Ingrid had seen a number of maps of Paris. The layout of the city had always reminded her of an inked thumbprint. The roads all seemed to swirl inward, crossing, merging, and growing tighter together until they reached the two islands in the Seine. Ingrid knew the city was large and sprawling, that there were over a million people living here and going about their daily lives without fear of the Underneath or of a vengeful fallen angel. For those people, it was life as usual.
But for the past handful of days, it had seemed to Ingrid as if the thumbprint of the city had started to smudge and disappear, as if those other people didn’t exist and the only things that were real had to do with the Alliance and Dispossessed and the scattered Dusters, driven into hiding.
Ingrid didn’t want to hide. She’d had the intense urge to leave her arrondissement for some other part of the city she didn’t normally see. To experience something that reminded her that that thumbprint was still there. That those other people were real.
Marco was at the reins of the landau, directing the horses down rue de Berri. She wasn’t certain Vander would be in his apartment, but she knew better than to go to Hôtel Bastian again. Marco would have refused to bring her there anyhow. He must have trusted Vander; he’d only put up a mild stink about acting the part of lowly driver.
Ingrid was restless. She couldn’t go to Hôtel Bastian, she shouldn’t go to gargoyle common grounds, and she definitely couldn’t stay at the rectory or abbey any longer. If Vander wasn’t at his apartment, she would direct Marco to Clos du Vie next, despite Constantine’s message that lessons had been suspended.
The landau drew to a stop, and a moment later, Marco handed her down to the curb. Ingrid saw Vander’s wagonette parked in front of them, the traces at rest on the pavement and his black mare likely put away in the stable behind the church.
“The Seer is beneath your station, Lady Ingrid,” Marco said, scowling up at the building that shared a wall with the apartments next door.
“It’s not like that,” she said. “He’s my friend.”
Marco gave her a look of pity. “And does the Seer know that is all he is?”
Ingrid gathered her cloak around her and pushed past Marco, heading toward the door. She’d only been to Vander’s apartment once, but she remembered the way in.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” Marco called as he climbed into the box.
Ingrid turned around. “You’re not waiting here?”
“You do realize I’m not truly your servant, don’t you?” He released the brake and guided the horses away from the curb. “I’m going to Yann’s bridge. If you need me, I will know.”
Marco merged into traffic, and with a groan of annoyance, Ingrid entered the apartment building. And does the Seer know that is all he is? Marco’s question poked at her as she ascended the stairwell. Saying Vander was just her friend had been a lie, though Ingrid wished it hadn’t been. Everything would be so much simpler if they hadn’t kissed those few times. If he hadn’t told her how much he wanted her in his life. Vander hadn’t yet told her that he loved her, but at this point the words weren’t necessary.
He knew how she felt about Luc. Didn’t he? Words weren’t necessary for that, either. Were they? Ingrid turned onto the third-floor landing and a quiver of nervousness weakened her legs. She had to tell him. Perhaps that was what she’d come here to do. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. As soon as she told Vander about Luc, she would lose him—and she didn’t want to lose him. The idea of it sent her heart into a flutter of panic, and then a sharp twinge ignited at each shoulder.
The current leaked from her fingers before she could rein it back in. It sparked off the metal discs in her gloves, sparing the electric bulbs strung along the short hallway. Vander’s door was just ahead. She would tell him. She’d get it over with.
Ingrid reached his flat and was about to knock when a familiar voice sounded from within.
“Is it working?” the muffled voice asked.
Ingrid leaned closer to the door. What on earth was Grayson doing here?
Vander’s voice followed. “Well, how do you feel?”
“Amazing,” Grayson answered. Ingrid could hear his excitement. “I only started feeling the itch to shift this morning. I can smell blood now, but it’s been two days.”
Ingrid pressed her ear against the wood, unable to believe she’d just heard her brother correctly. He’d gone two days without scenting blood?
