And I become who I was always meant to be.
Émilie le Loup, an immortal wolf howling at the moon.
Ready for whatever may come.
* * *
Celine opened her eyes with a start, as if she’d fallen from a tower in her dreams. Her body felt battered and sluggish, like the hull of a ship after a summer storm. A cloud hovered over her mind, causing everything around her to appear filtered as if through a haze.
She cleared her throat with a weak cough.
Immediately a figure moved to her side. “Celine.”
It sounded like the voice Celine wanted to hear. But different. In her dreams, it had been different. “Michael.” His name cracked on her tongue. She cleared her throat again, realizing how dry it was. How long she must have slept.
“Do you want some water?” he asked.
“Please.” Celine drank from the cup Michael held to her lips. Every movement he made was slow. Careful. Unmistakably tender.
Celine blinked hard, but the film clung stalwart to the edges of her vision. “What happened to your nose?” Her brow furrowed. “Did someone hit you?”
Annoyance flickered across Michael’s bruised face. “I’m fine.”
“Is Pippa all right?”
“Pippa is fine. Everyone is . . . fine.”
“What happened?” She swallowed. “I can’t remember how I got here.”
Michael nodded. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
“It—feels like there are holes in my memory.”
“That’s normal after all that happened.” Michael shifted a hand to cover hers. “Later, I promise we can piece everything together. But now you should rest.”
Celine swallowed again, trying to banish the taste of metal and herbs from her tongue. She fell back against the pillows, the ache in her side causing her to cringe. “Thank you, Michael. It’s comforting to know you are here with me.”
“Where else would I be?” He squeezed her hand, his pale eyes warm. The openness in his expression soothed her. As if he had nothing he wished to hide from her, ever again.
Perhaps Celine had been wrong to discount his affections as she had in the past. Michael Grimaldi had always felt like a piece of a puzzle that simply wouldn’t fit.
Today? Something felt . . . different.
Michael continued speaking. “Pippa left less than half an hour ago to get some sleep.” He smiled to himself. “She’ll be furious when she discovers you woke in her absence.” He turned toward the door, his strides long. Capable. Quick. “I’ll send for her soon.”
Celine sat up, her body screaming in protest. “Please don’t leave. Not yet.” She didn’t know the reason, but she didn’t want to be alone.
He curved a sardonic brow at her. Then reached for the wooden chair at the end of her hospital bed. “I’m simply moving closer.”
With a grateful sigh, Celine sank into the pillows once more. She looked around. The cover strewn across her bed resembled the shawl she’d last seen on Nonna’s shoulders. A vase of cheerful yellow flowers rested on a worn table beside her. At the foot of her bed was a small, well-worn tome. “What is that?”
Michael paused while he sat. “It’s a collection of Shakespeare’s sonnets. I’ve been reading them for research.” An awkward smile tugged at his face. “A girl with a soul of iron told me I should write her a poem.”
Celine blinked, the memory returning to her, indistinct at first, then slowly taking shape. When Michael reached out to grasp her hand again, she hesitated a moment, wishing the rest of her mind would clear of all its clutter. Wishing she could fill the gaps in her memory. Then she threaded her fingers through his. “Will you read one to me?”
Michael grasped her fingers tightly, then began to speak in a steady voice. “Let me not to the marriage of true minds / Admit impediments. Love is not love / Which alters when it alteration finds, / Or bends with the remover to remove. . . .”
EPILOGUE
First there was nothing.
Then . . . there was everything.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This story has lived in my head since I was a surly teenager, with my head buried in Anne Rice novels until the wee hours of the morning. From the moment it became an actual reality, not a day has gone by that I haven’t been thrilled beyond measure to have a team of people believe in me—and my work—without hesitation.
Barbara, I still remember your delighted cackle when I said I wanted to write a vampire book set in New Orleans. Nothing I’ve achieved in this career would have been possible without you. And that gorgeous cackle. Good luck, stupid . . . forever and always.
Stacey, there is no better champion than you. Your voice in my head pushes me every day to be better than I was the day before, and for that there are not enough words of gratitude. Also I’ve found us the perfect restaurant in the Quarter. I even picked our table already. New Orleans better watch out.
To the team of magic-makers at Penguin: your support and enthusiasm and work ethic have made the world and characters I created in my mind a beautiful reality. To Marisa Russell: thank you so much for your passion and enthusiasm. The day you told me you loved Penny Dreadful, I knew we were a match made in heaven. Endless gratitude to Caitlin Tutterow for answering every single one of my inane questions. A heartfelt thank-you to Carmela Iaria, Venessa Carson, Doni Kay, Theresa Evangelista for the stunning cover and design, Elyse Marshall, Felicia Frasier (I insist on another Brooklyn pasta night!), Lindsay Boggs, Shanta Newlin, Erin Berger (pasta night part deux, right?), Christina Colangelo, Colleen Conway, Caitlin Whalen, and Bri Lockhart. Immense gratitude to Laurel Robinson, Cindy Howle, and the inimitable Anne Heausler for their notes and edits. And a special note of thanks to Kara Brammer and Felicity Vallence for being the mad geniuses you both are.
A huge thank-you to all the amazing book bloggers, readers, and book lovers from all over the world. I cannot do what I do without you.
To Jessica Khoury for the stunning map and the gorgeous emblem. It’s my desktop, and I am in awe of your talent and consummate professionalism.
To Daniel José Older for the New Orleans expertise, the notes, and endless support. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
To Alwyn for your precious emails and your enthusiasm and all the help perfecting my sad attempts at French. You are a delight and one of the most genuinely kind people I know. I adore you.
To Rosh, JJ, and Lemon: when I think of all the memories we’ve already made, I smile at everything destined to come. Thank you for gracing me with your love and endless talent.