The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(32)

Her fingers shaking, Odette reached for the girl’s wrist, checking for a pulse. When she jostled the young woman’s arm, a lock of wavy red hair fell from her face.

Celine gasped. She knew that face. Had spent the better part of the day in its company.

Anabel.

“Is she—?” Pippa’s voice broke. Then rose into a keening wail.

There was no need for anyone to answer her unspoken question.

Beside Anabel’s lifeless body, a symbol had been drawn in blood:





AN AERIALIST ON A TIGHTROPE




Celine had seen death before.

She was no stranger to the sight. But that did not make it any easier to bear witness to it now. Nor did it make its finality any less severe.

A life had been taken tonight.

Like that, Anabel was gone.

Many realizations gripped Celine in the moments following the body’s discovery:

Anabel had died a violent death. That much was clear from the jagged maw across her throat. Celine had never seen a wound like that. For an instant, she toyed with the idea that Bastien’s snake might be responsible.

Upon further consideration, however, it did not follow that a snake like Toussaint would go to the trouble of killing its prey, only to leave it behind in a darkened corridor. If memory served Celine correctly, pythons did not slash their victims’ throats; instead they opted to squeeze the life out of them slowly.

And of course no snake would leave behind a calling card. Written in blood, no less.

But if the snake wasn’t responsible for Anabel’s death, then who was? And why? Moreover, why had Anabel come to Jacques’ tonight? Clearly she’d followed Celine and Pippa here. But why had she not made her presence known?

It took only an instant for Celine to parse out the truth.

The Mother Superior must have sent Anabel to spy on them. It had to be the reason why the matron of the Ursuline convent had changed her mind so easily earlier this evening, when she’d suddenly granted Celine and Pippa permission to go, after protesting against it at length.

Celine swallowed, her ears going hot. If the Mother Superior’s machinations explained why Anabel had come to Jacques’ tonight, it meant all of them—Pippa, the Mother Superior, and Celine herself—had had a hand in Anabel’s violent death.

In Anabel’s murder.

Finally, if her death was at all related to the one along the docks, then it meant a madman—or madwoman—was on the loose.

Celine’s eyes shifted around the room slowly, her breaths quickening. If someone had murdered Anabel in Jacques’ tonight following their arrival, it meant anyone present now—including all the members of La Cour des Lions—could be responsible for killing her.

Odette. Nigel. Kassamir. Arjun. The man from the Far East with the mother-of-pearl blade. The two ebony-skinned women with their bejeweled claws. Boone. The harried young server below. Not to mention the many nameless individuals who’d been seated throughout the dimly lit chamber.

And of course Bastien.

With each passing second, these thoughts raced through Celine’s mind, her skin tingling from the rush of blood, her foot tapping against the plush carpeting. In contrast, Pippa stared at the marble tabletop before them, her posture hollowing like an apple left out in the sun.

It was nearing midnight. Celine and Pippa should have returned to the convent hours ago. Instead they’d been sequestered in the shadowy chamber on the second floor, seated on an ornate divan in the style of Louis XIV, surrounded by a gathering of illusionists.

As well as five members of the Metropolitan Police.

Though it was the least of Celine’s concerns, the Mother Superior would undoubtedly have their heads upon their return. But that could not be of issue now.

Far more pressing was the fact that Pippa and Celine were likely being counted among the possible suspects in a murder. If Celine found any humor in the irony, she would be on the floor, laughing maniacally.

But humor would not save her now.

Once the truth of Celine’s and Pippa’s association with Anabel came to light, it would not be easy for them to explain why they’d been unaware of Anabel’s presence until the moment they’d discovered her body. Even to Celine, it sounded suspicious. Not only had they been nearby at the time of the victim’s death, but they’d also known the poor young woman personally. Briefly Celine considered trying to summon the Mother Superior to vouch for them. Alas, that old bat would be just as likely to foist blame onto Celine as she would be to help her.

It was too much of a risk.

Celine knew she should reveal these truths the instant after she was introduced to the Metropolitan Police’s best detective. But it might color his judgment against them, causing him to forgo looking elsewhere for evidence. If she waited, however, he would undoubtedly be suspicious.

Zut. Celine sighed to herself. When would be a good time to tell him?

Never was definitely not an option . . . was it?

Alas, Celine could not conceal these things from him forever. Resentment swirled through her like a fog tinged in red light. Pippa began crying quietly, her fingers winding around one of the handkerchiefs Celine had fashioned to raise money for the convent. One of the many embroidered fripperies Anabel had sold Odette earlier that very day.

How had it come to this?

What kind of horrible misfortune had befallen Anabel?