He looked into her eyes. “I thought you didn’t believe.”
“I don’t. But . . . I don’t know.” Claire turned her head to the window, thinking. “The fact that someone’s trying to hurt you—to hurt the Guild—worries me.”
“And what if there’s more to it than that?” Xander asked. “What if there’s something my mom has done that could hurt my dad?”
Claire knew what he was suggesting. The conversation between Estelle Toussaint and Maximilian behind the carriage house had felt oddly personal, even intimate.
Claire reached for Xander’s hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I’m just worried.”
She thought of Sasha. Of her goodness and the accepting way she looked at life that made it easier for Claire to accept things, too.
“It just doesn’t seem right to keep quiet,” Claire said softly. “What if something happens to you? To them?”
Xander turned his face toward hers. “If you don’t believe, you have nothing to worry about.”
She sighed. “But if these people do and they’re out to hurt someone, they could find another way to do it.”
Xander looked ready to argue her point, but a second later his shoulders sagged.
“You’re right. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, either. I just . . . I need some time to get my head around this. To get a better handle on what my mom has to do with that guy, Maximilian.” He stopped talking, and Claire could see the wheels turning in his mind before he started up again. “What if we figured out the letters first? See if there’s something in there that will help us?”
“Xander . . .” she started. “Look, I’m as curious about them as you are. I just don’t know what some old letters could have to do with your mom and Maximilian.”
“Probably nothing, but at the very least, we’ll have more information for the Guild when we take everything to them.” He paused again. “Please, Claire. It will give me a couple more days to figure out how to tell my dad.”
She was torn. Could she live with herself if they waited and something happened to the other firstborns? If something happened to Sasha or Xander?
Could she live with herself if she forced Xander to go public and his family imploded because of it?
“Okay,” she finally agreed. “I’ll upload them tonight. But at least let me tell Sasha.”
Xander shook his head. “I don’t want anybody else from the Guild to know yet.”
“I get that, but I have a bad feeling about this, and I think we’re both too close to it. Besides, we might need help. The letters aren’t the only piece of the puzzle.There’s that group photograph, too.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Sasha’s my best friend. I owe it to her to warn her. If I tell her not to say anything, she won’t,” Claire continued. “Plus, she might know something we don’t. Her family’s been a member of the Guild almost as long as ours have.”
“You sure we can trust her?” Xander asked.
“Positive. We’re meeting for yoga tomorrow. I’ll tell her then.”
He nodded, the worry in his eyes transforming him from the Xander she knew who could handle everything to someone who wasn’t sure about anything. He knew his mother wasn’t perfect, but he’d always held Estelle on a pedestal. The possibility that she might not deserve his adoration was something he wasn’t prepared to deal with.
“Hey.” Claire leaned over, touching her lips gently to his. “Everything will be okay. We’ll figure this out.”
She reached for the door handle, stepping out of the car.
Xander’s voice pulled her back. “Claire?”
She ducked down, meeting his brown eyes across the leather seats. “Yeah?”
“Speaking of bad feelings . . . Don’t you think it’s a little weird that you’re the only one of the firstborns whose picture wasn’t on that wall?”
Claire swallowed the dread in her throat. “Yeah, but until we know what it means, there’s no point stressing about it.” She smiled. “Now stop worrying about me. I’m fine. Text me later.”
She shut the door before he could say more.
She started walking, knowing Xander would follow her in the car until he knew she was home safely.
His words rang in her ears. Even with Maximilian and Eugenia, Claire was set apart from the other firstborns. The question was: Did it mean she was safe or that she was in more danger than anyone?
“Claire? Is that you?”
Claire followed the sound of her mother’s voice into the living room. Pilar was sitting in a chair by the window, reading by the light of an old fringed lamp on an end table that had belonged to Claire’s grandmother.
“Hey,” Claire said. “Where’s Dad?”
Her mother waved her hand in the general direction of the rest of the house. “In his study, I think. Was that the Toussaints’ car I saw out front just now?”
Claire’s pulse stuttered while she scrambled for a reply. “I have no idea. I walked home.” She was immediately ashamed of the lie, both because it was told to her mother and because it was a blatant denial of her relationship with Xander.
“Hmmm.” Her mother’s brow furrowed. She shook her head. “I could have sworn it was theirs, but I must have been mistaken.”
“Yeah . . .” Claire stood there silently, wanting suddenly to tell her mother everything.
“Claire?” Her mother was speaking to her. “Are you all right?”
Claire sighed. “I’m just tired. I think I’ll go upstairs and rest before dinner.”
Her mother was silent, pinning Claire with the icy gray gaze that seemed like it could penetrate all of her most secret thoughts.
“You may as well,” she finally said. “That’s what summer is for.”
She turned back to her book, and Claire headed for the stairs, her feet leaden as she climbed.
TWELVE
Resting was out of the question. Claire’s mind was spinning with everything that had happened, her body still amped from the escape she and Xander had made from the house on Dauphine.
She uploaded the photos from her phone to her laptop, scrolling past the group picture and focusing on the letters. She enlarged them until she could make out most of the words, then hit PRINT.
There were three letters, starting with July 31, 1880, and ending with May 25, 1881. She put the French versions aside and turned her attention to the ones Xander had said were translations.
She put them in chronological order and started with the letter marked July 31.
July 31, 1880
Dearest Sorina,
It was with pleasure and surprise that I received your letter. I remember your father well and know he would be pleased that you continue his interest in the craft. I do not know how your country differs from America, but here it seems the new and modern impose at every turn. I’ve always said that progress is well and good, providing we don’t forget the importance of the past.
As for your interest in the darker parts of our art, my answers to your questions must also contain a warning. The craft is a higher calling, though many would vilify it. When used for its intended purpose, it can bring together those destined to love, heal those who are ill, and protect one from rogue spirits and energy.
With that warning, I must assume your questions about black magic are theoretical, and I have never been one to believe in keeping that which we fear in the dark. There, it grows and festers into something dangerous. Better that we should acknowledge all aspects of our craft and teach each generation to respect them in all their diversity.
It is, indeed, possible to curse someone with negative energy, though I advocate only spiritually positive uses of the craft. The recipes for cursing, hexing, and crossing are as old as those used to heal and protect, though passed down less now that reason has gained solid footing for most in the Guild.