My whole body grows icy cold as Astor’s words sink in.
Heburned La Petite Mort.Hesent thebrigade des mœursafter me.Heleft those creepy messages and beheaded birds backstage – not for one of my ladies, but forme. He was toying with me back then – the beginning of a wretched game he intended to draw out for his pleasure, until Gideon stormed into my life like a cautionary tale and ruined Astor’s plans.
Gideon fought Astor in Paris andwon. And Astor died and rose again a second time, like an annoying vampiric Jesus.
But Gideon’s not here, and nor are there any conveniently placed vampiric criminal overlords I can drain for strength. I carry some of Astor’s power in my blood from when I drank him, but if he’s brought himself back twice, if he’s as ancient as he says, I don’t have a hope of beating him.
Gasping, I try to get to my feet. Astor kicks me in the side. I slam against the wall, the air driven from my lungs. Plaster chunks rain down on my head. Age in a human means weakness. In a vampire, it meansdanger.
“You escaped the institution before I arrived to have my fun.” Astor looms over me, flashing me that broken, charred grin. “La dame fléau de la Salpêtrièrevanished without a trace, but I sensed the necklace was still in the city. I dug through the ruins of that wretched theatre, but found nothing. I became convinced one of thesapeurs-pompiershad taken it, so I had them all tortured, but that was a dead end. I lost hope of finding the necklace and I lost the chance to punish you for losing it.” He unfolds something from his pocket. “Until my Thrall sent me this, and I knew I had a second chance.”
He holds the paper close to my face. It takes my oxygen-starved eyes and fear-addled mind a few moments to recognise it.
The poster for Beth’s studio opening.
“Imagine my surprise when a little birdie placed you and the necklace in my lap.” Astor snaps his fingers.
“Tweet, tweet.”
A second figure sweeps through Cleo VII’s enclosure and steps into the kitchen, cheap heels clacking like typewriter keys against the tiles. She must’ve had a time climbing Cleo VII’s tree in those.
“Hello, Arabella.”
It’s Gideon’s assistant, Sinead.
50
Arabella
“YOU,” IGASP.
Sinead smiles down at me as she steps forward and kicks me in the ribs. It’s a pitiful human kick that barely registers after Astor’s brutal blow, but I recoil from her because suddenly I know where I’ve seen her before.
She was Lord Astor’s maid back in Cairo. The night I killed him, he’d sent her away to be played with by one of his friends. She must have returned to the mansion and found the coffin burning. She helped him become this… thisthing.
I’d been so obsessed with my ascent through the ranks of Cairo’s elite, and after Astor turned me, with my escape, that I’d barely noticed the faces of the people who worked for him.
“Of course, me.” Sinead tosses her hair over her shoulder, tugging down her collar to reveal the fresh fang marks on her neck. She’s impossibly old for a Thrall. But drinking the blood of such an ancient vampire must keep a human youthful for… “I’ve been Thralled to John for over two hundred years. The things I’ve had to do to keep us alive would melt your pretty little eyeballs right out of their sockets. Not the least of which was planting a body in John’s grave to throw off that gormless detective you hired. This job at Sanctus was supposed tobe our chance to get close to the uncourted community and establish Astor back into public life, but then I discovered something better. The ultimate gift for my master.You.”
“Sinead is quite brilliant,” Astor says proudly, as though her deceptions are his own. “She made Gideon trust her, so he gave her access to Sanctus’ secrets. She siphoned off treasure from the vaults so I could rebuild my fortune. She dropped the security system to let me in and found me an unused maintenance shed to hide in during my dreamless sleep. She copied your lock code so that I could leave you my little gifts. She made sure that we silenced anyone who asked questions.”
“You’re the husker?” I gasp.
Astor laughs. “No. Those deaths were far too theatrical for us. Especially your vampire friend. The killer took quite a risk with her. Iwaswatching through the bushes beside your home when I saw her hurry up the stairs, and when you didn’t answer, I followed her through the sculpture garden, where the killer leapt out and attacked her. Although I took advantage of the situation to leave you a little note.”
Mine, Arabella.
“You didn’t kill her?” Even in my fear, something of the Nevermore Coven takes over. “But you saw who did?”
“Who, my love?” Sinead peers up at Astor. “If someone at Sanctus is killing, I should know.”
“Now, what’s the fun in telling?” Astor coos, licking another cold, wet trail down my cheek, drinking the tear that’s escaped my eye. “It’s more fun to know that Sanctus has a killer with a flair for the dramatic, and none of you can see the truth. You think this is a husker, but you’re sodelightfullywrong.”
What?
“My darling.” Sinead folds herself around his arm. “You should at least tell me—”
“You’ll not speak back to me,Thrall. Not when you haven’t done your duty and found my necklace.”
