The House of Shattered Wings

“You said five human dead,” Selene said, slowly, carefully. “You didn’t name the others.”


Asmodeus smiled. “I didn’t, did I?” He raised a hand to forestall her when she opened her mouth. “You will ask why this matters. One of the other six—Hortense Archignat—was my dependent.” His smile opened yet wider. “And one does not casually hurt that which belongs to Hawthorn.”

No, one didn’t. She had to grant him that; he might be utterly ruthless, but anyone who pledged and kept fealty with him knew that Asmodeus was behind them, no matter what happened—he would fight tooth and claw for their well-being. It was the others—those in Hawthorn’s path—who feared him. “I haven’t committed any murders. Or ordered any committed. I’ve lost people, among them a Fallen.” Oris. Scatterbrained, gentle Oris, who had been meant for other times, for other places than postwar Paris. “What makes you think Silverspires is behind this? And where do these rumors come from?”

She didn’t expect him to answer that one; so she was surprised when he said, “I came alone, but I’m not on my own. I have Harrier and Lazarus behind me.”

Lazarus, untrustworthy and slippery as always. “Claire put you up to this?”

Asmodeus shook his head. “She was very . . . convincing, shall we say?”

She was going to have Claire’s head before the week was over. “Convincing about what?” These were dependents. Murders that would require an accounting. Houses vied with one another for power, but there had always been an unspoken truce between them: private feuds were acceptable, and so were murders, if they couldn’t be traced back to a House. If they could, though . . . “What do you want, Asmodeus? Compensation for them? I already told you: I’m not responsible.”

“I want your assurance that this will cease. Let me give you the other names, Selene. Jean-Philippe d’Hergemont, Marie-Céleste Ndiaye.” He watched her; watched her face. Selene wasn’t about to give him any hint of her shock.

They were all hers. Shared with other Houses, sometimes, but all linked to Silverspires. She weighed the cost of admitting to that, against that of being thought guilty of the murder of dependents by three different Houses. It wasn’t a hard decision to make.

“Fine,” Selene said. “You want to hear me admit it, don’t you? They’re all mine. They all report to me. Or reported, since they appear to be quite dead. If anyone is owed compensation, I am.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Asmodeus said. “You could have—”

“Decided to clean house among my own informants? Be serious, Asmodeus.” She was—in deadly earnest, even if he was not. Someone knew exactly who her informants were, and had been killing them over the space of days. This was no joke.

Asmodeus smiled. “There are precedents, as you well know. Your House . . . has cleansed its own informers before. Those insufficiently loyal for your master’s taste.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Selene said, sharply. “We wouldn’t do this in our current situation.” They were small and diminished, and not about to turn on one another just for amusement.

Asmodeus looked at her for a while. “Perhaps you wouldn’t,” he said, and it was like a slap in the face.

“If you’re not behind this, you appear singularly inefficient at dealing with it. Again, you forget. You might be the common link, but other Houses are involved. I’m not losing another informant or a dependent because you can’t keep track of what is yours, and neither are Harrier and Lazarus.”

That stung. “We’re not powerless.”

“No, but you’re hardly . . . powerful.” His arms spread out, encompassing her office: the faded wallpaper; the mold on the stones, the single, flickering magical light above her. “You were once at the top of the hierarchy of power, weren’t you?”

As if she needed more reminders of what they’d lost.

“Why are you here, Asmodeus? To insult me?” He had two other Houses behind him, and that made him dangerous.

“Of course I’m not.” Asmodeus bent over her, blowing the pungent, sickening smell of flowers into her mouth. “You say you’re not responsible. You say you want it to stop. Fine. Then let us come here and help you investigate.”

“You want a conclave? You’re insane.” There had been one conclave of the major Houses, in days gone by. By the end of it, five people had died; every House had retreated, licking its wounds and vowing revenge on every other House; and the Great War had begun, swallowing everyone and everything in its maw.

“No,” Asmodeus said. “Pragmatic. It has to be one of the other Houses. With us all gathered in the same place, we’ll find out who is behind this.”