“His apartment in the Artists’ District,” I lied. I had no idea where his apartment was, but I found myself unable to tell Seff about the underground tunnels, the Cistern or the tiny apartment miles and miles beneath the city.
“Why?”
“Because those men broke into my dressing room. They said they were there to ‘find the bitch.’” At least I told the truth about that part.
“How did he get into your dressing room?”
“He was already in there when I got back after the gala.” Another lie. There was no way I was bringing up the magic Ciaran had performed to get us through the mirror. No way in hell.
“Why did he want to help you?”
“He snuck into a box in the theatre to watch the gala. He’s a fan of the opera, I guess?” I lied quickly. “He said he overheard them talking about how they were going to hurt me, and he intercepted.” All lies. It should have worried me, how fast I was able to make up answers to these questions.
“Why didn’t you come home or go to the gendarmes?” Seff asked one final question as we pulled up to my building: his question was answered for him.
The front door of the walk-up that I shared with Carlotta was wide open, the windows of the pretty little white door smashed. Ciaran hadn’t lied. Those men had not stopped after my dressing room last night. They had been determined to find me.
The inside of my apartment was ransacked. They had torn apart my room, Carlotta’s bedroom, the bathroom, the closets, even the tiny kitchen. I sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Carlotta hadn’t been home. Her injury may have in fact saved her life. Though I supposed that none of this would have happened if she hadn’t been injured and I hadn’t had to step up to sing in the gala in the first place.
Seff walked around, toeing the debris with his boot, clicking his tongue at the destruction wreaked upon my home. We assessed the damage, standing in the cramped foyer. The gendarmes were on their way to file a report, and I was at a loss for words. Nothing made sense. And all I could hear wasCiaran’s deep voice resonating in my mind.I am not the enemy, SeraphinaandLet’s just say Scion and I have a sordid history. Was Ciaran telling the truth? Was anything as it seemed?
“Seraphina, listen to me.” Seff gripped my shoulders and pulled me to face him. “Ciaran Fahy is behind this. He knows that you’re close to me, and he clearly plans on using you to get to me. To my family. He is a monster, and he will do anything it takes to get what he wants. And what he wants is to get back at us. You cannot trust him. He did not save you. He orchestrated this whole thing; it has his name written all over it.”
I didn’t know what to think. On the one hand, what Seff was saying made sense. If Scion was Ciaran’s enemy, then using me to get to Seff… Well, it was a good plan. Especially if they had history, as Seff had said. But on the other hand, I just couldn’t believe that Ciaran was a monster. He’d been nothing but respectful… annoying, domineering and arrogant, sure, but he had been kind; he’d been vulnerable. He brought me to his home; he’d trusted me even though I had given him no reason to. Could he really be the monster Seff described? As I stared around at the mess, I had no idea what to think.
Though Ciaran’s warnings about Scion and the viscount echoed in my mind, I squashed them down. I was home. I was safe now. It had all been just a horrible nightmare, right?Get your shit together, Seraphina,I scolded myself, the scent of rosemary wrapping around me, as I shivered in Ciaran’s old shirt. I tried my best to squash down the memory of sleeping in his bed, of his rough hand around my wrist—of those multi-faceted eyes, dark and alluring. It was getting harder to do. I changed my clothes to rid myself of the temptation.
The gendarmes arrivedand documented the scene. Seff requested that they keep a detail on me in case Ciaran came back. I personally thought that was a ridiculous measure, but it made Seff feel better. And then we began putting my apartment back together.
Fortunately, the damage was minimal, with the broken window on the front door being the worst of it. We boarded it up with some cardboard and tape for now. My mind was reeling. I couldn’t seem to shake Ciaran’s warnings. The story about his mother disturbed me to my core. And then Seff had been so angry when I returned. But now, he was being sweet and helpful, putting my room back together, worrying about me, acting as if everything was normal and he hadn’t just grabbed me so hard I was sure I would bruise. He gave me whiplash.
As I watched him right my dresser and begin gently folding my clothes, I decided that he was good and kind and loving. And yes, he had a temper, and yes, we had our differences, but those things didn’t matter in the long run. So, I buried the warnings that Ciaran had given about Scion; I buried the story about his mother, the story painted across his face in scars, and I went about getting on with my life.
Carlotta returned homefrom the infirmary some time later. Seff took that as his cue, kissing me gently on the forehead and walking away down the stone steps.
My heart hurt to see Carlotta like this—a black eye on her right side, purple, angry and swollen, white bandages coveringthe gash on her forehead. I stared at her for a moment, tears filling my eyes. I walked over to her without saying a word and pulled her into a careful but firm embrace.
“So. If it isn’t the new diva of the Lutesse City Opera,” Carlotta deadpanned. Someone had obviously told her that I’d replaced her. I was sure she was going to be furious with me.
“I’m so sorry, Lottie.” I sobbed into her shoulder. I had been holding it in, the weight of what had happened to her, my performance and everything afterward. All of it was coming to the surface now as I held my friend and wept. “They cornered me into doing it. I didn’t have a choice.” I conveniently left out the part where Maren volunteered the information about my hidden talents. I didn’t need to drag her into this.
“Shhhhhh, shhhhhh, Fifi. I was only joking, it’s okay.” Her slim arms wrapped around me, and she stroked my hair. “I heard it went great.” She squeezed me tightly to her.
“No, it’s not okay. I should have told you. About the singing. About everything.” I stepped back, wiping my eyes. “I never wanted to compete with you. I’m happy dancing. I just want to be a part of the opera; I don’t care what I do. I want to be with you and Maren, that’s all, I swear. I’m happy dancing.” And no matter what happened now, I could not bring myself to tell her about the oath. To tell her the truth about why I had never told either of them about my ambitions. It was too personal. Too raw.
Carlotta’s face turned cold. “I’m not threatened by you. The only thing that hurts is that you think I would have been upset. There’s no reason that you should have hidden this from me. The fact that you didn’t trust me enough to share with me? That’s what hurts my feelings. We’ve known about the singing since we were all in school together. I guess I just always hoped that you would tell me some day.”
It was like a punch to the gut. She’d known since we were in school together—when I was a burgeoning ballerina and she, ayoung and untested soprano. Known and never let on. My eyes filled with hot, embarrassed tears.
Carlotta didn’t say anything. She just held me until I stopped crying.
“What the hell happened here?” She pointed to the mess that was our apartment.
“How long do you have?” I wiped my eyes again. I must have looked like a real blubbering mess. But Carlotta looked worried.
I launched into the whole story; this time I didn’t leave out the parts about the magic, the Church, Seff and his father, or the perceived threats to my life. Carlotta was my family. She was the only person I could trust with everything, the only one to whom I could show everything, especially now that there were no more secrets between us.
Carlotta’s face paled as the story went on. She gasped when I told her about the Cistern and the star-vaulted ceiling miles and miles below the city. I was describing Ciaran’s apartment when she stopped me.
