The others dove into the smoky fog, attacking the creatures-demons-hiding there. As Izzy looked over her shoulder, a wolf tossed a demon into the air. The demon reminded her of pictures of French gargoyles she had seen-its face distorted, twin horns curling from its forehead, leathery wings flapping and hind legs kicking at nothing as it tried to fly away. Too injured, it fell to earth, and the wolf pounced.

Behind the zombies, a fog boiled up, churning and rolling over itself. It was tinged with blue, and it reminded Izzy of the fog she had seen in her dream, when she had first laid eyes on Jean-Marc.

For a moment she dared to hope that she was about to see him again, magically restored. But as she and Maurice continued to bombard the zombies with fire, the blue fog coalesced into a figure-the same one she had seen before. The color bleached away to gunmetal, and this time the figure spoke aloud.

Izzy couldn't make out the words, but beside her Maurice laughed and said, "We're saved!"

"Good!" she shouted at him, laughing too.

From behind them a gush of blue light arced into the air and hit the line of zombies, all of a piece. The creatures flew into the air, skulls and clavicles and rib cages shattering into hundreds of fragments. They burst apart, raining dust.

The werewolves ran back toward Izzy and Maurice, their howls like cheers of victory. They flashed through the curtain of zombie dust and approached the hill where they had first appeared.

"Georges!" Maurice yelled, waving.

Izzy spotted him. Georges was slogging onto the sh.o.r.e, his submachine gun slung over his back. He was sopping wet, and his face was slick with blood.

He trotted up to Izzy and Maurice, said, "Pardon, madame, but I never thought I would see you again," and kissed Izzy hard. She tasted his blood, but she didn't care. She kissed him back, l.u.s.tily, rejoicing that he had survived. That all three of them had survived.

Then Maurice slapped him on the back and the two embraced. They spoke in French and roared with laughter.

The enormous gray figure hung in the sky. The trio stumbled up the embankment toward it, kicking up layers of zombie dust.

Now they stood on the hill, Izzy leaning against a tree as she tried to catch her breath. The figure, floating above them like a gray cloud in the field of stars, inclined its head toward them.

Without a sound and without warning, it vanished into nothingness.

Although Izzy cried out in surprise, neither man seemed to be perturbed by the event.

"Et voila," Maurice said, pointing.

Izzy looked down. In the moonlight she could make out several cabins and figures racing around them as the wolves pursued them. A silver wolf leaped onto one figure, throwing it onto its back, and Izzy had to look away. Other figures fled into the trees; the wolves were close behind.

Georges and Maurice began to slid down the steep incline, Maurice saying to Izzy, "Please, wait there."

The h.e.l.l she would. She pushed off, sliding as best she could after them, but her reserves were spent. Exhaustion made her sloppy; she fell more distance down the hill than she actually slid. She was grateful for her protective clothing.

From her vantage point above them, she watched the men's progress. Preceded by two wolves, they dashed into one of the cabins. They were inside a long time. When they came out again, a man was slung between them. He was wearing a suit. His head drooped forward, and he could barely walk.

When she approached, Maurice looked at her wryly and said, "You're no better at following orders than Jean-Marc."

As he spoke, he and Georges eased the man down onto the wooden porch. He was dark-skinned, like Georges, and deep cuts criss-crossed his cheeks and forehead. His eyes were puffy, nearly swollen shut.

When he saw Izzy, he brightened.

"He did it," he said in heavily accented English, his words slurred. "Jean-Marc got you to New Orleans in one piece."

She guessed he was Alain de Devereaux. He looked nothing like Jean-Marc. "Yes," she replied, "he did it."

Deep within the bayou, Georges and Maurice debriefed Alain. They described Izzy's arrival and her presentation at the elaborate state dinner.

"Then the mansion was attacked," Georges told Alain.

Alain nodded. "Oui, I know. My kidnappers were in on it. Followers of Le Fils. They fully expected to take the mansion. When the bokor, Esposito, was killed, they were shocked." Alain smiled at Izzy. "You killed him. My congratulations."

"Thank you," she replied, finding no joy in the killing, just grim satisfaction, and the knowledge that it had served only as a reprieve, not an ending.

"Were they Malchances?" Maurice asked Alain. "The ones who kidnapped you? How did it happen?"

Alain wearily shook his head. "I was leaving the mansion to speak to Gelineau about madame's arrival. When I left the compound, I was attacked with heavy mortar fire."

"They got through your wards?" Georges asked, clearly shocked. When Alain nodded, he said, "Did you recognize anyone?"

"Non. They were masked. Did you find Matthieu?" Alain asked.

"Non," Georges said.

"Merde." Alain's face was slack with grief. "Matthieu was my driver," he told Izzy. "He can't have been in on it."

"But the enemy got through the wards," Maurice argued. "Devereaux wards. If they had an inside man..." He trailed off, perhaps seeing Alain's despair.

"I'm so sorry," Izzy told Alain. "Maybe he'll be found."

No one replied, and she realized none of them expected to see Matthieu again.

"Gelineau," Georges said, spitting out the name like a curse. "What about him? He knew you were coming to see him. Was he in on it?"

"I don't know," Alain said.

"They found some fragments of Esposito," Izzy told him. "I tried to partic.i.p.ate in the reading but I got sick or...I don't know. I wound up unconscious. Michel went with a search party to find you at a convent. I had a vision that you were here."

"A powerful vision, for which I thank you." Alain looked to Izzy, c.o.c.king his head as he gazed at her with large, sad brown eyes. "I hope it won't alarm you if I tell you that my cousin half hoped he wouldn't find you."

"No," she said. "I'm well past the alarmed stage." She turned her attention to Maurice and Georges. Maurice was stanching the blood on Georges' forehead with a flow of blue energy from his fingertips.

