Violet and Mick gave me a long look, and a silent conversation went back and forth between us.
She’s been here before.
Why?
Where are we going? I don’t like this.
Violet’s eyes were glossed over with fear. Her body trembled, her steps faulty. Mick squeezed her hand, whispering something in her ear. She nodded in answer, allowing him to release her hand.
Afterward, she caught up to Scarlett, whose hand lingered behind her, nails scratching the rough wall, as she gracefully took each step, one by one, not an ounce of fear in her forward stride.
The slit to her thigh showed her black stockings. The garter straps holding them up peeked through with every step she took. My eyes narrowed against the sight.
Down to three seconds.
Violet snatched Scarlett’s wrist, like she used to do back home, and Scarlett stopped. Her eyes lingered on Violet’s hold; even more uncertainty appeared in Violet’s posture when Scarlett’s eyes seemed to flare with an unreadable energy. Violet started to take her hand back, but Scarlett put hers on top, a warm embrace.
No, something wasn’t right with her. She had been emotional, true. She had been that way since I arrived. But this came from a deeper place. The look in her eyes made me feel uneasy, and I prepared myself for her cackling laughter to reverberate in the darkness. She did that from time to time.
The drink. It had started after the absinthe and quick.
Scarlett smiled, a bit wistfully, but with a taunting edge. Then she entangled her fingers with Violet’s and led us down into the bowels of the earth.
* * *
Upon Scarlett’s entrance, the entire below-ground club went silent, all but the music, a steady, pulsing beat in the background. A few men bowed to her, a few women blinked behind their masks, watching her as she walked past, attempting to follow her wherever she went.
In a matter of seconds, silence turned into stunned whispers.
“It isshe!” I overheard one woman say, her French accent making the words seem more imminent. “Danse de Dame! She has come!”
Mick leaned in closer, now that we were out of close quarters and we could speak freely without being overheard, and whispered, “Who the hell isDanse de Dame? What does that even mean?”
“Lady Dance,” Violet whispered. “I think they’re talking about Scarlett. That’s what the server called her in the first room. It means something here. I don’t like the way everyone is staring at her like that. Can we even get out of here, if there’s an emergency? This is like a tomb. All decorated for a departure party.”
“What do you know about this, Brando?” Mick searched my face for clues.
“Not a fucking thing,” I sighed, catching up to Scarlett. Neil was right to pack up and disappear. My last name—a tiger doesn’t change his stripes, even if he’s never been in the wild. Then this Frenchrattohad influence. Neil the coward was between a rock and a hard place.
We waded in and out of the sea of guests, coming to stand on the fringe of a makeshift dance floor. Scarlett’s eyes held steady on a circular spot next to a long length of raised rock, white feathers lining the path, drifting every so often when a rush of air would cause its flight. Three mirrors, reflecting the front of the crowd, were placed behind the marked circle and raised area.
Her eyes held mine in the reflection of a mirror; she looked at me like I was a ghost, not real.
“Danse de Dame!”
Scarlett and I both turned at the name.
The man who had called her was tall, lanky, with a mass of wild black hair. Blue eyes rimmed red with drink and too many long nights peered out of his jade mask.
“So you return!” He bowed to her, kissing her hand. “Have you come to pry a bit more into Àstrid’s life?”
The name caused Scarlett to glance at me, and like a trigger, her green eyes seemed to flare with jealousy. After a moment, she turned her attention back to the man in the jade mask. She shook her head, no, in response to his question. Without her usual grace, she turned her back on him after she had responded.
The man looked between us, ending his approach with a gallant shrug of his wiry shoulders.He placed his head next to hers and whispered, “It is about to begin.”
Scarlett grabbed another drink from a passing server carrying a silver platter, this one a sparkling rosé. If something were to happen, I couldn’t get her out. I didn’t know how to get her out. We were entombed. She needed to be in the moment.
I went to take the drink from her hand when the music overhead died, the lights not long after. The darkness was so deep that my eyes couldn’t penetrate its depths. Smoke drifted, grey snakes slithering through the black.
