Wicked After Midnight(91)

“There’s another one in here,” a man called, and I quickly added, “Don’t let him get away. He’s the villain who tried to kidnap me.”

“He won’t be running anywhere, mademoiselle. Nearly dead, he is.”

I feigned surprise as I sat up and looked on the stretcher beside me. The face was unfamiliar. He could have been any one of thousands of seeming gentlemen who had passed through Paradis since I’d started just a few days ago. Slender, slicked-back blond hair, thin lips. Very pale, but that was mostly my fault.

“Lie down, mademoiselle, and we’ll get you to the chirurgeon. You might have broken bones.”

My heart jerked in my chest. Perhaps Charline had paid well to keep a Bludman in the bounds of Mortmartre, and perhaps Louis had brought enough security to keep us safe on our jaunt to the Tuileries, but I was willing to bet that me showing up in a hospital next to a drained body would cause legal trouble and possible hysteria among scared Pinkies or any men who’d heard of me.

I scrambled to my bare feet, holding the blanket around my body like a cloak.

“I’m fine, really.”

All three of the men digging through the rubble of the gigantic elephant stopped to stare at me.

The lead one who’d helped me out was an older gentleman, a barrel-chested human gendarme with a sharp gray beard.

“You are . . . fine?”

I smiled confidently. “Totally fine. Can I return to Paradis, please?”

One of the other men was a daimon, and he leaned in to hiss, “La Demitasse.”

The leader shook his head in confusion and disbelief. “If that’s what you want to do, mademoiselle. Did you leave anything in the, eh . . . pachyderm?”

They’d opened the entire cockpit up, showing a tumble of gears, wires, cogs, levers, and gauges. I didn’t see my skirt, but I had no qualms whatsoever about snatching up the kidnapper’s abandoned tailcoat and exchanging it for the rough blanket.

“Would y’all mind if I borrowed this?” I asked in my most charming voice.

The gendarmes looked at one another. “Seems fair enough,” the leader finally said.

“Then I’ll thank you for your time, brave gendarmes.” I went up on tiptoe to kiss each of them on the cheek and turned to stroll a few short blocks to Paradis, where the brightly gowned daimon girls and their tuxedoed escorts had crowded out behind a very annoyed barricade of Madame Sylvie and Mademoiselle Charline to watch the chaos. Auguste was already running toward me with a real cloak, but I wanted to keep the tailcoat for myself to see what hints it might hold about its owner.

“Please give the prince my regrets,” I said to Sylvie as I sashayed past.

The crowd split to allow my passage, the girls standing sentry between the goggle-eyed gentlemen and my barely dressed form. No one spoke, but Bea’s hand lingered on my arm as I passed.

As soon as I was in the building and out of sight, I cracked my back and allowed myself to limp. Damn, that hurt. I went straight upstairs and locked my door. After tossing the oil-stained tailcoat on my bed, I went over every inch of it. There was nothing unusual, just a handkerchief soiled with engine grease and a half-smoked cigarillo. No name tag, no packet of calling cards and bills like so many gentlemen carried in their breast pockets. Whoever the bastard was, he’d planned the kidnapping far enough ahead that he’d remembered to empty his pockets.

I wadded up the coat and hid it in the petticoat drawer of my armoire, undressed, and fell into bed. My head swam, half woozy with blood and half hyped up on fading adrenaline. Someone knocked on my door, and hours later, someone else scratched quietly. I ignored them both. I’d had more than enough excitement for one night.

* * *

The next morning came all too soon and, with it, the ache of bruises in places that had never been bruised before. I stretched and pointed my toes, feeling limp all over. As if they’d been listening at the door, which they probably had, Mel and Bea slipped in and approached my bed as if I might bite their heads off or faint.

“Oh, la. I can’t believe it. I just can’t. Are you . . .”

Bea signed alive, and I laughed.

“Y’all, I’m fine. Giant metal elephants run away with me all the time, and I haven’t died yet.”

“It’s all over the papers. Shows are sold out for weeks. Everyone wishes to see you. Mon dieu, chérie. You’re the most famous girl in Mortmartre. Ever.”

I could not care less that everyone wanted to see me. But wait. Someone more than wanted to see me—someone was expecting me. I’d promised Lenoir a full day of sitting, and the thought of that dizzy, drunken, golden time under the relaxing and dreamy effects of the Red Fairy was a mighty powerful lure. I would heal faster and not feel as much pain, and I would have a bit of respite from the wagging tongues and clutching hands of the gentlemen who would be showing up later tonight to see the girl who’d lived through a pachyderm rampage.