Scholar of Decay (45 page)

He’d expected it to happen but, now that it had, he found he didn’t like it much.

Jacques started as Tante Louise swept out of his mother’s suite and started again when he realized it wasn’t his aunt. “Mama?”

She turned and ebony brows rose. “Were you surprised to see me, Jacques?”

“No, Mama, it’s just you never … I mean …” He swallowed. “You always wear black, Mama.”

“Did you think I was your Tante Louise?”

“Only for a moment, Mama.”

“And what made you change your mind?”

The question had an edge he recognized. “You’re much more beautiful than Tante Louise.”

Jacqueline smiled and bent to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, my darling. If you don’t bother the musicians, you may watch for a while from the gallery.”

“Thank you, Mama.”

It wasn’t until she swept away with a rustle of crimson silk that he realized he still hadn’t told her about Tante Louise and the human.

Although a multitude of lights glittered out on the river, all moving toward Isle Delanuit, the streets of the city were deserted. Aurek listened to the sound of his own boots slapping against the cobblestones of the esplanade and didn’t bother trying to convince himself that he was alone. As he approached the dark mouth of a particularly noxious alley, three shadows emerged from the masking night.

Aurek sighed and stared at the slouching figures. “What?” he asked with little interest, breath pluming on the chill air.

Somewhat taken aback by his attitude, the shortest of the three made a quick recovery. Steel gleamed suddenly in his hand. “You gots money? Give it here.”

“No.” Pulling off his gloves, Aurek shoved them into his pockets and began to bring his thumbs together, fingers spread. There was no longer any need for circumspection.

“No?” Only the apparent leader carried a dagger; the other two held spiked cudgels they seemed anxious to use. “You stupid, rich man?”

“No,” Aurek said again. But before he could release the fire, the trio suddenly disappeared beneath a half dozen giant rats and three or four times that number of their smaller cousins.

Although there were no actual wererats among his guardians, it seemed obvious that Louise Renier intended him to reach the chateau with body and power intact. For the second time that evening, the laughter in his head exactly echoed his mood, and Aurek laughed with it as he continued past the screaming thieves and up onto the arc of the nearest bridge.

In the ballroom of the chateau, Dmitri blinked as the whirling dancers broke into a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors that made very little sense. Music and voices beat against his ears in rhythms he couldn’t seem to understand. He swayed, slopped a little wine down his jacket, and gratefully found a wall to lean against. Although he’d felt fine when he left his room, by the time he’d made his way downstairs his head seemed stuffed with cobwebs once again.

He saw a brilliant red gown flash in and out of the dance, and his expression softened. Louise. She’d been worried about him, but when his body had effortlessly followed the patterns of their dance, instinct accomplishing what reason could not, she’d seemed reassured. Which was a good thing, for though he didn’t want to worry her, he wasn’t leaving her here alone without his protection.

Frowning, he wondered what he was supposed to be protecting her from. Doesn’t matter, he thought, hand brushing the dagger, I’ll protect her from whatever it is.

“Drunk so soon?”

“Yves!” Dmitri grinned happily down at his friend. “Drunk? No. This is my first.” Frowning, he scrubbed at his jacket with his free hand. “And I’ve spilled most of it.”

Yves’s nose wrinkled. He could smell the drug on the human’s breath and see the effect in his eyes. Why Louise—because it could only have been Louise or she’d have killed someone the moment she’d noticed her pet’s condition—would want to make Dmitri Nuikin stupider, he had no idea. Nor did he care.

Nor, however, did he want Louise to have things her own way. It was an amazing feeling, almost completely overwhelming what he had previously considered to be a well-developed sense of self-preservation.

His lip curled as he remembered white fur in cold water. Louise had been having her own way too often of late.

“Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’re going outside to puke.”

Dmitri looked confused. “But I don’t have to puke.”

“You will when we get outside,” Yves told him, digging his fingers into Dmitri’s elbow and steering him through the crowd. When Louise had removed Chantel, she’d removed one-fifth of the protection provided by his circle of friends—and that was an acceptable reason for him to retaliate. It might be too late for vomiting to do Dmitri any good, too much of the drug might already be in his system, but it was a start.

