Crown of Whispers Page 7

  “She’s... something,” Beatrice whispered softly.

  “She certainly is,” Zoe muttered back. There were whole worlds of meaning in those words… but Zoe very explicitly declined to explain herself any further. Instead, she handed over the laptop. “Why don’t you tell me what you need?” she asked.

  Chapter 5

  ELEVEN YEARS AGO

  “Are you ever going to tell me about that weird magic of yours?” Beatrice asked idly.

  She’d stretched her legs across Dorian’s lap, leaning herself back into the arm of his apartment couch as he read the latest notes on one of the cases he’d been assigned to do drudge work for. A small legal firm had taken on Dorian for his post-graduate training, and they’d been passing him all of the most boring tasks they could find.

  Dorian paused over his reading and glanced up at her. “Are you ever going to tell me why you wake up having panic attacks?” he asked. The question seemed more rhetorical than genuine… but Beatrice still flinched. Dorian winced and shook his head. “Je m’excuse. That came out harsher than I intended.”

  The social faux-pas was fairly characteristic of him. Dorian had been slowly getting better at avoiding such missteps—or perhaps Beatrice had simply gotten better at being blunt enough with him that he didn’t fall into the trap as often. But this one cut more deeply than the others, and Dorian seemed to have realized as much, judging by the look on his face.

  Dorian hesitated... and slowly set aside his reading. “I do not like talking about it,” he admitted. “I only meant to make the comparison.”

  Beatrice pressed her lips together, trying to calm the sudden jump in her heart rate. “Je comprends,” she said. “Point made.” She took a long, deep breath. “Do you remember when I told you I don’t like having my picture taken?”

  Dorian frowned. “I do,” he said slowly. “I have not taken any pictures of you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Beatrice looked down at her hands—they were still shaking from the unexpected jump in subject. “I know you haven’t,” she said. That old, awful panic rose up inside her chest, clawing at her throat. She forced herself to swallow. “I... I went to a house party. Just before I dropped out of law.”

  Dorian looked at her warily. “Trix,” he started. “I didn’t mean I wanted you to tell me—”

  “C’est moi qui veux,” Beatrice interrupted him. “I think I really should, actually.” She licked at her lips. “I got drunk. Very drunk. Or maybe...” Beatrice closed her eyes. “Maybe someone put something in my drink. I’ll probably never know.” She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything that happened after that. I just know that... that something happened. And there were pictures.”

  Dorian’s hands settled at her ankles. She felt his fingers tighten there. She didn’t dare open her eyes to see his expression.

  “Did you press charges?” he asked softly.

  Beatrice clenched her fingers into her palms. “I tried,” she told him. “I... I tried. I did everything right, Dorian. If anyone should have been able to do it right, it should have been me.” Hot, frustrated tears pricked at her eyes. “I gave the police everything, all neatly wrapped up. I told the university. Everyone promised they’d do something with it.” Beatrice opened her eyes again, fighting back anger and humiliation and sheer, awful panic. “No one did anything—personne. The university just wanted to sweep it all under the rug. Every time I bothered the police, they just got more annoyed with me. Like I’d been the one to do something wrong.”

  Dorian was looking at her. His face was characteristically blank—but a terrible anger seethed behind his eyes. “Who took these pictures?” he asked, in a cold, clipped voice.

  Beatrice shook her head violently. “C’est pas important,” she said in a hoarse voice. A hysterical laugh slipped out, before she could stop it. “I handled it myself.”

  Dorian considered this, long and serious. He didn’t ask her to elaborate... but she wanted to. Needed to. For a full year, Beatrice had told the truth to absolutely no one. She was still so damned angry, and so broken, and nothing ever seemed to make it any better. Someone, she thought, needed to know.

