Luc tried to bend his fingers, but they were too stiff. Like stone, he thought. Mercurite did more than just poison Dispossessed. It rendered them useless. As far as Luc knew, it was the only thing the human world had that could harm a gargoyle. Unfortunately, the Alliance also knew it, and they always kept a full stock. For healing, yes, but it was also a nice insurance policy.
“You shouldn’t have needed mercurite,” Luc said, again eyeing Dimitrie, who had shrunk even farther into the corner of the medical room. He shuffled around until he faced the corner like a schoolboy caught in some punishable act.
Luc forgot his stinging hand and his throbbing back. He had never seen so many angel’s burns on one gargoyle before. Line after line after line, so many that there wasn’t even one inch of smooth, bare skin.
Dimitrie was a shadow gargoyle. A failure. Incompetent and as useless as Luc’s stiff hand. Every angel’s burn weakened a gargoyle’s blood a little, but after being lashed by scores of them … Dimitrie’s blood was no longer able to heal at all.
“Why would Irindi send you?” Luc asked. This was her idea of help?
Dimitrie didn’t stay in his human form long enough to answer. He coalesced fast, the silvery-blue scales along his back turning every angel’s burn into a crusty ridge. Dimitrie fled the room, wings pleated behind him as he went.
“I’ll do the stitches and you can take her home,” Nolan said to Luc, ignoring the exchange. “You can’t be here when the patrols return.”
Luc knew gargoyles weren’t allowed inside Alliance headquarters, just as Alliance weren’t welcome at the Dispossessed’s common grounds, a territory held by the gargoyle elder Lennier.
He suddenly dreaded taking Dimitrie there. To be saddled with another Dispossessed was humiliating enough. When Marco and the others found out Dimitrie was a shadow gargoyle, there would be no end to the jesting.
It didn’t make any sense. Why would the Order send someone like Dimitrie? A gargoyle with no power to heal? Luc hadn’t trusted the boy in the first place, and now he questioned the Angelic Order’s decision even more. There was a reason behind it. What it was, however, Luc couldn’t begin to fathom.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“If this were a real date, I believe it would be our last.”
Ingrid shivered as the wind buffeted her cloak, every other gust carrying a frigid spray of water from the Seine.
Vander stood close beside her on the quay passing underneath pont de l’Alma. It had been overcast all morning, and now, standing beneath one of the numerous bridges that spanned the Seine, Ingrid thought it looked more like evening than early afternoon.
“If I must remind you,” Vander said, bouncing on his heels to keep warm, “this date was your idea.”
It had actually been Constantine’s. They were waiting for him now. Vander had picked Ingrid up at the rectory under the pretense of taking her for a carriage ride around the city. A bold, courting move, Ingrid thought, and one that had earned him a rigid interrogation from her father first.
Of course, it wasn’t a real date. It had all been a farce so they could meet Constantine as planned and search for Léon, the missing Duster. Still. Ingrid had felt strangely giddy when her father had ordered Vander into his study and the door had shut solidly behind them.
“For our next date, I was thinking we could tour one of the city’s slums,” Vander said lightly. “Considering dirty, smelly places of filth are your cup of tea and all.”
She lightly stomped on his foot and then promptly ducked out of his reach as Nolan Quinn came scuffing down the stone quay steps. He had his hands in his pockets and dark circles under his eyes.
“You’re going to owe me one, Burke. I don’t generally like to spend my afternoons in the Parisian sewers.” Nolan joined them beneath the bridge. “What’s this all about?”
Constantine had sent Ingrid and Vander notes earlier that morning as well. Ingrid’s note had specified a meeting place and a time when Vander would be coming to fetch her. When he had arrived, Vander had told her he’d sent for Nolan, too. The more blessed silver they had in the sewers, the better.
“It’s about the missing Duster,” Ingrid answered Nolan.
“The one who killed his family?” he asked.
Vander exhaled long and hard. Ingrid knew he still objected to combing the sewers for Léon, but he’d agreed to help her find the boy anyway. If Léon was caught by the police, he would be tossed into prison, where he would no doubt cause more chaos. If they could find him before the police did, perhaps Constantine could truly help him.
Last night, Grayson had returned from his midnight walk unscathed, but what if he hadn’t? What if his life turned down the same path as Léon’s? He’d already killed someone. Ingrid still couldn’t comprehend it. How and why—and who—were the questions she desperately needed answered.
“The boy mentioned the sewers once.” Constantine had come up behind them, but Ingrid was the only one who’d jumped at his refined, unmistakably aristocratic voice.