Page 74 of The Scarlet Veil

Whatever is bothering me.I almost laugh, instead forcing myself to ask, “The early Church knew of vampires?”

“Briefly.” Lips pursed, she studies me for another second before caressing the skull’s cheek fondly and passing into the shop. “Hello again, Father Roland. You’re looking well.”

And there it is—exactlywhy Mila wouldn’t want to speak to her family. My stomach churns as I watch the skull swing gruesomely back and forth, and I resist the urge to remove it, to lay poor Father Roland’s head to rest. Michal may grieve his sister, but how many others grieve because of him?

“Oho!” Monsieur Marc’s exclamation rings through the shop when I follow Odessa, and it takes several seconds to find his wispy white hair among the bodies packed inside. He kneels at the hem of a beautiful vampire on the middle platform, while Boris and Romi flit to and fro between his worktable and two other vampire patrons, measuring, pinning, nipping, and tucking with supernatural speed.

“Bonjour, monsieur—” I begin, but he blurs past Odessa and me, seizing a length of golden chain from the wall behind.

“You areearly, ladies!” He darts to a bin of beads next. “Howterribly rude of you. Do you not realize All Hallows’ Eve approaches? Do you not realize the entirety of the Old City clamors for my attention? Do you not understand the concept of punctuality? Your appointments do not start for anothertenminutes—”

“And we are happy to wait, monsieur. Aren’t we, Célie?” Odessa glides a hand down the garnet damask bodice near the door. A lavish sapphire cloak—sewn of velvet so dark it appears nearly black—hangs beside it, complete with a diadem of gold and pearl. The entire ensemble feels oddly familiar, though I cannot place where I’ve seen it before. “We understand true genius takes time. This is stunning,” she adds, lifting the cloak for me to see. “He never fails to exceed all expectations.”

“You flatter me.” Though Monsieur Marc pretends to grumble, impish glee sparks in his eyes at the compliment, and he puffs out his chest in unmistakable pride. “And flattery will get you everywhere. Boris”—he snaps his fingers at his assistant—“finish fitting Monsieur Dupont for me, would you? I must prepare our Madonna for her final fitting before entrusting Mademoiselle Célie with her trousseau.”

“Madonna?” I blink between Odessa and the blue-black cloak, the garnet bodice.Blue of the divine. Red of Christ’s blood.I snort in the most unladylike way possible. My mother would be ashamed. “You’re dressing as theMadonnafor All Hallows’ Eve? As in the Madonna and child? The Mother of God and Jesus Christ?”

“Would you believe that Dimitri refuses to participate?” Costume in tow, Odessa tosses her hair as Monsieur Marc leads her into the back room. She winks at me conspiratorially. “You must convince him that he’ll make a darling newborn babe when hearrives with the carriage. With his keen intellect, he’s already halfway there. Just imagine him in swaddling clothes.”

Chuckling, Monsieur Marc closes the door, ending our conversation.

Leaving me alone in a shop full of silent vampires.

Moving in a blur, Boris extends the train of Monsieur Dupont’s gown—molten gold, the fabric so sleek it looks liquid—all the way to the door of the shop. I step around it carefully, all too aware of Monsieur Dupont’s dark eyes on me. Atop his smooth head sits a coronet shaped like rays of light.

I could never tolerate silence for long.

“Your costume is beautiful,” I tell him with a tentative smile. “You look like the sun.” When he says nothing in return, only stares at me, I clear my throat and start again. “Of course, you have no idea who I am, which makes this rather inappropriate, doesn’t it? My apologies. Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Célie Tremblay, and—”

In a voice as dark and smooth as his skin, he says, “I know who you are.”

Boris and Romi exchange a wary glance.

“Ah.” I look between him and his companions, my smile fading. “I see—”

“He allows you into the Old City?” The second vampire—pale, tall, and svelte, with ice-blond hair and bloodred lips—tilts her head curiously. Romi rearranges a fold in her soft white gown. The fabric seems to glow slightly, and a delicate black headpiece glitters across her head. It falls into a crescent moon pendant above her brow. “His human pet?”

I stiffen slightly. “Hispet?”

I dislike the nickname from Michal’s lips. I absolutely loathe it from hers.

“A Chasseur,” Monsieur Dupont says, his expression unreadable. “A huntress.”

“Why has he brought ahuntressto Requiem?” the third vampire hisses. Raven curls fall in wild disarray down her round and voluptuous form, and the bodice of her gown is fitted and sheer—dove gray but iridescent, with flecks of diamonds sewn into the gossamer. They look like stars.

Because theyarestars, I realize with irritating and irrational interest.

Together, these vampires will form the three celestial bodies on All Hallows’ Eve. They also look like they want to kill me. And suddenly, I refuse to admit that I’m a prisoner, apet, while they lord over me with their lovely gowns and lovelier faces. I force another smile at each in turn. “Michal invited me here as a guest in his household. I shall return home after the masquerade ball on All Hallows’ Eve.”

It is the wrong thing to say.

Instantly, the raven-haired vampire hisses, and her ice-blond companion’s lip curls. I force myself to remain exactly where I am.Never run from a vampire.“He invited you to the All Hallows’ Eve celebrations?” the former asks in outrage.

“Should he not have done so? I’ve seen humans in the market.”

“As chattel,” she snarls. “Never guests.”

“Priscille.” Monsieur Dupont lays a broad hand on her shoulder before turning those fathomless eyes to me. Though they aren’t openly hostile like Priscille’s, they aren’t exactly kind either. “Take care, humaine, for we are not the Vasiliev king or his family.We have not the blessing of celebrating with our kin this All Hallows’ Eve.”

---