The House of Shattered Wings

No. Lazarus thrived on its unique position, which meant they couldn’t afford for any House to reign supreme. They would ally with anyone, as long as they could continue to sow chaos. It was harmless, she supposed. Expected, at any rate; after all, Houses were not good in the Christian sense, or in any sense at all.

“I’m not averse to paying reparations,” Selene said, calmly, smoothly. “However, all of this is going to be pointless if we don’t find out who is behind this.” It was one of them, no doubt. Who else could it be? No one but Houses had that kind of magic available; gang lords were weak and scattered, and too busy killing one another; lone, unaffiliated Fallen kept their heads down, and would bear no grudge to Samariel, or Oris.

Philippe had mentioned something about Claire—some incoherent story about her hands and the cathedral, which made little sense to Selene. But there was always a chance she’d catch Claire off balance. “Philippe seemed to think you weren’t entirely blameless in the matter.”

“Oh.” Claire actually managed an utterly guileless look of surprise; quite a feat. “I don’t see what makes him think that.”

The fact that she couldn’t have looked more innocent if she’d tried—and God knew Claire was no innocent. Selene bit down on the angry thought before it could escape her. She had no proof; and no idea of what, exactly, Claire had done—which made a conversation in that direction all but impossible. “You and Asmodeus and Guy are well informed,” she said. “Too well informed.” Not to mention that she and Asmodeus seemed to be taking their cues from each other, giving her suspiciously similar arguments.

“Why, Selene.” Claire’s smile was wide. “We care about the city. We wouldn’t want to see it in disarray, with people dying right and left, and Houses left open to attack.”

“And about Silverspires?”

“Silverspires is part of that fragile balance, isn’t it?” Claire smiled, again. “Houses that die . . . leave a hole that is difficult to fill.”

But that she and Asmodeus and Guy of Harrier would rush to fill. Selene shook her head. “I see.”

“I was sure you would. We’re also investigating, as you know.” Selene knew, all too well—dependents tied up in pointless questioning, clustered for hours with Guy and Asmodeus and Claire and all the others, coming out shaken and unsure of whether the House could keep them safe anymore. For this alone, she’d have Claire’s head, one day.

Claire was still speaking. “I wasn’t suggesting you should stop your own investigation, or stop keeping us updated on its progress.” She smiled, widely. “Which appears to be rather fragmentary at the moment, but then, I can appreciate the difficulty of keeping a House together in those trying circumstances.”

Bitch. Selene kept her bright smile plastered on, refusing to acknowledge the gibe. “I see,” she said, again. And, because it was late, because she was tired; and because Claire had always got on her nerves with her holier-than-thou facade: “You know Philippe.”

Claire withdrew her hands from the desk, obviously taken aback. “Yes. I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“Do you truly think him capable of this?”

Instead of laughing, Claire shook her head. “All right. I’ll give you this, Selene. Because it’s you. No, I don’t think Philippe is capable of this. He’s angry at us, at all of us for what the Houses did—he thinks we’re responsible for wrecking Paris and the world, though why he should care is beyond me—”

“Of course he cares,” Selene said. “It’s his home. He’s been here so long he’s no longer Annamite.”

“So long?” Claire’s bright eyes were on her. “He’s what, twenty at most? Not that old for a mortal.”

Damn. She had tipped her hand. Claire hadn’t known who or what Philippe was; now she suspected something amiss. Well, not that it mattered. Words could hardly be taken back. “You know he’s not guilty,” she said, and wished she could believe that he’d had nothing to do with the attack on Samariel. His story of how he’d come to be in Samariel’s bedroom barely held water, and it was such a convenient coincidence that her spell on him had all but shattered. She disliked coincidence; in her experience, there was no such thing when matters of magic were concerned. “Where would he have got hold of such powers?”

“I have no idea.” Claire looked past her, at the curtains that marked the entrance to Selene’s private quarters. Did she know or suspect Emmanuelle’s presence behind them? It mattered little. Selene wasn’t about to apologize for any of it.

“You’re a bad liar,” Selene said, dryly.

“All right,” Claire said. “I know where we stand, Selene. Asmodeus has the other heads of Houses baying for blood. That blood could be yours, or it could be Philippe’s. In the scheme of things, it’s a small sacrifice to make.”