Page 31 of Thief of Night (The Charlatan Duology #2)

Nothing Good

Charlie woke, her head pounding and her mouth tasting like sandpaper.

Her memories felt kaleidoscopic: shattered and strange.

The sour taste of vomit seared her mouth.

The bed she was lying in was a dark wooden four-poster in a room with plaster walls.

Late-morning sunlight filtered through dupioni silk curtains.

Through the windows, she could see the lawn she’d run through.

This was Salt’s house. Her heart pounded. Her worst nightmare, for many years, had been waking up here again, vomit on her tongue, back in his clutches. Panic made her dizzy. She scrambled out of the bed, only to discover that she was in a man’s satin pajamas.

Salt’s dead, she told herself, but the knowledge didn’t slow her heartbeat.

Jerking open a door, she found a closet with empty hangers and the strong scent of mothballs.

No clothes, but in the back of a drawer, she found a stoppered white bottle marked Lorazepam Intensol 2mg/mL oral concentrate .

Only half-full and dusty, she wondered if this had been what Salt used to drug her.

She tucked the pills into a pajama pocket.

The second door she tried opened onto an en-suite bathroom. At the sink, she splashed cold water on her face. Her hair was already damp and her skin carried the scent of expensive violet-and-rosemary soap. Someone had washed her, and thoroughly—hair too.

Glancing at the shower, she had a sudden flash of memory. Red standing behind her, one arm around her waist and the other at her shoulder, pressing her against his chest. She was stripped bare, burning water stinging her skin. Him, still in his clothes, wet and plastered to his body.

From outside, a woman’s voice. She’s got to get warm. She could have frostbite.

Charlie swished water in her mouth and scrubbed her teeth with a finger. Then she looked around for that stupid silver dress, but it was gone.

More of the night was coming back to her, each detail more embarrassing than the last. All of it, accompanied by the claustrophobic panic of being in Salt’s mansion .

A drumbeat began in her mind, urging her to runrunrun .

She couldn’t be in the house a moment longer.

Looking outside, she saw that the snow had melted in patches.

All her instincts were screaming at her to move, but she’d need boots and a coat to traverse the muddy lawn.

She crept into the hall. Faint voices came from below. One of them was Red. How could he have brought her here, of all places?

For a moment, she let herself think of the map she’d gotten off Balthazar, the one that showed her where the mask Cabal kept the piece of Red’s shadow that might contain his missing memories.

The part that would fix him, would turn him back into the person who wouldn’t be conspiring against her with the shadow of Rose, wouldn’t have subjected her to Remy and Adeline’s prat friends, and definitely wouldn’t have done this.

Anger steadied her as she padded barefoot toward the voices.

“I can make you feel better,” Adeline was promising.

Charlie stopped, alarm bells going off in her head. Adeline’s voice was a purr, the offer unambiguous. Charlie had thought that Remy and Adeline had a tangled, incestuous relationship, with Red on the outside of it.

But maybe Adeline thought of Red as an extension of Remy. A substitute.

“I don’t need—” Red told her, voice stiff.

“Oh come on.” There was a rustle of fabric, as though she’d moved closer to him.

“ Adeline, ” he said. “Enough.”

More rustling fabric and a soft sound from her, like a moan. “Oh yes,” she said. “Like that.”

Charlie’s face flushed with shame. Right, she needed to leave. She needed to get out of that house right then and she needed to do it without him.

“Don’t,” he said, panic in his voice. Panic that froze Charlie in place.

Adeline. Adeline, don’t. The words he’d said while dreaming. When he was Vince.

Red was much stronger than Adeline. He could push her away.

Couldn’t he?

Charlie pushed open the door. If she was about to make a fool of herself, she could weather the embarrassment—surely a drop in the bucket after the night before.

Adeline straddled his lap, her skirt pushed up.

Red’s hands were circled around her upper arms, keeping the top half of her body away from his.

When he turned his face toward Charlie, he looked lost.

“You’re interrupting,” Adeline snapped, not moving from his lap.

“We need to go,” Charlie said, although the idea of ordering him to do anything in that moment felt abhorrent.

Adeline stared at her in outrage. Charlie stared back.

“I have an appointment with Malhar,” she continued, as though she wasn’t chilled to the bone by what she’d walked in on.

“You can’t force him to stay with you forever,” Adeline said, pushing off his legs to stand. “You’re nobody, Charlie Hall.”

