After I lost the theatre, I forgot all about the bloodstained flowers and dead birds and creepy messages left backstage. I had bigger concerns, like finding enough blood to stay alive and getting the fuck out of Paris. I assumed it was one of Catherina’s admirers. We had problems with them from time to time.
But the same handwriting showing up on my door one hundred and fifty years later? This isn’t about Catherina, who is long dead. This is aboutme.
Someone who tried to terrorise La Petite Mort ishere,in Sanctus Estate, and they want me afraid.
My blood turns to ice.
It’s no accident that this happened after I gave that little performance at Beth’s studio. I was a fool. I got caught up in the music, the encouragement from my friends, and the idea of seeing Gideon Blake sweating, and I revealed myself. This isexactlywhy I’ve had to be so careful. This is why Sanctus’ NDA and strict privacy rules appealed to me. Many of the vampires who used to frequent La Petite Mort are still alive and kicking, and they don’t want their modern lives ruined by what they might’ve got up to in the past. Someone wants to shut me up or keep me for themselves.
This is America all over again.
No, it’s not. This is my home. No one is driving me away this time.
In the car, I pull up the footage from my security cameras again, only to see the same error message stating that the feeds had conveniently gone dark just before the incident. A message on the Sanctus app informs everyone of a security glitch that lasted only ten minutes, and that, as far as their team know, nothing happened, but to report anything unusual to Gideon.
Like hell I’m telling Gideon about this.I’m not going to have him sweep in and solve my problems for me. Especially not now that he’s signed off on me becoming Sanctus Estate’s largest shareholder, apparently without even reading the contract. (I’m surmising here. If he read it, he definitely wouldn’t have signed it. Everything I need to oust him is right there in legalese. I just need him to mess up one final time, and Sanctus ismine.)
And he’s already given me all the ammunition I need. The Sanctus notification I set up on Sepulchrr is already going nuts, with Upyr Digging and Resurrecting the news that Sanctus security has been compromised. Conclave officials are using it to demonstrate that Sanctus is too dangerous without court oversight. They’re putting together a contingent of officials to come in the flesh to demand an inspection.
When I swoop in and flush Gideon, I’ll be praised.Worshipped. And the Conclave won’t have anything to complain about anymore.Their witch-hunt against Sanctus will fizzle out and this place can become a sanctuary once more.
I hope.
I might want to dunk Gideon in a vat of molten gold and have him mounted on my car as a hood ornament, but I don’t want Sanctus to fall. In thisone single thing, I’m on his side.
Provided he never goes anywhere near a block of marble again.
Luckily, I have a good idea of who is responsible for the word on my door – the same person stirring up rumours about me on the app. I’m arranging a special surprise for him.
But first, I have to make it through this painful evening.
I can’t believe I let Maisie talk me into this.
I once created the best, most avant-garde, mostexclusiveburlesque theatre in Paris. And now I’m reduced to amateur theatre. All for the sake of helping out a friend who might not care so much about her job loss if she’d acquired a little more compound interest and spent a little less on expensive duck toys.
And now, since I prematurely told Gideon never to speak to me again, I’ll have to do it all on my own.
I walk into the pole studio and take in the sorry bunch of ragamuffins waiting nervously for the auditions to begin. This is no Belle Époque theatre filled with young women hungry to be the next Sarah Bernhardt. I have my work cut out for me.
They fall silent as I step into the centre of the room.
“The auditions will begin at precisely eight pm,” I announce. “Line up stage right. You will have exactly two minutes to impress me. Do not waste them.”
While the would-be actors line up in the wings (changing rooms) of the makeshift stage (a bare area of floor with two poles that Beth has demarcated with black tape). Half of them go to the wrong side because they don’t know where stage right is. As I gather the health and safety forms Maisie had them fill out, I notice three juggling pins on the prop table. Nothing good can come of that.
A table has been set up for me in front of the next row of poles. A water pitcher and two glasses. Two pads of legal paper and ahandful of pens. Handwritten signs on each chair readDIRECTORandDOGSBODY.
I fold myself into theDIRECTORchair and glare down at the judging sheet.
Fine. I’ll do it all myself. As usual.
“First act,” I bark, pulling the pad towards me. “Your time starts now.”
Isis drags a protesting Dora out onto stage, holding a wimple in place over her unruly hair. “We’re doing a sister act. Get it?”
“I do not.” I fold my arms.
“I… I just need a minute.” Dora stammers. She crosses her arms, shoving her hands into her armpits as she gazes out into the audience, her face a picture of abject terror.
