Page 131 of Eternal Craving

Fear has power over us when we cannot foresee a solution – I understood this now.

Standing in the rain, pondering options, I knew that to enter that room could be my last mistake. But until I had my son in my arms, I had no other choice. Even if Delacroix didn’t have Jacob, he’d become too much of a threat. And he now had Marcus and Rachel.

Sunaria’s words resonated. I wondered if there might be any truth in them, if drinking from Delacroix might irrevocably change me. Another warped myth, perhaps, though I had to admit, I’d occasionally experienced an invisible essence radiating from my victims, though nothing definable.

Sunaria stayed in the courtyard, and I flew up and onto the windowsill, entering the room.

Delacroix sat in the corner. Marcus was hugging Rachel, and I could see the similarity between them – their red hair, their English features, and the kindness in their faces. The room was unbearably small, the décor bare – a single bed, a chair, and a side table upon which lay a time-worn book with dog-eared pages.

Instead of reading to Lilly, I murdered her.

I swapped a glance with Marcus.

Delacroix smiled.

“Where’s my son?” I asked.

He shrugged.

I wondered if I had the strength to tear his throat out. He read my mind and returned a stare that blazed with hatred, and then he stood and strolled past me. He gazed out of the window and his lips slid into a grin.

Despite everything he’d done, I had to suppress my anger and let nothing distract my focus. “What do you want with them?”

Delacroix shook his head in dismissal.

“So why are you here?” I moved closer to him.

He smiled again, and I was hit with a realization.

“Because you knew I’d come.”

Delacroix’s attention fell on Rachel.

“Let them go.” My tone remained calm as I glanced at Marcus and then back at Delacroix. “Tell me what you want.”

A gust of wind caught the curtain, and it billowed.

Delacroix peered out of the window again.

“What have you done?” I felt a chill up my spine. “Get out of my way.”

He put his hand up, blocking me.

“I take it you want your head back,” I said.

He glared at me.

“St. Paul’s, tomorrow night,” I said. “The witching hour.”

“Sunaria’s as good as dead,” he rasped.

“I’ll burn the thing,” I yelled.

Delacroix’s dark stare served as a fierce warning. Then he was gone.

Marcus joined me by the window and stared down at the hooded figures surrounding Sunaria.

“Who are they?” he whispered, and then stepped back, fearing he’d been seen.