  “The law failed me, Dorian,” Beatrice choked. “The problem was that no one cared. So… I went looking for something people would care about.” She wiped at her eyes with shaky hands. “I found a keylogger virus. It was really simple—I didn’t even have to write it myself, I just downloaded one. I made fake email addresses, and sent the virus to their whole stupid group. I got all kinds of accounts and passwords off them. I...” She took another breath. “I dug through their emails. I looked through their online pictures. And I found… really awful things. Some of it, I wasn’t even expecting. But I guess… if you’re the kind of person to take pictures of a drunk girl, you’re probably a total asshole in every other way, too.”

  Dorian reached up to press fingers to his forehead. “You committed multiple felonies,” he murmured. It was a statement of fact, and not a recrimination.

  “Yeah,” Beatrice managed. “J'ai vraiment été stupide. I sent it all to the police—anonymously, I thought. This time, they gave a damn. The feds from the RCMP came knocking on my door, though. They made it clear they knew what I’d done. They said they had bigger fish to fry, but... it sure gave me a hell of a scare.”

  Dorian was silent for a long, awful moment. “I don’t want to know this,” he said finally. As Beatrice tensed, he flicked his eyes over toward her and shook his head. “I just mean... I would feel terrible if someone else found out.” He looked suddenly uncertain, and she found herself wondering again just what went on in his head sometimes.

  “If you don’t tell anyone,” Beatrice said quietly, “then it doesn’t matter. Do you plan on telling someone, Dorian?”

  Dorian sighed heavily. “Non,” he said. “Vraiment pas. But there are... other ways of prying secrets from someone. We do not live in a simple, mundane world.” He looked over at her with troubled eyes. “You have your wish. I will need to lock away this knowledge, to be safe. I suppose you will need to know about my magic.”

  Beatrice knitted her brow. “What does this have to do with your magic?” she asked slowly.

  “My power is to do with secrets,” Dorian replied softly. “I can... lock away my knowledge. Make it inaccessible.” He shook his head. “I don’t fully understand it myself. But it has always come with its own set of rules. I am forbidden from destroying a secret, once I learn it. I can... trade secrets, for other secrets of equal value.” He closed his eyes. “Et chaque secret a son prix.”

  Every secret must have a price.

  A chill went down Beatrice’s spine. “You mean to say someone might buy my secret from you,” she said. “And you’d have to give it to them, if they paid you a high enough price.”

  Dorian tightened his fingers on her ankle again. “I will not sell your secret, Trix,” he said. His voice was flinty on the words. When Dorian opened his eyes again, she saw the same steel in his expression. “I will keep it safe. You have my word. But... please, never give me another secret.”

  Beatrice winced at the troubled look on his face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I… I should have kept it to myself. I didn’t know...”

  “I didn’t warn you,” Dorian said quietly. “I am just as much to blame. What’s done is done.” He tugged her forward by the ankle, pulling her into his lap. “I wish that none of this had happened to you. If I had known, at the time...” He frowned deeply, and Beatrice wondered at the dangerous look that flickered across his face. “...but I didn’t know. The only thing I can do now is keep your secret—and I will, one way or another. This has already hurt you enough. I refuse to contribute to it any further.”

  Beatrice wanted to believe him.

  But it was probably that day when the first whispers of doubt began at the back of her mind.

  PRESENT DAY

  “There’s nothing on here that suggests either of you leaked this secret,” Beatrice sa
id finally, as she closed the laptop and handed Zoe back her phone. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t leak it—but there’s an absence of proof, which is about as good as it gets.”

  Zoe let out a breath. “Well, that’s good to know,” she muttered. “But also... not so good. It means we still don’t know who might be after Jaz. Doesn’t Jean know anything else of use?”

  Beatrice raked her fingers back through her sweaty hair. A faint remnant of pink dye came away on her fingertips, and she grimaced. “I’m going to be honest,” she said. “I don’t know what sparked this whole goose chase in the first place. Monsieur Belmont has been sparing with his details. But that may have to change soon, if I’m going to get anywhere with this.”

  Zoe nodded worriedly. “Well... if I can help at all—or if you find out anything else—please let me know. I’m not generally a fan of putting the hurt on people… but I can, if it’s merited.”

  Beatrice frowned at that. Zoe had a bleak, determined look in her eyes that suggested she’d put the hurt on someone before.

