The Wondrous and the Wicked by Page Morgan

sidewalk.
    “Better?”
    His friend Léon leaned against the limestone exterior, ankles and arms crossed. Léon had walked with him to rue de Berri but, as usual, declined to go up to Vander’s room. He wanted nothing to do with dust reduction. Not too long ago, Léon had nearly allowed the Daicrypta to drain his blood in order to be rid of it. Like Grayson, Léon had lost control of his demon half once. Grayson had taken the life a prostitute in London, and Léon had killed his own parents and younger brother.
    But now, after having spent more time with Constantine and a handful of other Dusters, Léon felt at ease with his demon side.His arachnae blood gave him fangs, deadly venom, and the surprisingly useful ability to create silken web at his fingertips. All controllable, apparently.
    “I can’t smell your blood,” Grayson answered. “And considering your blood smells like a pair of dirty socks, yes—much better.” He ducked as Léon made a swipe for his hat.
    “I do not understand,” Léon said, his French accent heavy. They spoke to one another in English mostly, since Grayson’s French wasn’t much better than Ingrid’s. “Without your dust, how are you to protect yourself?”
    They started toward the wide boulevard of the Champs-Élysées. Grayson knew Dusters had been going missing the last week or two. He’d eventually gone back to Clos du Vie for another lesson with Constantine, and it had gone more smoothly than the first. Grayson had returned many times now, and at his last session, the old man had warned him to be vigilant.
    “Still no word from Marianne?” Grayson asked to avoid Léon’s question. The girl had hellhound blood, like Grayson, though she hadn’t fully shifted yet.
    Constantine had started combining his students into small groups, allowing them to form acquaintances. The old man had thought the approach might be better than having his students learn how to control their base instincts and desires individually, feeling isolated and freakish.
    Léon shook his head. That made four Dusters in just the past week.
    “The rumor is that gargoyles are doing this,” Léon said as they came upon the busy Champs-Élysées.
    Grayson hadn’t met many gargoyles, but he couldn’t imagine Luc would have anything to do with killing Dusters. If Marco had not become bound to Ingrid, the Wolf might have developed an appetite for Duster blood. Not now, though. Yann, a griffin chimera that had attempted to kill Grayson once, couldn’t betrusted. He’d been Lennier’s comrade and likely still craved retaliation against Gabby.
    “If that’s the case, we’re bird bait,” Grayson muttered. Léon huffed a laugh.
    “But if you had your dust like you
should …
,” he said, not needing to finish his thought.
    Grayson stuck his hands in his pockets and stepped around an ankle-deep puddle of slushy gutter water.
    “I want to be human, Léon.”
    Léon was the only one who knew about Grayson’s meetings with Vander. The other Dusters he’d gotten to know through Constantine’s lessons were like Léon—practically proud of their demon dust. They acted as if they felt special instead of just strange. They didn’t understand how the blood ate away at Grayson.
    “You cannot be,
mon ami
,” Léon replied softly.
    Grayson hadn’t told his friend about Vander’s latest theory or the blood test. If it worked … if Vander’s blood could cancel out Grayson’s demon blood, even if for a little while … it could be the answer to everything.
    They crossed the boulevard and Grayson turned left, heading toward Place de la Concorde. Léon drew to a stop.
    “Are you not coming back to the room?” he asked. “Pierce and the others are meeting us there soon.”
    He and Léon had moved into a crummy little place on the left bank a few blocks away from the Eiffel Tower and the mass of exposition buildings erected around the Champs de Mars. It was one room, with no running water and a single brazier