This Wicked Game

ELEVEN

Xander pulled her toward the door.

“Wait!” She struggled against him, freeing herself from his grip.

She ran back to the desk, looking it over, trying to remember where everything was when they’d entered the room. Slipping the vial back into the leather valise, she folded the flap down and latched it closed. Then she took a quick pass at the papers and files on the desk, straightening them until they seemed to be in place.

“Which way out?” she asked as she followed Xander out of the room.

“Not through the front.”

The sound of a key being inserted into a lock came from the front door.

“They’re coming!” Claire said.

“This way.” Xander grabbed her hand, pulling her toward Eugenia’s room.

He headed straight for the balcony, parting the curtains and opening one of the glass doors.

“Xander . . .” Dread built inside Claire as she realized what he was thinking. “There aren’t any stairs leading down from the balcony.”

He was already stepping outside when he met her eyes. “I know, but we don’t have a choice. I’ll help you down.”

The door opened in the foyer below, and the sound of voices drifted up the stairs.

Claire stepped out onto the balcony with Xander.

“How are we going to do this?” she asked, looking down. The ground seemed a lot farther away from the balcony than the balcony had seemed from the ground.

“I’ll go down first. I hate leaving you up here, but I don’t want to send you down without me, in case someone’s in the kitchen.” He took a quick look down. “I’ll catch you when you drop.”

She didn’t doubt for a second that he would. “What about you?”

His face was grim. “Don’t worry about me.”

Then he was stepping over the railing, hanging precariously in midair as he bent to grab hold of the banister. When he had both hands wrapped around the iron at the bottom, he let his body drop. The iron creaked as he swung.

The voices grew louder as they moved up the stairs to the second floor of the house.

Claire leaned over the railing. “They’re on the stairs!”

He let go, landing on the stone with a muffled groan and stumbling before he got his footing.

He was under the balcony a second later. “Do what I did, and I’ll catch you.”

She was stepping over the railing when Eugenia burst into the room. She surveyed Claire with total calm, the serene expression never wavering from her face.

“We have company,” she called to someone behind her.

Eugenia locked eyes with Claire as she stepped over the railing.

“Now!” Xander instructed. “I’ve got you!”

She forced herself not to look. She didn’t have time to be afraid. She released her hold on the banister, her stomach still somewhere up by the balcony as she fell toward the ground.

Then Xander’s arms were around her. She had only a moment to be relieved before he grabbed her hand and ran.

“They’re heading for the side of the house. Get them,” Eugenia commanded from the balcony.

They rounded the corner of the house, but this time, Xander didn’t bother with the stucco wall. Stealth didn’t matter anymore. Now it was all about escape.

They hit the front of the property. Two men were heading into the pathway at the other side of the house. Claire recognized one of them as the guy who’d followed her to the cemetery. She hadn’t seen the other one before, but she guessed that together they were Jean-Philip and Herve Constantin.

They stopped, their eyes fixed on Xander and Claire in surprise. It was only a second, but it was enough. Xander pulled her toward the front gate, flinging it open and practically throwing her onto the sidewalk.

They were running again, this time down the street, putting as much distance between them and the house as they could.

Claire didn’t dare glance back until they reached the corner. She expected to see the men on their heels, or at the very least, staring after them from the sidewalk in front of the house. There was no one there.

It wasn’t until later, when she and Xander were a safe distance away, that she realized why they hadn’t been followed. The men didn’t need to chase them.

They already knew where Claire and Xander lived.

“Why would they place three orders for panther plasma if they already have some?” Claire asked. “Black magic doesn’t usually call for that much of one ingredient.”

They were sitting in Xander’s car, parked around the block from Claire’s house.

Xander shook his head. “I don’t know, but there’s something I didn’t get to tell you.”

“What?”

“When I went to the kitchen, there was a map spread out on the table.”

“A map? Of what?” she asked.

“Head of Island.”

“Head of Island?” She’d driven past the area with her dad once on the way to pick up supplies from another store. She’d been a little afraid of its eerie desolateness. “There’s nothing out there.”

“I know,” Xander agreed. “And there was a red circle drawn around part of it on the map. Weird, huh?”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

It didn’t make sense. The map or the orders for panther blood. She remembered Eugenia’s strange acceptance that the Kincaids didn’t keep it in stock.

As if she’d expected it all along.

“What about the other two rooms?” Claire asked. “The ones you looked through while I was in Eugenia’s?”

Xander shook his head. “Nothing. Other than some clothes in the closet and an iPod in one of them, it almost looked like nobody was even staying there.”

She pulled out her phone.

“What are you doing?” Xander asked.

“Looking at the pictures I took of those letters.”

She scrolled through the photos, but the screen was too small and enlarging only made everything blurry.

“This is impossible,” she sighed. “I’m going to have to upload these to my laptop.” She put her phone away and turned to Xander. “Maybe we should bring in the Guild.”

He shook his head. “No way. Not yet. Not until I know what my mom was doing with that guy, Maximilian.”

“This is serious, Xander. They have pictures of the Guild firstborns.” She hesitated. “And I’ve been thinking . . .”

He turned to her. “What?”

“What if those photographs are tied to the house break-ins?”

He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it. There were Xs drawn through some of the pictures, right?”

“Allegra, the Valcours, Daniel, Laura . . .” he murmured, meeting her eyes. “All the families who’ve had break-ins.”

“Exactly. And if it’s true, it means that the photographs that didn’t have Xs—”

“Like mine,” Xander interrupted.

