Page 78 of The Scarlet Veil

A pang of longing shoots through me at the memory, but I push it aside. I bury it deep. Nothing can dampen my spirit tonight—not rain, and certainly not regret.

This is my moment.

After sending this letter, I’ll slip back to Michal’s grotto and wait.

Though candlelight flickers from the shops on either side of us, I duck my head and resist temptation; I hurry past the bookshop and perfumery, glance only twice over my shoulder at the diamond and pearl collars on display in the bijouterie. The celestials might be distracting Odessa for now, but eventually, shewillnotice my absence. Quickening my step, I nod politely to a passing gentleman, who tips his hat to me with a curious expression. His face is pale as bone.

Maintaining my calm, measured pace, I refuse to glance back at him. Refuse to give him a reason to stop, to speak to me. For all he knows, I’ve done nothing wrong; I’m a simple human petout for a stroll in the moonlight, perfectly commonplace and dull. What had Priscille said?Like chattel.I wait several more seconds. When no cold hand grasps my arm, I turn my chin slightly, exhaling in relief at the empty street behind me. “Second thoughts?” D’Artagnan murmurs. “It isn’t too late to turn around.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Not at all.” He rubs his side along a gargoyle in perfect contentment. “Why deprive myself of the entertainment? There is nothing quite so satisfying as watching a plan go awry—not that yours would qualify as a plan, of course. A letter and a stake seem more a farewell.” He pounces on an errant leaf. “I’ve always envisioned my own swan song with rather more pomp and circumstance—perhaps in haute couture, my brother’s tonsils in hand.”

“Lovely.”

No other creatures cross our path as we continue down the sloping streets.

It seems the crowds of the lower markets avoid wandering too near the Old City—an advantage, I tell myself, nodding and walking faster still. It would be much harder to maintain secrecy while traipsing through the hustle and bustle of witches, werewolves, and mermaids near the docks. Still... I glance around us. According to Odessa, vampires rise with the moon. Shouldn’t there be more of them outside tonight, perusing these lavish shops near the wall? Surely notallvampires reside within the Old City? Dimitri claimed only the most revered and respected lineages lived inside.

Cold awareness pricks my nape.

Then again... perhaps vampiresarehere. Perhaps I just can’t see them.

As if in response, movement stirs in the shadowed alcove acrossthe street, and I tense, drawing the silver stake from my corset. But... no. I relax again, my cheeks growing warm. The couple—a man and a woman—seem to be locked in a passionate embrace, far too occupied with each other to notice us. Their hips move in synchrony. Even to my human ears, the man’s breathing sounds labored and uneven, and when the woman pulls away, he moans and topples sideways, blood streaming down his chest. My heart lurches into my throat. They aren’t embracing at all. The woman isfeedingfrom him, and the man appears to be dying. “Quelle tragédie,” D’Artagnan purrs.

Holding my breath, I nudge him forward and tiptoe past as quietly as possible. It takes several moments to slow my heartbeat, to regain my sense of purpose. I cannot save that man—I cannot save Michal’s victim tonight—but I can save Coco. Iwillsave Coco, and I will save myself too.

The stake is slick in my palm when another gentleman passes halfway across the city. He wipes blood from the corner of his mouth with a silk handkerchief and a salacious grin, his teeth gleaming long and white. “Bonsoir, ma douce.”

“Good evening, monsieur.” I clutch the stake tighter, hiding it in my skirt, as I stride around him. When he continues to stare—the breeze tousling his raven-dark hair—I force a pleasant smile and murmur, “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is.”

He watches as I turn the corner, but thankfully, he doesn’t follow. “See?” I ask D’Artagnan with strained optimism. Except gooseflesh rises along my arms, my legs, and pressure starts to build in my ears with each erratic beat of my heart. I struggle to control my fear, to steady my breathing, as color leeches from thestreet around us. “If any vampire wanted to bite me, it would’ve been that one, and he was a perfect gentleman—”

“Except for the blood on his collar,” Mila says, her voice sharp.

I startle violently as she materializes beside me, her eyes narrowed and—andangry. “Mila!” My own eyes dart around us as the spirit realm fully descends, and I slink back a step, slipping a little in ash and trying not to look too disappointed.Nowshe deigns to speak to me. “What are you—?”

“The better question is what areyou, Célie Tremblay? Do you think you’re beingbrave, sneaking away from the others? Do you think you’re being clever?” When I move to walk around her, she shoots in front of me, and I cringe at the unpleasant, icy sensation of her skin against mine. “And to think I mistook you for intelligent.”

“It’s wonderful to see you too.” Lifting my chin—ignoring the hot spark of anger at her words—I bare my teeth in a smile before continuing down the street. Ahead, the shadow of the aviary looms closer, larger. I fix my gaze upon it, refusing to look at Mila. She cannot ruin this. Coco, Lou, Jean Luc, Reid—they’re almost safe.I’m almost there.“Thank you for telling me about yourbrother, by the way. I really appreciated that little lie of omission.”

Her brows snap together in surprise. I’ve shocked her.Good.“I didn’t lie,” she says, recovering quickly and squaring her shoulders. “I told you my name. It isn’t my fault you didn’t recognize it.”

“Suchmodesty. Must be a family trait.” I quicken my step, eager to escape her. “I’m rather busy at the moment, though, so if you’ll excuse me—”

“I will most certainlynotexcuse you. What are you doing out here all alone?”

D’Artagnan clears his throat, detaching himself from the shadows and startling us both. “Hello again, Mila.”

“D’Artagnan.” If possible, Mila’s expression hardens further—she resembles actual stone now—but their cold greeting only confirms my suspicions: D’Artagnancansee ghosts, which means I’m not quite as alone here as I feared. Not quite aswrong. The realization fills me with a strange sense of kinship with the beastly little creature. “Of all the meddlesome—I should’ve known you’d be here.” Mila’s voice drips with accusation. “I assumeyouput her up to this?”

D’Artagnan rubs languorously against a streetlamp. “Her reasons are her own.”

Throwing up her hands, she streaks after me in exasperation. “Well?What are they?”

“I’d rather not discuss them with you.”

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