By looking at the hard drive, I can cross Alyra off the list. Or not.
Or Gideon.
The thought invades before I can stop it. Gideonwasthe head of the Vega crime family for decades. He has incurred the wrath of the Conclave. We know the killer knows everything that goes on at Sanctus.
I have to cross Gideon off our suspect list once and for all because the Conclave are making him their scapegoat…
Because Iwantto go on this absurd date with him.
Because he’s melting away the ice encasing my heart.
But before he thaws me completely, I need to know I can trust him. He’s broken my trust before. And if you’re not in my circle of trust, you’re in my pyramid of suspicion or rhombus of revenge.
Because, if he’s innocent, maybe I don’t need to take Sanctus from him any longer.
Maybe he’s the right person to create this sanctuary, after all.
But I’m still Arabella Lestrange, and he wronged me.
A littlelightrevenge is good for the complexion.
I turn back to Morrie, who’s been waiting with an amused smirk on his face while I did my thinking. “I can get you the hard drive.”
After Morrie leaves, I send off a text to Celeste, explaining what I need from her. Once I have a reply that she and Beth will help me, I head straight for my closet. I ignore the way my heart twists in my chest, like it’s being wrung out by an overenthusiastic washer woman, as I plot how to bring down Gideon with fashion.
I don’t believe in dressing for a man. I buy my clothes for me. But as I run my fingers through the racks, I can’t help imagining which fabric Gideon will peel off me tonight.
There it is.
Thedress.
I bought it on a trip to Paris about ten years ago. I love that travelling to Europe is cheap, and fashion is always calling. I usually go to Paris, Milan, Berlin and Vienna a few times a year to meet some of my contacts, sell some Merovingian gold, and fill my suitcase with exquisite clothing. I enjoy the trips, but… I always go alone.
A memory surges, unbidden, of Gideon dragging me through the streets of Montmartre, twirling me beneath the moonlight, holding out treats that I could never eat, climbing into a fountain to kiss me…
The ladies in the Nevermore Coven are always talking about going on a weekend trip to Paris. Sometimes I imagine taking them to myold haunts – blowing Celeste’s tastebuds with my favourite viennoiserie pastries, shopping for gorgeous books and art with Beth atles bouquinistesalong the banks of the Seine, taking Isis on a ghost tour of Montmartre, showing Winnie all the paintings in the Louvre I posed for (seventeen in all), walking with Mina and Oscar down the avenues at Père Lachaise and helping her to touch the tomb engravings on some of my past suitors.
But I’ve never offered. I couldn’t be in Paris with them and not reveal my secrets.
They know your secrets now,a dissenting voice whispers.But that was never the issue, was it? The reason you kept it a secret in the first place is because you’re afraid that when they get to know you – really know you in your bones – they’ll find you unworthy of their friendship.
I finger the neckline of the dress.
I don’t want to do this.
Revenge should be a pleasure, like savouring a fine vintage blood. But this feels like pushing my icicle heart over the edge of a balcony.
I’m falling, about to shatter and bleed everywhere, and I can’t do a thing to stop it.
I force the edges of my heart to harden, to freeze over again. This isn’t about Gideon or our history. It’s about protecting the people I love from the monster in our midst.
I need every weapon I have. I need to get into that safe.
I step out of my slacks and pull on the dress. It fits perfectly. I find a pair of heels that look like they could sever an artery, and, thus attired, finish my makeup and hang a pendant of a silver-inlaid sword around my neck, briefly enjoying the way the blood-red garnets in the hilt sparkle against my skin. I kiss Cleo VII on her cold, scaly head and lock her away in her enclosure, and stroll over to Sanctus House as if I’m not about to shatter another vampire’s glass heart tonight.
Sanctus House is eerily silent as I approach the lobby doors. The downstairs bar is empty. Sinead walks beside me to the private elevator. Gideon is nowhere in sight.
“Mr Blake says you can wait here for him. He’s been held up.”