Claire nodded. “Yours and Sasha’s. If I’m right, your houses could be next.”

“I guess,” Xander agreed. “But we all have antiques, art, electronics. Nothing was taken.”

“Exactly.”

Xander thought about it. “You think whoever’s responsible for the break-ins was looking for something personal?”

“Why else would someone go to the trouble of breaking in to all those houses—houses that are part of the Guild—and not take anything while they were there?”

Claire might not be a believer, but she knew that personal items were collected to create love spells, protection, or hexes.

And she was pretty sure they could rule out protection and love.

“I don’t know . . .” Xander said.

“Do you have a better idea?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Which is why we should tell the Guild.”

He looked into her eyes. “I thought you didn’t believe.”

“I don’t. But . . . I don’t know.” Claire turned her head to the window, thinking. “The fact that someone’s trying to hurt you—to hurt the Guild—worries me.”

“And what if there’s more to it than that?” Xander asked. “What if there’s something my mom has done that could hurt my dad?”

Claire knew what he was suggesting. The conversation between Estelle Toussaint and Maximilian behind the carriage house had felt oddly personal, even intimate.

Claire reached for Xander’s hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I’m just worried.”

She thought of Sasha. Of her goodness and the accepting way she looked at life that made it easier for Claire to accept things, too.

“It just doesn’t seem right to keep quiet,” Claire said softly. “What if something happens to you? To them?”

Xander turned his face toward hers. “If you don’t believe, you have nothing to worry about.”

She sighed. “But if these people do and they’re out to hurt someone, they could find another way to do it.”

Xander looked ready to argue her point, but a second later his shoulders sagged.

“You’re right. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, either. I just . . . I need some time to get my head around this. To get a better handle on what my mom has to do with that guy, Maximilian.” He stopped talking, and Claire could see the wheels turning in his mind before he started up again. “What if we figured out the letters first? See if there’s something in there that will help us?”

“Xander . . .” she started. “Look, I’m as curious about them as you are. I just don’t know what some old letters could have to do with your mom and Maximilian.”

“Probably nothing, but at the very least, we’ll have more information for the Guild when we take everything to them.” He paused again. “Please, Claire. It will give me a couple more days to figure out how to tell my dad.”

She was torn. Could she live with herself if they waited and something happened to the other firstborns? If something happened to Sasha or Xander?

Could she live with herself if she forced Xander to go public and his family imploded because of it?

“Okay,” she finally agreed. “I’ll upload them tonight. But at least let me tell Sasha.”

Xander shook his head. “I don’t want anybody else from the Guild to know yet.”

“I get that, but I have a bad feeling about this, and I think we’re both too close to it. Besides, we might need help. The letters aren’t the only piece of the puzzle.There’s that group photograph, too.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Sasha’s my best friend. I owe it to her to warn her. If I tell her not to say anything, she won’t,” Claire continued. “Plus, she might know something we don’t. Her family’s been a member of the Guild almost as long as ours have.”

“You sure we can trust her?” Xander asked.

“Positive. We’re meeting for yoga tomorrow. I’ll tell her then.”

He nodded, the worry in his eyes transforming him from the Xander she knew who could handle everything to someone who wasn’t sure about anything. He knew his mother wasn’t perfect, but he’d always held Estelle on a pedestal. The possibility that she might not deserve his adoration was something he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

“Hey.” Claire leaned over, touching her lips gently to his. “Everything will be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

She reached for the door handle, stepping out of the car.

Xander’s voice pulled her back. “Claire?”

She ducked down, meeting his brown eyes across the leather seats. “Yeah?”

“Speaking of bad feelings . . . Don’t you think it’s a little weird that you’re the only one of the firstborns whose picture wasn’t on that wall?”

Claire swallowed the dread in her throat. “Yeah, but until we know what it means, there’s no point stressing about it.” She smiled. “Now stop worrying about me. I’m fine. Text me later.”

She shut the door before he could say more.

She started walking, knowing Xander would follow her in the car until he knew she was home safely.

His words rang in her ears. Even with Maximilian and Eugenia, Claire was set apart from the other firstborns. The question was: Did it mean she was safe or that she was in more danger than anyone?

“Claire? Is that you?”

Claire followed the sound of her mother’s voice into the living room. Pilar was sitting in a chair by the window, reading by the light of an old fringed lamp on an end table that had belonged to Claire’s grandmother.

“Hey,” Claire said. “Where’s Dad?”

Her mother waved her hand in the general direction of the rest of the house. “In his study, I think. Was that the Toussaints’ car I saw out front just now?”

Claire’s pulse stuttered while she scrambled for a reply. “I have no idea. I walked home.” She was immediately ashamed of the lie, both because it was told to her mother and because it was a blatant denial of her relationship with Xander.

“Hmmm.” Her mother’s brow furrowed. She shook her head. “I could have sworn it was theirs, but I must have been mistaken.”

“Yeah . . .” Claire stood there silently, wanting suddenly to tell her mother everything.

“Claire?” Her mother was speaking to her. “Are you all right?”

Claire sighed. “I’m just tired. I think I’ll go upstairs and rest before dinner.”

Her mother was silent, pinning Claire with the icy gray gaze that seemed like it could penetrate all of her most secret thoughts.

“You may as well,” she finally said. “That’s what summer is for.”

She turned back to her book, and Claire headed for the stairs, her feet leaden as she climbed.