“Petronille.” Lorelei placed a hand on my arm.
My friend, as well as friends by extension, were staring at me from all points of the tearoom table.
I stared at Lorelei, nudging her foot under the table to clue me in.
A fine dark brow shot up at me. “You must be tired. I trust we can assign blame to Mr. Kamenev.” She winked.
The girls surrounding us erupted into a quiet chorus of mousy tittering. I had to remind myself thatIwas the old one, these were just girls.
“Yes, not much rest to be had.” I set my unsteady china on the table before any more tea became a stain.
The blue details of the cup matched the rest of the Blue Moon tearoom, named for its famed wisteria blossoms covering the facade as well as the walls of the inside. The droopy violet blooms hung above usas if listening in on all of the chatter. You could see the vines through the stately windows, flowers swaying in the breeze.
The guests of the room were just as flowery, wearing whites and rich accents of color. Their perfumes mixed with one another and the blossoms; it would be overwhelming if the tearoom were any smaller.
“Does that mean you won’t return to the company?” Helen asked. Her expression was haughty, young and bright like a well-fed fire. I had seen her many times at auditions and rehearsals. The first time I saw her, she was maybe fifteen years of age. Time is a thief, but it was generous with her.
“No, I’ve retired,” I answered, turning my attention to a small snack on the table, my shaky hand pinching it between my fingers.
The girl’s impish grin flicked up when she saw me reach. “Clearly.”
Despite the chatter around us from our companions, her words interrupted me mid-bite, making me abandon the snack altogether. I looked at Lorelei, only to find her intensely focused on her tea, though I knew she’d overheard. I nudged her with my shoe again, but she ignored me.
Perhaps I’ve truly outgrown this group in more ways than one.
“Petre retiring is the only way you have a shot asThe Sylph.” Lorelei’s tone was playful, but she meant it. “I would be thanking her for the opportunity. Or else you may forever be stuck in the background as a tree, not even a faerie.”
“You say that like you aren’t gunning for the same role. Keep up thatmanlyfootwork and you may find yourself in the role of Gurn.”
“Pardon me.” I cleared my throat, excusing myself from the table and making directly for the powder room.
The light from tall windows in the establishment trailed as I passed like a malfunctioning silver screen. Faces looked at me, or were they looking away? I kept my breathing deep and steady, reminding myself that not everyone was watching me like I thought they were. I was being paranoid in a fit of uneasiness.
The powder room of the teahouse was green. The cold porcelain under my palms was the only thing grounding me, along with the hissing of the faucet. The room wasn’t spinning, but it certainly was vibrating. There was no stopping the tremors; my body was shaking no matter what I steadied myself on.
In the mirror was a pale face with a ghastly shadow cast from the gaslights lining the wash area. The shadows hung around my eyes and sides of my face, corpsifying me in some cartoonish expression of my deeper feelings.
Flashes of cold metal slabs bled into my vision. My face, the slabs, Vincent’s face, then all those draconian-looking tools.
I think I’ll be sick.
Cold water hit my shoes, soaking through to my stockings.
I stared down at the overflowing sink before grasping to turn it off. The front of my gown was drenched.
The mirror was reflecting true now, just an unwell girl in a green bathroom.
The apothecary air nipped at my sinuses, the finer scents piercing deep, enough that I could taste them at the back of my throat. Spices and herbs lined the walls in earthy palettes, almost as grand as the old wood that adorned every inch of the walls.
Though much of the sciences were intimidating in thought, it was different for an apothecary. Centuries of remedies under one roof, passed down like heirlooms from one woman to another. The only place one could hope for a remedy that didn’t end in lazy shrugs from men who were too careless to know the pains of womanhood.
“Is there anything in particular I can help you with?” A voice like whiskey, smooth with a sweet, feminine malt.
The botanist was staring at me, possibly for a little too long before I realized I was staring right back.
“Ah, just having some trouble finding what I need.”
“Which is what I’m here for.” She laughed. “There is no need to figure it out on your own.” The botanist was stern, a tall figure with the air of a bitter winter. Her black wool gown matched her hair. The only thing that kept her from being an entirely dire omen was the way she spoke with care.
