Enchantée(64)

Not completely, of course. Still, she had dreamed she could step out of the wearing-down life of magic and into a new one as easily as stepping into a new pair of shoes.

Not yet.





33


“Do you intend to auction your card?” Camille asked an inebriated Lord Willsingham as he threw back another glass of wine.

“I know not,” he said, flummoxed. “Should I, yes, Monsieur le Comte?”

Tediously, the Comte d’Astignac began to explain how auctions worked in the game of speculation. At the palace, midnight had come and gone; among the players shouting and crying, the footmen moved noiselessly from table to table, replacing the guttering candles. Gazing around the packed, thrumming room, familiar cards in her hands and louis d’or in her purse, Camille felt safe. Safe enough. Like two sisters in a fairy tale, she and Sophie had escaped from their prison. The beast who’d kept them there hadn’t been able to follow. For the moment, they’d slipped away.

Still, however safe the house, there was always the street.

Anyone might come along a street.

Camille had taken one giant step forward by securing them a house with fortress-high walls and an iron gate. Now she needed more, money that would never be taken from them. Money for a shop of Sophie’s own. She remembered the printer’s apprentice in Papa’s old place, wiping his hands on his apron, and she wondered: if she had enough, could she buy her own press? She was a girl, but—could she not, if she tried, continue what Papa had started?

As soon as she had enough for all their dreams, she would stop working magic. The problem was she didn’t know how much it would take. And until then, didn’t she deserve to have fun? Turning her three of diamonds into the king of spades while keeping watch on the devious Comte d’Astignac under her eyelashes, Camille sighed. She knew it was more than that which brought her back to Versailles.

No sooner had Lazare dropped into her life, than he had dropped out. Now all of Paris felt as an empty house does, lonely and full of echoes. She’d reminded Madame Lamotte to tell only Lazare her new address. For three days she waited for him to come and see her. Hadn’t he said tomorrow wasn’t soon enough? She wanted to bask in the warmth of his smile, that one corner of his mouth curling up as the light danced in his eyes.

But he never came.

So tired of waiting that her own skin felt too tight, hungry for something to happen, she’d gone to back to Versailles. She almost frightened herself at how easy it’d become. Each quiet dawn her hired carriage clattered to a halt outside the gate of the H?tel Théron. Each afternoon, when she woke, Sophie was gone. Camille ate alone at the polished table. The rooms seemed too big without her sister’s conversation, her teasing. While Sophie charmed customers at Madame Bénard’s, Camille wandered, restless, among the arcades at the Place des Vosges, hoping for a glimpse of Lazare.

“Madame?” Lord Willsingham said.

Camille startled back into the game and flipped the magicked king faceup. Across the table, the Comte d’Astignac groaned. “You don’t make it easy, Madame de la Fontaine.” He snapped his fingers for more gambling chips. “Pas de tout.”

Willsingham called for more wine. Neither the comte nor Lord Willsingham was good enough to match her. There was no question that she would win, the question was only when. As she watched the comte organize his chips, something soft brushed Camille’s left cheek. It was Aurélie’s fur-trimmed cloak.

“Darling!” she breathed. “I haven’t seen you in centuries! Come quickly, won’t you? We’re playing cache-cache at the Green Carpet!”

D’Astignac scowled. “What are you saying, Madame de Valledoré?”

“Hide-and-seek on the Green Carpet?” Camille said to Aurélie behind her fan.

“On the lawn that leads to the Fountain of Apollo. Hurry! The sun’s nearly up and then all the fun will be—pouf!”

Out of nowhere Chandon appeared, his hazel eyes feverishly bright and his cheeks flushed. He threw her cloak over his arm. “It’s hardly a lawn, nor is hide-and-seek a proper game. Still, it’s bafflingly amusing.”

“But what about all this?” Camille gestured at the teetering stack of chips in the center of the table.

“Give someone else a chance,” Chandon said as he tossed her cards on the table. “Come!”

“But I’m not finished!” Camille laughed as she tried to shake off Aurélie, who only pulled harder.

“Eh, Monsieur le Marquis, have a care! The game’s not over,” the Comte d’Astignac said, half rising from his seat. “I’ve staked too much for her to go now.”

Chandon assessed the stack of chips in front of Camille. Grabbing half, he stuffed them into her purse; the rest he divided between the remaining players. “?a va? My apologies, Monsieur le Comte, for taking the baroness, but we cannot delay one more moment. She’s agreed to help me tend the sick.” He raised an eyebrow. “Who are dying of terrible diseases.”

D’Astignac blanched. “Go then, and God be with you.”

“How ever did you do that?” Camille asked as she followed Chandon outside.

“He’s notoriously afraid of any kind of sickness,” Chandon said. “Mention it and he’ll run the other direction.”