Page 76

I glanced back at the closed door.

“Come on, you don't look much better than me.” His voice carried a gravelly fatigue.

I followed him down the gallery into a narrow side study lined with bookshelves. The smell of old books came to me, and I breathed in deeply. It was a scent I associated with restoration, carrying the weight of history. Bart pulled the door shut behind us. The latch clicked home with a snap.

“What is it?” I asked, leaning back against the edge of a mahogany desk.

Bart rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. The rasp of skin sounded loud in the quiet room. “Osric contacted me.”

The words hit me like a splash of ice water. “What?”

“Keep your voice down.” He held up a palm. “Please.”

“Osric? When? Why? What did he say?”

“Two nights ago and then again this morning.” Bart's hand shook before he dropped it to his side. “He emailed me, if you can believe that.” He huffed a laugh.

Horror rose in my throat. “You've been talking to Osric while the rest of us are tearing the city apart trying to find him?”

“Yes, and I know how bad it sounds.”

“Did you respond? Did you tell anyone else?”

Bart closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, the misery in them was bottomless. “Osric claims he solved the extraction problem.”

“What does that mean?”

“He's found a way to manipulate the original ritual. A way to extract a Curse cleanly, without requiring a love connection. And once it's extracted, he can destroy it.”

“How?”

“He has a particle accelerator. He believes it will transform a Curse into harmless energy. Those artifacts he bought? The ones used in rituals to remove Curses? They had remnants of Curse resonance, like a scent that lingers. He destroyed those remnants with his particle accelerator.” Bart swallowed hard, his throat working. “He thinks Fabian has gone insane. He won't listen to Osric. So Osric wants to do the extraction without Fabian. He needs a willing subject. I volunteered.”

“You volunteered?” Disbelief choked the air from my lungs. “Bart, you're an immortal. Do you really want to risk your life on the off-chance that Osric is right?”

“I face an eternity of physical suffering,” he snarled, the raw anguish finally breaking through his flat tone. “Everyone makes fun of me. Even Tanvi says it's my fault for letting my Curse rule me, that it isn't real suffering. They don't understand. I'm not just pulled to drunks, I'm pulled to the weary, the sick, and the despondent. I feel their pain, what drives them to drink, and the lure of oblivion calls to me through them. If I resist, I'm tortured as any Curse is. If I give in to the Pull, I wake up with a hangover. Think of the worst hangover of your life, multiply it by ten, and then you'll come close to what I feel every day. You think Tristan's the only one who suffers? Heartbreak is poetic. People write songs about it. Nobody writes sonnets about vomiting into a gutter while your brain feels like it's bleeding. I am tired, Destiny. I want my life back. I want to wake up once—just once—and feel clean. If I die during the extraction, so be it. At least it will be over.”

Pity tugged at me, but the dread underneath was louder. “This feels like a trap. He may be using you to get to Tristan.”

“He isn't using me to get to Tristan,” Bart said. His voice dropped lower, turning quiet, almost fragile. “He doesn't need Tristan for the test.”

A cold chill crept down the back of my neck. “What does he need?”

“You.”

The hum of the estate's heating vents felt distant, muffled behind the pounding of blood in my ears. “Me? Why?”

“Osric says you're the key.” Bart stepped toward me with his palms up, as if trying to calm a startled animal. “He says whatever happened in Washington—the way you took Tristan's pain, the way you stabilized Heartbreak—is the missing variable. He believes he can use you to calibrate his extraction machine to pull out a Curse.”

“And he wants you to bring me to him.”

“Just for the calibration.” There was a frantic edge to his voice now. “He doesn't want to hurt you. He just needs you to calibrate his particle accelerator to attract a Curse. Once my Curse is gone, we'll know the method is safe. Tristan won't have to carry Heartbreak anymore. You won't have to suffer through eternity, sharing it with him. Fabian will be satisfied. Everyone gets what they want.”

I looked at Bart, really looked at him, and saw the terrible truth written across his worn, haggard face. He had built a fantasy out of Osric's promises and convinced himself that delivering me to our enemy was in everyone's best interest. How could I blame him when I wanted it too? But I knew better than to trust Osric or Fabian.

“Bart, listen to yourself.” I kept my voice steady, calming. “A particle accelerator? Fabian would agree if it was feasible. He just wants Tristan freed. But it's a lie. Osric doesn't want to destroy Curses. He wants to study them. The second they have me, they will lock me up and use me to draw Tristan to them.”

“No.” Bart shook his head. “Osric gave me his word. He promised me you wouldn't be harmed.”