The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(76)

If Celine’s mother was alive and wished to see her now, it meant she’d deliberately kept away for fourteen long years. When Celine was still a little girl, she’d often dreamed about her mother returning to their family, only to have her father insist that she resign herself to the truth. Her mother was lost to them. Forever.

It appeared that both her mother and her father had lied to Celine. How long had so much of her life been hidden from her? Would she ever know the full extent of the truth?

Her fingers dropped from her throat. “If my mother is an enchantress, do you think she could help restore my memory?”

Grooves appeared between Bastien’s black brows. “Is that what most concerns you?”

“It is.” She nodded, the motion cold. Almost detached. For the time being, perhaps it was better not to feel. Or else she would have to feel everything at once. “Pieces of my life have been stolen from me. And I want them back. I want them all back.”

“I understand. I regret that loss more than you can know.”

“Why would you regret it?”

“Those memories were taken from you at your request.”

Celine froze where she sat, her breath catching. “Why would I ask to have my memories taken from me?”

“Because of love,” Bastien replied. “You offered your memories in exchange for the life of someone you loved.”

“And . . . did this person return my love?”

Bastien exhaled. “He did.”

“But he doesn’t anymore?” Her voice went soft, the last word almost brittle.

“It would be wrong of him to continue loving you. You deserve better than a demon of the night like him. You deserve to live a life in the sunlight, safe and warm and loved.”

Celine swallowed, her thoughts drifting toward Michael. That was precisely what life would be like with him. Sunlight. Warmth. Safety. But . . .

“Is there any chance this person might change his mind?” she whispered.

“No. There isn’t.”

A knot gathered in Celine’s throat. She worked around it, refusing to allow Bastien to see how much his answers wounded her soul.

“Celine,” Bastien said in a kind tone, “you asked me for the truth, even though I told you it would hurt you.”

“I know.” She brushed her fingers beneath her eyes, trying to swipe away the hint of tears. It was ridiculous. Bastien had just told Celine her mother was alive. That should be a cause for happiness that far outweighed the pain of his gentle rejection.

But Bastien . . . seemed so much more real to Celine. He was someone she could believe had loved her at one point in time. Her mother had left when she was a little girl, of her own volition. That particular rejection was not new. It was one she’d relived every day for the last fourteen years. Perhaps she was inured to it by now.

Why would anyone desert their own child? What kind of person was Celine’s mother?

“I want to meet her,” she said. “Will you take me to see my mother?”

Bastien’s cheeks hollowed, his displeasure obvious. “It will be dangerous.”

“I understand. You’ve already told me this world is dangerous. But if it is to be my world, then it is past time for me to face it. Will you take me?” she repeated.

He inhaled through his nose. Leaned forward in his chair, the low flame in the gas lamp beside him flickering with the movement. “I’ll take you. If you make me a promise.”

Celine waited to see what he wanted.

Bastien continued. “Promise me that if I say we are in danger, you won’t put yourself at risk for anyone. That you will care first and foremost about your own safety.”

“I’m not a complete idiot,” she snapped, her arms crossed. “Why would I protect you anyway? It appears I tried that once, and it didn’t exactly work out in my favor. Or yours, for that matter.”

His grey eyes went wide. Then Bastien laughed. Its melody took Celine off guard. Warmed something around her heart.

Celine coughed. Then stood. “I appreciate your candor, Monsieur Saint Germain. If you will make all the arrangements, I will inform those who might be concerned that I will be making a short journey to visit a distant relative in Atlanta.”

He took to his feet in a ripple of grace. “As you wish, mademoiselle.”





CELINE





Her heart had not stopped pounding for the last hour. The thundering in her blood made her hands shake and her breaths shallow. Nevertheless Celine held her head high, refusing to balk in the face of actual magic. Magic she had not believed existed only three days prior.

This morning, she, Arjun, and Bastien had traveled through a mirror to a land halfway around the world. To a place Celine had never once thought she would see. Strange that this wasn’t the most interesting journey of the day. After winding through the streets of Jaipur, they dived into a fountain to be transported to another realm.

At any moment, Celine expected to succumb to total madness. That was the only explanation for any of this. The only one that made a semblance of sense.

Now they stood on a glittering beach, dripping wet, salt water lapping at their feet. All the colors around them appeared enhanced, as if they’d been painted by an overly imaginative child. The thing that struck Celine most—beyond the vivid hues and the unnatural glare of the sun—was the scent. It was what she’d imagined honey to smell like before she first tasted it as a child. Like drops of melted sunlight. A hint of citrus, along with the tang of hot metal.