The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(17)

I turn my attention to the three-story building before me, its trellised balconies overflowing with ivy and budding blossoms. Etched into the brass sign in the center—in odiously elaborate script—is the name Jacques’. Above the name is a symbol I often see in my dreams. A symbol infamous among the circles of both the Fallen and the Brotherhood.

A restaurant encompasses the entire first floor of the structure, its gas lanterns already ablaze. A queue is wrapping around the corner. Someone—undoubtedly Kassamir—has thrown open the double doors, revealing a smiling crowd and the sounds of fine china and tinkling crystal. Servers bustle about in their white gloves and starched jackets.

For a moment, my senses are inundated by this symphony of splendor and decadence. It is a music I know well, both in this life and in my former one. A smile curves across my lips.

Amusing that she should lead me here, of all places.

If only these poor fools knew what lurked above them, deep in a court of lions. If only my victim knew. Then they would all understand what it meant to feel true fear.

When I glance at her again, I catch a look of hesitation on her face, as though she is uncertain about whether to proceed. Recent events have unnerved her, and it saddens me. I expected her to be stronger. She began the night with such purpose, each of her steps steady. Resolute.

Perhaps I shouldn’t be too judgmental. This is not a city for everyone.

It is a snake in the reeds, beautiful and deadly, even while it sleeps.

Moreover, I feel partially to blame for her fear. I could have come to their aid. It would have taken the work of a moment to blur through the alley and silence that paltry threat. But what purpose would that have served, beyond the risk of revealing my true nature before it was time? To my knowledge, my victim was not yet in any real danger. At least not from the nephew of Le Comte de Saint Germain.

Bitterness coats my tongue.

That is a promise I do not have the strength to break. Not yet.

We are not ready for the war it will bring.

My thoughts darken in a way I do not like, so I return to my earlier musings. It’s possible Arjun Desai—the boy with the immobilizing touch—could present a threat one day, but it is too soon to tell. His skill set continues to intrigue me, as it did on the day I first made his acquaintance. Without a doubt, he is a worthy member of La Cour des Lions.

Another smile spreads across my face. It pleases me that our city’s society of mentalists—masquerading as something else entirely—managed to recruit him.

It should make for a fascinating turn of events.

But I cannot allow these things to distract me any more than they already have. Not tonight. There is far too much at stake for me to dwell on these incidental matters.

I return my gaze to her, the young woman who led me to where it all began, unknowingly.

Fittingly.

She pauses at the entrance of Jacques’, rethinking her choices once more.

Ah, but it is too late, my love.

We cannot change the mistakes of our past. They live on, so that we may learn, if we should be but so lucky. Alas, dear girl, your luck takes flight tonight.

I am the spider. I set silken traps. I watch as you step into my web.

I wait to strike.

But do not fear. I promise I will never forget you.





THE COURT OF THE LIONS




Celine waited for Pippa to collect herself just outside the narrow alleyway. When Celine realized she was behaving oddly—standing stock-still, her eyes unblinking—she began mimicking Pippa’s motions, straightening her overskirt as if it was all that needed sorting.

It never ceased to amaze Celine how circumstances could change so drastically in the matter of a moment. One second, every nerve ending in her body was alive, crackling with unseen energy. The next, everything went silent and motionless, as if she were submerged in a pool of deep water.

“Celine?” Two lines collected between Pippa’s brows.

Celine gathered that Pippa had posed her a question. True to form, Celine had not been listening. Ever since Bastien and Arjun had left them behind in the alley—a stone’s throw from the “sleeping” man who’d brandished a dagger at them less than ten minutes prior—Pippa had been maintaining a steady stream of nervous chatter.

Celine’s focus had been elsewhere. Lost in the delicious unknown.

“Have you heard a word I’ve said?” Pippa asked. She held up her skirts and edged closer to Celine, concern seeping onto her features. “I asked if you still wished to meet Odette.”

“Of course,” Celine answered without thought.

Dismay touched the edges of Pippa’s lips, there and gone in an instant. “Oh.”

“Do you not wish to meet her?”

“It isn’t that.” Pippa shook her head. “I’m just . . . uncertain whether it is the wisest course of action.” Her blue eyes flicked toward Celine. “This evening has not gone as I’d hoped. I thought it better to stop tempting our fates.”

Of course Pippa felt uncomfortable. Most people would feel skittish after the events of tonight. A girl like Pippa would wish to be anywhere else. No, that wasn’t right. She would wish to be home, safe in her bed, with a soft blanket and a cup of hot tea. Better yet, with a mother or a lover to offer a soothing touch.

Celine exhaled slowly, a dark realization settling amid her thoughts.