“That’s … I don’t know what to say,” Vander replied. “I think we should tell Ingrid. I’d already tested our compatibility before Nolan took the blood stores, and it didn’t clot.”
Grayson: “Do you think she’d go for it?”
Vander: “What Duster wouldn’t?”
Enough. Ingrid had to know what they were talking about. She opened the door without knocking and entered the small room, which somehow appeared even more cramped than it had the first time she’d seen it. Her brother sat in a chair at Vander’s desk, his arm propped on the top and his sleeve rolled above his elbow. Vander stood beside him, piercing his skin with a needle.
“What are you doing?” She slammed the door behind her, her eyes on the needle. “And what is that?”
They both straightened at the sight of her, Grayson swearing loudly as Vander fumbled with the needle and syringe. Grayson swore again, regaining Vander’s attention. He pushed the plunger and the contents of the glass barrel disappeared into Grayson’s vein. He extracted the needle and set it aside on the desk roughly before turning toward Ingrid, hands up in surrender.
“Let me explain.”
“What did you just inject into my brother?”
Grayson stood up. “Mersian blood. Ingrid, it’s okay. You don’t have to look like that.”
She frowned. “Like what?”
“Like you want to electrocute the good reverend,” her brother answered.
“She wouldn’t electrocute me.” Vander peered at Ingrid. “I hope.”
“Why would you inject Grayson with your blood?” she asked, not in the mood for humor. “And, Grayson, how do you know where Vander lives?”
The two men looked at one another and, with a few raised eyebrows and hand gestures, silently discussed who would be the one to explain things. Grayson bowed to the pressure first.
He stepped toward Ingrid. “I’ve been coming to Vander for a little while. Don’t be angry, Ingrid. I asked him to keep it a secret,” he said quickly, as if knowing how she would react. “He’s been taking some of my dust, making things easier for me. And this experiment, mixing his blood with mine, is actually working.”
“My mersian blood seems to have cancelled out his hellhound symptoms,” Vander explained.
She remembered what Grayson had said behind the closed door. That he hadn’t itched to shift in days.
“I didn’t want to be around you or Mama until I could trust myself,” Grayson added. He stood in front of Ingrid, slightly taller than she was. He cocked his head to meet her eyes.
“I can do it now. With Vander’s help,” Grayson said, and then, running both hands through his hair, went on, “I think his blood is our answer, Ingrid. Not just us, but all Dusters.”
She peered over Grayson’s shoulder to where Vander stood at his desk, taking apart the needle and syringe, one ear on their conversation but clearly trying to stay out of it. He’d been helping her brother this whole time? Ingrid had been desperate to know where Grayson was, and Vander had known. He’d known and kept quiet.
Her brother pinched her arm, jerking her attention back to him. She swatted his shoulder.
“Would you give me a minute?” she asked. “I’m trying to catch up.”
Grayson laughed and took his jacket from where he’d tossed it on Vander’s bed.
“All right, I’ll give you more than a minute, okay? I have to go. But, Ingrid, get the injection. See for yourself.”
He started for the door but doubled back, as if he’d forgotten something. He took her by the shoulders. “We can be us again. We can be a normal family doing normal things. Normal, boring, mundane things.”
He lifted her off the floor and twirled her once before she kicked and demanded he put her down. He did, but by then she was laughing.
“I should say that sounds awful,” she said.
“But it doesn’t, does it?” Grayson asked. He nodded his thanks to Vander and left.
Ingrid’s head still spun, her laughter fading. Vander closed the needle kit and stood at his desk. After a long pause, he leaped in with an explanation.
“I know how worried you were about him, and I wanted to tell you, Ingrid, I did. But if I had and you had come here, forcing him to see you when he wasn’t ready, he might not have come back.”
She stood in the center of his room, her hands feeling warm. No current now. She wasn’t upset. And yet tears were pricking at her eyes.
“I thought if I could help him, even a little, that it would be at least something.”
It was more than just something. It was good and selfless and earnest. So very Vander.
