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“Ah, bon?” said Philippe in a cold voice. “Well, don’t worry, he won’t be leaving. All exits have been secured.”
I found that out for myself as I dashed through the rest of the apartment. The library flowed into a dining room and then a kitchen. Three bedrooms, including the master bedroom, were down another short corridor. The only other exit had also been blocked by a solid steel gate.
I muttered a curse and returned to the library. Étan, Jean-Michel, and the two Paris Syndicate men had fanned out to search the other rooms. They couldn’t find me while I remained in the shadows, but every moment I spent here drained magical energy.
Worse, I already felt light-headed. It wouldn’t be long before I’d pass out and return to the physical world.
Étan reentered the library. His nostrils flared, trying to track me by scent, but my run through the apartment had spread my scent wide enough that he’d have trouble finding me that way, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to touch me.
Although he could box me into the library by closing both doors.
“Come out, youconnard.” He glared around the room.
“Go to Hades,” I mouthed.
Then I went cold all over as I remembered what Étan had spat at me in the hall.“Thrice-damned Kral bastard.”
How had he known it was me beneath the glamour? And Victorine had said something about me being a Kral, too.
“Talk.” Victorine’s voice, low and vicious. “Who is he?”
I moved to the salon doorway. Victorine had Zoe by the arm, her pointed red nails digging into her daughter’s skin. The pianist and thralls had been herded into a corner of the room by one of the Paris men. They looked everywhere but at the two women.
Zoe’s mask was firmly in place. “A friend,” she said in a tone as flat as her expression.
Victorine’s nails dug deeper. “It was Rafe Kral, wasn’t it?”
Tiny beads of blood appeared on Zoe’s arm. We all smelled it.
Zoe looked at her arm, raised her gaze to her mother’s face. “Let me go,” she said coolly. “And then we’ll talk.”
“You little—” Victorine raised a hand to slap Zoe.
Zoe seemed to pull inside herself, tortoise-like. She still held Victorine’s gaze, but it was like she’d pulled her vulnerable parts inside, the things that made her Zoe, leaving nothing but an impassive outer shell.
My muscles bunched.
The hell with my promise. Victorine Tremblay was going down.
I leapt forward, but Philippe reached her first. He grabbed Victorine’s arm, stopping her in mid-swing.
“Allow me, cherie.”
I halted, stopping myself from leaving the shadows just in time.
Victorine drew a slow breath through her nostrils. “Be my guest,” she told Philippe with an icy look at her daughter.
“My dear.” Philippe took Zoe’s hand. “Tell us what’s this about. You’re already in trouble. Don’t make it worse.”
Zoe shook her head but didn’t answer.
“Sit, if you please.” Philippe guided Zoe to a couch at one end of the salon and sat down beside her.
“Lainey.” Zoe eyed the woman who’d come in with Victorine. “I should’ve guessed you were part of this.”
It was Lainey Q, the silver-haired woman from Pigalle. It figured. That story of hers about just happening to stumble upon Zoe had been too pat.
“I didn’t really compel you, did I?” Zoe asked. “Are you even human?”
