Page 138 of The Scarlet Veil

“It would be rather stupid not to be, wouldn’t it? The man wants to harvest my blood to raise the dead—and he’ll still attempt to do so whether I’m waltzing as a butterfly or cowering in my room.” I pick up the garment box, clutch it to my chest like some sort of shield, or perhaps just something to do with my hands. Tomorrow suddenly looms very near. “Either way, I’ll be in danger, so when he takes advantage of the lifted enchantment, we should too. We should be ready.”

Michal says nothing for a long moment, instead simply staring at me. Then—his jaw flexing— “I won’t allow anything to happen to you, Célie.”

“Neither will I.”

The words startle even me, and instinctively, I clutch the box tighter in response. But they’re true—I will not go quietly when the Necromancer arrives, and if he thinks he can take me without a fight, it’ll be the last mistake he ever makes. I am not a doll. I am a Bride of Death, and I will use every weapon in my arsenal against him. Every secret.

You can’t get something for nothing, Célie.

If I want to defeat the Necromancer, I’ll need Michal’s help too.

“Michal”—I march toward him with newfound purpose—“there’s something else you should know. I found a note inside my sister’s cross from a secret lover. The two planned to elope, but Morgane killed her before they could do it.” Pressing the garment box to his chest, I fish the cross from my collar and reveal the scrap of parchment within. A crease appears between Michal’s browsas I unfold it, and he skims the words quickly. “The handwriting matches the letter Dimitri received from the Necromancer.”

His eyes snap to mine. “You think he was her secret lover.”

“Yes.”

He looses a harsh, incredulous breath. “But that means—”

“I know.” Folding the note into the cross once more, I tuck both safely away and reclaim the garment box from Michal’s rigid arms. We can do nothing now but wait. “The Necromancer plans to kill me to resurrect my sister.”

Chapter Forty-Five

Masquerade Part I

Two weeks ago, I thought I would die on All Hallows’ Eve. Somehow, everything has changed since then—everything, and nothing at all. Smoothing the silver bodice of my gown, readjusting the organza mask, and taking a deep breath, I step into the corridor beyond my room. Already, the faint strains of a haunting violin drift through the castle, along with the gentle murmur of voices. According to Odessa, the revelry won’t truly start until midnight, but I can only pace in my room for so long.

Coco and Lou will be here soon. They’ll behere, on Requiem, for me to talk with and see and embrace. Reid and Beau too, hopefully.

And Jean Luc.

My chest constricts in a way that has nothing to do with my corset. After how we parted in Cesarine, I can’t imagine he’ll be pleased to see me.Go, he said in that horribly empty voice,and don’t come back. But that—that was then. I resist the urge to bite at my fingernails, which Odessa has painted with clear lacquer. Perhaps Jean will have changed his mind in the hours since I left him; perhaps, after his anger faded, he realized he doesn’t hate me, after all. I lift my hands to pinch my cheeks instead. Will he want to speak to me about what happened? Will he want to change my mind too?

Worse still—my chest squeezes impossibly tighter—what didhe tell the others happened at the harbor? Will they be angry at me for leaving with Michal? Hedidthreaten to kill Coco, and they have no way of knowing he changed his mind. Does it evenmatterthat he changed his mind? I don’t have the answer—I don’t haveanyof the answers—and when the next question strikes, I think I’m going to be sick all over again.

Because what if no one comes at all?

In their eyes, perhaps I chose Michal over them, chose Requiem over Cesarine. They’ll know by now that I’ve broken my vow to the Chasseurs. Perhaps they’ll perceive my actions as unforgivable, as an irrevocable break in our friendship. Yes. I’m definitely going to be sick now. Except—

The Necromancer.

Beyond anything I’ve done to hurt him, Jean Luc remains captain of the Chasseurs, and he won’t ignore what Michal said in the harbor. He can’t afford to ignore it. If I know Jean Luc at all, he’ll insist on due diligence, and an entire contingent of huntsmen will swarm the isle tonight—because if Michal told the truth, we’re closer than ever to catching the Necromancer, and ifItold the truth, the Necromancer is stalking me.

Jean Luc has worked too hard to miss the action. The glory. My heart sinks miserably.

Perhaps my friends will join him for the same reason.

Odessa follows me into the corridor, swatting my hands aside before they can stray to my hair. “The Necromancer cannot kill you if you’re already dead. Touch another strand of my masterpiece, and I shall thwart him all by myself.”

She spent the last two hours curling my hair with hot tongs, meticulously pinning half of them at my nape. The rest cascadesdown my back to join my wings, which she now bends swiftly to rearrange. Long gloves of deepest blue satin cover her hands, wrists, and arms. They match her sapphire cloak perfectly, complement the pearl diadem across her forehead and the garnet damask of her bodice—scandalously sleeveless and recklessly low-cut, more corset than anything else. Her breasts nearly spill from the top as she straightens with a satisfied nod. Without a doubt, she is the most sensual Madonna I’ve ever seen, and—judging from the smirk on her bloodred lips—she knows it.

“Are yousurehe’ll be able to recognize me?”

“Célie, darling,” she says pleasantly, “you’ll be the only human in attendance until your little friends arrive, and even then—there won’t be a vampire, human,ornecrophiliac in attendance who doesn’t notice you in that gown. Now stop fretting. You’ll ruin the cosmetics.”

Despite my mask, Odessa spent another half hour dusting iridescent powder upon my eyelids, brow bones, and cheeks—every inch of me now sparkles in the light of the corridor candelabra. She even adhered tiny diamonds to the outer corners of my eyes. “Will he be— Will there be blood down there?” I ask nervously.

She arches a brow beneath a rather peculiar mask of her own: strands of gold weave in an open, diamond-knit pattern, so the mask isn’t really a mask at all, but another piece of jewelry. “We’re vampires, Célie. There will always be blood.”

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