voice a low rumble, and then by a feminine one Claire recognized.
She swiveled her head to look at Xander, wondering if he recognized it, too. She could see in his eyes that he did.
And he should. Because it was the voice of his mother.
EIGHT
“T he Guild wasn’t there when I needed it,” the man said. “And neither were you. Did you . . . accountable?”
Estelle Toussaint’s voice whispered. “I’m sorry . . . the rules, Max.”
Claire tried to piece together the snippets of conversation, drifting like smoke through the night. She leaned forward, peering around the side of the building. She felt Xander’s body against her back, his breath near her ear, and knew that he was looking, too.
It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. At first, she continued to hear pieces of conversation, but couldn’t find their source. Then, she made out a faint gray smudge near the trees behind the carriage house. She blinked a couple of times, willing her eyesight to sharpen.
It was Estelle all right, her silver gown a shimmery column in the darkness, just as Claire had thought. But as surprising as it was to see Xander’s mother having a secretive conversation behind the carriage house while her guests attended the ball, the identity of her companion was even more shocking.
Claire would have sworn it was the older man from Dauphine Street, the one who had arrived in the company of Eugenia Comaneci. True, it was dark. But there was something familiar about the tip of his head, the harsh set of his mouth. His chiseled jaw visible even in profile.
And that wasn’t all. Even as she tried to make out his features through the shadows, cold sweat sprang to her forehead. A wave of nausea hit her as the same dark energy she’d felt on Dauphine reached out from where the man stood.
When she dropped her eyes to his wrist, she was sure. The rope bracelet was there, the glint of a silver bead visible in the moonlight.
She looked back, her eyes meeting Xander’s shocked stare, still locked on his mother and the mysterious man.
“You are . . . treading on dangerous . . .” Estelle said, her voice a low hiss. “The Guild . . .”
“The Guild is a worthless group of entitled hacks so far removed from the origins of the craft that they can do little more than light candles and mix herbs. You’re more concerned with . . . and parties than . . . the craft for that which it was intended.” Even broken up as they were, his words were a condemnation, not only of their parents, but of all of them. Claire felt it like a punch to the stomach. “I’m not afraid of . . . I’m no longer under your control. You saw to that a . . . time ago.”
“Everything . . . this matter is under our control. If you don’t know that yet, you have a lot to learn, even after all this time.”
The man grabbed her arm as she turned to go. Xander’s body tensed. Claire had no doubt that if the man made one more move toward Estelle, Xander would be all over him.
“You mete out . . . as if there will never be consequences. It’s time for you to be on the other side of the equation,” the man said, his face mere inches from Estelle’s. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking our previous . . . buys you any consideration now.”
They stood like that, their eyes locked, for a few seconds before Estelle wrenched free, rubbing the place where his hand had gripped her arm.
She turned around, marching straight toward Claire and Xander. They flattened themselves against the building. trying not to breathe as she made her way past them. When she was gone, Claire leaned forward, peering at the place where Estelle had stood with the man, wondering if he had left, too.
But he was still there, staring in her direction.
Xander tugged on her hand, pulling her back toward the arbor.
Claire stumbled. “Xander . . . wait!”
He looked down at her as he propelled them over the pathway. “We can talk in a
She swiveled her head to look at Xander, wondering if he recognized it, too. She could see in his eyes that he did.
And he should. Because it was the voice of his mother.
EIGHT
“T he Guild wasn’t there when I needed it,” the man said. “And neither were you. Did you . . . accountable?”
Estelle Toussaint’s voice whispered. “I’m sorry . . . the rules, Max.”
Claire tried to piece together the snippets of conversation, drifting like smoke through the night. She leaned forward, peering around the side of the building. She felt Xander’s body against her back, his breath near her ear, and knew that he was looking, too.
It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. At first, she continued to hear pieces of conversation, but couldn’t find their source. Then, she made out a faint gray smudge near the trees behind the carriage house. She blinked a couple of times, willing her eyesight to sharpen.
It was Estelle all right, her silver gown a shimmery column in the darkness, just as Claire had thought. But as surprising as it was to see Xander’s mother having a secretive conversation behind the carriage house while her guests attended the ball, the identity of her companion was even more shocking.
Claire would have sworn it was the older man from Dauphine Street, the one who had arrived in the company of Eugenia Comaneci. True, it was dark. But there was something familiar about the tip of his head, the harsh set of his mouth. His chiseled jaw visible even in profile.
And that wasn’t all. Even as she tried to make out his features through the shadows, cold sweat sprang to her forehead. A wave of nausea hit her as the same dark energy she’d felt on Dauphine reached out from where the man stood.
When she dropped her eyes to his wrist, she was sure. The rope bracelet was there, the glint of a silver bead visible in the moonlight.
She looked back, her eyes meeting Xander’s shocked stare, still locked on his mother and the mysterious man.
“You are . . . treading on dangerous . . .” Estelle said, her voice a low hiss. “The Guild . . .”
“The Guild is a worthless group of entitled hacks so far removed from the origins of the craft that they can do little more than light candles and mix herbs. You’re more concerned with . . . and parties than . . . the craft for that which it was intended.” Even broken up as they were, his words were a condemnation, not only of their parents, but of all of them. Claire felt it like a punch to the stomach. “I’m not afraid of . . . I’m no longer under your control. You saw to that a . . . time ago.”
“Everything . . . this matter is under our control. If you don’t know that yet, you have a lot to learn, even after all this time.”
The man grabbed her arm as she turned to go. Xander’s body tensed. Claire had no doubt that if the man made one more move toward Estelle, Xander would be all over him.
“You mete out . . . as if there will never be consequences. It’s time for you to be on the other side of the equation,” the man said, his face mere inches from Estelle’s. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking our previous . . . buys you any consideration now.”
They stood like that, their eyes locked, for a few seconds before Estelle wrenched free, rubbing the place where his hand had gripped her arm.
She turned around, marching straight toward Claire and Xander. They flattened themselves against the building. trying not to breathe as she made her way past them. When she was gone, Claire leaned forward, peering at the place where Estelle had stood with the man, wondering if he had left, too.
But he was still there, staring in her direction.
Xander tugged on her hand, pulling her back toward the arbor.
Claire stumbled. “Xander . . . wait!”
He looked down at her as he propelled them over the pathway. “We can talk in a
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