  “Please, let us both know,” Simon said abruptly. He’d come up behind Zoe, and he now placed his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “I am not personal friends with the detective. But I was the one who suggested such stringent wording on the deal. If something happens to her as a result, it will be partially my responsibility.”

  Zoe let out a long breath and leaned back into his touch. The intimate moment confirmed Beatrice’s simmering suspicions that Zoe and Simon shared a relationship far deeper than just two people who happened to serve the same master. Beatrice looked away uncomfortably. She hadn’t been capable of a relationship like that for years now.

  “I’ll do what I can on both counts,” Beatrice said, as she rose to her feet. “I suspect Monsieur Belmont will have the matter well in hand, however… given the circumstances that led to this problem in the first place.”

  Zoe nodded miserably. “I’ll talk to Jean myself,” she said. “It’s probably better than putting you in the middle.”

  Beatrice took the time to head over toward the kitchen table, painfully aware that it might look impolite for her to leave without saying goodbye to the small faerie god in the room. The Lady of Briars turned her attention toward Beatrice as she approached. The fleeting weight of the faerie lord’s attention made Beatrice flinch.

  “It was an unexpected pleasure to meet you,” Beatrice said carefully. She even added a small bow—because she figured it couldn’t particularly hurt.

  The Lady tilted her head consideringly. Her overly-green eyes focused on Beatrice with even sharper perception. “Zoe has noticed your fear, little witch,” the faerie lord said. “I see it now, through her eyes. It chokes you, like a hungry vine.”

  Beatrice’s stomach curdled. If she’d been uncomfortable with the faerie lord noticing her magic, she was even less enthused to discover that the creature could somehow see her emotions.

  The Lady’s vivid, blossoming flowers wilted slightly, as though a chill had passed across them. Her eyes dulled. “There is no safety to be found in this life,” the faerie said. “Not even in the heart of Arcadia, with all the power of the Briars at one’s disposal. I have had cause to be afraid, as well.” Another of those strange flickers of emotion crossed the Lady’s face, so quickly that Beatrice wondered if she had imagined it. “I do not know how not to fear,” the faerie lord said. “But if I did, I would offer that gift to you. It is a terrible burden to bear.”

  Beatrice pressed her lips together. Her first instinct was that this was some sort of faerie trick—that the Lady might shortly make use of her favor and force Beatrice into some sort of obscure deal. But the faerie lord went silent, and it seemed now that she was troubled.

  “That’s very kind of you, Mother,” Simon said softly. He looked at the Lady with a genuinely touched expression on his face, as though he’d just witnessed something special.

  Zoe hesitated, just behind Beatrice. “I wasn’t going to say anything,” she admitted. “But the Lady’s right. You’ve got some really awful fear clinging to you.” Something of Beatrice’s astonishment must have shown on her face, because Zoe added: “Most people wouldn’t see it. I have a few extra tricks up my sleeve. I could... help, if you wanted. A little bit, anyway.”

  Beatrice considered the faerie lord in front of her. Even a faerie lord doesn’t feel safe, she thought. The idea shouldn’t have comforted her… but somehow, it did. For so long, Beatrice had been chasing the idea of safety, searching for just the right medicine, just the right thought process or magical spell that might repair her fears. But if even a faerie lord couldn’t buy the feeling of safety, then there seemed little point in continuing that obsessive search.

  Beatrice wasn’t sure what to pursue, now that safety was out of the question. But at least now she knew where not to look.

  “I feel better already,” Beatrice told Zoe quietly. Her lips curved up into a wry smile. “A little bit, anyway.”

  The Lady tilted her head slightly. “So you do,” she murmured, with a perplexed expression on her delicate features. “How strange.”

  “Goodbye,” Beatrice said to her. “For now. I expect I’ll see you again when you want your favor.” The idea didn’t terrify her quite as much now as it had before.

  “Do finish your tea first,” the Lady of Briars murmured. “It is only polite.”

