Page 26

Taly listened, heart pounding. A heavy scrape echoed from the other side—something dragging across the floorboards.

The door swung open.

The girl reappeared, pushing a metal cart.

In a high-backed chair was a man—unmoving. Dressed like a noble, suit crisp and pressed.

A dinner guest, seated just-so.

The light from the arches cast strange, shifting patterns over his skin.

The girl hummed a little tune as she wheeled the cart carefully to a table set with disturbing care—plates, cutlery, everything. Two long, tapered candles in silver prickets dotted the center with a bouquet of purple gotham laurel between them. The tablecloth was pristinely white.

She straightened the man’s head, patting his cheek with mock satisfaction. “There we go. Can’t have dinner without a proper host.”

“This is so weird,” Taly murmured.

The girl leaned down, placing her ear close to the man’s mouth—as if listening.

She nodded thoughtfully, then straightened. “He says you’re not making enough of an effort. I have to agree. Ooh, I know.”

She turned and vanished into the back room again.

Taly forced herself to breathe. It hurt.

A few muffled thumps. Rummaging. Then the girl reappeared, beaming, holding a wide-brimmed hat in one hand, a tube of lipstick in the other.

Taly stared.

The girl shook her head. “Can’t have you looking like that to meet the boss. He’s a very important man.”

She placed the hat on Taly’s head, adjusting the angle. “Perfect.” Then, she twisted open the lipstick, the bright red tip catching the dim, flickering light, and smeared it across Taly’s lips. The application was rough and careless.

Taly gritted her teeth.

The girl stepped back, admiring her work. “There. Now you’re dressed for dinner.”

Taly knew exactly what this was.

Not pain. Not even torture. Something worse.

A game.

A lesson in powerlessness.

She needed to get out of here. Now. And that started with getting that damn collar off her neck.

The girl all but skipped back to the bar. While her back was turned, Taly made her move.

Slowly, deliberately, she tapped her toe on the marble. Two long, one short.

The shadows at her feet stirred.

The girl hopped onto the wooden counter, balancing a tattered book on her knee. One leg dangled, swinging lazily.

Taly could taste the lipstick. She hated—Shards, shehated—that she couldn’t wipe it off.

“How old are you?” she asked. “You couldn’t be more than what… ten?”