The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(24)

Celine nodded. “I’m certain.”

Odette removed the kidskin glove on her right hand. Without hesitation, she wrapped her cool fingers around Celine’s palm and closed her eyes. Her smile softened.

“La dompteuse des bêtes,” she murmured after a moment. Her eyes flashed open, laughter tingeing her tone. “Je le savais!” she congratulated herself.

“The tamer of beasts?” Celine translated, her expression one of puzzlement. “I don’t understand.”

Odette did not answer. Her lips began to purse as if she’d consumed something sour. She swallowed carefully, her eyes squeezing shut once more. Whatever she saw now caused her unmistakable consternation.

Pippa gnawed at her lower lip. Unease trickled down Celine’s spine like a bead of slowly dripping sweat. She gripped Odette’s hand tightly, noticing how much warmer her skin felt with each passing second. “What?” she whispered. “What is it?”

All at once Odette pulled away, yanking her palm from Celine’s grasp. Her brown eyes flickered open, their darkened centers large, shimmering, out of focus. “I couldn’t . . .” She trailed off, momentarily disoriented. Then she straightened like a soldier and shot Celine a dazzling smile. “I’m sorry, mon amie, but portions of your future were too murky for me to divine.”

Celine did not believe her. “What does that mean?”

Odette shrugged. “It means the course of your life has yet to be plotted.” Her laughter resembled bubbles of champagne, light, frivolous, full of air. “But don’t fret. We can try again soon, I promise.”

Celine swallowed her retort. Odette’s brand of magic was not as impressive or as helpful as she’d hoped it would be. It was also possible the girl was deliberately concealing what she’d seen. Neither option sat well with Celine, but it would be impolite to pursue the matter further in public.

As though nothing had transpired, Odette shifted her attention to Pippa, her ungloved hand held out before her. “Would you care to try?”

Pippa took a step back. “Please don’t be offended, but I’d rather my future remain a surprise.”

Another round of airy laughter burst from Odette’s lips. “Smart girl!”

“But,” Pippa said, her features knitting with confusion, “I am curious about how it works. Is it a skill with which you are born, or one you must cultivate?”

Odette tilted her head from side to side, wordlessly balancing her thoughts like weights on a scale. Before she responded, she donned her glove once more. “Many of the women in my family were gifted with the second sight. This place has given me a chance to cultivate this gift without judgment or expectation. For those like me, it’s the only safe haven we’ve ever had.” Her grin turned sad before she brightened the very next instant. “Truly, this is a place unlike any other.”

“Kassamir called it La Cour des Lions,” Celine said.

“The . . . Heart of a Lion?” Pippa attempted to translate.

“The Court of the Lions,” Celine corrected in a kind voice.

Pippa’s gaze widened in understanding, undoubtedly arriving at the same conclusion Celine herself had come to not long ago. That, yet again, Celine was responsible for dragging her friend deeper through a field of razor-sharp diamonds.

Perhaps it was simply her fate to be a portent of doom.

Odette rolled her eyes. “That’s not Kassamir’s doing. That’s Bastien’s. Honestly, that boy could sell a snowball to a penguin.” She snickered. “You would never suspect how dramatic he truly is.” Her features turned rueful. “Ah, but if he heard me say that, he would stare at me with those dagger eyes of his until I apologized. Really, men are such infants.”

Distracted by her worries, it took a moment for Celine to register Odette’s words. Her blood turned cold. “Bastien? Are you referring to Sébastien Saint Germain?”

Odette’s eyes went wide. “Yes, that’s him. Un vrai démon, n’est ce-pas?” She sniffed. “At least he’s a welcome sight for the eyes. Have you ever seen a more handsome devil?”

“No,” Celine admitted. “Unfortunately, neither has he.”

“Parfait! Simplement parfait!” Odette clapped her hands, her laughter lilting into the coffered ceiling. Then she resumed chattering without pausing for breath.

Somewhere high above the clouds—or deep below in a fiery pit—an otherworldly creature must be having a grand time at Celine’s expense. Her shoulders fell forward, her lips thinning into a line as the words continued flowing from Odette’s lips like wine at a Bacchanalia.

“Bastien’s uncle owns this entire building, as well as several properties in the Vieux Carré,” Odette said. “Of course you’ve heard of Le Comte de Saint Germain. Rich as Croesus and charming as sin. Bastien is his sole heir, a fact that hasn’t gone unnoticed by the débutantes of our fair city, despite the . . . concern many in society have with regard to his parentage.” Her laughter became mischievous, a sly flutter of sound. “I’d wager money solves most problems, non?” She winked. “Though I myself speak only three languages, the Count has mastered nine and can quote entire swaths of scripture on a whim. He’s also an immense fan of the—” She stopped short when she noticed the glazed look on Celine’s face. “Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself.” Odette leaned conspiratorially toward Pippa, who stood to one side, her fingers threading and unthreading through each other. “Don’t believe all the nasty rumors. Bastien’s uncle is a gem. After Bastien’s parents died, he took him in as a boy and cared for him like his own.”