And with each and every breath he took, the former leader of the Luminata had to inhale the bitter knowledge that he was buried in the same place where his victims—and their granddaughter—walked free. Majda and Jean-Baptiste had asked not to be told where exactly in the territory Gian was imprisoned; it was enough for them that he was paying for his crimes—they didn’t want to take the chance of obsessing on the location of Gian’s prison should they become aware of it.
Majda’s voice broke into Elena’s thoughts, the other woman continuing her story. “I was young, and I was afraid my husband would blame me for Gian’s interest. Many men would have.” Her tone was pragmatic, that of a woman who’d seen such unfairness too many times to be surprised by it. “But he didn’t. He said he knew I would never dishonor our vows, that the dishonor was Gian’s and Gian’s alone. And he said the same to Gian’s face.”
“Grandpa has guts,” Elena said, then shook her head as they stepped out of the elevator. “Yeah, I can’t call him Grandpa, either. He’s way too hot.” And that thought wigged her out but it was a hard one to avoid when others in the Tower insisted on pointing it out.
Majda’s laughter was startled. “He adores you already, you know.” A deep smile that reached her sad eyes. “Not simply because you are the child of our child, but because you have so much courage and fire.”
“He clearly has a thing for women with courage and fire,” Elena said to the woman who must have an incredible well of both to have survived the decades she’d spent as a prisoner.
Majda’s eyes lit up even more. “Clearly.”
Elena said hello to Suhani as they walked through the lobby, her mind skipping back to their first meeting—on the day her life changed forever. “I can guess the rest,” she said after Suhani replied with a wave and a smile, the receptionist proud of the fact that she was the first person to whom Elena had ever spoken in the Tower, not counting Dmitri, who’d been on the door that fateful day. “Gian kept up the pressure—”
“No,” Majda interrupted. “He backed off and we thought he’d accepted the rebuke.” She drew a deep draught of the New York air as they stepped out into the sunny day, the noise of the city assaulting their senses. “This city you live in, it is extraordinary. So big and chaotic and yet with such a vibrant pattern to its chaos.”
Elena felt a flicker of hope. “You’re thinking of staying?”
“Yes.” The clouds returned. “We will visit our town one day soon, but we’ll go knowing that most of the people we loved are gone. And our memories of it are forever twined with pain and fear.”
She reached out to take Elena’s hand. “This place, it is our granddaughter’s home, and it is new. We will become new here, too.” A smile. “Old in our love—that has never faltered. But new in our paths.” She looked curiously at the large vehicle that had just come to a standstill at the end of the path to the Tower.
It was a Hummer SUV that had been gutted so the back was open but for metal bars that provided a handhold. “Wings,” Elena said, jerking her thumb back to indicate hers. “I wanted to ride with you and this was the best option.” She glanced around. “Where’s Jean-Baptiste?”
“He should be here soon,” Majda answered. “I told him you’d asked to meet—but he has found a friend in the vampire who sounds like liquid music when he talks. They were with Dmitri when I left.”
“Janvier?”
“Yes, Janvier.” A sparkle in Majda’s eyes. “That one has charm bred into his bones, just like Jean-Baptiste.” The sparkle grew. “You have not seen it yet for he is so very angry, but I think when it reappears, you will understand how I stood no chance when he decided I was the woman for him.”
Elena grinned at the idea of her grandfather being a smooth-talking charmer. “You two fit.” Just like she fit with Raphael, Janvier with Ashwini.
“Yes.” Looking back toward the Tower door, as if searching for him, Majda said, “It hurts him to talk about Marguerite, so I will tell you what you should know before he arrives.”
“You don’t have to—”
“It is part of your history, azeeztee—”
Elena didn’t hear the rest through the slam of emotion, her heart a tornado in her chest. “No one has called me that for two decades.”
“She remembered?” A rasping whisper. “My precious baby remembered?”
Elena nodded. “Her mother’s kisses, the way you had such a soft voice when speaking to her, the words you used most often.”
Tears glittered in Majda’s eyes. “She didn’t believe herself abandoned?”
“No.” Elena frowned. “She grew up believing you died in a bus accident where your body was washed away.”
“Sister Constance.” A shaken whisper. “She did what I asked, must’ve used the bus crash when it happened at the right time.” Sobs broke her words into pieces.
Elena didn’t hesitate. She leaned in and took the woman who was her grandmother into her arms. And thought—she’s so small. Like her own mother had been. It was Jeffrey who’d given Elena her height. Wrapping her wings around Majda to shield her from prying eyes, she held her grandmother as Majda sobbed for her lost child who had grown up knowing she had been deeply loved by her mother.