“Did he find you?” she asked.
Vander hesitated. “I found him.”
“How?”
“I tracked him.”
He’d found her brother. He’d helped him. Given him hope. And because of that, Grayson had just picked her up and spun her around the way he’d always done before, whenever he’d been too happy to hold still. Her brother hadn’t been happy like that in ages.
Ingrid crossed the room to the desk where Vander still stood and, without a word, threw her arms around his shoulders and clung to him. He stiffened briefly before his arms encircled her in return.
“This doesn’t feel like you’re angry,” he said.
She laughed, her cheeks wet with tears. “How could I be angry? You went out of your way to track down my brother, and you helped him. He needed someone to care for him, and I couldn’t, but you did,” she said, her voice muffled by Vander’s shoulder.
She pulled away, wanting to say thank you. Vander’s mouth caught hers, stunning her long enough for him to ease her forward, against his chest. Ingrid’s lips had already been parted to speak and Vander had deftly stolen inside. The touch of his tongue and the way his fingers worked underneath her coiled braid, rubbing against her scalp, stunned her for a second time. But when he wrapped one arm around her waist and whirled her around, lifting her to sit upon the desktop, Ingrid laid her palms flat against Vander’s chest and pushed. Hard.
“No. Stop,” she gasped as she slid off the desk and stumbled away from him.
Vander stared after her, heaving for air. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand, unable to meet Vander’s gaze.
“Ingrid—”
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
She hadn’t expected him to kiss her. And she hadn’t expected to have to remember how good kissing him felt.
“Because of Luc,” he said.
She dropped her hand and dared to meet Vander’s eyes. He narrowed them at her. “What has he done?”
Ingrid hesitated. “Nothing.”
Vander raised his voice and came toward her. “Do you know how much danger he’s put you in if the other Dispossessed find out?”
“I’m already in danger,” she said, though she immediately knew it was a poor retort. It only made Vander more furious.
“That’s right, Ingrid. Gargoyles are already hungry to destroy you, and now Luc would give them one more reason.”
It was tempting to be a coward and allow Vander to heap all his anger on Luc. She couldn’t do it, though. She was British. Cowardice simply wasn’t acceptable.
“You’re acting as if I didn’t have a say in any of this. I did, Vander. I do.”
He shook his head and, since there was not enough room to pace, turned in a tight circle. “He’s manipulating you. Making you confuse gratitude with affection. I can guarantee you wouldn’t feel anything for him if he hadn’t saved your life so many times, or been bound to you the way he was.”
Did Vander truly think her so susceptible? Or shallow? Ingrid stopped shrinking from him and stood her ground.
“They are my feelings, Vander Burke, not yours to pick apart and evaluate. And if you believe Luc would manipulate me, then you don’t know him at all.”
Vander took two strides across the room and stood directly before her, using every inch of his height to bear down on her.
“You’re right, I don’t know him. I know you, though, and I know what we have is real.” He took her hand in his and pressed it against his chest. “I know you feel the same things I do when we kiss. When we touch. And it’s not just our dust. It goes deeper than that.”
He’d inclined his head as he’d been speaking, his voice growing fainter though his lips had come closer. Ingrid didn’t know what to do. She did feel something when they kissed. She did like it. But she didn’t long for Vander’s kisses when they were apart the same way she did Luc’s. She longed for Vander’s company. His friendship. The comfort that came from being with him.
Ingrid wrenched her hand from his and stepped away. She couldn’t bear to look at him. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him. But she had to.
“Vander …,” she said, her next words still undecided.
They remained that way. For right then, the floor gave a violent shake. Or perhaps her legs had curiously lost their strength. Either way, Ingrid tumbled forward. The lights started to wink, and a voice rose from somewhere within the apartment building. The voice was getting louder, and even as blackness swirled thick and stole away Ingrid’s sight, the words became distinguishable: “Come, my seedlings. It is time.”