I read through the pages detailing balances of her accounts, investments, and property holdings. She owned no less than sixty percent of the Trianon Opera House, and parts of several of the smaller houses in the city. All of it was held through a company of which she was the sole owner, the fact of which seemed to be hidden by layers of lawyers and paperwork. Nearly all of it she inherited from her mother – Cécile’s grandmother – who had owned it all as far back as the records went. Genevieve was rich, even by my standards, yet she pretended to be entirely dependent on the Marquis for money. Which begged the question of why?
When Cécile first came to Trollus, I’d had her mother thoroughly investigated by those in my employ, and none of them had turned up this information. Which meant it was an extremely well-guarded secret. So well guarded, in fact, that her own daughter didn’t even know. Locking the safe, I retreated back up the stairs to check on Cécile.
She hadn’t so much as stirred. The room was warm from the glowing coals of the fireplace, so I gingerly removed my coat, feeling the bump of something heavy in my pocket as I did so. The book. I’d forgotten about it.
Extracting the small volume, I set it on Cécile’s desk and settled on the chair. It had been beneath Catherine’s body when I’d lifted her up, the only thing that had kept it from burning. At the time, I’d only paid enough attention to it to determine it wasn’t Anushka’s grimoire before shoving it in my pocket, but now, I decided to take a closer look.
Inside the front cover was a piece of parchment that had been folded many times over. I recognized Cécile’s looping handwriting, my eyes taking in a list of names and dates. The most recent was that of Genevieve’s mother, but none of the others were familiar. There was also a folded map of Trianon. The fire couldn’t have touched it, but there were tiny burn marks all over the map. None of it made any sense to me, but it must have been important for Catherine to steal it away from Cécile.
The book itself was full of spells. I read quickly, grimacing at the dark and bloody nature of the magic, until I discovered a spell intended to find a missing person. A spell requiring a map.
My father’s minion had said that Cécile was performing blood magic and I hadn’t wanted to believe it. But what I was looking at was undeniable proof that he’d been telling the truth. Picking the map up, I counted the marks. “How many times did you perform this spell, Cécile?” I asked, having felt her wake.
She hesitated. “Once. All the marks came from the same casting.” Climbing slowly out of bed, she walked behind a dressing screen, emerging moments later in a green velvet wrap.
“Who are these women?” I asked, watching her walk toward me, flashes of bare leg showing with each step. “What does your grandmother have to do with Anushka?”
She sat on the edge of the desk, knees brushing against mine. “My grandmother was one of her victims.” She toyed with the sash holding her wrap in place. “I don’t know exactly how, but Anushka used their deaths to maintain her immortality.”
I waited, knowing she had more to tell me.
“There are certain spells that are made easier by a close blood bond,” she said, letting go of the sash. “These women are my ancestors.”
“And her descendants,” I finished, the information not surprising me as much as it should. I glanced at the list of names and dates. “That’s why you were afraid for your mother – she’s next.” And then it would be Cécile’s turn.
“What about your sister?”
“Josette isn’t a witch.”
“But your mother is?”
Cécile hesitated. “I… Yes. I think she has the capability, but I don’t think she realizes it. Certainly, I’ve never seen her use magic.”
I wasn’t certain I agreed, but I refrained from pressing her. The question would keep.
She lifted a hand to her mouth and began nipping at one of her fingernails until I carefully pulled her arm down.
“If we stop her from killing my mother or me, she’ll lose her immortality. Then it will only be a matter of time.”
Because this mess needed another layer of complication. “For certain, we need to catch her,” I said. “What we do with her after… We can decide that later.”
“What do you propose?”
“We bait her out,” I said. Originally, my plan with Chris had been to use myself as the bait. Anushka would know who and what I was, and I did not think she’d stand idly by while I wandered free. But this was better.
“She needs you and your mother,” I said. “If word were to spread that I were involved with you, that I intended to take you two away from Trianon, she’ll be forced to act, and in doing so, will reveal herself.”
One of her eyebrows rose. “What precisely do you mean by involved?”
I shrugged. “This Marquis your mother dallies with is rich, but I’m much richer. What do you say, my dearest wife, of your taking on a patron?”
Thirty-Seven
Tristan
“You’re late,” I said, stepping out from the copse of trees where I’d been waiting, Souris trailing along at my heels.
“You needn’t cry about it,” Chris replied, pulling the pair of grey horses to a halt on the road.
I tried to glare balefully at him, but I was certain the effect was ruined by the tears that were in fact streaming down my cheeks. The sun was wickedly bright, reflecting off the patches of snow and searing into my eyes.