Wicked After Midnight

“The three biggest ones, bébé.” He put a hand on my shoulder, and little thrills sang through me. I’d grown so accustomed to the touch of gloves that there was a new intimacy to the warmth of a man’s hand felt through my jacket. “I will go out again this evening. I told you we would not find your friend overnight.”

“So no one’s seen anything? At all?”

He let go of my shoulder and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms and smoldering at me. “What am I going to say? ‘Oh, bonjour. Been buying any illegal slaves? Because I would like to take one back. Without paying. And I won’t tell anyone about the butchering slavers who kidnapped her. Brigand’s honor.’ ” One finger crossed an X over his heart and then went to his lips to mime silence, and I giggled despite my instant depression.

“I guess not. But there has to be something I can do.”

His eyes skittered away, uneasy. “Besides rise to stardom and get kidnapped yourself?” He shook his head bitterly. “I still do not like this idea. Are you sure you have nothing of value to sell?”

I crossed my arms and leaned back, shrugging my shoulders against the brick wall. I wouldn’t give him my only coins. I wasn’t even sure I could trust him. “Nothing.”

“You have no money. I don’t have much. If we had more, I could grease some palms, open some doors. And you could drink fresh blood and sleep on a pillow. Oui?”

“Somewhat tentative oui.”

“But if you have nothing to sell, we are at an impasse.” He reached out to tug a curl that had fallen from my updo. “I would offer to sell your hair to the apothecary, but I think you will need it to become a star.” Leaning closer, he whispered, “Also, I like the way it curls.”

I shook my head and slipped the curl behind my ear, grateful that he’d given me an out . . . and a compliment. I would sell my hair for Cherie, if that was what it took. But I agreed with him; short hair didn’t suit me, and it definitely wasn’t the fashion in Paris. The way Vale was looking at me, though, as if weighing me—there was something he wasn’t telling me.

“What?” I asked.

Shrugging it off with a falsely bright laugh, he patted my shoulder. I immediately felt I’d failed Cherie with my fear.

“Don’t worry about it, bébé. You won’t start earning until you’re onstage, so you’ll just have to put on a brave face until then. Oh.” Vale reached into his vest pocket. “It’s not much. But I thought this might make it easier.” As he curled my fingers around something hard wrapped in a handkerchief, voices came down the hall, and he whispered, “Keep it hidden.”

I felt around my new costume for a place to hide the mysterious package, and he stepped away to a less personal distance as a group of daimons appeared.

“Allo, new girl! Mademoiselle Charline is looking for you.” I didn’t recognize any of the arms, but I nodded and thanked the pink-skinned daimon.

“Why, Vale Hildebrand,” she cooed, catching sight of him. “Brought us anything good today?”

The girls circled him, and his grin slid from me to them. I snorted and turned, doing my best not to storm off to the stage, considering how quickly his attention had shifted.

“Wait, bébé!”

I just held up a glove, wondering what was the Franchian equivalent of talk to the hand ’cause the face don’t wanna hear it. He didn’t call to me again, and even though I slowed down a little to give him the chance to catch up, no hand landed on my shoulder. It made me feel rejected, even though it was childish and ridiculous. I had grown used to Criminy’s brand of brigandry, in which he held the utmost loyalty to his people and especially to his wife but gave the world the face of an outlaw. Even though we’d barely shared a few hours of each other’s company and one kiss almost gone deadly, I had no real reason to feel that Vale owed me anything, much less loyalty. His relationships with the daimons appeared long-standing, warm, and real. Who was I, one desperate Bludwoman, to suddenly show up and turn the world on its head?

That’s what I told myself, but it still rankled. I might have been the predator, but I wanted to be chased, damn it all.

“Idiot, come here.”

Mademoiselle Charline tapped a long, elegant foot beside a rope ladder. I walked to her, chin high. I wasn’t going to start by apologizing—not to her, not to anybody.

“You’re hard to kill, which means you’re a natural for the catwalk. Climb up and replace the cold bulbs, oui?” Blaise scurried out from the wings with a wooden box of milky glass. I was unsure how they could possibly expect even a Bludman to climb a ladder carrying a box, but he showed me how to hitch it onto my back with two wide leather straps.

“Yes, Mademoiselle Charline.”

