As he walked to the easel, I couldn’t help admiring the austere but fashionable cut of his suit and the silent strength in his every movement. His eyes met mine as he slipped on his smock and whipped the cloth off his canvas. He seemed to embody what a Bludman should be, so very controlled and dangerous and beautiful. He must have caught me watching, for his mouth curled up in that rare, rare smile.
“Don’t look at me, Demi. Drink. Look at the fairies.”
The cup was to my lips before I willed it. For a moment, I fought the urge to taste it, knowing that I shouldn’t give in so easily. But that silly instinct disappeared once my tongue darted out to test the swirling sweetness. I took a long drink of the absinthe-laced bloodwine and unfocused my eyes, gazing into a sunbeam that had no right to be there when I was sure I heard drizzle on the windowpanes. It was like looking at one of those Magic Eye posters, waiting for the foreground and the background to switch and the dancing motes of dust to form into mesmerizing patterns. The cats batted at them, purring, and I reached black fingers out to join them, laughing.
It seemed mere seconds before Lenoir was helping me up from the chair, my bones aching and my eyes bleary. My hand was empty. The goblet lay on the thick, plush carpet, one lone drop of glittering red swirling against the unbroken glass. The sunbeam was gone, and the night was starless and black outside. Panic shot through me, but my body felt utterly drained.
“I’m late. Charline’s going to kill me.”
Lenoir led me to the screen and politely turned away. “She can’t touch you, chérie. You’re my star now.”
I dressed as quickly as I could and dived into the carriage, avoiding Auguste’s quiet but measuring gaze. Lenoir was right about Charline; although she grumbled in Franchian and wouldn’t stop sneering, she didn’t yell at all. I barely made it up to my hoop before they began to lower it in the spotlight. For a brief second, I looked for the dancing fairies, but they were gone. Then the music started, and I was again an object, a plaything, a puppet.
I smiled and spread my legs in a split.
* * *
Charline caught my arm as I bowed offstage, and I jerked it right back out of her grasp with a hiss. She recomposed her face into something similar to politeness.
“Listen, chérie. Tonight, you hurry with your patron. You don’t drink wine. You get sleep. Tomorrow is the debut of our grand finale, followed by a dance, a grand ball. You will be sold to the highest bidder. And you will dance with him, do whatever he wishes. Do you understand?”
I tried to count back the days, but I had no idea what day it was. “It’s time for the finale? With the chandelier?”
She made an elegant huff of annoyance. “Yes, of course. We have been rehearsing like mad while you sleep until noon and swoon for Monsieur Lenoir. Blue will fit your costume and ballgown tomorrow morning.” Charline leaned close, studying my eyes. “Less wine, more blood. We need you with us, Demitasse. Your grand finale can make our mark on the world. Or end us. We are all counting on you, you know. This is your chance to shine.” She gestured to a poster of me, pasted crookedly on the wall over a thick, faded collage of past posters. La Goulue and Jane Avril peeked out, as did a slender acid-green leg that had to be Limone’s. The message was clear: I might not be on top for long, and it was my duty to make it as spectacular and worthwhile as possible.
“But Lenoir is expecting me tomorrow morning.”
Her nostrils flared, and she flashed red with anger. “Lenoir”—she paused dramatically—“can wait.”
I couldn’t turn red, but I could still be pretty scary. I drew myself up tall despite the silly costume, pulled my lips back over my fangs, and took on the predator’s mantle that I spent so much time suppressing. Charline swallowed hard, turned a sickly shade of pink, and made herself smaller. Even if we both knew that I didn’t want her blood, it was clear enough that I could spill it all over the dusty wooden boards if I so desired.
“Then I take the next day off. Whatever day it is. I haven’t had a day off since I showed up here, and I’m damned well taking one. Got it?”
“Of course. Of course. Only fair,” she muttered, hurrying away from me with tapping slippers.
I grinned to myself. I still had it.
* * *
Instead of going directly to the pachyderm after the show, I whipped my arm from Auguste’s hold and ran upstairs to rifle through Limone’s vanity for a pen and paper. I found an elegant stationery set marked with skulls and peonies, still wrapped in its ribbon and including a quill and acid-green ink. It wasn’t exactly my style, but it would have to do.