The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(92)

But not as difficult to comprehend as the sight before me now.

Jacques’—the place I have called home for ten years—has been burned to the ground, along with two other buildings along the same block. All that is left are piles of smoldering rubble. Half a chimney. Stacks of broken bricks. The occasional flash of melted brass. Remnants of my uncle’s marble chess set.

I wander through the remains of my home, Celine standing silent beside me, the sun descending at her back. Passersby pause to take in the scene, their jaws agape, their tongues clicking against the roofs of their mouths.

Such a shame. Their whispers carry through the air, clear as a church bell. Sometimes I am grateful for my heightened senses. Tonight is not one of those times.

Celine sidesteps a pile of red bricks and moves alongside me. She glances about, her green eyes brilliant. Like emerald beacons shining through the darkness.

“Do you know who might have done this?” she whispers, taking my hand.

“I have a—” I snarl as movement resonates in the darkness behind us. A pile of bricks collapses in a puff of smoke. I pull Celine behind me, a low hiss emanating from my throat.

“Bastien.”

My shoulders fall at once. From behind the blackened chimney, Odette emerges, her face devoid of emotion. She is dressed like a man in mourning. In her hand is a felted top hat. Across her waist is the chain of the gold pocket watch that once belonged to my father. She must have saved it from the fire for me.

I take her hand and yank her into an embrace. Celine draws us both close. In our arms, Odette’s body sags. I hear a single sob.

“Was it the Brotherhood?” I say.

Odette nods against my shoulder.

“Was anyone injured?” Celine asks.

Odette pulls away, her gloved hand swiping at the blood tears trickling down her cheeks. She shakes her head. “Nicodemus wasn’t here. He was in New York. The rest of us—including all the mortals who worked here—managed to escape before the blaze consumed the building.” Her smile is bleak. “Even Toussaint made it out unscathed, though the poor little snake refuses to come into the light, no matter the enticement.”

Rage riots through me, hot and fast. All at once it turns to ice in my veins. I think back on the fire that took my sister, émilie, from me. The Brotherhood should know better than to do such a thing to my family. “And Jae?” I ask softly.

“Madeleine freed him from his silver prison.” Her sad smile widens, her eyes tremulous. “We haven’t seen him since, though I suspect he is still in the city. Our family has taken refuge at the Hotel Dumaine. Ifan has made certain none but we are allowed access.”

“Why would the Brotherhood do such a thing?” Celine asks, her voice breaking.

“Both the Fallen and the Brotherhood have been searching for a reason to strike out at each other for the last decade,” I say. “If it hadn’t been this, it would have been something else.” I glide forward, kicking aside a brick and watching half of it disintegrate to dust. Determination takes root in my bones. I stand tall, my eyes blazing. “All that matters is that none of our family was harmed. Jacques’ can be rebuilt. But I refuse to lose someone else I love.”

Odette nods, her gloved hands—the fingertips stained pink with blood tears—slipping into her pockets. “I come here every night. Perhaps it’s because I keep hoping I’ll find something in the rubble.” She sniffs. “Or perhaps it is merely an excuse.”

“And the Brotherhood?”

Odette looks around. “They must see this as retaliation for the death of Antonio Grimaldi that night in the cemetery.”

“Have they attacked since then?” I press.

She shakes her head. “None of their ranks have been seen since the fire.” Her nostrils flare. “Believe me, we’ve looked.”

My eyes scan the rubble, taking note of anything unusual. But all I see are the burned tapestries, the piles of fine linen blackened by smoke, the shards of glass glittering in the twilit moon.

Celine pauses before the remains of a crystal chandelier, the brass partially melted, the crystals covered with soot. Her smile is wistful. “The first time I saw this place, I thought it was magic.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“It felt like I’d crossed into another world.”

Odette rests her head on Celine’s shoulder, her sable hair shining. “And you did, mon amie,” she said. “And I’m happy to see your memories have returned.” She glances my way and extends her right arm. In her hand is my father’s gold pocket watch.

“Thank you, Odette,” I say as I take it from her. “I would have mourned its loss.”

“I did not go back for it,” Odette says. “Jae did. He left it with the front desk at the Hotel Dumaine.”

I nod once, a knot gathering in my throat. Despite what Jae has done, he will always be my brother. I pause to pry open the lid of the watch with my thumb. It has not been wound for an age. The times I wore it in recent years, it was merely a decoration. On the inside, I read the inscription:


IL Y A TOUJOURS DU TEMPS POUR L’AMOUR.

—PHILOMèNE



There is always time for love.

My mother gifted this to my father on their wedding day. I close the watch and place it in my trouser pocket, the knot in my throat pulling taut.