Red rose like an automaton, his expression utterly blank. He didn’t even look at Charlie as he staggered past her into the hall. She kept her gaze on his face. Whatever his body’s response had been to what happened, she didn’t need to know.

In the doorway, Charlie turned. “He’s your fucking cousin—or whatever. He’s your family,” she said.

“Red?” Adeline laughed.

“Didn’t you say he was what was left of Remy?”

“Probably the best part.” Adeline’s mirth had twisted into a small, smug smile. “But it’s not like we’d make two-headed babies or anything. He’s a shadow.”

Reeling, Charlie headed into the hall—where Red wasn’t—and then down the stairs.

She found him in the hall, waiting for her, jaw hard. She couldn’t help but take in his height and the muscles defining his arms. He was a big man. He could have thrown Adeline across the room, and it hadn’t helped him.

Barefoot, in pajamas, she headed for the door. “I don’t want to be in this house for one second more.”

Red got his coat from the closet, which he held out to her. “Don’t run into the cold again.”

With a sigh, she slid her arms into it. As she did, she spotted a pair of boots that seemed big, but serviceable. She shoved her feet in them, not caring if she looked like a child playing dress-up.

Footsteps thudded down the stairs.

Charlie spun. “Leave him alone!” Only to find herself looking at Fiona, the older woman’s eyebrows raised.

“Rough night?” she asked.

A flush of heat spread up Charlie’s neck. She looked an absolute mess. “I thought you… well, it doesn’t matter. Adeline kindly let us spend the night, but—”

Fiona frowned. “It’s his house.”

That stopped Charlie. “What?”

“It’s in Salt’s will. Remy inherits the mansion. You can hardly call it kind to let him sleep in his own house.”

Charlie glanced at Red, but she couldn’t tell whether he’d known that. His face was so empty of expression that it was starting to scare her.

“I think we can find you something better than that to wear.” Fiona’s gaze went over Charlie’s pajamas, the coat long enough to drag on the ground, and the comically oversized boots. “Then we can all have brunch.”

“I should—we have to leave.” Charlie’s skin itched to get out of there. She needed to talk to Red. She needed to go .

Fiona’s half-smile didn’t flag. “Not looking like that. Come, we can get you some coffee and food, then you can go directly to wherever you’re going.” She turned to Red. “You ought to change as well. That shirt is wrinkled.”

Charlie opened her mouth to insist on departing, then closed it again. She’d been playing defense ever since she became the Hierophant. Defense against Mr. Punch and the Cabals, defense against Adeline. Trying to stall them or appease them long enough for her to find an angle.

None of that played to Charlie’s strengths.

All she knew how to do was lie, trick, and steal her way into getting what she wanted.

And maybe she couldn’t do that here exactly, but Fiona Carver was rich, had information they didn’t, and desperately wanted something. All that made her an excellent mark.

A slow smile tugged at the corners of Charlie’s mouth. “What a generous offer. I’d love to borrow some clothes and eat with you.”

Red turned toward her, violence in his eyes. “I need to talk to Charlie.”

Fiona urged her toward the stairs. “You two can discuss things on the way to brunch. I assume you’ll be taking your own car.”

“Now,” he snapped. “I need to talk with her now .”

Fiona took a step away at the vehemence in his voice. “Then I’ll just go upstairs and lay out some clothes. Don’t be long.”

They listened for her retreating footsteps.

Red turned his gaze, staring at the wall behind Charlie as though he was considering putting a fist through it. “I understand why you’re angry with me. Last night was all my fault, but please don’t take out your feelings on Fiona. Please.”

“Your fault?” Charlie scowled at him, incredulous. “I don’t see how that’s possible. You weren’t the one who drank two gallons of bourbon, fell off her barstool, and punched some trust fund kid. Though you might have been tempted. He had a very punchable face.”

The minute lift at the corner of his mouth was practically a confession, but he shook his head and it fell away.

“I am in the habit of obedience. I didn’t realize that it was up to me to get us out of last night until, well, until you sent me from that room moments ago.

But that doesn’t mean it was any less my fault. ”

She couldn’t agree, but she was immensely relieved that the anger in his face hadn’t been for her. She worried it was for himself, though. “How am I supposed to fight with you, if you’re going to just roll over and show me your soft belly?”

His shoulders relaxed a little. “If anyone could find a way, it would be you.”

“Ouch.” Charlie said, playing along. Then she glanced up the stairs. “But I still think we should go to brunch.”

“What? Why?” There was despair in his face. “I am not who she wants me to be.”