Page 127 of The Scarlet Veil

“Where is she, then?” At the sound of his voice, I turn once more, and Jean Luc extends his arms in helpless supplication, gesturing to the caskets, to the docks, to the city at large withincreasing agitation. His face contorts. His hands begin to shake. “If she can visit a brothel in Amandine—if she can practicallydisrobefor a stranger—why can’t she visit her fiancé in Chasseur Tower?”

But Reid shakes his head curtly, impatiently, as Michal’s hands fall away from my arms. “We don’t know anything about vampires. For all we know, shecould’vebeen coerced—”

“She wasn’t wearing her engagement ring.” The hen clucks forgotten between them, pecking at spilled grain. “Did Lou tell you that part? Every report said the same—crimson dress of a courtesan and no ring on her finger.”

“That means nothing.Nothing.No, listen to me, Jean.” Reid seizes Jean Luc’s arm when he sneers and begins to stalk away. “Listen.The two of you fought the night of her abduction—she wasn’t wearing it then either. She wasn’t wearing it in Brindelle Park.” Though Jean Luc snarls, Reid doesn’t relinquish his grip. “The vampire himself could’ve taken it from her, or it could’ve been lost in their tussle during the abduction. There are a hundred possible explanations—”

Jean Luc does jerk away now. “And we won’t know the real one until we find her.”

Reid sighs heavily and watches as Jean marches right past the hen. “You’re determined to think the worst.”

“No, what I’mdeterminedto do is find her,” he snarls over his shoulder. “Find her, arrest the fuckingnight creaturewho took her, and never let her out of my sight again.”

After another long moment, Reid follows him back into the tumult—the harbormaster and Frederic have nearly come to blows over the former’s dog—leaving me to the aching silence ofthe alley. “Célie?” Dimitri asks quietly, but I lift a hand to silence him, unable to speak.

Recover.

Protect.

I knew those words tasted wrong, tasted acrid and resentful in my mouth. His previous condemnation weaves through them softly, strengthening their rancor.I can hardly discharge her. Célie is delicate.

We both know Morgane would’ve slit your throat if Lou hadn’t been there.

Never let her out of my sight again.

Swallowing them down, I force myself to look at Michal, to meet those black eyes with my own. “No,” I tell him, trying to adopt his composure, to adopt the cool, dispassionate countenance of a vampire. I can be made of stone too. I will not crack, and I will not shatter. “I don’t want to speak with him.”

Though Michal’s mouth tightens like he wants to object, he nods curtly instead, readjusting his hood over my hair. When he steps backward, offering me his hand, his meaning is loud and clear: this time, the choice to go with him is my own.

I accept his hand without hesitation.

We don’t speak as he pulls me into our casket, as Odessa and Dimitri follow in theirs, as their sailors tow us across the harbor toward our ship. Still I hold my breath, counting each heartbeat and praying nothing goes awry. Are all statues as hollow inside as I now feel? As brittle? Do they all secretly suffer this sense of dread? The harbormaster’s dog has stopped howling, at least, and the children have quieted. Even the farmer has stopped cursing. Only the terse orders of the Chasseurs remain, the grumblings ofthe merchants and the harbormaster’s crew.

I blink away tears of relief.

Just as I exhale—convinced we’ve made it to the gangplank—a sailor near my head lets out a panicked shout. A hen shrieks in response, and the entire casket topples, lurching sideways. Michal’s arm snakes around my waist in the next second, but before I can draw another breath, we smash into the wall of the casket, plummeting to the cobblestones as the lid crashes open. Though Michal swears viciously, twisting midair to position himself beneath me, my teeth still rattle as we spill onto the ground.

As we roll right into a pair of familiar grain-speckled boots.

“Oh God,” I whisper.

Oh God oh God oh God—

“Trust me.” Sighing, staring up at the stars in resignation, Michal’s head thuds upon the cobblestones as a horrified Jean Luc gapes down at us and absolute silence descends in the harbor. “He’ll be no help at all.”

Chapter Forty-One

Our Last

I climb slowly to my feet.

Never before have so many people stared at me, stricken, but for once in my life, I don’t flush beneath their attention. I don’t stumble and stammer at their disbelief, their rising indignation. No, my limbs feel as if they’re made of ice, and my hands tremble as I smooth my crimson dress, as I push the hair from my face and lift my chin. Because I don’t know what else to do. I certainly can’t look at Jean Luc, can’t stand to see the raw accusation in his eyes. All the color has drained from his face, and though he opens his mouth to speak, no words come. He doesn’t understand. Of course he doesn’t—no one does—and helplessly, my chin begins to quiver.

This is all my fault.

Abruptly, I stoop to pick up the hen, but she squawks and hops through my fingers before darting away. Too quick to catch. I chase after her reflexively, my footsteps echoing loud and stilted in the hush of the harbor, but it doesn’t matter; the hen could be hurt, and if she is, those injuries would be my fault too. I have to—to catch her somehow, perhaps bind her leg. My feet move faster, clumsier. Odessa studied medicine, so she might know how to—

The hen beelines toward Jean Luc.

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