He nodded. “A raven skull with bat wings. And a top hat.”
“Where did it come from?”
Vale pointed to the jacket on my bed. “From his cravat.”
“How did you get it?”
Vale shrugged. “I have my ways.” I stared harder. “I am a brigand, bébé. Had you forgotten?”
“I remember. I just haven’t seen you do many . . . brigandly things.”
He grinned. “That just shows you what an excellent brigand I am.”
“What does it mean?”
“That your kidnapper tied a natty cravat.”
At the end of my rope, I curled my fingers into Vale’s shirt and hissed at him, hard, my bared teeth inches from his lips. He stumbled back with a look of such surprise that it was almost comical.
“Did you just hiss at me?”
“You deserved it. Now, stop being clever and explain to me what this is, why it’s important, and why this guy wanted to kidnap me in a fucking elephant. It’s . . . not subtle.”
Vale held out his hand, and I dropped the button into it. He bit the edge and turned it over with one wide finger, and I noted how odd it was to see a man’s bare hand; I still wasn’t used to it. “It’s cast of solid gold, which is unusual. The symbol is not one that I have seen before, but among my people, it’s sinister. A raven’s skull is used for dark magic. Bat wings signify nighttime. The top hat is a very expensive kind, extra tall, favored only by the very wealthy men who can afford it. So whoever he was, he had money and dangerous leanings.”
“But you don’t know who he was?”
“No. But I expect that some of the daimon girls might. It’s an extraordinary man who isn’t known somewhere in Mortmartre. Especially if he has the money to buy the rare things that take his fancy.”
“Do we have a picture of him? A description? He was blond and completely forgettable.”
He shook his head. “The gendarmes are covering it up, for some reason. I caught this little dainty before they could stuff everything in the incinerator.”
“Hmm.” I ran a finger over the design. It was pretty, if evil. “So lots of money is involved.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “It doesn’t take a lot of money to make the gendarmes dance, bébé. But yes, judging by the fact that they were going to burn solid gold instead of keeping it, I’m guessing many francs changed hands.”
I tried to think back, but I had never really seen the kidnapper’s face, thanks to his goggles and mask.
“He said something to me. Before he died.” I paused, rolled the button back and forth on his palm. “Mal.”
“Mal?”
“That’s it.”
“What does it mean?”
“I dunno. It means nothing to me. What’s it mean to you?”
He rubbed a finger over the dent his tooth had made in the button. “Mal means bad, evil.” But the way he rubbed his chin, his eyes shifting like moor grass . . .
“There’s something more, isn’t there?”
“Maybe. There are rumors . . .”
“Yes?”
“I’ve heard whispers of something called the Malediction Club. Its members are high up, very high, and sworn to absolute secrecy on pain of death.”
“But what is it?”
“I don’t know, not exactly. I had always assumed it was just a party of the usual powerful men sitting around with cigars, patting one another on the back. But between this pin, your kidnapping, and the way the gendarmes are sweeping it all under the rug, I suspect the Malediction Club is real and this is their crest, their sigil.” He glanced up at the clock and then to the window, his fist curling around the pin. “Come on.”
I followed him out my door, expecting him to drag me into the sewers or through dark alleys and into Darkside. Instead, he went right across the hall to knock on the room shared by Mel, Bea, and Blaise. After a moment, Bea answered with a halting smile.
“Demi needs your help,” Vale said plainly, and Bea stepped back to let us in, her small hands blanching sky-blue against the wood.
Mel lay on the wooden double bed, curled on a bright red and green blanket and reading a book, which she quickly shut and slid under a fluffy white pillow. Both girls were in simple shifts, and I noticed something that completely floored me, something I’d never noticed before.
They had no tails.
Every daimon I’d ever known had had a long, somewhat prehensile tail. Luc and his brother at the caravan used them for balance while doing incredible dance moves, and I had also met daimons who used them for building, painting, or self-defense. But Mademoiselle Caprice and every daimon I’d ever seen at Paradis had always been dressed in layers and layers of costume, and I had taken for granted that their tails were curled up under voluminous skirts. I caught myself staring and looked away.