Thus began a long list of mundane tasks, the sort of manual labor that had been done by subservient humans in Criminy’s caravan, mostly Vil. Maybe I was spoiled, but it seemed counterproductive to waste my potential with mops and feather dusters and gallivanting high above the ground if it wasn’t related to an act. I watched the daimons below, first as they stretched and worked in small groups, then, after noon, when they ran a rehearsal for the night’s show in full costume. Charline ran a tight ship, much tighter than Criminy, who had mostly allowed his carnivalleros to control their own acts. More than one daimon girl was rewarded with a whack from a small leather whip after missing a cue or not smiling brightly enough. Watching Charline’s face, I couldn’t tell which sort of daimon she was, the sort that thrived on success or on pain. She seemed to enjoy a perfectly executed act as much as she enjoyed snapping her whip.

I was again walking the catwalk, this time knocking down rogue bird nests and dusting cobwebs, when I bent too far and felt the package Vale had given me dig into my side. Pulling it out and unwrapping the handkerchief, I found the glowing green pendant he’d worn in the catacombs. I’d told him I hated the dark, and he’d given me his light, given me comfort. And I’d snubbed him for smiling at his friends.

“Idiot,” I muttered to myself, twisting the mechanism that made it light up.

And that’s when I heard the metal rails creak.

“Poor little Cendrillon. No one will let her go to the ball.”

I didn’t have to turn around to know who addressed me. “Bonjour, Limone.”

“Not such a bon jour for you, is it? Didn’t think you’d actually have to do work, I bet. Thought you’d just waltz in and be a star?”

I shrugged, careful not to show weakness as her footsteps made the catwalk sway between us. Her aerial hoop waited just beyond me. It must have been time for her rehearsal.

“Bad news, bloodsucker. Here in Paradis, you have to work for what you want.”

She stopped behind me, and I swept an especially large cobweb from a corner and turned to face her, letting the gray tendrils trail over her face and making her cough and swipe at it. Her acid-yellow skin flushed an ugly dappled mustard.

“I’m working. I’m not complaining. What’s your problem?”

Purposefully taking up as much of the catwalk as possible, I returned to dusting. Making enemies hadn’t been part of the plan, but I absolutely refused to grin and give way. Being nearly immortal had given me an attitude I’d never had as a human. If Limone was so very determined to hate me, I’d rather give her a good reason than suck up to her. If I wanted to be a diva, I had to act like a diva.

I waited for her to say something else, to shove past me, to turn and stomp down the catwalk and demand that I be ejected from Paradis.

When I began to think that perhaps I had won, that’s when I felt firm hands clutch my shoulders and push, hard. Before I understood what was happening, she had tipped me over the metal rail, and I fell from the catwalk, trailing feathers and cobwebs.

11

It was a long way down, so long that I had time to realize that I was falling and wheel my arms and legs, trying to land any way but head-first. I was nearly invulnerable, but “nearly” left a lot of wiggle room. I managed to get flat, like a starfish, and that’s how I landed: on my back, splayed out, still holding the damn duster in one hand. Vale’s green pendant had shattered on the boards beside me.

Daimons screamed and scurried about as if I might explode. But I just lay there, contemplating the bizarre pain of falling a hundred feet and landing on solid wood planks that had shivered beneath me, probably sending dust into the catacombs just below, where I’d once stood with Vale. Everything onstage moved in slow motion, the rainbow-hued circle of faces now gathering above me making the cheerful noise of dolphins laughing underwater.

I just shook my head weakly. My teeth were clenched so hard I could feel my fangs digging into my gums. Something blue waved and wiggled to get my attention, and I squinted. It was Bea. She made the universal sign for Okay? And I barely managed to connect my thumb and forefinger. She smiled, and I allowed my eyes to close. Dozens of fingers helped lift me, and I went limp and boneless as they carried me away. Looking up, I saw an acid-green face far, far away, high in the sky, glaring at me with eyes like lasers. I bared my teeth in a smile.

Limone wanted me dead. I had not obliged. And that made me happy.

* * *

The daimons deposited me in my bed, which now had a much thicker blanket. I was curious if it was from Vale, but everyone was fussing too much to listen to me. Finally, Mel cleared them all out until it was only her and Bea, tucking me in.

“Come on, y’all. I’m fine.”

Mel tsked. “Oh, la. That was a big fall, chère. We need a chirurgeon to check your bones. You might have broken something.” The green shards of the pendant matched her skin as she gently placed the remains of Vale’s gift on the table beside my bed. “Sorry about your heartstone.”

“Heartstone?”

“Vale used to have one. They’re very special to his people. Maybe he can find a replacement.”

Tossing off the blanket, I rolled to my feet and stretched, cracking my spine in four places as if that would help heal the part that ached inside when I looked at the broken necklace. Vale had told me to be careful with it, and it had been special, and I had let it get destroyed. Growling, I did a backbend, satisfied at the pops in my hips. The green girl in the tutu and the blue girl in the shepherdess costume both stared at me as if I was the strange one. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">