Page 13 of Whispers in the Quarter

I’ve become so many people since that night. Sarah. Celeste. Evangeline. Each identity a shadow cast by different lights, each one real in its own way. But sometimes, in moments like this, I wonder which shadow is casting all the others.

“I’m not your little shadow anymore, Alex,” I whisper to the darkness. “I’ve become something else entirely.”

The candles gutter in a sudden breeze, making the shadows dance across my wall of evidence. Tomorrow, I’ll put my plans in motion. Tomorrow, I’ll take another step toward the truth about Celeste’s death. But tonight, I acknowledge the girl I was—young, broken, desperate enough to let a devil teach her how to dance in the dark.

Some debts can never be repaid. Some lessons can never be unlearned.

And some shadows, once cast, never really fade away.

5

EVANGELINE

VOODOO SHOP RECEIPT

Madame Laveau’s Emporium

Customer: E. Thibodaux

1x Protection Gris-Gris

2x Death-Ward Candles

1x Love-Drawing Oil

Special Order: Night-blooming Jasmine (see back for warnings)

Note from Proprietor: Child, some poisons heal and some healing kills. Choose wisely.

The chandeliers casta golden glow over the ballroom, their light glinting off champagne flutes and diamond necklaces. I adjust my platinum blonde wig, checking that the roots of my dark hair remain hidden. The emerald green gown I’ve chosen hugs my curves – a weapon of distraction as potent as any poison hidden in my thigh holster.

“Showtime, darling,” I murmur to my reflection in a gilded mirror. Tonight, I’m Evangeline in name only. To the NewOrleans elite gathered here, I’m Vivian St. Clair, mysterious heiress and potential investor.

That’s when I see him, and for a moment, I forget about my mission entirely.

Lucas stands near the bar, and dear god, the man knows how to wear a tuxedo. His usual lab-coat chaos has been transformed into devastating elegance, though his hair still has that slightly wild look, like he’s been running his hands through it while contemplating chemical compounds. A dangerous heat pools in my stomach as I watch him charm the group around him, his brilliant mind clearly entertaining them even as his eyes periodically scan the room with predatory awareness.

I’m so distracted by my study of him that I nearly miss the drunk socialite stumbling toward me with a full glass of red wine. Before I can step aside, someone crashes into my back, pushing me directly into the wine’s path.

“Watch yourself, you clumsy—” the socialite starts, but her words die as Lucas materializes beside us, moving with terrifying speed.

His hand closes around the woman’s wrist, elegant but brutal. “I do hope,” he says, his voice carrying that manic edge I recognize from his more unstable moments, “that you weren’t about to ruin my Chimera’s lovely dress.” His smile shows too many teeth. “The dry cleaning bill would be... unfortunate. Almost as unfortunate as what might happen to your husband’s toxicology report currently sitting on my desk.”

The woman pales. “Dr. Gautier, I—I didn’t realize?—”

“Clearly,” Lucas’s grip tightens slightly, his eyes fever-bright. “Now, I suggest you find somewhere else to spill your wine. Preferably far from my sight.”

He releases her, and she practically flees. The man who bumped me has already disappeared, likely sensingthe dangerous undercurrent in Lucas’s seemingly polite intervention.

“Your Chimera?” I murmur, trying to ignore how his possessive tone makes my pulse race.

His eyes rake over me, cataloging every detail of my disguise with scientific precision and something darker, hungrier. “Always,” he says simply. Then his manic grin returns. “Though I must say, blonde is not your color, my dear. Far too ordinary for something as magnificently complex as you.”

Before I can respond, he reaches out and adjusts one of my curls with surprising gentleness. “Do be careful tonight,” he murmurs. “I’d hate to have to dispose of any bodies without proper preparation.”

He disappears back into the crowd, leaving me both unsettled and oddly warmed by his protective display. Focus, I scold myself. I have a mission to complete, a target to manipulate.

But as I make my way toward Harrison Beaumont, I can feel Lucas’s eyes following me, watching over his Chimera with brilliant, unhinged devotion.

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