Blood by Shelby Mahurin

Author:Shelby Mahurin [Mahurin, Shelby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Children's Books
Published: 2020-04-27T00:00:00+00:00

HarperCollins Publishers

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Dagger of Bone

Lou

Deveraux insisted we keep moving. With bodies piled up outside of Beauchêne, it would only be a matter of time before someone alerted the local authorities. We needed to be far, far away before that happened. Fortunately, Deveraux didn’t seem to sleep like a normal person, so he harnessed the horses immediately.

Unfortunately, he suggested I join him.

The wagon rocked beneath us as he eased the horses into motion.

One of the twins drove the wagon behind us. The amber wagon, Claud had called it. I didn’t care about its name. I only cared that Reid was currently inside it, and I was not.

Reid and Coco. I should’ve been grateful they were getting along.

I wasn’t.

Burrowing deeper in my blanket, I glared up at the stars. Claud chuckled. “Couronne for your thoughts, little one?”

“Do you have a family, Monsieur Deveraux?” The words popped out of their own volition, and I resisted the urge to clap a hand over my mouth.

With a knowing look—as if he’d been expecting such a question—he coaxed the horses into a trot. “As a matter of fact, I do. Two elder sisters. Terrifying creatures, to be sure.”

“And . . . parents?” I asked, curious despite myself.

“If I ever did, I no longer recall them.”

“How old are you?”

He chuckled, his eyes cutting to mine. “What an impolite question.”

“What a frustratingly vague answer.” When his chuckle deepened to a laugh, I switched tactics, narrowing my eyes. “Why are you so interested in me, Deveraux? You know I’m married, right?”

He wiped a tear from his eye. “Dear child, a pervert I am not—”

“What is it, then? Why are you helping us?”

Pursing his lips, he considered. “Perhaps because the world needs a whit less hate and a trifle more love. Does that answer suffice?”

“No.” I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms and feeling petulant. A second later, my eyes drifted back to him of their own accord. “Have you ever been in love?”

“Ah.” He shook his head, eyes turning inward. “Love. The most elusive of mistresses. In all my years, I must confess to finding her only twice. The first was a headstrong young shepherd much like your Reid, and the second . . . well, that wound is not quite healed. It would be foolish to reopen it.”

In all my years. It was an odd turn of phrase for someone who appeared to be in his forties.

“How old are you?” I asked again, louder this time.

“Very old.”

Odd, indeed. I stared at him. “What are you?”

He chuckled, his eyes cutting to mine. “I simply . . . am.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Of course it is. Why must I bind myself to fit your expectations?”

The rest of the conversation—indeed, the rest of the night—passed in a similarly frustrating fashion. When the sky had lightened from pitch black to dusky gray to dazzling pink, I was no closer to figuring out the mystery of Claud Deveraux.

“We near Cesarine, little one.” He nudged my shoulder and motioned to the east, where wisps of chimney smoke curled into the golden light of dawn.

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