No. What made Mateo so utterly sure this was Elizabeth was the expression the painter had captured in her eyes: contempt. Elizabeth thought everyone else in the world was beneath her, only fit to do her bidding.
“Mateo.” He turned to see Grandma standing in the door. She rarely stood any longer; it surprised him that she had the strength. Her ebony cane was clenched firmly in one frail hand. As always, she angled herself so that only one side of her face showed—the side without the horrible scars from the fire. “Your young lady appears to have heeded my warning.”
“Nadia and I are still together. Thanks for asking.” Mateo wasn’t going to waste any time trying to make this woman like him. Instead he simply stepped close and held up his phone. “Listen, I need to know if you’ve ever seen this.”
He brought up the picture Nadia had taken of a symbol drawn on yellowing old paper—a sort of wreathed circle made up of a few dozen curving lines that crisscrossed one another. At first Mateo had thought it looked vaguely Celtic, but that wasn’t quite right. Really, it was more like a drawing by this guy they’d studied in art history, M.C. Escher. Lines you thought led somewhere didn’t; angles that shouldn’t have existed did.
“That?” Apparently startled out of her usual gloom, Grandma nodded. “I’ve seen that design before.”
Usually Mateo hated that his grandmother lived in the past, that he was buried under so much horrible family history, it felt like it could crush him. But her obsession had finally paid off. “Where?”
“It’s an old knife—part of the family silver, though it resembles no serving piece I’ve ever seen. But I recall the symbol well. I thought it was some Cabot family crest, fallen out of use.”
“Any chance I could have that knife?”
Immediately she turned to frost again. “If you’re looking for items to hock, I’m sure there’s something more valuable in the house.”
“I’m not pawning anything, okay? You can have it back soon.” In theory, anyway: Nadia might have to use it for some spell that would turn it to ash or God only knew what. He’d deal with that if and when it happened. “My friends and I want to look at it. That’s all.”
“I’m not sure you should be trusted with a knife.”
“Come on. I work in a restaurant. Nothing but knives. So if I were looking for weapons, this is the last place I’d come. Right?” On second thought, Mateo wasn’t sure that was the ideal argument for him to make—but Grandma seemed to be considering it.
She didn’t know the whole truth about Captive’s Sound. Mateo was pretty sure she had no clue that witchcraft even existed. Still, she believed in the family curse—which was enough for her to know that the supernatural was very, very real. Slowly she shook her head no, then called for the butler to find the knife.
He noticed that she was leaning more heavily on her cane; her fingers trembled on the handle. Tentatively Mateo took hold of her elbow. “Hey. Do you want to sit down?”
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped.
“Okay, then.” He stuffed his hands back into the pockets of his letter jacket, took a couple of steps back.
When Grandma spoke again, however, her words were soft for once. “You meant to help. I realize that. But you’re cursed, Mateo. I swore after what your grandfather did to me that I would never again be touched by that curse if I could possibly avoid it.”
Which was why she’d frozen out his mother. Why she’d only begrudgingly acknowledged Mateo’s existence once a year for his whole life.
But now that Mateo stood this close, he could see the other side of his grandmother’s face despite her attempt to keep it turned toward the shadows. The welts had never healed, not after decades. It looked as though claws had raked across her skin, twisting cheek and eyebrow and jaw into mockeries of themselves.
Elizabeth had made her suffer, too.
Quietly he said, “None of us chose this, you know.”
For one moment his grandmother looked at him—straight at him, not trying to hide her damage—and he saw just how lonely she was. They both suffered the same isolation because of the curse; they both mourned his mother, and hated being set apart from the world. Was that only pity in her eyes, or did she maybe, finally understand him a little?
But Grandma sniffed. “I chose this when I was fool enough to marry your grandfather and bear him a child. I won’t choose it again.”
When she pulled farther back, Mateo let her go.
The butler reappeared with something large and flat wrapped in a sueded cloth; the heft of it surprised Mateo as he took it. When he flipped back one corner of the fabric, he saw a long, silver knife—more like a dagger—almost black with tarnish. Although the pattern was almost hidden in the blackness, he could tell it was the same. “This is great. Thanks for loaning it to me.”
“There is no need to return it in person,” Grandma said. “If you must come here, try to send advance word.”
She still feared him. Mateo shrugged it off as best he could, heading for the door. “Right. Got it. By the way, make that guy polish the silver sometime. What else does he do all day?”
Now that Cole had been pacified with what had to be his nine thousandth viewing of Lilo & Stitch, Nadia had a chance to unwind.
Well. If extreme moping could be considered unwinding.
Mateo and Verlaine had been so positive and encouraging, but Nadia’s heart still stung from last night’s failure. She still thought the idea had been a good one, in theory—but Elizabeth had charms and protections Nadia could only guess at.
What if she’s just too strong? What if there’s no way for me to take her on? Is it like—like when Cole tells Dad he wants to wrestle? Dad makes a good game of it and they roll around on the floor, but it’s not like he can’t pin Cole in an instant as soon as he’s ready.
Maybe that’s all Elizabeth is doing. Toying with me.
Then a rap on the window startled Nadia from her reverie. She sat upright, brightening as she thought that Mateo must have come to see her. But why hadn’t he come to the front door? Maybe he thought sneaking into her bedroom was romantic. If so, he was right.
Nadia rose and slid open her window—and realized it wasn’t Mateo who’d come to visit.
“Mind if I come in?” Asa smiled. He perched easily on the tree branch; though the limb swayed in the strong wind, his balance remained perfect.
“Yes.”
“Too bad.”
With a leap, he landed on her roof, hands on the windowsill just between hers. There was no sound, as if he were light as a cat. Nadia jumped back, an automatic reflex, but one that allowed Asa to slip through the window and stand in front of her. He wore jeans and a dark gray sweater, the expensive kind with a soft sheen to it. In every way, Asa looked just like the spoiled rich kid Jeremy Prasad had been; only the uncanny grace of his movements and the knowing sharpness of his gaze betrayed his true nature.
“Willow,” he said with a nod toward the pressed leaves and flowers on her walls. “Lavender. Minor protections, to be sure, but even little things add up after a while.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” she said, keeping her voice as low as she could while still making it really clear Asa wasn’t wanted. “Get out.”
“First we should have a chat.”
“Actually, no, we shouldn’t. Get out now.”