Finally, his smile disappears, and his lips fall into a hard line. “Yes.”
Liar.“So you could have saved my Mom.”
“Minerva…” He spreads his arms like he wants me to hug him. “A curse is a heavy burden and difficult magic to break.”
So he knew about the curse, another reason to hate his guts–as if the way he carries himself isn’t enough of a reason to punch him in the face.
“You couldn’t save her, is what you’re telling me?” I tilt my head as if confused. “So you’re not as powerful as you claim.”
He drops the oh-so-charming Father act. “Your Mother was awaste. No magic, not even latent. Yet she stood shoulder to shoulder with the damn Supreme. A charity case taken too far.” He shakes his head. “Unlike you, who have grown into an advantageous nature. And unlike the rest of your siblings…”
“What’s wrong with Arthur and Nim? They take after you, don’t they?”
“And they’re desperate to prove it to me. But you, you’re your own person. You don’t kneel to a coven or even to me.” He cuts the space between us, stalking toward me. “You could surpass me, Minerva. Let me teach you what I know.” I’m afraid he might try to touch me, and I won’t be able to keep a neutral face. “Join the family you were always supposed to be a part of.”
His pupils are so large, I see myself reflected in them like an obsidian mirror. “Lance told me you need blood magic to survive.” His eyes bulge. “I know you’re going to siphon me, use me so you can patch yourself up. You’re rotting from the inside out, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”
He grimaces, baring his teeth like a scared dog. “You think much too highly of yourself.”
“I guess that’s therealgift you left me.” I grab my purse, knowing full well I can’t cast a fast, flashy spell but ready to use my materials if needed.
To my dismay, he starts laughing again, this time his soft chuckle turning heavy and sinister, almost cartoonish.
“I was wrong about you, and wrong about your Mother. What’s the saying?” He pulls something from his breast pocket. “Third times the charm? You belong to me now—”
I smack him in the face with my purse and then kick him in the shin. There’s no time to watch and see if my attacks are effective; I book it out of there. Thankfully, it’s not the first time I’ve run in heels, and I’m not going very far, just to the next gallery, where I hide behind a display and start rifling through my purse.
A rose quartz and some sticks of chalk spill out, clattering against the marble floor. My panicked breathing isn’t exactly quiet either. With shaky hands, I grab one of the pieces of chalk and start drawing sigils around the quartz, for once not concerned about a perfect circle or if my lines are exact.
“Isn’t this adorable?” Arthur growls. “Chasing you around like the child you are. Daddy is done playing hide-and-seek, Minerva.”
I whisper the incantation as quickly as possible, my heart thudding in my ears, a ceremonial drum accompanying my spell. The chalk lines start to hiss and smoke. Last time, that meant it was working.
The tip of a black Oxford comes into view. Arthur looks at me, disappointed. “I’ll let that little outburst slide and give you one—”
A baseball sized creature flies into his face, leathery wings flapping right in his eyes. I should bolt, but I’m too stunned by the creature. Furry and round, its head is nothing but a cluster of fly-eyes that open and close like a latch to reveal a row of teeth. I snap myself out of it and start running, making sure to grab my purse as I go.
I need to get back to the party; there’s no way he’ll confront me in a room full of people. At least, he wouldn’t have before I sicced a tiny devil on his face.
Rounding a corner I slam into a body. Before I can push off, arms wrap around me, pinning me in place. I struggle against whoever it is.
“Let me—”
“Vexing little thing,” Rosier purrs. “You gave Kas a conniption. He was convinced the le Fays got you.”
“Well, if they weren’t planning on doing that before, they’re going to do it now.”
His voice is like thunder. “As if I’d let them.”
Another voice interrupts us. “You think we’ll kneel to you?”
I look over my shoulder, my concerns about the le Fay clan now realized. Arthur has scratches across his cheekbones that he takes in stride, his tongue reaching for a droplet of blood running down his cheek. Flanking him is Guine, the emptiness in her eye replaced by hatred–directed right at me. Near her is Nim, holding the little devil by the scruff, the poor thing struggling while she holds a curved knife to its gut. Arthur, Jr., is there, too, but just like in the main hall, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Arthur asks, “Do you know what happens to a devil when they get stabbed?”
Nim then pierces the devil’s stomach with her knife, the creature crying out and smoke rising from the wound. She then pushes the knife deeper before dragging it down and eviscerating it, yellow-brown blood and guts falling to the floor.
He answers his own question. “The same thing that happens to everything else.”