He pulled back until his morning-glory eyes found hers. He was waiting for a nod. She gave him one because she had heard him. She just didn’t plan to obey.
Nolan tugged her forward, kissing her forehead the same way he had the night in the rectory kitchen before she’d left for London. Only this wasn’t a cold, angry, or obligatory kiss. His hands came up to cup her cheeks, and as he let her go, he looked pained. Perhaps a little scared. He shook off the hand of one of the Alliance men and fell into step behind Benjamin and beside Nadia.
Nolan didn’t look back.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Outside, the city had gone quiet. Too quiet, Ingrid thought as she pulled the heavy velvet drape in the medical room aside and peered down rue de Sèvres. There was no traffic, foot or wheeled. No activity at all. The only signs of life along the horizon of rooftops were the plumes of smoke from scattered fires. The smoke blocked out the light of the setting sun and washed a burnt-orange haze over the city.
Chelle was still alive but unconscious, and Grayson had carried her to the medical room so Vander could stitch up the gash on her thigh. Demon poison, left untreated, would have killed her by now. Apparently, Duster poison was an entirely different beast. That didn’t make it any less frightening or confusing. Chelle was giving off dust, and if Vander had the color right—pale amethyst—it was rattilus dust.
“The Duster had a long, scorpion tail, spiked with teeth like a saw,” Grayson said, hovering over Chelle’s unmoving form on one of the examination tables. He hadn’t let go of her hand or stopped smoothing her short black hair away from her face.
“A rattilus,” Luc confirmed from where he stood sentry at the door. He’d borrowed some of Nolan’s clothes and a pair of boots.
Marco had left a little while before, but only when Ingrid’s mother’s tension had not abated. He’d growled in frustration, unable to trace any of the servants, even Margaret, Mama’s lady’s maid. They hadn’t been harmed. They had simply disappeared from his senses, suggesting they had quit the rectory, leaving Mama alone. Ingrid wouldn’t have believed Margaret could be so cowardly. She supposed desperate times showed a person’s true mettle. Marco had left, saying he would be back after he relieved Lady Brickton’s worry.
Demons couldn’t set foot on hallowed ground, Ingrid knew, and felt better about her mother’s being holed up in the rectory. It was the Dusters that worried her. However, if she had been released from the spell, the others had to have been as well. She hoped.
“So a rattilus Duster cut into Chelle, injected its poison, and, what … created another Duster?” Grayson asked.
No one needed to answer. Chelle wasn’t awake yet, but she was alive. And she was a new Duster.
“Axia is creating more Dusters,” Ingrid said, letting the drape swing back into place. If there were demons out there, she didn’t want them to see the lights and get curious. “She’s building an army, and she’s using Dusters to do it.”
Ingrid didn’t want to contemplate how many humans had been injected with Duster poison during the single hour Axia had compelled her seedlings to ravage Paris. Her throat was still raw from the smoke she’d breathed in at the opera house. Her fingers and hands had regained feeling, but they still tingled. She didn’t remember anything, but she knew she’d thrown a lot of lightning. One of her targets had been Vander. He’d told her not to worry, that he had recovered just fine, but she’d still cried. Still felt like a monster.
“Only certain Dusters would have the capacity to inject poison,” Vander said, his eyes landing briefly on Grayson. “There are others who don’t. Like you, Ingrid.”
She flexed her fingers, trying to dispel the last of the tingling. Demon poison was used to debilitate prey. Lectrux demons used electricity to do that, not poison. She kept quiet but inside shuddered with relief.
“And you,” she said to Vander, who had turned toward one of the long counters. He was busying himself with a microscope and a sample of Chelle’s blood. “Mersians aren’t dangerous to humans. You didn’t even fall under Axia’s spell.”
Vander had given Ingrid an injection of his blood immediately after he’d sutured Chelle’s wound. They hoped it would work the way it had for Grayson.
“I don’t know why she would have given me the blood of a mersian if it meant she wasn’t going to be able to command me. If she even knew,” Vander said, peering through the microscope. He swore and slammed his hand onto the table. “It’s clotting. Chelle’s blood and mine.”
Grayson dug his palms into his temples and raked his fingers roughly through his hair.
Out in the street, a rise of noise broke the unnatural silence. Vander crossed the room to the window and lifted the drape just enough to peek out.