"Before I go anywhere with any of you, I want to know exactly who you are. And who Louise and Mathilde were."

Georges said, "Our House would never consent to allowing Jean-Marc and Alain to come to New Orleans alone. We're undercover special ops a.s.signed to guard the regent and his cousin."

Maurice took up the thread. "When all this happened yesterday-Alain's disappearance, the attack, Jean-Marc's injuries-we went on high alert. Then Louise handpicked Mathilde, Bernard and Hugues for this mission. We already had cause to believe that Louise was up to something. So we took out Bernard and Hugues-we couldn't get to Mathilde-and used glamours to impersonate them. We don't know the details of the plot, but your trip out of the mansion was intended to be one way."

"Took them out," she repeated.

"Yes." He gazed at her without blinking.

More deaths. The world of the Gifted was filled with them.

"Why didn't Jean-Marc tell me there were other Devereaux nearby?" she asked.

Bernard hesitated. It was Alain who answered. "My cousin Jean-Marc is a very circ.u.mspect man. Maybe he thought they would be able to protect you better if they were incognito."

"Then there are Devereauxes guarding him right now," she said. "And guarding my mother?"

"And your mother," Alain a.s.sured her. "From a distance. But maybe that should change."

She sighed. If she had known that, she would have done this whole thing differently. She would have contacted them and conferred with them and ferreted out what to do.

She said, "Why didn't they come to me after Jean-Marc was hurt?"

"He must have told them not to," Alain said.

"Must have? You're the regent's cousin and you don't know?"

"Helas," Alain said, with a shrug that reminded her of Jean-Marc.

That seemed so wrong. She remembered Le Fils's words: They're playing you. I will protect you in New York.

And yet, Le Fils's own minions had viciously attacked her and Jean-Marc back in New York.

Maybe it wasn't me they were after. Maybe it was Jean-Marc. Maybe something else is going on that I know nothing about.

Who was telling her the truth?

What was the truth?

Chapter 7.

Deep in the bayou, the whirr of helicopter rotors startled Izzy. Against the black satin sky, a pair of running lights winked in the darkness, and beyond that pair, the silhouette of a stubby plane whisked across the moon like a black bat.

"They're coming to put out the fire," Alain said. "I hope Mayor Gelineau doesn't find out what really started it. He's this close to dissolving the politesse with the Bouvards."

"Michel mentioned he's not very fond of them. Us," she amended.

"No, he's not," he said. "He thinks the Flames are weak and divisive. He needs someone stronger to handle all the supernaturals in New Orleans."

As if the effort of speaking was too much, Alain sucked in his breath. The two operatives put their hands on his shoulders. Indigo blue glowed from their palms.

"What did they do to you, monsieur?" Georges asked Alain.

"Not too much. A few blows. They were going to use me as a sacrifice, so they wanted to keep me in one piece," Alain told them, as the muscles in his face relaxed. The Devereaux's ministrations appeared to be taking effect. He shook his head. "Their arrogance was remarkable. They honestly didn't believe you would find me."

The men's answering smiles were hard and angry. "They don't know the Devereauxes," Maurice said. "They're used to the Bouvards."

Then his smile faded as he regarded Izzy. "Pardonnez-moi, madame."

She moved on to more immediate concerns. "A girl came with me from New York. Her name is Sauvage," she said. "Her goth name, anyway. They put a glamour on her so people wouldn't know I'd left the mansion."

The men frowned in disbelief. Alain said, "A Bouvard glamour?"

"Yes," she said. "It wasn't very good."

Georges snorted. "They should have made a fabricant."

"We-they-were worried about what would happen when the fabricant started to wear off," she conceded.

"A Bouvard glamour, a Bouvard fabricant," Alain observed, sounding more than a little tentative. He looked at Izzy. "Your family's magical powers are much weaker than ours, and those of the Malchances. We don't know why. Jean-Marc and I have been investigating it."

"Oh." She didn't know what to say to that. So far, their magic had seemed plenty strong to her.

The plane let loose a shower of some kind of powdery substance. Izzy guessed that it was flame r.e.t.a.r.dant.

"We should get out of here," Alain said. "But of course, first we must give thanks to the va.s.sal."

The three Devereauxes lowered their heads again and soundlessly moved their lips. Then Maurice pulled out his knife and sliced across his palm. Blood welled along the cut and began to drip into the dirt.

He pa.s.sed the knife to Georges, who did the same, and then to Alain.

The three men clenched their fists, making the blood drip faster. They raised them and spoke in a singsong language.

As the blood splattered on the porch, a wisp of smoke rose from the wooden slats. The men wafted it toward their faces with their hands, inhaling it. Then it disappeared.

The cuts in their hands sealed up. There was no trace of the wounds on any of their hands.

Alain said to Izzy, "The va.s.sal was that figure you saw. He serves our patron, the Gray King. I summoned him, and he came. He showed you where I was." He c.o.c.ked his head. "It's not often that others of another House can see or hear him. You are a remarkable woman."

"Just lucky that way," she said.

Alain made as if to get up. "It's time to go," he said.

"We can't take her back to the mansion," Georges said.

Georges and Maurice helped Alain to his feet. He winced, rubbing his left shoulder and rolling his neck in a circle.

"I think we need to split up," Maurice ventured. "At least one of us needs to get back to the mansion and reconnoiter with the rest of the ops team."

"Please see if Sauvage is all right," Izzy said. "And her boyfriend."

"We also need to find Michel and his party," Alain said. "I wonder if he masterminded this whole thing. I swear, he would take the Bouvard ring off my cousin's dead body if he could."

She cleared her throat. "Actually, he did take it. And he gave it me. I've got it around my neck."