He’s not allowed to steal my revenge.Mine.
He’s not allowed to use that name, to remind me of that night.
Especially not tonight, of all nights. My Bloodeve.
I sink into my sofa.
I can’t think about Gideon. I can’t think about the man who sired me and how satisfying it was to carve him to pieces. I have an issue to deal with. A songbird’s corpse sits on my coffee table, the word “MINE” scrawled with its blood by a careless finger. I found it there when I came downstairs after my daysleep. A brief message on the Sanctus app referred to another security glitch.
I don’t know how Badica did it, as he would have had to come during the day. He and his wife have a private Thrall, so I’m guessing that’s how. And if that Thrall has staff access to the security system, they could also be stealing from the vault…
All I know is Badica is about to find out what happens when someone tries to terrorise Arabella Lestrange—
My phone beeps. A text from one of my favourite clients in London.
It is done.
A satisfied smile plays across my face. Maybe Gideon hasn’t beaten me after all. Cleo VII coils herself into a ball beside me as I search through the Sanctus directory for a number. It’s answered after three rings. The male voice on the other end sounds cautiously optimistic.
“Who is this?”
“You know who it is, Paul Badica. Or should I call you Cardinal?”
“Arabella.” He pants into the phone. “I wondered when I’d hear from you. Are you as excited as I am to relive our old times? When I saw you had found a place in Sanctus, I thought it must be fate. I’ll introduce you to all my friends. They’re already so excited to meet you. You’ll be a rich woman with all the business we’ll give you.”
“I’m already a rich woman.” I pat Cleo VII’s scaly back. “I just wanted you to know that I got your messages.”
“Messages? What messages?” He lowers his voice. “I have to be careful, so my wife doesn’t find out. I’m supposed to be a respectable man now.”
I can’t help the unladylike snort that escapes my mouth. I don’t have to be polite to men like him anymore. “As opposed to when you were a man of the cloth.”
Badica doesn’t catch my sarcasm. He’s speaking in a whisper, his voice strained with desire. “If you want to arrange a meeting next week, then send me a message on Sepulchrr. And send me photographs. You know the sort of thing I like. I’ll pay whatever you ask.”
Out the window, beneath the cool light of the full moon, I see members of the Sanctus security team rush past.
“That’s good to know, Paul, because my price iseverything.”
“What?”
“I want everything you have, and I’m not asking. I’ve already taken it. Your accounts are empty. Check them now. You’ll see I’m not lying.”
“Arabella, what is this?” I hear frantic tapping as he searches the app. Paul’s tone changes. “Youbitch. What have you done?”
“You made our private business public,” I say. “And I haven’t forgotten how you terrorised my dancers after we kicked you out of La Petite Mort. So I made your money mine. Well, I’m not certain it’s all your money, but that’s a conversation for when Gideon’s goons come knocking. Oh, and since you collect antique erotica, you might be interested in some rather raunchy sketches from my personal collection that I’ve posted on Sepulchrr. They already have several thousand Digs and Resurrections, and more every minute as people recognise the cardinal at the centre of the scenes. My friend, the artist Berthe Morisot, had a real knack for capturing the realities of life in Montmartre.”
“I never did anything to your dancers that they weren’t begging for, you crazy bitch,” he yells. “You can’t do this to me!”
“I already did.”
“Just wait a second.” His tone switches to pleading. In the background, I hear knocking. “It doesn’t have to go down like this. We can work something out—”
“The way youwaitedbefore you opened your mouth about me at Sanctus and defaced my property?” I sneer. “I don’t think so. You may have known me on my back when my job required me to be sweet and demure, but don’t for one second underestimate me.” Theknocking becomes louder, more insistent. “And you shouldn’t have underestimated Gideon Blake. You may have heard rumours about the kind of man he was before he opened Sanctus. Those rumours are true, and you broke his rules. I suspect that’s the Sanctus security team. I hear they’re all members of the Vega family.”
“But I didn’t—”
I hear the splintering of Norwegian larch and harsh voices shouting. Paul Badica sobs into the phone.
“That will be them now. Goodbye, Paul.”