  Beatrice glanced down at the mug she’d left on the table. The tea was cold now—or at least lukewarm, which was as cool as anything might become in this hothouse of a room. She sighed and picked up the mug, tossing back its contents in a few swallows.

  Beatrice thought that must have been the end of it—but just as she reached the door, she heard the Lady speak.

  “Little witch,” the Lady said, in that rustling voice of hers. “...I do like your hair. It reminds me of a flower.”

  Beatrice smiled to herself as she left the loft.

  “I probably shouldn’t ask...” Beatrice started, as she and Zoe headed back for Dorian’s office.

  “Story of my life,” Zoe muttered under her breath.

  Beatrice’s lips twitched. “Okay. Then I won’t feel bad for asking.” She paused, trying to phrase things in her head before she spoke. “...you’ve never had a relationship with Dorian, have you?”

  Zoe blinked. “Well... of course we have a relationship. Unless you mean a relationship relationship, in which case—” Her eyes widened as she saw Beatrice’s expression. “Oh. Ew. God, no. I think I need to go scrub my brain with bleach now, thanks.”

  Beatrice smiled awkwardly. “My mistake,” she said. “The two of you seemed very close. I… misunderstood.” She felt a brief pang of guilt over the assumption now. It seemed very petty, in retrospect.

  Zoe scrunched up her nose in disgust. “Dorian is... he’s like...” She shook her head. “We’re more like family. Like I said—we’ve been through a lot together. If it wasn’t for Dorian, I’d probably have died a bunch of times over.”

  Beatrice raised an eyebrow at that. “Dorian didn’t see fit to mention that,” she said slowly. “Actually… he seemed convinced that associating with him had put you in danger.”

  Zoe rolled her eyes. “That is just like him,” she said. “Look—don’t get me wrong. Dorian annoys the hell out of me sometimes. But at the end of the day, I’d rather have him annoy me than not annoy me. Does… does that make sense?”

  Beatrice chewed at her lip thoughtfully. “It does,” she admitted. She’d never found Dorian particularly annoying until they broke up—but the sentiment reminded her of her own ongoing relationship with her father.

  That’s good, Beatrice thought distantly. Dorian could use some real family. As bitter as she still felt about their near-miss in the car, some part of her still liked the idea that he had managed to fix such an awful hole in his life.

  “Your turn,” Zoe said. The statement broke Beatrice from her musings. “You did have a relationship with Dorian. Why did it end?”
>
  Beatrice hesitated. “…I don’t know,” she said finally. It was the most truthful answer she could manage. “Everything was going well. But one day, he just...” She swallowed and shoved her hands into her pockets. “He said some very awful things; he made it clear we were done. I didn’t fight him on it—I couldn’t help but feel like he just wanted to be free.”

  Zoe looked down. Beatrice could imagine the thoughts running through her mind. Zoe’s image of Dorian didn’t track with the one that Beatrice had just outlined. She was probably wondering if Beatrice had done something to merit the argument—if she really was some crazy ex-girlfriend. Beatrice had certainly spent long enough wondering if that was the case, afterward—if she simply wasn’t good enough, or if she was too broken, too emotional, not emotional enough.

  Years of therapy for other things had eventually taught Beatrice to let it all go. Questioning her own sanity just wasn’t healthy... and Dorian was out of her life anyway.

  Until now, her mind whispered. Dorian had been out of her life until now. And once Beatrice sorted out this mess for Jean Belmont and left town, Dorian would be out of her life once again.

  “That doesn’t sound like him,” Zoe said finally. “But… neither does cheating on an exam. And I’m pretty sure you’re not lying about that.” She sighed. “Maybe... maybe Dorian was just a really different person when he was younger. I want to think so. The Dorian I know is...” Her face turned pensive. “He’s very loyal. He cares a lot. I know it doesn’t seem like it, a lot of the time, but he does.”

  An awful pang went through Beatrice at that. For just a split second last night, Dorian had looked at her with that same expression she remembered—like she was unbearably precious, impossibly loved. That brief taste of how things once were had only made it all the more heartbreaking when he’d decided to toss it all away again.