Page 47 of The Scarlet Veil

Dimitri ignores her. “Though I’m flattered by your attention, mademoiselle—truly—I cannot in good conscience accept it when you still refuse to tell me your name.”

Odessa’s own eyes roll to the ceiling. “That, and your infatuation with the local fleuriste.”

“Ah, Margot,” he says dreamily, draping himself in the chair next to me. He drops his head over one arm and swings his legs over the other. With him grinning at me upside down—his blackcurls tickling my arm, his velvet suit a bit rumpled—he radiates boyish charm.

Except for those rags in the corridor.

I drop my egg in distaste, pushing my tray away at the sight of his sharp incisors. Still, it seems foolish to continue the lie when Michal already knows the truth. “If you must know, my name is Célie Tremblay. And I thank you for breakfast, but I really must ask you to—”

“Célie Tremblay.” Like his cousin before him, he seems to taste the words, his mouth pursing in contemplation. “A fitting epithet if I’ve ever heard one. In your language, I believe it meansheaven.”

And that is when Odessa loses interest in the conversation entirely. “In older, more definitive languages, it meansblind. Now, shall we go, or did I rise at this unholy hour for nothing?”

Dimitri chuckles. “Loath as I am to admit it, Des, you no longer need beauty sleep.” To me, he says, “What do you think, Mademoiselle Tremblay? Would you care to join us for a bit of birthday shopping? It could be fun.”

Fun.My gaze flicks to the shadows of my room, the wall of bookshelves, and I almost weep. I have no time forfun—if such a thing even exists here. No. I must continue my search and learn how to kill vampires like Odessa and Dimitri; I must somehow warn my friends to stay away from Requiem. Christo didn’t seem terribly pleased with the royal family during our trek through the market. Perhaps somewhere on this isle, a witch is equally displeased—perhaps so displeased that she’ll magic a note to Cesarine or help me kill her overlords.

Unbidden, my eyes return to Dimitri’s upside-down face, to the anticipation there. He looks almostwholesome, and a tendril ofcuriosity unfurls despite myself.Vampires eat people, yes, but Odessa studies horticulture. Dimitri hasdimples.

I give myself a vicious mental shake.

These creatures are monsters, and I hate them. Ido. They hold an entireislandhostage, feasting on the blood of its inhabitants, and they plan to lure my friend to her death. They kidnapped me. They assaulted me. They serve a man who undoubtedly murdered Babette, and—and how many more reasons do I need to shoo them from my room?

“Why are you being so kind?” My brow furrows as I straighten the corner of the breakfast tray. “I am still a prisoner here. You shouldn’t care about my birthday. You shouldn’t care about my wardrobe either.”

Odessa speaks to the spines of my books, trailing a sharp nail across them. “Vampires live forever, darling, and you are bright and shiny and new. My dear brother cannot help himself.”

“Says the vampire conducting an in-depth investigation of her bookshelves.” Sitting up, Dimitri laces his fingers together between his knees and returns his attention to me. “You will remain a prisoner whether you sulk alone in this room or join us in the village. I know which cell I would prefer.”

He smiles again to soften the rebuke, and I stare at him, torn with indecision.

A small part of me knows I should send them away. Jean Luc would have done it without hesitation.

Still... the thought of remaining here for a fortnight—with only candle stubs, shadows, and rows upon rows of dusty books for company—isn’t exactly appealing, and my mother always told Pippa that she’d catch more flies with honey than vinegar. ThoughPip resented the expression, it made perfect sense to me. I needn’t be alone on this isle. I needn’t rot in the darkness or waste precious time with mushrooms and mold. As vampires, Odessa and Dimitri know more about their species than any book in this castle.

There is only one problem.

Sweet creatures never last long in Requiem.

Perhaps, however—just like my mother said—sweetness needn’t be a curse at all. Clearing my throat, I feign a tentative smile and bat my lashes at Dimitri, determined to catch at leastthisfly with honey. “You’re right. Of course you’re right, and Iwouldlove to go with you...”

“But...?” he prompts.

“Michal told me to stay here,” I say reluctantly. “He forbade me from leaving my room.”

Dimitri scoffs. “Our cousin is an old bat.”

“Andyou, brother, are a rotten liar.” Shooting an exasperated look at her brother, Odessa closes her book with a sharpcrack, and the sound echoes through the room with finality. “Michal agreed, did he? I don’t know why I still listen to you.” She shakes her head and stalks for the staircase. “This has been an enormous waste of time.”

“Des.” Dimitri leaps to his feet, his voice equal parts outraged and imploring. “You would leave Mademoiselle Tremblay here in this dust and darkness? On her birthday?”

“So bake her acake—”

A sharp pang of regret.

“You cannot be serious—”

“I know it’s hard for you, Dima, but dotryfor intelligence. IfMichal said she cannot leave, she cannot leave.” She waves a curt hand, her humor growing fouler and fouler with each step. “I shall still ring a bath for her, of course. And perhaps we can arrange for Monsieur Marc to visit tomorrow—”

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