Page 80 of The Lies We Conjure
I produce the will and place it on the coffee table, kneeling down. When my hand makes contact with my thumbprint, the second clue begins to fade and swirl, shift and rearrange, warm to the touch.
Then, the third clue fades in. Five lines and poetic, just like the other two.
I draw in a deep breath and read.
“Out damn spot, blood will never go
It paces, hot and urgent, then goes cold
The heart moves it, Princess
Until it succumbs to the elements, shriveled, hard, alone
But never gone, stained with what was.”
I’m not even to my feet when the silence is broken, and when it is, it’s somewhat of a shock because it comes in the form of Hex turning to his father and saying, steel in his voice and color in his cheeks, “It mentions blood and the elements—not a hint of anything Celestial, Papa. This one’s ours.” He glances back at Infinity, an apology hanging in the void. “Let’s leave them be, please.”
Ada must agree, because she shoves open the door and holds it for the rest of her family. Sanguine grabs Hector’s hand and announces, “We’ll be in the study for a proper regroup.”
They don’t shut the door, and as I’m closest to it, I resume the position Ada has vacated, holding it open for the rest of my family and the Blackgate girls, who’ve already risen from where they’d planted themselves on the settee.
“I’m out of the game.”
There’s a pause, and then a shuffling turn of all of us to where Infinity stands, clutching the vial in both hands before them like it’s something to be prayed over.
Winter whispers from close range, “What?”
“The Celestial Line is out.” Infinity swallows, their shattered voice repairing with each word. “This master relic stays with us—with me. That’s what Grandmama wanted.”
“What… Luna wanted?” Evander tries to clarify, more gently than I’d expect but everything Infinity deserves.
“What she wanted, and she speaks—spoke—for the line. Last night after we left the will reading, she told me we would accept our master relic and cease participation—in the game, in the competition for control of the lines, and with the Four Lines themselves.”
There’s a commotion at the door and Hector tries to lean past me. “The Celestial Line can’t just leave—”
“Why can’t we? This is our master!” Infinity holds the vial above their head like a championship trophy and shakes it, making it impossible for Hector to miss, even with me blocking his path intothe suite and his own children hanging on him, trying to drag him back into the hallway. “Our power is tethered to it. Our line’s power. And my grandmama was adamant that she didn’t want us tethered to any ofyouafter we leave this place.”
“What—why?” Winter asks, quietly.
“Does it matter? It is what we wish. It is what she wished, and what I wish. And honestly, I don’t want to see any of you again until the master relics are found, the murderer is punished, and the spell is broken.” They meet Winter’s eyes, and the meaning is clear—you too. “I have food and water here. I’ll put up wards against all of you if I have to. Do not come into this suite again.”
With that, Winter nods but doesn’t dare to touch her friend. “We understand.”
The Cerises drag Hector down the hall as he protests with words and fighting steps on the plush carpet. I again hold the door and as the Blackgates approach, Lavinia turns before exiting. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Infinity.”
“Yes. We’re so sorry,” Kaysa adds, splotches of color high in her cheeks, eyes wet.
Again I’m struck that the Blackgates seem to be the only people acknowledging those of us who’ve lost someone. The rest of us echo the sentiment, but if I’m being honest, without their immediate example, I’m not sure any of the rest of us would’ve taken the explicit time to give our condolences to who—what—Infinity, their father, Erasmus, their line, just lost.
Infinity doesn’t walk to the door to close it, so I do. And then, the lock immediatelysnicksshut, followed by theshinkof the deadbolt right behind it.
I’ve just turned around when Hector Cerise has escaped his family and looms in my face. “I need to see that clue.”
“Not here,” Evander growls, and then uses every ounce of his weight-room strength to muscle Hector away from Infinity’s door. He’s taller and heavier than the Cerise patriarch, and the older man fights aimlessly as he’s bodily dragged down the hall.
“Well, I’m not going back up to the study. We have a master tofind, and I want to confirm it is the Blood Line relic before I lose access to that vial.”
“Your priorities are dismal,” Winter spits.
