Page 100 of The Scarlet Veil

Mouth dry, I smooth my crinkled skirt and hurry after him. I’ve never stepped foot in a brothel before—my parents wouldn’t allow it—let alone a brothel called Les Abysses. It sounds positively, delightfullythrilling.

“Try not to skip with glee.” Though clearly attempting to sound superior, the amused glint in Michal’s eyes quite ruins the effect. “We’re here for reconnaissance, nothing more.”

“What’s it like?” I ask, burning with curiosity. “The brothel? Itisa brothel, isn’t it?”

He casts me a probing glance. “The absinthe wasn’t adventure enough for you?”

My face flushes, and I abruptly remember that it smells like something died in my mouth. “You don’t have any mint, do you?” When he shakes his head, I snatch his arm and steer him left, toward an apothecary I used to know. Then I stop short. Because it won’t be open at three o’clock in the morning. Indeed—I peer around the street in growing hopelessness—the city has turned into a veritable graveyard. Not a single creature meanders past. Not even a cat. A groan of frustration builds in my throat. What am I going todo? I can’t very well make my debut at Les Abysses reeking ofsick.

Sighing heavily, Michal drags me toward the shop anyway. I dig in my heels. “What are you—?”

Before I can finish the question, however, he breaks the lock on the door with a quick flick of his wrist. I gape after him as he sweeps inside and reappears seconds later with a toothbrush and mint paste. He thrusts them both at me, closing the door firmly behind him. “Happy?” he asks.

“I—” My hands close around the items. “Well, yes—that was very—very—” He rolls his eyes and paces several feet away. Giving me privacy, I realize with another start. “Thank you,” I say awkwardly. “Did you, er—did you happen to pay for these?”

Slowly, he turns to look at me.

“Right.” I nod hastily, making a mental note to repay the apothecary on my next trip to Amandine. Preferably without Michal breathing down my neck.Add thief to the list, a supercilious little voice in my head says,along with kidnapper and potential murderer. My eyes, however, cannot help but drift back to his perfectprofile—and that’s when I see it. My own face staring at me from the shop across the street. Inked in large, crisp handwriting, the notice below it reads:

MISSING

CÉLIE FLEUR TREMBLAY

NINETEEN YEARS OLD

LAST SEEN ON 10 OCTOBER

I turn away quickly, pretending not to have seen, and scrub my teeth a bit harder. Of course there are notices. My father cannot pretend to distribute his ludicrous reward without notices. The street remains dark and empty, however—no bounty hunters descend—and five minutes later, I follow Michal down a side alley and through a trapdoor in the cobblestones.

I try not to shudder at the thick, suffocating air in the stairwell beneath. It always feels like this belowground, like the walls and ceiling might collapse upon me at any moment, like the earth itself wants to swallow me whole. Thank God torches line the passage. Thank God we slow almost immediately, drawing to a halt at an unmarked crimson door. It boasts no knocker, no keyhole, not even a handle. Just smooth, painted wood.

It matches the precise color of my dress.

“Is this it?” Whispering, I resist the urge to fidget. To straighten my bodice and tame my snarled hair. It’s one thing to read about the unknown in books, to dream of exploring it yourself someday. It’s quite another to stare it right in the face. “Is this Les Abysses?”

“It is.” He arches a brow at me. “Are you ready?”

“I—I think so.”

Michal nods once before lifting a hand to the door, which swings open silently. Without another word, he steps inside, leaving me no choice but to follow. My mouth falls open as I cross over the threshold, and my breath leaves in a suddenwhoosh.

The unknown is a whole new world.

Polished marble floors of swirling white give way to a shining gilt banister, where vines creep along the most magnificent staircase I’ve ever seen. I resist the urge to gasp, to gape and point and make an utter spectacle of myself. I spent my childhood surrounded by wealth, of course, but this single room—we appear to be on a landing of some sort—puts my father’s entire estate to shame. To my left, stairs lead down into shadow. To my right, they curve upward and disappear around a bend, but that hardly matters—not when a fresco of brilliant clouds and blue skies opens up on the ceiling above us. Two enormous trees sprawl outward from the center, and cherubim soar between their limbs. Each carries a great flaming sword.

“Welcome to Eden,” a light, feminine voice says.

I startle, clutching Michal’s elbow, as a white-skinned woman with peculiar eyes of gray smoke materializes in front of us. In her hands, she holds a beautiful red apple, and the pieces finally click into place. The vines, the trees, the cherubim...

Eden.

My breath hitches.

As in theGardenof Eden.

Smiling at the woman, I speak in an undertone to Michal. “I thought we were going to Les Abysses?”

He bows his head toward mine and replies in a mocking whisper. “That depends entirely on you. Ladies first.”

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