Wicked After Midnight(133)

“It’s not lost.” I smiled, showing fangs. “It’s just getting the hell out of here.”

* * *

I spent the rest of the day in bed, mostly sleeping. Vale and Cherie stayed with me, but a rainbow of anxious faces came and went, hands touching my forehead or pushing hair out of my eyes or just briefly stroking my arm. I heard the word merci so much that it chased me in my dreams.

Vale woke me at dusk, one hand gentle on my shoulder. “Bébé, it’s time.”

I was able to sit up, at least, and I found Cherie waiting on a steamer trunk by the door, where Blaise’s blue face peeked curiously through the crack. When I smiled at him, he ran up with a grain sack dragging behind him and heaved it onto the bed.

“What is this?”

“From Madame Sylvie. Your wages.”

I opened the bag and bit my tongue. They weren’t just francs; they were mostly silvers. She must have been terrified that we would spread the truth about her or exact our own vengeance. Truth be told, it wasn’t sitting well with me, just letting Sylvie and Charline go on at Paradis. If they could find another way to line their pockets, they would.

“All this is mine?”

Blaise nodded. “You’re the most famous act in Mortmartre, mademoiselle.”

“Not anymore.”

Mel stepped into the room, with Bea just behind her. “So it’s true, then? You’re leaving tonight?”

They were both in full costume and makeup, so very different from how they had looked in their fighting clothes and natural skins, painted with blood. These daimons, they never gave up.

“I can’t stay here.” I hefted the bag of coins; it took two hands. “And I don’t have to.”

It was still so strange and wonderful to hear Bea’s voice. “But where will you go?”

I opened the bag and stared at the pile of glinting metal. When I glanced up at Vale, he looked as if he was about to burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m waiting for your answer, bébé. You can do anything you want, and I can’t wait to hear what it is.”

I plucked a silver from the pile and flicked it at Blaise, who caught it neatly.

“I want to go back to Sangland.” They all stared at me, waiting, not breathing. I let the moment go on a little long, just to see who inhaled first. It was Vale. “And start a cabaret.”

“But Demi, there are no cabarets in London,” Cherie said, her usual know-it-all self.

“Not yet there aren’t. But just think of it—a theater in London, daimon girls who wouldn’t have to sleep with the audience if they didn’t want to. Performers honing their craft. We could even trade carnivalleros back and forth with Criminy’s caravan, if anyone got bored.” I reached for Vale’s hand and squeezed it. “You up for it?”

He rubbed his stubble with his other hand. “A disgraced Brigand of Ruin in Sangland, working at a Bludman’s cabaret.” He threw back his head and laughed. “It would appear I finally found a way to make my father angry and yet stay far enough out of his reach that he cannot strangle me.”

Mel and Bea signed quickly; they would always have their secret language. Then Bea took a big breath. “Can we come with you?”

Mel nodded. “We’re good workers, and—”

“And Blaise is a good boy, willing to learn a trade—”

“And there is no greater costumer than Blue—”

I realized I could finally move, and I held up wobbling hands to sign Yes.

Mel squealed, and they hugged and kissed, Bea’s arm around Blaise’s shoulders.

“What’s going on in here?”

Lexie appeared in the doorway, and then all the daimon girls were crowding in, dressed in their cabaret finest. I couldn’t help recalling how hard they’d fought, how strong and faithful they had been, as they worked to free their friends. And I was just supposed to leave them here in Mortmartre, under the greedy eyes and empty hearts of a pair of evil tiger bitches like Sylvie and Charline?

Hell, no.

“Y’all want to come to Sangland and work in my new cabaret?”

Needless to say, Paradis gave out a lot of refunds that night, as there wasn’t a single showgirl left. They all followed me out the front door.





35


SIX MONTHS LATER . . .

I leaned back against the plush velvet seat of my private box, then immediately sat forward again, eyeing the shining boards of the stage. Did I see a loose nail? Surely not. Vale and I had helped fix the floors ourselves. I would’ve noticed any problems while polishing every inch of the stage on my hands and knees.

“Opening night’s always an utter flub. Relax, pet.”