The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(33)

And why the devil had she acquiesced to the Mother Superior’s wishes? Celine clenched her fists in her skirts, anger heating her blood.

Tonight, the cost of Anabel’s decision had been her life.

Celine shook her head quickly, fending off the rising guilt. Wishing to banish the image of Anabel’s mauled body from her mind. Her efforts proved futile. Even in the few seconds before Pippa’s scream and Odette’s shout had torn through the night—before Bastien and Arjun and Nigel had raced to their sides—the image of Anabel’s death mask had seared itself forever onto Celine’s eyelids.

She glanced about, wondering how long the Metropolitan Police’s most celebrated detective would take to question them. None of those waiting had yet to speak with him. Upon arrival, he’d gone straight to the place where Anabel’s body had been found, and the semicircle of grim-faced officers standing around them did not exactly afford Celine a vantage point from which to discern much else.

Across the way, Arjun sat on a tufted velvet stool with an ankle crossed over a knee, his posture easy. From his fingers dangled a crystal tumbler, the contents within it swirling around the glass in shades of amber and gold. The monocle swaying from his throat shimmered as the whiskey danced about his glass. Celine urged her mind to become lost in the warm prisms cast by his motions.

Better she lose herself in drink than look to her immediate right.

Toward the figure standing in the shadows, bereft of his revolver, glaring at nothing.

Celine feigned a cough to clear her throat.

Where was this cursed detective? Why was he taking so long to examine the scene of the crime? And where in God’s name was Odette?

Chaos had ensued in the moments following the discovery of Anabel’s body. There hadn’t been time for Celine to take stock of what was happening around her. Too many flashes of movement in all directions, too many questions crowding her mind.

But now that a tense kind of calm had descended—an aerialist on a tightrope—several details struck Celine as odd. First, the only immediate reactions from the second floor had been those of herself, Pippa, and Odette. The other members of La Cour des Lions had kept strangely silent and still, as if murder was not at all a surprising event.

It wasn’t until everyone below reacted to the news that a gruesome death had occurred a stone’s throw from where they sat that those on the second floor took action. Screams had echoed into the rafters, carrying from the restaurant into the streets. Women and men had fled the building, swelling into the alleyways and avenues adjoining Jacques’.

In the crush of shrieking bodies, Odette had disappeared without a word. At first, Celine and Pippa had worried something awful might have happened to her. They’d raced down the stairs toward the doors, searching the crowd for any sign of a young woman dressed as a man. By the time they’d made their way to the front of Jacques’, all the exits had been cordoned off by the New Orleans Metropolitan Police.

More than an hour later, Odette was still nowhere to be found. In fact, only a few members of La Cour des Lions were still present: Arjun, Bastien, Nigel, the man from the Far East, and the two women with the tantalizing rings. The rest had vanished into the night during the chaos. Celine knew Bastien could not avoid being interrogated. His family owned this establishment. It was only natural that he would be under immediate inquiry. At any moment, she fully expected his uncle, the Count, to stride into the room in a black silk cape and a plush fur top hat.

Celine’s mind churned in a ceaseless barrage of thoughts. Despite her best efforts to silence them, one continued rising to the forefront. The sight of Anabel’s body troubled her immensely. Of course the gaping wound at the girl’s throat would likely haunt Celine for the rest of her days. But something else plagued her. Remained just beyond her reach.

The thud of a solid object echoed from below. The noise clattered down the stairs in staccato bursts of sound. Celine started. Pippa yelped softly. No one else uttered a word. The five officers of the Metropolitan Police cinched their semicircle tighter, drawing closer, like the strings of a purse pulling shut.

Then they exchanged worried glances.

Without warning, someone clapped their hands behind the waiting officers, the sound loud and sudden, causing Pippa to cry out again and rekindling Celine’s irritation. It prickled beneath her skin like a thousand tiny needles threatening to burst forth. Arjun stopped swirling his drink. To his left, Nigel’s frown hardened, the sight contrasting with his curling mustache, the tendons in his fingers flexing as if to keep him from lunging into the fray.

Celine did not need to look at Bastien to know his anger had spiked, just as hers had.

“My most profound apologies for keeping you waiting so long,” a man calmly intoned, the sound disparate with the circumstances. “But I promise only one among you will be truly inconvenienced.”

The officers standing in a semicircle parted without preamble.

Revealing New Orleans’ best police detective.





ONE OF US




The young man who stepped forward was not at all what Celine expected.

Firstly, he looked to be only several years older than she. His clean-shaven skin was tawny, in contrast to the pale features of the other officers present. He was not wearing a uniform. Instead it looked as though he’d left an elegant gathering, his collar impeccably starched, his champagne-colored cravat tied in a pristine knot. His wavy hair had been tamed into the latest fashion, full on all sides. Something about his appearance struck Celine as almost professorial. A touch awkward.