11
Arabella
Damien:Dearest sweet Arabella, I need some funds,fast. How quickly can you convert sixteen pounds of Knights Templar treasure into cash? It’s mostly jewel-encrusted crucifixes, etc, but there are some saints’ bones and old hunks of wood that might be from the ark. Call me, darling!
“ARABELLA, YOU WERE AMAZING.How did youdothat?” Beth squeals. The Nevermore Coven crowd around me, excitement and awe on their faces.
“You’re like a human pretzel.” Komal jiggles my arm. “You defied gravity! I can’t believe you never told us you could dance.”
“Of course she didn’t tell us. Arabella has to maintain her status as a woman of mystery and intrigue,” Isis declares. “Unfortunately for her, I saw a vision of her performance. I knew months ago. That’s the advantage of being a powerful clairvoyant. But I didn’t say anything because it’s Arabella’s secret to tell.”
“How very magnanimous of you.” Dora shoots her sister a look, then rubs my shoulder affectionately. “I wish I had your grace. Or your bravery.”
Her smile is warm, but her eyes are wide with fear, her gaze locked on the crowd behind me. I don’t have to turn around to know she’s watching Mike. He has been worse lately, his behaviour going from disagreeable to controlling. It might be time he received a visit from the unfriendly neighbourhood vampire. But first, I have to extricate myself from a revenge plan that’s working only too well.
Winnie throws her arm around me. “You are incredible. I’m so honoured to have you as a friend.”
My cheeks burn. Winnie is a new friend, and although I’m wary of new people, especially humans who’ve recently become aware of the supernatural world, she’s quickly become an important part of my life. My whole body hums with warmth, a strange sensation for a vampire.
I haven’t danced since the day I left Paris. After Gideon took everything from me, I lost the ability to feel the music. So why did it come back tonight, of all nights, while he was watching?
Maybe this giddy sensation has nothing to do with the dance. Maybe it has more to do with the anonymous message I just sent to a high-ranking client reporting Gideon’s attendance at Beth’s pole studio, to make his position with the Conclave even more precarious?
“Seriously, Arabella, you’ve done this before.” Beth plants her hands on her hips. “I’ve been having lessons for six months and I can’t do half those moves.”
“I used to be a dancer,” I murmur. “In a previous life.”
A life that Gideon Blake stole from me.
“I know it’s hard to believe, but Arabella is being modest.”
I stiffen at the sound of Gideon’s smooth voice. He stands behind Beth, disgusting mushroom drink spiked with blood in hand, impeccably tailored suit hugging his body, his mouth quirked in that cheeky half-smile of his. The old, polished Gideon is back, his mask firmly in place. Does he know what I saw while I was dancing?
Did heintendfor me to witness the pain in his eyes or the raw wound of his lips?
We’re both playing games with each other, and Iabhorlosing.
“Arabella? Modest?” Komal’s eyebrows shoot waaaay up. “Those things go together like… like two things that don’t go together.”
Gideon’s gaze flicks to each of my friends, drawing their attention while avoiding meeting my eyes. “Arabella wasn’t simply a dancer. This majestic creature once graced the stage at La Petite Mort, the most secretive and notorious cabaret theatre in Paris.”
“I didn’t grace the stage. Iownedit.” I glare at Gideon, but he’s not looking at me. And he won’tshut up.
“In fact, Beth, I’m pretty sure the woman on your poster is a certain grumpy vampire temptress we all know and love.” Gideon holds out his hand. Wordlessly, Beth peels one of the old Toulouse-Lautrec posters from the wall and hands it to him. The girls crowd around it, peering at my portrait while I silently plot all the ways I might separate Gideon’s head from his body.
“You can’t see the model’s face, but it sure looks like Arabella.” Komal’s eyes are two round saucers.
“Arabella, did youinventpole dancing?” Beth’s voice rises an octave. “Vampires are so fabulous, it’s annoying.”
“Why don’t you all talk louder?” I hiss. “I don’t thinkeveryperson in Argleton has heard my secrets.”
I glance around the crowd, that creeping sensation of being watched prickling at my neck again.
“Look at your corset!” Dora whispers, hugging her oversized sweater against her chest. “And those jewels around your neck. You’re so glamorous. I wish—”
Whatever Dora is about to say next is cut off with a whimper when her husband grabs her arm and yanks her out of our circle.
“Mike, you’re hurting me,” Dora cries.
