Wicked After Midnight(61)

“The Freesian Tsarina’s bloodwine?”

“That, too. Francs and silvers aren’t the only form of payment, after all, and I know the sort of folk who need certain things and the sort of folk who pay with certain things, and I connect them.”

“All very legal, I’m sure. Totally aboveboard.”

He chuckled into his fist. “Believe whatever you wish, bébé. But it just so happens that tonight’s bounty included a handful of glittery little trinkets, and that was among them. I asked for some background—which is all part of the game—and the gentleman in question got very nervous and would only say again and again that it was very fresh and he’d won it at cards. Which means, if it’s hers, that she is in Paris.”

My hand stole to my own fangs, which felt foreign even after six years in Sang. I still remembered the strange, searing pain as the old canines had fallen out, the tips of the new fangs pushing through right behind them with a dull ache in my jaw. I’d been terrified. But back then, everything had been terrifying. Now I was mostly angry. When I found who had done this to my best friend, who had torn off part of her body just to make her weaker and more helpless, I would sink my claws into the bastard. And I would bleed him dry in some very choice, very painful spots, withholding the magic that gave the feeding any sort of pleasantness. I would teach him what a Bludman truly was.

But that made me think again of Lenoir’s secret.

“Wait. Aren’t there any Bludmen in Paris at all?”

“There are a couple in Paris but not Mortmartre. As it’s the pleasure district and gentlemen can’t spend money or unlace their breeches if they’re scared, the gendarmes guard the wall very carefully. Only humans, daimons, and a few harmless freaks like myself are allowed in.” He rubbed his head again, a nervous habit that I found endearing in spite of myself, like a little kid rubbing his nose. “Technically, I’m not allowed in, thanks to some rather choice warrants, but I stay far away from the walls and the billy clubs.”

“Then why haven’t they come for me?”

His eyes went tender-soft with pity. “Oh, bébé. You’re so very naïve. They did come for you. That night after your fall, after your first show, where you took over Limone’s act and sent the crowd mad. Limone must’ve tipped off the local gendarmes.”

I felt cold all over, synapses firing uselessly. “Why didn’t I know? Why didn’t they take me away?”

“Because Charline met them at the door and paid them a very large sum to let you stay.” His gaze was kindly, fond, almost parental. “And they wouldn’t have taken you away. They would have killed you.”

“I’m hard to kill.”

This time, when he reached to stroke my cheek, I let him. Cold as I was in the early spring night and filled as I was with rage and fear, his touch seared me.

“Good,” was all he said.

I stood up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek, the fang wrapped in my fist where it lay on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“De rien, bébé. Pay me back later.”

His playful grin was back, and my wobbling smile joined it as I pulled away and turned to go. I slipped through the door and up to my room, never meeting a single soul. My cheeks were red, my eyes bright with unshed tears. I wasn’t sure what to do with the fang, so I tied it up in a piece of lace and tucked it into the armoire drawer next to the remains of Vale’s pendant and Cherie’s lost fascinator.

I’d put my life and my friend back together piece by piece, if I had to. At least now I knew she was nearby.

As I fought wakefulness, knowing that Lenoir wanted me early and fresh, I couldn’t help wondering exactly how much Charline had paid for my life. And exactly how much interest she would charge me. For as I was learning, everything in Paris came with a price.

And an expiration date.

I had to find Cherie before she lost more than a fang.





16


I awoke in a panic. Without alarm clocks or school or a nine-to-five job, it had been years since I’d worried about a wake-up call. Everyone slept past noon in the caravan. But my window was tinted lavender with early dawn, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Angering Lenoir would be dangerous in more ways than one. I still had time.

The hallway was empty, but the animal part of my Bludman nature could sense wakefulness somewhere beyond the closed doors. I was right—as I passed, one opened to reveal Mel and Bea. Their eyes were bright, their lips turned down. They’d been waiting for me, then.

“Oh, la, chérie. You’re going to Lenoir, aren’t you?” Mel asked, arranging a curl over my shoulder with a kind but sad smile.