what might have happened in the past, when she was vulnerable in her ignorance. In helping her, Nicolas had unwittingly exposed her to a new fear, one she could neither dissolve with logic nor do anything meaningful about.
“Quillan and his assistants have the pictures, but it’s going to be awhile,” Nicolas said, cutting a break in the silence. “If she was really Gabrielle Henry, that would cut the search time down, but a dark side photo of a girl at a distance, without a name or any identifying information, isn’t going to hit any flags in their database. They’ll have to do a manual review.”
“I figured.”
“She could be anyone.” Nicolas craned his neck and scrutinized the photo closer. “Literally anyone.”
“Well, she’s not anyone, she’s someone,” Lauren snipped. “And if we can’t figure that out soon, we need to consider aborting the mission and bringing Charlotte and Julian home, because that lack of precision, that gap in our knowledge, could be dangerous for both of them.”
Nicolas nodded. He watched her with a tentative look. “That’s what we’re working on.”
“Lawrence and Gabrielle have seen their faces, Nic. This means that anytime they try to follow them, or watch them, from here on out, they’re at risk of discovery.”
“I’m agreeing with you. If we can’t solve the Gabrielle mystery soon, we need to pull them back until we have more information.”
“I’m serious.” Lauren unfolded her legs and stood. Her whole body was stiff from the absence of much movement for so many hours. “And don’t agree with me just because something bad happened. I don’t need that from you.”
Nicolas closed the laptop. “I’m agreeing with you because I happen to agree, Lauren. The contact they made at the party, especially Charlotte’s time alone with Lawrence, changes things. You already told them to hold tight, for now.”
“I told Julian to hold tight. I suspect Charlotte will do as she pleases.”
Nicolas frowned. “She was good about sticking to instruction in Pripyat. Are you sure she’s rogue now?”
“I didn’t say she was rogue. But Julian has been guarded, almost cagey, when relaying Charlotte’s actions to me. It’s almost as if he wants me to read between the lines so he doesn’t have to outright betray her.”
“What, exactly, do you think she’s doing?”
“Pushing boundaries,” Lauren said. “I’m not sure she grasps the potential danger in Paris the way she did in Ukraine, where they were scouting out actual vampires. Something I still have trouble grasping myself.” She shook her head. “Lawrence is objectively gorgeous. Gabrielle looks like a fresh-faced debutante. They’re enticing, disarming, attractive, in a way maybe ancient vampires living amongst radioactive waste possibly were not.”
“So?”
“An observation I’ve made being around Deschanels is that a lot of you seem to possess a fearlessness that I would guess comes with your abilities, as if you think you have a defense for every situation. But how can you know unless you’ve scouted out the weapons of your adversary?”
“That fearlessness you’re seeing has more to do with the extent of our financial footprint than anything else,” Nicolas said, a touch defensive. “And unless you have better reason than Julian’s evasiveness to suspect she’s perched like a gargoyle on the side of their hotel, maybe it’s better to fall on the side of trusting what they’re telling us.”
“It’s fine, if you want me to be the irrational one. It would just confuse things for us to step outside our expected gender norms.” Lauren marched into the kitchen. She pressed her palms to the counter and leaned forward, away from him, from the discussion. Her anger was misplaced and far from rational, but she didn’t know how to redirect it, and her energy was too depleted to try. Her entire body ached, and her head pounded from the intrusion, the explosion of emotion.
Nicolas seemed to know better than to take the bait. “I have some thoughts on who we can send into the Henry office. I can send the list to Ashley, unless you want to weigh in.”
“I’m sure whatever you suggest will ring with brilliance, Nicolas.” She hated herself for every word that rolled off her tongue with cathartic vitriol. She said them anyway.
“Right.” He tossed the computer on the couch and left the room. A few minutes later, she heard the shower turn on.
Lauren had twelve missed calls from Cameron. Half went directly to voicemail when she was meeting with Adrien. The others she’d missed while sleeping off the stress, and then working through the details of the fundraiser with Julian. She doubted she would’ve answered even if she hadn’t been indisposed. Lauren knew why Cameron was calling. She had nothing to say on the matter.
She was staring at the list of missed calls when another came in. Her scrolling finger accidentally answered the call, and she stared at the device in escalating panic before she brought it slowly to her ear. “Now isn’t a good time, Cam.”
“Where have you been, Elle? I’ve been worried sick.”
Lauren dropped her weight to her elbows as she nearly collapsed onto the kitchen counter. She groaned. “Have you? Where do I even start? That I’m not your responsibility, or your concern? That I don’t have an obligation to answer your calls? That you shouldn’t be calling me all the time to begin with?”
