The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(36)

“You did what had to be done to keep Celine safe from the monsters of our world.”

“And instead I surrendered her to the monsters of the earth. Would she not have fared better in our world, after all? For it appears she was destined to be surrounded by monsters from the day of her birth. Perhaps in my attempt to protect her, I have made her more vulnerable.”

“She only suspects there might be such a thing as monsters, my lady.” Jae’s tone was sympathetic.

“And would it not have been better to know that in truth?”

Jae bowed once more. “Apologies, my lady, but suspecting monsters might exist is not the same as meeting them in the flesh. Celine is a fearless young woman. Much of the strength she possesses is because she was allowed to flourish with her father in the mortal world.” His frown deepened. “Ethereals do not fare well in our world, as you know. Arjun Desai is proof of that fact. He suffered a great deal of torment as a child growing up in the Vale.”

After a time, the woman in the mirror nodded. “Very well, Jaehyuk-ah. We will wait until Celine’s eighteenth birthday. Then you will bring my daughter to me. It is time for her to learn who she truly is.”

“Yes, Lady Silla.” Jae bowed deeply. “As ever, I am in your debt.”





CELINE





It was the sort of night made for enchantment.

The sky was filled with winking stars. A rare blue moon silvered the wet streets of New Orleans. Along Royale, gas lamps danced in their iron cages, and the sound of laughter and the clattering of horse hooves rang out in the early April air.

Celine had read about nights made for enchantment in the books she devoured as a child. Mostly fairy tales by the Brothers Grimm or Hans Christian Andersen. Her father had preferred Andersen’s lighter, moralistic tales, but Celine had found the darker Grimm stories ever so much more appealing. Something about them spoke to her. Drew her into a deep, dark well of delicious secrets.

From there, she’d collected romantic tomes about enchanted evenings in forbidden forests. Many of them had been prohibited by her scholarly father. But Celine had borrowed them in secret from her friend Josephine. The ones she’d enjoyed most had been about sworn enemies who fell in love. About mysterious princes and princesses. Masked balls and fey creatures. Tales filled with blood and murder and retribution.

Among them were the novels written by Alexandre Dumas père. Celine’s fascination with the Man in the Iron Mask had been so great, she’d reread Le Vicomte de Bragelonne enough that the seams of the book had begun to fray. Her love had only grown following Dumas’ death two years ago, when Celine learned he was a writer of mixed heritage. A man with a French nobleman for a father and a Haitian slave for a grandmother. Someone with lineage from two different worlds, like her. She wondered whether Dumas had known much about his grandmother’s story, or if his father had cloistered him from it as Celine’s father had with her. In moments of whimsy, she’d wondered whether they could have been friends.

It had been an age since Celine read a book. A year ago, her father discovered her cache of forbidden novels and destroyed them, claiming that she was rotting her brain with such nonsense. The only tome that had survived was Celine’s frail copy of Le Vicomte de Bragelonne. She’d left it behind when she fled Paris in January, after murdering a wealthy boy who tried to assault her on a night she still had trouble recollecting in full.

Celine had lost so much. Her own mother. Her own memories.

Darkness hovered above her like a specter threatening to descend.

She swallowed. Stared up at the flickering stars, determined not to let these worries dampen her spirits any more than they already had. A warm feeling—akin to the sensation of settling in a hot bath—spread across her skin. Perhaps it was better for her to forget the circumstances that caused her pain. Celine did not feel remorse for what she had done in protecting herself from the boy who’d assaulted her, but she wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the consequences that might come to pass one day. Likely, she’d spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder.

When Celine turned the corner and saw the ornate sign hanging above, she made a promise to herself that she would ignore the descending darkness for tonight and worry about such things tomorrow. Then she sent a smile to the young man beside her.

“Isn’t this the right place?” she asked Michael, staring up at the three-storied building of red brick, its narrow double doors and lacquered shutters glistening like polished pewter.

Michael’s lips pursed, his pale eyes shifting across her face in slow deliberation. He nodded.

Celine reached for his arm. “Don’t worry about the cost. I invited you as my guest, which is a pittance when compared with everything you’ve done for me these past seven weeks.”

“It has nothing to do with the cost.” Michael bristled. “And there is no need for you to repay me.”

“You and Nonna and Luca have treated me like family. No, better than family. I only wish they would have accepted my invitation to join us tonight.”

Michael snorted. “Nonna refuses to pay for prepared food, even from the finest dining establishments. She doesn’t believe anyone can cook better than she can.”

Laughter bubbled from Celine’s lips. “She is probably correct.”

“And they treat you like family because that is how they feel.” Michael’s words were soft. Careful.