Page 112 of Stealing Infinity (Stolen Beauty)

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It’s not until I’m left standing on my own that I realize Elodie and Jago have effectively ditched me. And here I was worried about finding a way to sneak away from them.

I inhale a steadying breath and take a quick survey of the room. What I see leaves me reeling with nerves. The mere thought of navigating this place on my own fills me with the same sort of panic I felt when Elodie ditched me at Arcana. Only difference is, back then I was fully capable of booking a ride home. Here, in 1745 Versailles, I’m pretty much stuck until Elodie decides we’re done, or the portal closes, whichever comes first.

I press a hand to the tightly cinched bodice of my dress and try to remind myself that no one here gives two shits about me. To them, I’m just another anonymous masked face among the glittering masses. So, I may as well make a loop around the room and set my focus on what I was sent here to do.

I’ve barely taken more than a handful of steps when I spot a woman, probably a decade older than me, teetering precariously just a few feet away. Judging by the sway of her heels, and the way her wig sort of wobbles unsteadily on her head, that half empty champagne flute she holds isn’t her first.

She’s also dripping in so many jewels, there’s a good chance she won’t even notice if I should happen to relieve her of a few.

I’m in the process of making my first pass to get a better idea of which pieces to target when she suddenly grasps hold of my arm, and speaks to me in a flurry of French. The two words I manage to catch are: “…votre amulette!” With a shaky hand, she reaches for my talisman. “Where did you find such a treasure? I must have one!” She pulls me toward her, forcing me to place a hand on her shoulder to keep from falling over.

Since we’re already in this ridiculously intimate position, I seize the moment to nick a brooch from her gown and a jeweled clip right out of her hair.

“It was a gift. From an admirer,” I say, slipping the trinkets into one of the many hidden pockets sewn into my dress, hoping my attempt to speak French is good enough to carry me through.

“Why, it’s divine!” she gushes. “You must connect me with your—”

Before she can finish, I’ve disentangled myself. “You are too kind,” I tell her.

“But I really must go!”

I spin on my heels and push into the crowd, hardly able to believe what I’ve just done. Surely it can’t be that easy? Surely someone’s bound to come after me.

I sneak a glance over my shoulder, but there are so many people, the woman is now lost among them. And I’m halfway down the hall before I realize I’m still clutching the bracelet I also swiped from her wrist as I was leaving.

From behind my mask, I survey the crowd. When I’m sure no one’s looking, I tuck it into a hidden seam in my sleeve where the silk meets the lace.

Only then am I able to breathe at a more normal rate.

There’s a terrace off to the right, and I make a beeline straight for it. It’s not until I lean against the stone balustrade that the full realization of what I just did comes crashing down on my head.

I committed a crime.

A crime that, if caught, could see me locked up or possibly even killed.

And though part of me is relieved to have gotten away with it and put it behind me, the other part is horrified by just how easy it was to leap across the border of everything I once thought I was, only to land on this new, shadier version of the person I’ve allowed myself to become.

And yet, as guilty as I feel, there’s something about being here, on this night, in this dress, immersed in this long-ago version of Versailles, that somehow helps dull the sting of the crime.

Maybe it’s because it feels more like an elaborate stage play than anything real. And maybe that’s how the other Trippers make peace with what we do. Maybe the surreal, almost dreamlike quality of these Trips makes it easier to ignore the darker moral implications of the acts we commit on Arthur’s behalf.

Besides, now, after working so hard to make it this far, there’s really no way to turn back.

Above me, the sky glimmers with stars, and I steal a moment to close my eyes, lift my face, and fill my lungs with a deep inhale of crisp, cool eighteenth-century night.

Once I’m feeling more centered, I slip my fingers into my pocket and search for the clue Arthur promised.