The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(23)

Discomfited by the notion, Celine decided to shift tack. “Is there a place we could begin taking your measurements?” she asked Odette.

Odette rested her arms akimbo and cocked her head to one side. “I’m fine taking measurements here, as long as you don’t mind.” It was almost as if she had issued a challenge.

Such a thing simply wasn’t done. But then again, Odette appeared to enjoy bucking convention. Why should this occasion prove any different? Her features the portrait of apathy, Celine reached inside the pocket of her petticoat and extracted a length of measuring ribbon.

She refused to be outmatched or intimidated.

Even if Odette did wear trousers.

While Celine worked to measure Odette’s torso, she peered through a parting in the crowd, catching a glimpse of an ongoing chess match. Neither of the players moved for the span of several breaths, their eyes riveted on the black-and-white board. Then the white king fell without ever being touched. The next instant, the entire chess set rearranged itself on its own—the pieces whisking across the checkered surface in a whirl—as the victor reached over to shake his opponent’s hand, a smile curving up his face.

“Wh-what?” Pippa stammered. “What happened?”

Celine stared, her expression one of disbelief. “More importantly, how?”

“You needn’t look so surprised,” Odette said with a grin. “They’re simply illusions performed by those with the skill.”

Pippa glanced at Odette, a brow arched in question. “You mean . . . magic?”

“Of a sort.” Odette nodded. “This is a place in which students of the occult”—she searched for the word, her hands turning through the air—“gather.”

“Like a gambling hell for magicians?” Doubt crossed Celine’s face as she resumed measuring Odette’s arms and shoulders.

“I wouldn’t call us magicians,” Odette replied. “We prefer to be called illusionists or mentalists.”

Pippa nodded. “I saw a performance by a mentalist once, just outside of London. He turned water into ink and transformed a bouquet of lilies into a bevy of doves.” She paused. “Do your members also give performances like that?”

“Some of us do.” Odette raised a shoulder, eliciting a wordless rebuke from Celine. “But most of us simply choose to meet here in safety to hone our craft.” She paused. “It’s a blessing we’ve been provided with such a space. There was a time before when things were not quite so . . .” A shadow darkened Odette’s countenance as her voice faded into nothingness. Then she grinned brightly.

Celine took in a careful breath while she worked, her doubts growing. Something about the girl’s explanation troubled her. It felt familiar. The kind of explanation Celine had been wont to give as of late—a skeleton of the truth. “What kind of mentalist are you?” she asked, her tone nonchalant.

“One who divines the future,” Odette said matter-of-factly. “The ancients called it stargazing, but the mystics in the Quarter refer to us as soothsayers.”

Pippa’s rosebud lips fell open. “Then you already know everything that will happen? Everything I will do or say?” She glanced about with obvious discomfort. “Even what I might be thinking or feeling?”

Odette’s shook her head. “I know what may happen, depending on the choices you make.”

“Just by”—Pippa swallowed—“looking at me?”

“No. Physical contact is necessary for me to divine things with any measure of clarity.”

During this exchange, Celine had kept silent for fear she would speak out of turn. She paused to take note of the final measurements, but disbelief flared hot in her veins when she recalled how Boone had claimed to taste the flavor of her lies. Such things are not possible, her mind screamed, demanding attention. Her heart, however, knew better.

Celine could not deny she’d been in the presence of something otherworldly tonight, here at Jacques’. Moreover, she recalled her first encounter with Odette this afternoon. How Odette’s gaze had widened infinitesimally when Celine had taken her hand.

The soothsayer had seen something, even in that briefest of interactions.

Captivated by the prospect of such knowledge—of such power—Celine discarded the measuring ribbon, her pencil dropping from her lips. She knew it was a risk, but she simply had to know if Odette had uncovered any of her secrets. “What did you see?”

Pippa turned toward her, confused by the question.

Odette met Celine’s gaze, her expression knowing. “What do you mean?” Her voice sounded deceptively innocent.

“This afternoon,” Celine continued without batting an eye, “when you took my hand, what did you see?”

Odette’s smile turned fierce. “I only caught flashes of possibility. The lace obstructed my view.” She held up a gloved hand. “Annoying, but necessary. It’s easy to lose sight of what’s real when you’re lost in the stars.”

Celine stood taller. Then held out her hand, her gaze steady, determined to learn whether or not Odette possessed any damaging information. “Please tell me what you see. I’d like to know.”

As she had earlier today, Odette canted her head in contemplation. “Are you quite certain, mon amie? Knowing what might happen is not the same as preventing it from happening.”