The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(54)

Ash screamed. The rope dangling him above the platform snapped, his bound body crashing against the metal with a resounding clang. When he rolled over, blood dripped from his nose, its scent curling into the air, warm copper mixed with the salt of the sea.

Hortense and Madeleine stopped moving. Stopped breathing. Jae sheathed one of his blades with a snick. Boone threw his head back, inhaling deeply, his eyelids squeezed shut. Frowning with obvious frustration, Nigel crossed his arms while Arjun ground out his cheroot beneath his heel.

Bitter amusement wound through Bastien’s chest. Another wish granted.

Today might be his lucky day.

Ash fought against his bindings as the cloaked figures around him drew closer, their eyes silver coins beneath a crescent moon.

Then Madeleine, Hortense, and Boone fell on Ash like whips cracking through the night, his cries of terror muffled by the heavy fabric of their cloaks. By the sounds of ecstasy rising into the air high above New Orleans.

Nigel watched the frenzy in cutting silence, his long arms crossed, the judgment on his face plain. “You’re better than petty revenge, Bastien. Your uncle wouldn’t be pleased.”

“I never claimed to be a saint,” Bastien replied, his expression cool. “And Nicodemus isn’t here tonight, is he?”

“Gomapgae,” Jae muttered in gratitude before wandering back toward the edge of the unfinished building, twirling a butterfly knife around his fingers with insouciant ease.

“A fine shot,” Arjun interjected, deftly changing the subject. “Severing the rope with a single bullet. Bravo.”

Bastien said nothing, his eyes tightening around the edges.

“What?” Arjun blinked. “Was it something I said?” He swayed unsteadily on his feet.

“You’re weak.”

“It happens. It took a lot of effort to subdue the brother. Unlike you, I’m not God,” he joked.

A dark smile ghosted across Bastien’s lips. “See to it you have something to eat.”

“But of course, old chap.” Arjun bowed with a flourish.

Despite his best efforts, guilt kindled in Bastien’s chest, threatening to catch flame. He battled the feeling, refusing to be troubled by their judgment. Then he called for Madeleine, who blurred to his side with the stealth of a shadow, her cloak trailing behind her like smoke. Not a trace of blood could be seen anywhere . . . until she opened her mouth, showing white teeth stained crimson and canines as long as those of a wolf.

“Make sure no one dies tonight, Mad,” Bastien said softly. “We have too many eyes on us as it is.”

“Mais oui, Bastien.” Madeleine nodded, her features serene. “And what should we do with him when we are done?”

“Leave the trash with his younger brother, in the alley near their favorite watering hole. See to it they remember nothing. As always, my trust is with you.”

Madeleine nodded, then whirled back to resume her meal.

Exhaling slowly, Bastien glanced about the open space until his gaze settled on what he’d been searching for: Phoebus Devereux, huddled in a corner, his knees pulled to his chest, undoubtedly praying he’d been forgotten for the first time in his life.

When Phoebus caught sight of Bastien gliding his way, he wrapped his arms around his knees, clasping his hands together until his knuckles turned white.

Making a point to move with care, Bastien crouched in front of Phoebus. “I’m genuinely sorry you had to see any of that.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Phoebus trembled like a dying leaf in a breeze.

“That depends,” Bastien said, “on what you want me to do.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“I can simply let you go.”

“You . . . could?” Phoebus’ eyes went wide behind his smudged spectacles.

“If you wished it.”

Phoebus nodded. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t say anything, Bastien.”

“I know you won’t.” A half smile curved up Bastien’s face. “Who would believe you?” Sympathy laced through his features. “Just another tantalizing story about the Court, which I’ve found to be far more helpful than hurtful, for reasons I’m certain you can understand.”

Shuddering, Phoebus looked away.

“Conversely, I can help you forget.” Bastien paused. “I can make it so the events of tonight never haunt your dreams.”

Phoebus swallowed. “Are you going to . . . kill Art and Ash?”

“No. They won’t remember anything either.” His expression hardened. “But they don’t have a choice. You do. I never take away the choice from someone I respect.”

“You . . . respect me?” Phoebus’ voice was hoarse.

“You’re a good man. See to it you stay that way.” Bastien unfurled to his feet with the grace of a jungle cat. “And make your decision.”

Phoebus pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, his fingers trembling. Conviction settled across his sweating face. “I . . . want to forget.”

“And so you shall.”

High above the Crescent City, the youngest grandson of the mayor began to scream bloody murder into a sky bruised with clouds.





CHAMPAGNE AND ROSES