The Wicked Within Read Free Page B

gain?”
    Bloodborn Queen?
    “Josephine is a queen?” Violet asked, intrigued.
    The witch chuckled. “Josephine Arnaud.” He stuck his pointer finger into the oil and swirled it around in a circle. “There was a time, long ago, when vampire kings and queens ruled their kind in Europe. Unknown to humans, of course. Long, long ago. The Arnaud family once ruled the vampires in France; they once held human titles and lands, immersing themselves in the affairs of the country. Josephine’s grandfather was instrumental in seeing the rise of the Capetian dynasty over the Carolingians in the tenth century. Had times not changed, had god wars not come and gone, had vampires not retreated further and further away from human affairs and fought among themselves, she would be queen of the French vampires. But such is life. . . . ”
    I could see it. Josephine acted like a queen and would gladly rule over all of New 2 if she could.
    “Titles mean nothing these days,” the witch said wistfully.
    Two weeks ago in the ruins, during our last battle, Athena had demanded the return of Anesidora’s Jar, the name for the mythical Pandora’s Box, along with the original contents that were inside it when the jar was gifted to the Novem. Those contents I now knew to be the Hands of Zeus. During the exchange between Athena and the Novem, it was clear that Josephine knew more about the “original contents” than anyone else. Itwasn’t a jump to conclude that Josephine had something to do with their disappearance.
    And apparently, the River Witch thought so too.
    “So Josephine is our target,” Henri said. I glanced at him and he shrugged. “She’s probably got the Hands or knows where they are. Obviously she has some sort of beef with Athena. Makes sense she’d take what Athena wants.”
    The River Witch stayed quiet, returning his attention to the blood symbols. If he was telling the truth, if he could untangle my curse, then getting the Hands was all that mattered.
    Hope stirred in my chest, but I tamped it down. No reason to trust in him just yet. He knew too much and was somehow connected to what was going on. Until I knew how, I’d keep him at arm’s length.
    I watched as he dragged a finger through the bloody oil, then reached over the counter and drew a symbol on Violet’s cheek with the same finger. “Your day is coming, little one. Just like we talked about; face fear head-on. Putting yourself in harm’s way can be a glorious thing.”
    Violet didn’t flinch or blink. She simply stared at the wrinkled old face, either understanding his words and accepting them, or not caring what he said. But I cared, and it frightened me to the core. I moved closer to her, not liking his ominous words one bit. I felt Henri stiffen beside me.
    “Leave her alone,” I said. “She’s just a kid.”
    The witch’s head canted slowly in my direction, and for a long moment, he said nothing. “Unlike you, Violet is not afraid. She will know her destiny when the time comes. Question is, will you?”

T WO
    T HIRST STABBED HIM IN THE gut. It was a tight, twisting pain, a cold burn that stole his breath and seared his insides. The soft glow of the streetlamps blended with the neon from storefront windows. Tourists and locals walked the car-less French Quarter street, their voices mingling with music and conversation from bars and restaurants.
    Those tourists, those few hundred who’d been granted entrance to the Quarter for Mardi Gras season, had no idea what walked among them. If they knew their blood called to him, sang to him, a lure so strong and tempting . . . they never would have set foot past The Rim.
    The dark street scene in front of him blurred. He veered off the sidewalk and met with a heavy iron gate. The brick tunnel beyondthe bars loomed black, but in the distance glowed an arched view of a dimly lit courtyard.
    Dizziness made his view tilt. Just a small tilt, but enough to make him stumble as the hinges whined and the