“Not while she carries the curse,” another voice said. “Even without Athena, that child is a danger to us and everyone in this city. No power can stop what she can do once she matures.”

“She has not come into her curse. She is no harm to us now. If we help her get rid of the curse,” Michel proposed, “she will be of no use to Athena and no harm to us.”

“Help her get rid of it?” This from Josephine. “Do you realize what an asset this girl can be to us? Think of the power we will have. Power over the gods. We can be rid of them forever.”

A bang issued as something was slammed against wood. Michel’s voice was harsh. “Listen to you, Josephine! This was what got us into trouble the first time. Had you not tried to use Eleni, we might not even be in this situation now. And now you will use her child? For power?”

“For protection,” she snapped. “Athena has been an enemy to us since the Inquisition, when she tried to wipe all of us off the face of the planet. She is afraid, afraid of us becoming too powerful, afraid of her own creations coming back to defeat her. We keep the child and let her become what she was meant to be. Then Athena, or any god for that matter, will not dare challenge us.”

“What do you suggest? Imprisoning her? No. I forbid this.”

Josephine laughed. “You cannot forbid anything, Michel. This is a council. And majority rules.”

“I am not comfortable using a child in this manner, but we cannot sustain another blow to the city like the one thirteen years ago,” said a new voice. “We have had peace in New 2, a peace we have been seeking for ages. Harboring or helping this child will cause a war between us and Athena. I say she goes, takes her chances outside The Rim.”

“No, she cannot go,” Michel said. “Think about it, Nickolai. She can’t hide from Athena. That girl doesn’t even know what she’s capable of. Once the goddess has her, she can and will use that child against us. She must stay, but not as a weapon. As a child needing protection.”

My throat went dry. My heart raced. I leaned back against the wall. Blood pounded through my ears so fast that I couldn’t hear any more of the conversation even if I’d tried.

I didn’t know what to do, so I ran.

Out into the street, directly in front of a trotting horse pulling a carriage full of tourists. So close its warm breath fanned my cheek before I stumbled to the other side of the street.

I stopped at the corner, grabbing one of the streetlamp poles for support and gasping for air. Tears pricked my eyes but didn’t spill over. I wanted to go back, to storm into that library and tell them they were all wrong. I was not a weapon. I didn’t have powers like the Novem or the doué.

I’d make the decision for them. I’d leave New 2. If Athena had caused the hurricanes because the Novem had harbored my mother, then there was no telling what she’d do now because of me, and because of the hunters I’d killed and the prisoners I’d released.

Feeling wooden and empty, I walked the streets of the French Quarter as the sun went down and the streetlamps flamed to life, using the time to gather my thoughts and figure out my next move. I could find a landline to call Bruce and Casey, but the last thing I wanted was to bring them into this supernatural freak show, where I was playing the starring role.

I used my last five dollars to buy a shrimp po’boy sandwich from a small vendor in Jackson Square and then parked myself on a bench. A three-man band played jazz by the cathedral. A fire-eater performed. Light glinted off sequined costumes, masks, and beads. The place hummed with voices, with music and laughter. It was a good time to blend in, especially now that the moon was rising and the city had come alive.

Crank’s painted UPS truck loomed on the curb in front of 1331 First Street, same spot as when she first brought me here to stay in the Garden District. An old Toyota Camry sat in the driveway, no tags, covered with bumper stickers. I stopped beneath the cover of an oak, hidden by the shadows of the moss that draped off its limbs. My gaze traveled across the dark street, over the iron gate, and up to the second-story windows.

The Novem had to know by now that I’d fled. But I wasn’t leaving without my mother’s box.

So far, I’d been able to stick to the black shadows that hung over the Garden District streets. The only light here—besides the few working ones along St. Charles Avenue—came from random houses. From my vantage point, I studied the tall house and the perimeter, softly chewing on the inside of my cheek.

Cold humidity dampened my skin. The air had become stagnant. Nothing moved. Time to go. I darted across the street, keeping my footsteps light and aiming for the corner of the wrought-iron fence. Vines had swamped this part of the fence, making it easy for me to climb over.

Once my feet landed on the soft bed of decaying leaves, I hurried to the back of the house, taking care to stay low and stick to the shadows. After a quick pause behind the edge of the magnolia tree, I darted across the patio and opened the French doors, slipping inside and shutting them quietly.

