Spectacle(106)



We did not agree. And so I took control.

I gave the anonymous tip about the alleged struggle between two men.

I sent the Ovid quote because living in plain sight was a thrill. I sent the fragments from Damien’s cravat to make myself credible.

I am not done experimenting; with any luck, the list on the other page will be quite lengthy by the time you read it.

I have penned this because when all is said and done, I’m a vain woman. I want everyone to know who I am and what I achieved.





52


Nathalie woke up in the darkness on the floor. Something moved beside her.

A body.

She jumped up, her feet tangled in bedsheets, and yelled.

The body sprang to life.

Nathalie recognized the familiar outline and tried to calm down.

“What’s the matter?” asked Simone. She stood up, leaned against something, and turned on a kerosene lamp.

They were in Simone’s apartment.

“Why … why am I here?” asked Nathalie.

Simone picked up the lamp and carried it over to her. She raised the lamp toward Nathalie’s face, casting an eerie glow on her own. “You’re sweating. Nathalie, what’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?”

“No, I—I didn’t. Why am I in your apartment?”

Simone swallowed. “You—you slept over.”

“Oh,” said Nathalie. She must have been in a deep slumber. Maybe she did have an upsetting dream, something that pushed her from sleep to confusion. Something wasn’t quite right. She felt awake yet not awake.

And then it struck her why she must be here, because really, she didn’t recall making plans. But here she was, in Simone’s apartment. “What time is it? We didn’t oversleep, did we?”

“For what?”

For what? They were supposed to get up in the middle of the night for the Pranzini execution.

Weren’t they?

Nathalie paused to think.

No. It didn’t make sense.

She noticed something on the dresser. “Could I have the lamp?”

Simone handed it to her. She hovered it over a newspaper dated August 31.

Klampert Killed by Mob After Pranzini Execution



Klampert? Pranzini?

It couldn’t be.

“She’s dead?” Nathalie cleared her throat. “What, uh, what day is it?”

“The very early morning hours of Friday, September second.”

The realization exploded, a Pompeii that leveled her from the inside out.

“I—I don’t remember,” she said, sitting on the floor. She bunched up her knees and hugged them.

Simone knelt down beside her and stroked her back. “What … is the last thing you remember?”

Nathalie squeezed her memory. Strangled it. Only one thing came forward. “Waking up—in the middle of the night, like this, with Stanley at my feet. From a nightmare about what happened at Notre-Dame. I kept running and running and never got out of the cathedral.”

“A dream from earlier tonight?”

“No,” Nathalie said, hugging her knees even tighter. The next word trickled out like a drop of water. Or blood. “Tuesday.”

She had no memory of the last three days.

Why?





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


Ask a debut writer to write her acknowledgments, and the first thought that goes through her mind is, “I hope I don’t forget anyone.” The second thought is, “I should probably have chocolate and then reflect on the acknowledgments some more.” And so on.

I would like to thank my wonderful agent, Ginger Clark of Curtis Brown Ltd., for offering (I still remember the moment that email came in), for believing in this project in all its iterations, and for being such a superb advocate and attentive, steady-minded professional. As I often say to her, I’m in good hands and grateful she has my back. She’s also introduced me to the world of wombats and therefore regular doses of animal cuteness, which we all need. My thanks as well to Tess Callero for endorsing this manuscript wholeheartedly and being a cheerleader from the start.

This book wouldn’t be what it is without my fantastic editor, Melissa Frain, whose vision complemented and enhanced my own. Her extraordinary brainstorming ability is topped only by her enthusiasm for bringing out the best in me and in this story. That she took a photo of herself where the Paris morgue once stood and included it in her first post-offer email to me was just frosting on the gateau. (Almost a year and a half later, I visited the same spot and took the same photo.) I appreciate the thoughtful commentary, kind approach, and ongoing affection for Nathalie and the reimagined Paris in which she dwells. My gratitude as well to Zohra Ashpari, who is a pleasure to work with on all those behind-the-scenes elements of book production.

I would also like to thank the Curtis Brown team working on my behalf, foreign rights agents Jonathan Lyons and Sarah Perillo and film rights agents Holly Frederick and Madeline Tavis.

Tor Teen has taken a Word doc and a dream and made it into a book. Thank you to publisher Kathleen Doherty; production editor Melanie Sanders; copy editor Amanda Hong; and everyone else on the production, marketing, and sales teams at Tor Teen and Macmillan.

Other people make me look good in other ways: Seth Lerner, for designing such a compelling cover, and the incredible duo of Scott Erb and Donna Dufault of Erb Photography for my author photo.

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