Page 22 of This Ravenous Fate
Her teeth dug into her lower lip and she clenched her fists to keep her hands from shaking. Defending herself felt impossible when there was so much evidence stacked against her. The longer she remained in that interrogation, the murkier her own thoughts became. She had seen Theo, cowering in that abandoned house, newly turned. But this boy in the pictures was not a reaper. He was human again. He had been cured.
11
Blood seeped through Elise’s thoughts. When she closed her eyes, the crime scene remained plastered in her mind, as if a picture had been burned into her eyelids. The bloody bodies painted a horrific picture of failed attempts at protection and unearned respite. Colm’s throat had been torn out, muscles and tendons exposed to the harsh morning sun. Blood caked his clothes and pooled around him, soaking into Thalia’s hair. He reached for her in death, gun abandoned by his side, an effort for protection left unfinished.
“Lenox Avenue is still closed. I suspect businesses on that street will take a hard hit until this case blows over—”
Elise blinked the vision of blood away to see a slumped Sterling in front of her. He sat, one hand on the radio, head tilted to catch every word while his eyes glazed over.
“Sterling,” Elise muttered.
The radio continued, feedback growing louder, “This might beone of the worst reaper attacks Harlem has had in a while, but we can’t say we didn’t see it coming. New reaper cases have been emerging all over New York and the country with the influx of immigrants. People are now saying not to come to the United States unless you want to suffer. And let me tell you, other countries are surely laughing at us. It won’t be long before they invade to sterilize us. Now with last night’s attack, I’m starting to think all hope is lost—”
“Sterling, turn that off,” Elise snapped.
Finally, he switched the radio off. The static cut out immediately and he looked at Elise, eyes bright with grief.
Guilt plowed through her. He was hurt just as much as she was—probably more. Elise squeezed her eyes shut, willing her tears not to fall. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. The couch shifted beside her as Sterling moved to be closer. His knee brushed hers, and the spark of familiar warmth nearly made Elise fold into herself. Tears burned behind her eyes, the lump in her throat only growing more painful when she saw the redness in her best friend’s eyes and the quiver of his lips.
The silence, for once, was welcome. Neither knew what to say, and sitting with their grief together had been the only thing they could stomach doing since returning home.
Sterling inhaled, his shoulders shaking. “I never thought an attack like that would happen to us again.”
Elise pressed her face into Sterling’s shoulder, finally letting her tears fall. She might have stayed there for hours, his presence softening her pain, if the door had not opened. Her tears stung her faceas she sat up and wiped them away.
Her father stalked into the room, bringing, for Elise, a cloud of uncertainty and resentment. A scowl twisted his face, the crease between his brows deepening as he gestured for Sterling to leave.
Sterling gave Elise’s hand a gentle squeeze, then left the room. Mr. Saint shut the door after him and turned to Elise, jaw tight. “I cannot imagine how you feel right now. Thalia was a brilliant young woman, and I know she was an even better friend to you.”
Hearing Thalia’s name made her heart skip a beat, but her breath resumed normally and she stared ahead. As if acting like nothing happened would make that a reality. But no matter how much Elise ignored the death, it remained. Like a scarlet mark in her life, their futures snuffed out in one fateful night.
More tears crested in Elise’s eyes. “It’s my fault she was there in the first place. I told her to come for a show—” Sobs cut her off.
Pity darkened her father’s face. He swiped a gentle thumb across her cheek, wiping her tears away. “Blaming yourself will solve nothing. You spent years blaming yourself and grieving the Quinn girl, and look where that got you. She was not a friend to you. No friend would ever put your life in danger like she did. To think the Quinns tried to convince me that reapers and humans could ever live in harmony… What a hideous goddamn joke.” Bitterness seeped into his tone and his voice went hard as he pulled away from Elise.
Elise recoiled. Her father continued, paying no mind to the distance spreading between them. “Layla Quinn has always held youback. You know your mother wanted to bring you home when you started sending us letters, saying how scared you were all the time in Paris. I can’t help but wonder where you would be now if you spent less time crying over that girl and more time focusing on yourself and your craft. Perhaps the Paris Conservatory would have admitted you immediately.” Mr. Saint’s voice turned cold.
Ice seeped through Elise’s body. “Father—”
“The Quinn girl is our main suspect for the murders,” Mr. Saint said.
In an instant, anger flooded her senses, turning her body hot. Layla’s interference—her threat—had turned everything over in Elise’s life. It made sense that she would have done this; she would have left a bloodbath in her wake just to get back at Elise. The air sucked out of her lungs and Elise inhaled deeply, trying to settle her nerves. “She took Josi’s ring,” Elise breathed. The thought of Layla laying a hand on her sister made her heart stop. Her hands began to shake and the room swayed around her. “She’s not safe here. She needs to be sent away somewhere—”
“Josephine is my heir—”
“Maybe she shouldn’t be.” Elise snapped her mouth shut. The words had tumbled out so quickly, even her father lifted a brow in surprise.
He drew closer to her, his fingers pressed together. “And who should replace her?”
Elise wanted to look away. His eyes held a challenge so great, she felt like she was being led into a trap. But she lifted her chin andspoke softly, “Me.”
Her father watched her for a long moment. Then he yanked his shirt collar so his tie loosened around his throat. Unintelligible grumbles left his mouth as he rummaged around in the drawer of the side table before coming away with a lighter and a pack. Mr. Saint lifted a cigarette to his lips and lit it. They stood there in silence while he smoked, his eyes leveled on Elise, the patriarch and his discarded heir staring one another down. Finally, as the smoke sifted between them, he spoke, “Why you? Do you feel guilty about what happened to Charlotte?”
Elise flinched. She hoped the answer would have been obvious. She was his oldest daughter. But perhaps her value to him had been discarded with her innocence the night Elise failed to save her older sister.
“You said it yourself, since Layla has had a taste of my blood, she will always be linked to me. I might be able to get her to talk,” she said.
Mr. Saint moved toward her. His dark eyes pinned her to the spot and fear tore through her for a brief moment, her heart pounding, when the hot rage etched into his expression did not ease up. “There is no ‘might,’ Elise. I want you to play her like you play your little instruments, weaving every kind of story and lie you can from her.” Smoke left his mouth in thick swirls, filling the air between their faces. Mr. Saint backed away, rubbing his hand over his forehead. “This murder has shaken this household. Stephen Wayne is reconsidering our partnership now. How I will expand my empire without his funds and his projects, I have no idea. The city might fall without us. Reapers might finally overtake us all, just as the restof the world is predicting.”