Lights were on. But the house was quiet and still. The parlor was empty, and so were the dining room “Crypt” and the kitchen. Daring to hope, I stopped by the stairs and listened. Nothing. I hurried up the steps and made for the bedroom. If I could make it in and out without being seen, without having to explain or say good-bye . . . Maybe not the best way to do things, but it’d be easier for everyone involved.

The bedroom door was ajar, and all I had to do was push it and sneak inside. Once in, however, I stopped short.

Violet lay curled up on my/Crank’s sleeping bag, facing away from me, with Pascal stretched out next to her and snuggled against the curve of her back.

My weight shifted. The floorboards creaked. Pascal raised his head and slowly turned in my direction. He blinked as Violet woke and looked over her shoulder. She pushed herself up, removing Pascal so that she wouldn’t crush him, and then set him down beside her on the floor. A royal blue mask hung around her neck, and she shoved it over her face to the top of her head. She stared at me solemnly, eyes just as large and black as I remembered. A second of warmth spread across my chest, making me want to go sit down beside her, to know her, to—

No, I was leaving.

“Hey, Violet.” I went to the box, aware that her round gaze followed. My hands slid around the box. Just get the box and leave. Violet will be fine without you. Which was a stupid thought to begin with. Violet had managed fine without me all these years, and the kid certainly wouldn’t be fazed by someone she’d only known for a few days suddenly leaving.

I held the box to my chest as my throat thickened. Violet and I were the same, I realized. Different. Alone. But Violet had something I envied, something that I admired. She embraced who she was. She didn’t try to hide or be something she wasn’t. I, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to be normal, to be anything other than what I was.

“Sebastian is looking for you. Everyone is out looking for you,” Violet said in a small, even voice. I turned as she stroked Pascal’s leathery back. “What happened to you, Ari?”

“Nothing.” I gripped the box tighter. “Take care of yourself, Violet. Don’t ever change.”

I was nearly through the door when she said, “You shouldn’t either, you know.”

I kept walking.

Twelve

I WAS DOWN IN THE PARLOR BY THE TIME I REMEMBERED THE gifts I’d bought the day before, the day the τερας hunter had come to the market. Quickly I set the box on the hall table and removed the puzzle for Crank, and the beignets, which were probably stale by now, for the boys. I pulled out the mask I’d bought for Violet, taking a second to rub my thumb over the soft surface and thinking I’d like nothing better than to wear a mask like that, to hide like I’d always done. A small knot of guilt formed in my gut. I wasn’t exactly practicing what I preached, was I?

But then, Violet didn’t have a Greek goddess after her ass or a power-hungry vamp wanting to use her as a weapon.

Suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck rose and a cold dread sliced beneath my skin.

Someone stood behind me.

My eyelids drifted closed as I drew in a deep, quiet breath, squeezing my fist at my side. Yeah. Someone was definitely behind me. And that someone was taller, bigger, and as silent as a statue. I tensed my muscles in readiness.

One. Two. Three.

Now!

I dropped down on my haunches, turning and swinging out one leg, connecting with a calf and following through until the intruder’s feet lifted off the ground and his body fell back.

Funny thing was, he never hit the ground.

My fingertips braced on the floor as I drew my leg back under me, ready to pounce, but his body twisted in midair so that he faced the floor. His fingertips and the tips of his shoes hit the floor lightly like a ball, pushing him up and back to a standing position.

Completely unnatural. I wasn’t dealing with a human here.

I leaped to my feet and swung, but his hand was already out to catch my forearm. The next hand came up. He caught that, too. His hard, angular face lit with arrogant victory. Dumbass. They always fell for that move. Now he didn’t have anything protecting his groin area, his kneecaps, or his shins from my kick.

And then it clicked into place. “Daniel?” My knee froze half-bent, remembering the face and the name in the same instant. Josephine’s secretary. “What the hell are you doing here?”

There was no mistaking the fact that he’d rather be anywhere but here. With an annoyed frown, he ignored my question and released my wrists to pull out a white envelope from inside his formal black jacket. Well, no wonder he was irritated; he was here instead of at whatever ball or Mardi Gras party he’d dressed for.

He waved the envelope in front of my face. I snatched it, pulled out the card, and read over an invitation to a ball, my heart still pounding. My brow twisted in confusion until I saw the small, neatly written note at the bottom.

The Arnaud family requests your presence tonight, 12 a.m. at 716 Dauphine to join your friends Sebastian, Jenna, Dub, and Henri.