He might have laughed, if the situation weren’t so serious — if he hadn’t remembered Asmodeus’s pure, incandescent rage, the desire to hurt someone, anyone connected with Samariel’s death.
Heaven help him — he was going to need the Jade Emperor’s own luck to survive the coming hours.
TWELVE. BARGAINS MADE IN ANGER
SELENE had cleared her desk. No more maps or papers to mar the smooth mahogany, or hide the gilded flowers of the border. Now one could clearly see the way they wrapped around the writing surface, the way they delicately followed the contours of the curved legs: the work of a master, lovingly kept and lovingly restored when necessary. It was a deliberate testament to Silverspires’ wealth; the clean desk the reflection of an uncluttered mind, one that made its priority to investigate the attack on Samariel.
If nothing else — she doubted it was working as well as she would like it to — it drew the attention. She could see Claire’s gaze focused on the desk, on Selene’s hands; wondering what could be read from them.
Not much, not anymore.
“You know why I’m here,” Claire said at last, crossing her arms over her chest. Her blue eyes were wide-open, ingenuous. Selene wasn’t fooled.
Claire had come accompanied by two of the ubiquitous children, and a bodyguard she had named as “Eric,” and treated with a suggestive familiarity. She wouldn’t be the first or the last head of House to sleep with a bodyguard.
Selene was wondering when Claire would get on with things. She had other preoccupations, like the matter of the shadows that had attacked Samariel and killed Oris and now threatened every dependent of the House; and how best to handle Asmodeus and his uncontrollable grief. And, so far, all Claire had done was repeat Asmodeus’s arguments — about reparations owed, and how Silverspires must be seen to care about Hawthorn’s loss, all things Selene had listened to until she choked on them.
“Do go on,” Selene said with a bright smile. “I’m listening.”
“I’m not… unsympathetic, of course,” Claire said, putting both hands on the table, their veined backs catching the light of the lone lamp in the room. “Lazarus has always been an ally of Silverspires.”
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.”
Easy enough, when you weren’t the one being sacrificed. On the other hand, Claire was right. Even if by some miracle she changed her mind and supported Silverspires — and why would she? — that still left the other heads of Houses. “Mmm,” Selene said. “I’m not quite sure why you, of all people, indulge Asmodeus. Hawthorn is on the rise.”