Page 52

52

Eva

As soon as I get to Paris, I get a cab to Les Puces. I’m sure Jonathan will go to his sibling first. Once he sees that they’re untouched, he’ll know to come here, to the place where he searched for me. We’ve had a date here since day one.

I could probably track down Jonathan’s sibling pretty easily. They’re an American in Paris. More specifically, an American doctor. They probably live somewhere trendy. They probably know how to dress. I could find them. I could try to use them as leverage, but it’s not what I want. I want a fair fight. Me and Jonathan and the market.

I stake out locations. I search for the perfect place to murder him. I’ll know it when I see it.

Then I see it: an antique-weaponry shop tucked behind a wrought iron spiral staircase inside a two-story market hall.

There are a few shops and stalls that sell antique weaponry, but this one has the best selection. It also has a broken window. The pane has been replaced with fairly new reinforced metal. Jonathan said he got that rapier in Les Puces. He wouldn’t want to leave a paper trail.

I hang around the shop for a while, pretending I’m interested in a sword, a cannonball. I actually am interested, but not in buying them. I’m interested in using them tonight.

I don’t want to hang around too long, in case I look suspicious, so I break for lunch and then wander around other parts of the market. You can get amazing vintage pieces here. I find this gorgeous Dior bag, but of course it’s the right bag at the wrong time. I’ll come back tomorrow, if I’m still alive.

No lie: I’m pretty nervous. Jonathan has a way higher kill number than I do. He’s physically stronger and definitely darker and possibly even more fucked-up. I don’t want to kill him, but I also really don’t want to die.

I pass by a psychic. I wasn’t lying when I told Jonathan that I had my palm read all the time, even though my readings were always wrong. I mean, who wants an accurate psychic? There’s something safe about being misunderstood.

I step into the psychic’s office. It’s fairly sparse, but there are limp nods to other realms: evil eyes, crystals, tarot cards.

The psychic is dressed in scrubs, ready to operate.

“Hello,” I say in French. “Do you have time to read my fortune?”

“Yes,” she says back in English. “Sit down.”

She gestures to a repurposed card table. I sit on a squeaky chair. My heart is racing. It’s been racing all day. I’m nervous—and slightly giddy at the prospect of seeing Jonathan again, even under these objectively terrible circumstances. It’s all very confusing, to be honest. I don’t expect the psychic to help, but I do feel better just having something silly to distract me.

The psychic takes the chair across from me. She pulls a stack of tarot cards from her front pocket.

“I want to know if—,” I start.

She holds up a hand. “I know.” I smile. Oh, she’s good .

She shuffles her cards, then arranges them in a pattern facing down. She pulls the first card: death.

I gasp.

She looks concerned. “It doesn’t always mean physical death,” she notes. “It might mean spiritual. Or ego death.”

“With me, it’s probably physical.”

She turns over cards. She doesn’t explain them right away. “We have to see how they fit together.”

Once she has pulled them all, she stares at them. She moves her eyes from one card to the next, trying to divine conclusions. I feel like I’ve stumped her.

“It’s okay if it’s too hard,” I say. “Maybe I have no future.”

I try to keep my voice light, but I’m definitely feeling like this was a bad idea. I thought it might be funny to listen to some psychic tell me a windfall is coming my way. Ridiculous shit like that. It kind of stopped being fun when she pulled the death card.

She startles at nothing, then meets my eyes. “You are in a very dangerous position,” she says. Accurate.

I wriggle in my seat.

“You will have to make a choice that has deadly consequences.” Also true.

“What should I do?” I ask.

She narrows her eyes at me, like she blames me for something. “Stop guarding your heart.” Ugh. I hate that for me.

“Really?”

She starts to put her cards away. I think she seriously doesn’t like me. She’s taking my fortune back instead of giving it out. “If you want to win at this game, you need to open your heart.”

I mean, God.

Way to fuck with my head before a kill.