A few moments later, Dmitri looked up from his knees, one hand clamped around his stomach, the other bracing himself against the ground, a steaming puddle spreading into the dirt in front of him. “Why did you do that?” he asked.

“It’s a long story,” Yves grunted. The puddle smelled of bile, wine, and the drug. “Come on.”

“Now where?”

“Back inside.” The wererat effortlessly heaved the much larger man up onto his feet. “You look as if you could use a drink.”

“You’re not going to hit me again, are you?”

“No.”

“Good.” Dmitri spat to get the taste out of his mouth and allowed himself to be led back into the ballroom. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t more upset about being hit. He felt that he should be, but it didn’t seem worth it to pursue the feeling. Except for the pain where Yves had punched him, and a burning senstion in his throat, he felt surprisingly better than he had. Sound and color still whirled his thoughts about his head, but he found it easier to hold them in place. “I think the cold has cleared my head.”

Georges, Annette, and the twins waited just inside the door, their expressions identically confused as they stared from Dmitri to Yves and back again.

Dmitri blinked happily down at them. “Hello. Where’s Chantel? Jacques said he was going to bring her in to see me, but she never came.”

Yves pushed him back against the wall, grabbed a glass of punch from Georges, and shoved it into Dmitri’s hand. “Chantel,” he snarled, “is dead.”

“Dead?” He clung to the thought, fighting to hold it still long enough to release a meaning. “Dead?” Everything whirled a little slower. Chantel was dead? “She was my friend,” he whispered. “What happened?”

“Ask Louise,” Yves told him, mouth so close that hot breath lapped against Dmitri’s ear.

Dmitri’s head snapped around, searching for Louise in the crowd. By the time he turned to Yves again, all five of his friends were gone, and he was alone by the wall. “Ask Louise,” he murmured to himself. He could see her across the ballroom, a slender column of red surrounded by a circle of guests. After emptying the glass and setting it carefully back on the sideboard, he made his way toward her.

“I thought we weren’t going to do anything,” Georges muttered as he got himself another drink to replace the glass of punch Yves had given away.

Yves smoothed a hand down the tattered ribbons on his vest. “We aren’t.”

“But you …”

“Just suggested the little Nuikin talk to Louise. I don’t want her to feel as if he’s not paying enough attention to her.”

Georges shook his head, unsure if understanding or ignorance would be a better defense. “You implied she had something to do with Chantel’s death.”

Yves smiled viciously. “She did.”

“Are you trying to drive him away from her? There’s no point, you know; Chantel is beyond caring.”

“I know.” Yves watched Dmitri cross the room. With any luck, he’d still be disoriented enough from the drug that he’d blurt out an accusation and Louise would take his head off, simultaneously removing the irritating object of Chantel’s fascination, messing up whatever plan Louise had going, and really irritating Jacqueline—who would take out that irritation on Louise. “Come on.” He took a candle out of his cousin’s hand and tossed it under the table.

“Where are we going?”

“Closer to the door.” He caught Annette’s eye as the dance spun her past, then nodded toward the far end of the ballroom. Waiting until she whispered the information on to Henri—or Aubert, they were too far away and there were too many other family members masking the scent for him to be certain—he gripped Georges by the elbow and began to move them both in the direction of the exit, secure in the knowledge that what one twin knew the other soon would. “When things get interesting …” Digging his nails into his
cousin’s arm, he cut off an incipient protest. “… and they will, I don’t want any of us trampled in the rush to safety.”

“Louise, did you know that Chantel was dead?”

Jacqueline turned and fixed Dmitri with a basilisk stare. “I beg your pardon?”

Dmitri felt his face burn as he stammered an apology. “It’s just,” he continued, trying to explain, “I mean, the dress, and well, you’re twins …”

“My son assures me that I’m more beautiful than my sister.”

“Your son …”

“Yes, Jacques. I’m sure you met him during your stay. He told me he was taking Chantel to see you when she died. Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe this is Monsieur Egout’s dance.”