Page 11 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
“The crawling eyes of men aren’t something I fear,” she says. “They can do nothing to me here, except what I allow. Why shouldn’t I use their cravings to my benefit?”
“Being looked at that way would make me feel so cheap, though. Cheap and dirty.”
“Poor Clara.” She circles my shoulders with her arm and squeezes. “Men are going to look at you that way whether you like it or not. You can fret and stew about it, or you can turn it into power.”
“But theyshouldn’t,” I say stoutly. “The world needs to change.”
“Maybe it will. But until it does, I choose to manipulate whatisto my advantage, rather than pining after what should be. Ah, look there! Our two-faced godfather is beginning to show off his wares.”
First Drosselmeyer demonstrates a clockwork device that can fly, transporting small objects through the air. He marks a target location with a projected dot of light, and the clockwork flier carries a rose from his hand to the lady he indicated. A storm of clapping ensues.
“Now?” I whisper to Louisa.
“Not yet.”
The crowd demands a second demonstration of the flier, and this time Drosselmeyer marks a spot high up in the dome—a tiny ledge near its apex. Everyone cranes their necks to watch, even the monocled gentleman and his friend, who are returning with the wine Louisa requested.
“Now!” I hiss, and Louisa nods. She picks up the Nutcracker, holding it among the folds of her skirts as she makes her way through the crowd. I circle the room on the opposite side, scanning the crowd for anyone who might notice our exit. All are distracted, watching the flier’s progress toward the arched ceiling.
Louisa is safely out of the room, and I’m about to follow when I happen to glance at Drosselmeyer’s face. At the same moment, his attention veers from the flier and he meets my eyes.
A current of awareness passes between us. His expression changes as our gazes lock, and I can see it in his face—a wordless realization that Iknow.
His eyes flare slightly wider.
And in that moment I believe everything the Nutcracker said.
I hold Drosselmeyer’s gaze a second longer. Then I duck out of the showroom and follow Louisa.
4
When Clara catches up to me, she’s breathless and flushed.
“He knows we know,” she gasps.
“What? Who?”
“Drosselmeyer. He looked at me, and I looked at him, and I just—somehow he understood that I know his secret.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“He can’t leave his guests, not right now, but he’ll make excuses to get away as soon as he can. We have to hurry.”
“Right.” I tuck the Nutcracker under my arm and gather my skirts so I can take the stairs faster.
We mount quickly to the second floor, then follow the hall to the end, where the third-floor staircase is.
But when we reach the landing at the top of the third-floor steps, there’s a door barring our way. And it’s locked.
“Of course he would lock it,” I pant. “He’s too smart to leave his private space open with so many people in the house. Fuck.”
“Don’t say that,” Clara exclaims. She peers more closely at the lock. “This isn’t like any lock I’ve ever seen. There’s no keyhole.”
“Maybe it’s a magical lock. Perhaps the Nutcracker knows something about it. I’ll wake him up.” I peel the bit of sticking plaster off the cut on my finger. Then I bite it until the blood wells out again, and I daub the Nutcracker’s chest generously with the blood.
“Ugh, don’t paint him with it,” says Clara.
“I want to be sure he stays full-sized long enough this time,” I tell her, slathering on more blood. The wooden figure begins to shake in my hands, and a moment later the Nutcracker explodes to his full size. He stares down at his bloodstained jacket, then throws an annoyed glance at me.
