A warm hand touched my arm and I turned. The man bowed before me before placing a chaste kiss on my hand. “Odile, it is a pleasure to see you again. Or was it Odette the last time I made your acquaintance?” The devilish grin on his face pushed the black and white mask farther up his forehead.
I acknowledged his bow. “Olivier. We meet again.”
He laughed, a naughty sound. “Comme promis.Comme promis.”As promised. He leaned in close to my lips, his nostrils flaring, and nodded to himself. “Come, let me take you to meet Emory. He has been awaiting your arrival.”
He offered me his arm. I took it and he easily glided us around clusters and singular people looking to mingle, until we came to a table built into the wall, close to the bar. The man at the table hid behind his mask, but the black mop of hair on top of his head and his startling blue eyes couldn’t be overlooked.
Eyes just like the old Emory Snow’s.
He turned his eyes toward us when his uncle called his name and then made introductions. Olivier left with a promise to return after his obligations were settled. I sat across from Emory, studying what could be seen, wishing I could see more to connect the dots, if any existed. Where Olivier was muscled and broad, Emory was lanky and tall.
“Olivier tells me you want to see me.” He waved a bony hand.
“Yes. I have a few questions about yourgrand-mère.”
He shrugged, his neck meeting his ears. “Nothing to tell. She lived. She died.”
“I’m aware. What color eyes did she have?”
His eyes narrowed to slits, making the mask seem like it wasn’t a proper fit. “Marron.”Brown.
“The color of your eyes, do they run in your family?”
“Not that I am aware, but surely somewhere the blue line existed.” He leaned forward and tilted his head. “You are a strange creature. These questions. Where are you leading me?”
“Why are you steering us in a different direction?”
He threw his head back and laughed. Bright white teeth gleamed in the glow of the firelight. He wiped at his eyes like the question made him cry happy tears.
“If you must know, strange creature, Àstrid Nemours had an affair. I do not know the specifics, just that I am missing a link in my family chain. Take what you must from this.”
I looked away from him, not prepared to go any further. What could I say?You have a grandfather who lives in Louisiana, and he might or might not want to see you?A glass chimed against the surface of the table, dropped off by one of the staff, and he pushed it toward me. I declined but gave him permission to drink up.
He waved the drink around. “This is a mind trip, no?”
I smiled a bit. “Yes.”
He leaned in closer, conspiratorially; he swallowed the drink before speaking. “That is all it is, you see? A trick. We are in a, euh, cellar. Things that make us feel a certain way surround us. Make us feel dangerous. As though the unthinkable has been brought to life. Every bit of it is controlled. But…shhh, do not tell a soul. Or the Sous Rosa will no longer be secret. Or half as expensive.”
In that moment, most of the torches were extinguished, leaving us in complete darkness.
“It is about to begin.” Emory sighed.
I sat in the blackness, my foot moving back and forth, a numbness settling over every inch of my skin. Nothing felt real, except for the constant ache that lived deep inside of me. The constant longing was broadened, a light shining only on its existence. All of the protective barriers had been snuffed out with the light.
The circle next to the stage erupted into a ring of fire. A figure cloaked in crimson stood inside its perimeters. I blinked my eyes, wondering how long she (or he) had been there. All of the guests created a barrier around the circle, preparing for the performance.
The melody started.
Standing up, unsteady at first, I pushed my way to the center of the crowd.
The figure, who could’ve been the real deal but had a mask to cover features, began to sing.Hervoice filled the space, the melancholy tone haunting.
I fought the feeling, the pressure, holding back the tide. The echo of her range seemed to be carried on the wings of angels.
Angelosbagliata.No.Mon ange.
To hell with it.I moved like the dancer that I was, ardor giving muscle and bone control without the power of thought. My eyes closed against the world. My hips swayed from left to right, an easy, smooth motion. The passion, longing, and heartbreak in her voice caught like the disease I already had. A relapse. Always worse the second time around.
