Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
The little boy’s hands try to undo the ties. He huffs in frustration, dropping his hands to his sides.
“I can’t get them!” he yells, so angry I almost believe him.
“What are you doing here?” I ask through the throb in my throat. “Are you...”
His eyes widen. Blue, so pale they’re practically white. Wow. They’re kind of creepy.
“I’m sorry,” he says, shoulders sagging.
“Are you his son?” I ask.
The little boy’s head jerks toward the cabin door. His wet hair drips into those strange blue eyes.
“I’m getting you out,” he insists, reaching for the rope again.
“His son,” Emeric answers.
His voice hauls me out of the memory. The yacht drops away. Concrete chills my feet, leather cuts into my thighs, and Emeric stands close enough for his breath to touch my cheek.
I stare at him through the wet blur coating my eyes.
“What?”
Emeric cups my jaw, holding my face toward his. “The boy was Parker’s son. He wasn’t freeing you, Ivanya. He was checking the knots.”
“No.” My lips form the word while my head sways. “He got angry because he couldn’t untie them.”
“He got angry because he failed Parker.” Emeric runs his thumb over the blood drying beneath my mouth. “Asher always hated disappointing his father.”
My stomach caves at the name.
Asher was eleven years old, soaked from the sea and fumbling with ropes. He stood in the conservatory with my blood on his hands. He watched me run through the snow.
I grab one memory and hold it.
Emeric’s burned mouth bends. “He’s always helped with recruiting, Ivanya. Children trust other children. Parker understood that. Asher became quite good at bringing frightened little girls into reach.”
“You’re lying.” My voice cracks, giving him the satisfaction of hearing it. “Parker never called him his son. I never met Asher before then.”
“Parker didn’t call you his wife either.” Emeric releases me, pulling the Codex from the chair. “Titles change. Purpose survives.”
He opens the book, pressing a finger against a page covered in names, ranks, and arrows. The letters crawl when I look at them.
“La Maison du Mal has three houses,” Emeric explains. “Delacroix presents the clean face. Companies, charities, family empires. They invite powerful people through the front door and decide which ones leave indebted.”
His finger moves to a name printed above the rest.
ASHER.
Beneath it is a title.
LE PARRAIN.
Emeric taps the ink. “Your lover boy that is nothing like the men you despise?”
I shake my head, making the page smear. “He...” I want to say kills them. That can’t be right. He was a child. He can’t be Le Boucher. He has to be what Emeric says.
“Shall I continue?” Emeric’s smile widens around ruined skin.
His finger slides across the paper.
“Monét owns the dark corners. Intelligence, technology, Ciphers, Watchers, Fantômes. They bury records, build identities, and send people through locked rooms without leaving a footprint.”
His finger moves to another family.
“And Dubois handles the mind.” Emeric lifts his gaze to mine. “False memory implantation. Personality fracturing. Trauma harvesting. They take a life apart, rewrite the useful pieces, and hand it back.”
My wrists twist against the straps.
“That boy helped me.” The rest of his lecture passes unheard while I hold tight to that one thread.
“That boy recruited you,” Emeric says, closing the book. “He then gave you hope so Parker could teach you what it feels like to have it ripped away.”
A sob catches behind my tongue.
Emeric leans closer, his burned cheek filling my vision. “He is La Maison du Mal, Ivanya.”
Water clouds my eyes again. His face blurs, the scarred skin smoothing at the edges until a beard and a familiar nose take shape.
I blink, and the burns return.
High heels clap against the concrete, pulling a sneer across my mouth.
“Why are you messing around?” Camille says. “Just say the trigger word and let the crazy play.”
Emeric’s eyes shift toward her. He straightens. “No, not yet. She’s not ready.”
“Fine. Let me try.” She pulls up a chair.
Her mouth moves while my head keeps circling the same pieces: Asher as the little boy, the recruiter, Le Parrain, and the liar.
“Ivanya, you and I aren’t friends. In fact, I’d prefer to just kill you and get this over with, but Emeric is so hell-bent on living the Dubois way, so let me give you a hint of how this is going to go.”
My eyes fix on her.
She grins. “Asher is in love with me.”
My jaw loosens.
“We’re always going to be number one.”
I sag against the leather.
Emeric steps into view, studying me. His burned skin smooths around his eyes. A familiar nose follows, then a smile.
The corner of his mouth lifts into a wide grin. “What is it, my Mariée?”
My head moves once from side to side. The final thread in my brain pulls apart.
“Ivanya, you’re such a special girl. You’re going to be so much help one day. You want to help Daddy, right?” He smiles up at me. I loved when Daddy smiled, especially his eyes and that funny dent on his nose.