Page 137

When he hands me the emerald ribbon, his fingers inadvertently brush my palm. They linger there for another second. Two. Then he slowly, deliberately, traces the lines there, and gooseflesh erupts down my legs. His voice turns wry. “He also requests a dance tomorrow night.”

I raise my brows. “Doeshe?”

“It would be rude to refuse, I think.”

“It would be ruder to my poor toes to accept without first askinghowhe dances.”

His fingers continue to trail up, up, up. My breath hitches almost painfully as they skim over the thin skin of my wrist, sliding under the battered ribbon there. “Not half as well as Reid Diggory.” His eyes glitter as I try and fail to ignore the tingling sensation in my arm. “He isn’t half as tall either. Though I must say, pet—after seeing him—I think you’re mistaken in your impression of Monsieur Diggory.”

“You think you’re taller?”

“I know I’m taller.” His fingers creep beneath my sleeve, gathering it up my forearm until he reaches the soft crook of my elbow. He cradles it in his hand. “And... a much better dancer.”

When his thumb presses down on a vein, heat bolts through my core, and this—this shouldn’t be happening. He’s barely eventouchingme. Voice shaking, I manage, “You—you cannot know that from simply seeing him.”

“Nor can you—not unless you dance with me too.”

The barest hint of fang flashes in his smile now. It doesn’t frighten me anymore, however. Not after the attic.Especiallyafter the attic. My wrist and throat seem to pulse like living things at the memory—aching not with pain but something else. Something sharp and needy. “I—”Need to get my head on straight. Need to leave this room before I do something truly stupid.“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Michal.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” I stare at him breathlessly. How do I answer such a question without completely humiliating myself? Because I can’t think when you look at me like that? Because I’m a fool for looking back? Because it’s too soon, and because my friends are coming, and because—my friends. The realization pierces my lungs like a knife. “Are you still planning to punish Coco for the Necromancer and Babette? I hardly think we’ll have time for dancing if so.”

His hand falls away from my elbow. His smile fades with it, returning him instantly to the cool and collected Michal I’ve always known. My muscles go weak with relief. I’ve witnessed his wrath, his grace, hispower, and I’ve survived them all, but his charm? I don’t think anyone can survive that.

“You have my word, Célie Fleur Tremblay,” he says, punctuating the words with a simple bow, “that no vampire will harm your friends when they arrive tomorrow, including myself. If I thought it would help, I would cancel the masquerade altogether, but they’ll come for you regardless. I doubt Hell itself could keep Louise le Blanc away from Requiem now”—a vicious flash of his eyes—“but Hell is exactly what she’ll find if she attempts to take you by force.”

Despite his threat, my heart seems to swell to twice its size.He isn’t going to hurt them.Just as quickly, however, it punctures once more—because if Coco and Lou and Reid are coming to Requiem, Jean Luc will be coming too. Despite his last words, he won’t miss the opportunity to investigate an isle of vampires. I wipe my palms on my skirt as inconspicuously as possible.

I can only hope he and Michal won’t kill each other.

“Célie?” the latter asks.

“Lou would never do that.”

He nods curtly. “Good. That makes this easier.” Before I can even ask, he says, “I need you to do something for me, but if you agree, you’ll be putting yourself in danger.”

Filippa’s words slash through the last of my euphoria.You can’t get something for nothing, Célie.Of course Michal wants something in exchange for the food, the magnificent dress.Everything in this world comes with a price.

My eyes narrow at him. “What sort of danger?”

“The sort that involves the Necromancer.”

“Oh.” The first cold finger of understanding trails down my spine as we stare at each other. All the warmth in his expressionhas frozen solid once more, and his eyes glint like chips of black ice. “Is that all?”

“Your friends aren’t the only ones who’ll arrive when the enchantment lifts on All Hallows’ Eve. The Necromancer won’t be able to resist the temptation—if you choose to remain on Requiem, this could be his only opportunity to reach you until Yule. He won’t want to take that risk.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I wouldn’t.” He steps backward, away from me, and returns to the breakfast table, uncovering the only dish I didn’t touch. Revealing a single goblet of blood. He drains half of it in one swallow, and I watch—torn between disgust and fascination—as his throat works and his hand clenches around the crystal. Part of me wonders what it tastes like to a vampire. Part of me loathes myself for wondering. “The Necromancer is so desperate for your blood,” he says after another moment, “that he slaughtered at least six creatures in search of it—and one of them right outside Chasseur Tower. He didn’t bother to hide the bodies of his victims, which tells me he is either foolish or fearless. We must assume it’s the latter. He isn’t going to wait another two months to seize his prize.”

With a gentleclink, he returns the goblet to its gilded tray. He does not, however, approach me again.

“You want to use me as bait,” I say finally.

Under different circumstances, it might’ve hurt more, but this is too important. If the Necromancer succeeds, not only will Idie, but he’ll also tear through the veil between the living and the dead. Who knows what consequences will follow? What if—oncetorn—the veil remains open permanently?

Michal inclines his head. “I understand if you’re frightened, but—”