Page 21

Cat

“ C rudités, mademoiselle?”

I jumped when the silken voice sounded too close to my ear.

My hackles raised but when I spun, my fangs bared—real fangs gifted by my irritation and my creature, unlike the fake ones everyone thought I was wearing—it wasn’t another courtier trying to distract me from finding my husband.

It was the bartender from last week, though dressed in gunmetal silver with two lines of crystal blood down his lapel, like he’d been bitten.

Tonight’s theme was vampire masquerade and Cruelty had outdone herself.

Any staff I spotted were dressed similar to the barman, with crystals forming violent spills of blood from their throats or wrists.

The courtiers were all adorned with black lace and carmine silk and frothy white shirts, their masks more gothic and sinister than last week.

The walls had been covered in dark, glittering fabric, and red lights sparkled from chandeliers, casting everything in unsettling shades.

I sighed, giving the masked, curly-haired man a glance. “Mademoiselle?”

“Well, you told me never to call you m’lady again.”

“And you listened,” I remarked, my temper sawn shorter with every hour that passed with no sign of any of my men.

I tried to cast my soul out, to sense where they’d been hidden in plain sight, but like last week I failed at every turn.

After this morning and the hellish week I’d had, my failure tonight put me in a foul mood.

“Never let it be known that I’m not accommodating.” He paused, a silver tray of dark red wine shots and cream cheese fangs sitting on crackers balanced on his hand. “Are you alright?”

“Nope.”

I should have been nicer since he was the only person in this room I hadn’t wanted to murder last week, but I couldn’t focus on him when Death was here, tormented by Cruelty.

Was he watching me, silently pleading with me to see beyond the masks and the silk suits to my husband?

Did his heart sink, his hopes crushed, with every hour I failed?

“I’m a good listener, you know,” the bartender said, his arm brushing against my side as he shifted to let past a woman in a puffball of a ruby gown.

“Feel free to unload all your problems on me.” He winced.

“I know that sounded like a euphemism, but I promise it wasn’t.

I wasn’t thinking about you unloading anything. Or me unloading anything on you. Or—”

“Barkeep,” I interrupted.

“Oh, thank god,” he groaned, slumping.

“I’m not good company tonight,” I said, my eyes on the courtiers as they danced, searching not for features or hair styles but for height, for a familiar muscular build, for arms that felt like home.

“Still looking for those men you told me about?”

“Always.”

I felt his stare linger on the side of my face, maybe trying to see beyond my white lace mask like I tried to see beyond the masks of the courtiers twirling around us to the dark, beautiful grace of Piano Sonata No.

14. They whirled expertly around and among the white sculptures that once again embellished the room.

I swore there were even more of them this week.

“Trust your instincts and you’ll find him,” he encouraged, but there was a strange note to his voice.

It fired off warnings in my head, so I put my back to the courtiers and pinned all my attention on the bartender.

The tray in his hand trembled for a moment when I scoured his expression with my eyes.

“What did you say your name was?” I asked, reassessing him. What if Cruelty sent him to gain my friendship and distract me?

Who was I kidding? Of course she had. This whole night was one big game to her, and it had been rigged for me to fail.

“I didn’t.”

I smiled tightly. “Then what is it?”

“Alfie. But that’s a secret, so don’t tell anyone.”

“Alfie,” I repeated, narrowing my eyes on him. “What do you know about my husbands, Alfie?”

“Uh … that you apparently have more than one?”

I took a step closer, baring my fangs. “Try again.”

“I ah—” He pulled the collar away from his throat. “I’ve heard of them.”

“Keep talking.” I flashed my hands, where Cruelty had glued viciously pointed red false nails. I could easily use one of these to slit someone’s throat. 1

“Jesus, how sharp are those nails?”

I smiled. “Very.”

“That’s a pretty scary smile, darling woe.”

“Good. Talk.”

“Look, I know they’re not here. That’s all I can—” He jerked back, clutching his throat, his voice strangled when he blurted, “Gotta go.”

“Hey!” I lunged after him, but the courtiers whirled into my path, obscuring my vision. I swore and growled at them, pushing at shoulders until they moved, not particularly caring if I hurt anyone. That bastard had answers, and he didn’t get to just run away from me.

I bumped into a white statue of a tall, striking man with an impressive moustache.

He looked like an explorer from the age of discovery, which probably meant he was a dick.

I caught the statue’s shoulders, wincing until it steadied on its plinth, and then rushed on, craning my neck for a flash of mousy curls or a gunmetal uniform.

I grabbed a wine shot from a passing server and threw it down my throat, my jaguar coming to life as I hunted the bartender.

She’d caught enough of his scent to follow it—leather, with a hint of clove.

I trusted those enhanced senses as I pushed through the door into the cold, stone corridor beyond.

It was empty; the scent died here. Goosebumps prickled my arms. Was he even real?

“A ghost,” I breathed, a shudder ripping through me. Was he the third robed figure? I remembered him disappearing last week around the time the ritual began, but my memory was too hazy to recall if he’d vanished before or after it began.

I turned back to Old Ford Hall and cried out when a cool, dry hand covered my mouth, pushing me back until I slammed into the wall. I grunted at the impact but the hand over my mouth muffled the noise.

This wasn’t the bartender. He was shorter, broader, and the slash of his mouth beneath the dark edge of his mask was mean. Violence curled the edges into a smile that made me freeze.

“Choose the man in green. You know the one.”

I blinked, panic and anger knotting with surprise inside me.

I’d spoken to a man early on who’d been dressed in green velvet that appeared black in the right light, his voice low and rasping as he spoke about the notes in the wine.

I hadn’t singled him out as familiar, but then again I hadn’t singled out anyone.

“How do you know he’s the right one?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

“Choose the man in green,” he repeated, staring at me in a way that made me squirm. “Or you’ll regret it.”

He stepped back, leaving me shaking against the wall, and slipped back into the masquerade without another word. It sounded like advice, but gasping for air, I couldn’t see it as anything other than a threat.