Page 55 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Curator
Marguerite beamed, showing a mouthful of cracked, yellowed teeth. “It is my gift, child. I see the threads that make up all possible futures. I’ve spent half a century maneuvering you into place, nudging you off threads that led to tragedy.”
Felicity twisted the knob. “You made the fledglings.”
Marguerite nodded. “I am rather proud of that. Starving them until they entered a crazed state was easy, as was placing my tar-stained cane in the brothel and writing about your exhibit in the scandal sheets. The real challenge was orchestrating the attacks.” She exhaled in a rush. “I tire of the weaving, Miss Sorrow.”
Sweat beaded on Felicity’s face as she nudged slightly forward. Another few inches. “Then why not stop?”
Marguerite slammed her palm on the door beside Felicity’s head, forcing it shut. “I cannot! With you, the tapestry, my legacy, is half complete. First, the dressmaker, who would have achieved prosperity were it not for the customers I chased away to ensure she was desperate enough to accept Cordon’s offer. Then the scholar, whose letters I redirected. Her fate was a tangled mess that took years to unravel. And now, you.”
The woman wasn’t making any sense.
Felicity tugged, but the woman’s weight made it impossible to escape. She was running out of time. The whites of Marguerite’s eyes were stained black, and oozing sores had opened on her face. She had made the rogue fledglings yet seemed on the brink of succumbing to the same crazed state. If that happened, Felicity would have no chance of making it out of the house alive.
“A swan without its mate, trapped in a cage,” Marguerite whispered. “Heart pattering in its breast. Feathers flying.” She stepped back. “I set you free.”
Felicity flung open the door.
Marguerite hissed as daylight struck her skin. She dropped to her hands and knees and scuttled backward like an animal. Felicity didn’t wait to see what happened next. She raced down the street and didn’t stop until she’d reached Winifred’s haven.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jonathan drained hissixth bottle of wine, then hurled it across the cellar, not caring when it hit a wooden pillar and shattered. He’d taken Felicity to his bed, hoping that slaking his lust might dim the intensity of his desire, but he’d failed. Not only did he still long for her, but he sensed something else had taken root in his heart. A sensation as familiar as it was unpleasant.
Love.
A desperate, all-consuming love that eclipsed by far what he’d felt for Marguerite, the woman who had saved his life and been the center of his world for decades.
He pressed his palms, sticky from spilled wine, over his face. This was the exact reason he’d avoided searching for his fated mate. Love burned hotter than any forge and consumed anything in its path, no matter how dear. Already, the places in his heart where Marguerite had lived had been scorched to earth. Her familiar disapproving glare faded, replaced by Felicity’s flushed cheeks.
There was no stopping it.
His throat was parched. He patted the wine rack beside him until he found another dusty bottle and was in the process of prying the cork free with his teeth when he heard rapid footfalls descending the steps to the basement.
“There you are!” Felicity cried.
She launched into a rapid speech, but he was too distracted by the wisps of hair that floated away from her head to listen. He didn’t want to be happy to see her but couldn’t help it. When she was near, his skin warmed and his heart tried to pound its way out of his chest. He imagined leaping to his feet and carrying her over his shoulder to his bedchamber to continue where they’d left off.
“Jonathan?”
He blinked twice, and the world swam into focus. She was on her knees in front of him, with one hand on his thigh. “I found the vampire responsible for the fledglings. It’s using the house next to the hunter base as a haven.”
He almost burst into laughter. Typical Marguerite, using the hunters’ own spell that disguised their base to her advantage. That explained why he’d never been able to find her. Years of searching for his maker, and it was a hunter who’d told him where she was hiding. Another in a long train of fortuitous events that he suspected was anything but coincidence. Marguerite had always been prone to nudging the pieces on the board when he wasn’t paying attention.
Felicity crawled closer. “Come with me. This vampire is out of control. We have to bring her to justice before she kills anyone else.”
“There will be no justice.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He smacked the floor. “Marguerite is my maker, Felicity. Everything that has happened has been her doing. It doesn’t matter that she killed your parents.” He was rambling, but he couldn’t stop. “She could slaughter a thousand humans, and I wouldn’t be able to raise a hand against her. I could no more hurt her than stab myself through the heart.”
“H-How long have you known?” Felicity whispered.
What was left but to tell her the truth? “I suspected after the attack at the fountain.”
She splayed her hand on her chest. “All this time. You knew your maker was the vampire I was searching for all this time, and you didn’t tell me?”
It hurt to say the words, knowing she would hate him, but he could not stop himself. “Why would I tell you anything? I’m a vampire, and you’re a hunter. We’ll never be anything other than enemies.”
