Page 48 of The Scarlet Veil

Dimitri chases after her without decorum, but before he can speak, I rise to my feet, adopting an earnest, pleading sort of voice. “But I amhuman, Odessa. Michal cannot expect me to live in these conditions until All Hallows’ Eve. I could catch sickness in this dark and damp—perhaps even mydeath. Is that really what he would want? For me to die before I serve his purpose?”

“And technically”—Dimitri catches her at the bottom of the stairs, looping his arm around her waist and twirling her around—“wewillremain within the castle grounds. She’ll be perfectly safe as long as we do not stray beyond the inner walls. Everyone wins. Isn’t that right, Mademoiselle Tremblay?”

I nod fervently. “Youdidsay I smell like a grubby mop.”

Odessa narrows her eyes at me. “I mistook you for clever, but it seems Michal is right—you have a death wish, and I will not assist you with it.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” Dimitri cups her cheeks in his hands, flashing her a charming smile. His teeth are very white. Very sharp. “Michal is never right, and furthermore, he’ll never know we’ve gone. He has better things to do tonight than patrol the east wing.”

Atthat, a hundred questions rush to the tip of my tongue, but I bite down on them all, unwilling to push my luck so quickly. Odessa already looks prepared to skewer someone. She scowls between Dimitri and me, her cheeks still squashed between hisbroad palms. “This is aterribleidea.”

Dimitri releases her instantly, his grin triumphant now. “All the best ones are.”

“I want it noted that I objected.”

“Duly, of course.”

“When Michal finds out, he will skin you, and I will not intervene.”

“You may wear my hide as a hat.”

“You are a cretin.” She pushes him away and stalks toward one of the silk curtains. Behind it, an enormous tub awaits. She pulls on a fringed tassel, and a deepgonganswers from somewhere overhead. Looking over her shoulder, she snaps, “Well? Are you coming, Célie, or shall Michal follow the trail of your stench to Monsieur Marc?”

I jolt forward just as Dimitri makes a noise of outrage. “Why doessheget to call you Célie?”

Three-quarters of an hour later—clothed in a gown and cloak from Odessa’s garderobe—I stride through the castle arm in arm with Odessa and Dimitri. They sweep me into a vast courtyard, where we have a bird’s-eye view of the hillside below—and what appears to be a hidden village.

My mouth parts in genuine awe.

Intricately carved stone ramparts rise to the north, east, and south—shielding the small homes and shops—while the castle itself forms the fourth and final wall of the village. Gargoyles crouch atop each pillar. They leer down at us, flames crackling in their open mouths and ivy climbing up their stone bodies. Though the vines and flowers soften their harsh features, theycannot disguise the gargoyles’ scales and teeth and horns. My eyes flit to the three-eyed crow from the market as it pecks at one of their ears, loses patience, and hops instead to the thatched roof of l’apothicaire. When thunder rumbles overhead, it ruffles its wings with an indignant caw.

Below it, two cats detach from the shadows to watch me.

No. I shake myself internally, vehemently. To watchus.

Odessa adjusts her parasol just as it begins to rain.

“Wonderful,” she says coolly, ushering me down the cobbled street without sharing her umbrella. Dimitri extends his with a long-suffering look at his sister. “Do not start with me, Dimitri. We’re already late, and Monsieur Marc detests tardiness. ’Tis a mark of poor character”—her eyes narrow pointedly between the two of us—“and he is anexcellentjudge of character.”

Dimitri rolls his own eyes. “You will not melt, Odessa.”

“And how do you know?” She glares at the storm clouds overhead, and lightning flashes in response. A greatboomof thunder shakes the earth. “Hygral fatigue is very real. I may not melt, but my hair follicles will indeed expand from excessive moisture, causing dullness, brittleness, breakage, and—”

“—much-needed humility,” he finishes. To me, he adds with a grin, “This is the Old City. Only vampires are allowed to live within these hallowed walls—and only the most revered and respected lineages at that. These roads are nearly as ancient as Michal himself.”

Even here, it seems I cannot escape him—or the cats. Despite the rain, they follow us on silent feet, their eyes lamp-like and unblinking.

Still, as I take in the narrow, twisting streets—the mossbetween cobblestones, the iron spires, a cracked birdbath—I cannot help but bounce on my toes. Just a little. Odessa’s marigold soap washedyearsof grime from my skin, and breakfast dulled the sharp edge of my hunger. I can ignore the cats. After all, I thought I wouldn’t live to see sunset just hours ago, yet here I am, strolling through an ancient supernatural hamlet with two creatures who know it best. What better way to uncover their weaknesses than to walk among them?

Does it not feel like you’re playing dress-up?

Frederic thought my doe eyes meant ineptitude. He thought I could never assist our brotherhood, could neverbelong, yet the Chasseurs don’t even know vampiresexist. Perhaps doe eyes and dresses are exactly what they’ve needed all these years.

I reach carefully toward a monarch butterfly flitting through the drizzle. I do not want to frighten it—or Dimitri—away with the wrong question. Never mind that the white specks on the tips of its wing seem to blink at me like... likeeyes. I look away quickly. “And the other inhabitants... they came here willingly?”

Dimitri catches the butterfly easily and places it in my palm. It no longer blinks—thank God—but its orange color still seems too bright against the dark lace of my glove, the muted grays of the sky and street. “All who inhabit Requiem chose to make their home here, Mademoiselle Tremblay.”

“But did they have all the information? Did they know their neighbors would be vampires? Did they know you wouldfeedon them?”

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