Page 132 of Thief of Night
Balthazar snorted. “Well, fuck a duck.”
Odette turned to Charlie. “Would you like to do the honors? Not necessary, of course. Enthusiastic consent is my byword, for everyone.”
Oh, Charlie definitely would like to slap Don after everything he’d said to her, though she was sure that wasn’t entirely in the spirit of the game. She walked up to him, smiled, then swung her open palm across his cheek. It was extremely satisfying, although clearly not in the same way that he found it satisfying.
Don’s cheek pinked, his neck flushing red with embarrassment.
“Well, you best go on home, darling,” Odette said to Charlie. “Balthazar, you can go back downstairs. Don and I have some talking to do.”
Later that week, Rapture had their own holiday party and Odette gave the staff presents. Charlie got a copper French press. Rachel got a calamansi plant. The two barbacks got bottles of imported, capitalCChampagne. Don got a leather and steel ball-gag. Balthazar showed up, demanding his present.Odette told him his present was not being asked to pay for all the drinks on his tab.
The next morning, Charlie sat in the bright light of the windows in the fancy new apartment and drank coffee from her new French press. A small smile formed on her mouth without her being entirely conscious of it.
Posey came in with the mail, handing Charlie a black envelope sealed with stamped wax. The thick creamy linen of the envelope was bad enough, but inside, the invitation shone with gold engraving:
Remy Vincent Carver cordially requests the honor of your company at a black-tie New Year’s Eve gala.
Written at the bottom in Red’s handwriting were two words:Please come.
33Never Be Forgotten
Two days after she got the invitation, Charlie went to a vintage thrift store in downtown Northampton, where she found a cream-colored satin dress that exposed a lot of skin, but in an old-fashioned, classy way.
In front of the mirror, she felt silly. Who did she think she was going to fool? Red knew exactly what she was and what she wasn’t.
And yet she couldn’t help hoping that if he saw her, he’d want her.
The night of the party, Malhar picked her and Posey up in his only slightly dented Subaru Forester. He looked dapper in the same suit he’d worn to Solaluna. And Posey was glamorous in green sequins, hair pulled up, a few stray curls spilling over her shoulders.
It was hard for Charlie to think of Salt’s mansion as belonging to Red, but there was no point in pretending otherwise as Malhar pulled his car onto the long driveway. This was New Year’s Eve in the style of a scion eager to establish himself with the jet-set elite, drawing ultra-rich guests from Manhattan, Connecticut, and the Berkshires to attend on short notice. Trees along the drive were hung with silver stars. Long strings of white lights had been woven into a canopy overhead. The effect was whimsical, promising greater delights to follow.
The house was decorated with enormous gold and silver orbs, each one larger than Charlie. As they pulled up, a valet in a black suit stepped forward.
“Deliveries are around the back,” he said, looking personally offended by Malhar’s Subaru.
“Good to know,” Charlie said from the back seat, then hopped out, careful not to let the hem of her satin dress touch the ground.
The valet looked skeptical rather than apologetic, but took Malhar’s keys.
“This car is a classic,” Malhar told him as he got out. “Vintage.”
“I’m finally going to see the inside,” Posey said, marveling at the building. “And the books.”
Charlie felt a twist in her gut remembering meeting her sister on the lawn of a different party. She was feeling too many things to be able to make sense of them all.
“Red told me about this place,” Malhar said, slinging a worn leather satchel over his shoulder. “About floating through the walls. His family. The torture basement.”
“Oh right,” Posey said, with a quick look at Charlie. “Is it weird that he’s living here?”
“It’s his childhood home,” Charlie said, avoiding the question.
Posey and Malhar shared a look.
As they approached, a man in a tuxedo opened the door before Charlie could even knock. The high-ceilinged entryway was full of balloons in shades of gold, from pearl to reflective as a polished coin, each trailing a tail of golden ribbon. A waiter moved to offer a tray of champagne, poured into coupe glasses.
Laughter bounced off walls no longer hung with Salt’s creepy art collection. Charlie glanced toward where she knew a painting of a decomposing fawn had been. An etching hung there depicting a naked man artfully posed like a dancer, the shadow behind him obviously a beast.
Well, the art waslesscreepy, anyway.
