He’s not here.
I roll from my bed and survey my apartment, my heart hammering against my ribs faster than it has in decades. Part of me hopes this is a cruel joke, that he’s hiding beneath my bed or behind thecommode, preparing to jump out and surprise me with one of his silly gifts or…
It’s then I notice my baubles and makeup containers flung carelessly across the marble surface of mytoilette.
The collar is gone.
No.
I’ve been a fool. I’ve been so stupid. I thought he loved me. I thought he was different from all the rest. But he’s just another man come to take from me, come to destroy everything I’ve fought for.
I won’t cry.
I will never shed a single tear for Gideon Rougon.
He has my necklace. My magic is gone, and everything I’ve built is in danger—
“My theatre,” I whisper, as I tug my best fur coat over my shoulders and fly for the door.
Cleopatra’s curse is swift and cruel. By the time I arrive at La Petite Mort, the blaze is already so intense that I cannot even cross the street.Sapeurs-pompiersfight the fire with water pumped from the Seine, while a crowd gathers to gossip over the flames. Many of them jeer at my beautiful burning theatre, pleased to see a house of ill-repute receive such godly vengeance.
I hear that one of the lamps wasn’t properly extinguished and it set fire to the curtains.
But I don’t believe this explanation for a moment. I know why my theatre is burning. Lucien Vega is behind this. And his servant, Gideon Blake.
Gideon did this.
He took my collar and burned my theatre.
The good fortune that has been with me ever since I left Egypt is fleeing from me, undoing everything it helped create. As I fall to my knees, stupefied with horror, the wooden beams that hold the roof come crashing down, and the outer stone wall of my theatre collapses inward.
Please, let all of my girls be tucked safe into their beds…
As if hearing a cue from the devil himself, apompierdrags a dark shape from the rubble. My hand flies to my mouth as I recognise Catherina’s favourite scarlet gown. Thepompierdumps the body on the road and returns to the pumps.
The body is without a head.
There are only three ways to kill a vampire. Burning, draining completely of blood, and severing the head from the body. Our kind can survive burning, if we’re unlucky. But never a severed head…
I’m so sorry, Catherina.
Fear and sadness choke me. I bow my head, no longer wishing to see the misery my hubris has caused. Instead, I’m confronted with the shimmering golden silk of my chemise – the one Gideon so reverently tugged from my body mere hours ago.
I believed I was safe. I believed that no man could ever take away what I built. And then I went and opened my heart to Gideon Rougon, and he proved me wrong.
I touch my hand to my throat. But instead of the heavy reassurance of my jewels, my fingers brush bare, cold skin.
As cold as Gideon will be when I catch him.
The loose chemise fits too tight. It’s choking me. His scent rises from my skin, now part of the fabric. I want nothing more than to burn it away, as he has burned everything I loved about him. I tear at the chemise. Silk rips in my hands – long, jagged ribbons like the bandages of a mummy. I tear and tear, tossing them into the fire as hot tears of rage burn down my cheeks.
I have nothing left now, exceptvengeance—
“Arabella Macquart.”
I whip my head around, aware with a cold rush of fear that I’m kneeling in a fur coat and ragged chemise that now barely covers my body. The stern voice belongs to an officer of thebrigade des mœurs. The officer grins at me, revealing a row of rotting teeth. “You’re coming with us.”
“On what charge?” I leap to my feet, preparing to run. But another officer slams into me from behind and shackles my wrists. “I’ve done nothing illegal.”
