“Because you know me better than almost anyone else in this world.Probably,” she replies quietly.
The admission goes straight into my heart like an arrow, and I feel like I might die right then and there.
“And if you know that,” I say firmly, “then you know I’m not risking you on some stupid plan.”I push harder against her, pinning her to the wall and hoping she gets the message.I’m not letting her go.Not this time.
“I’m not yours to risk,” she says simply.“Are you going to help me or what?”
I take a step back, my ardor turning to ice water in my veins.We were so close for a moment, there, and then she tore it away like a Band-Aid she never wanted to wear.
More fool I for thinking she’d changed.
“Maybe.How do you plan to get in?”
She gives me a Cheshire cat grin.“Easy.My dad’s having a ball tomorrow night.And I’m invited.”
Brooks
The mansion I’m entering doesn’t look like the mansion I know.
I mean, it’s still gaudy and overblown.Gothic exterior with an interior that looks like it was designed by a French king.Or French prostitutes.But there are enough gas lamps in here to light up the entire block, and heating lamps placed in the corners as well.Those are unnecessary.The night is hot and humid, the air sticking to my skin as I walk through the front door and into the house itself.
I wonder, for a moment, who the hell talked my father into trying to heat the place in the middle of a New Orleans summer.But the thought is lost at the sight that greets me.Gone are the dark corners and spooky hallways of the house.Gone is the feeling that someone might be hiding behind the door, waiting to catch you doing something you’re not supposed to.The place is done in elegant ribbons and garlands of magnolia blossoms.Bouquets cover every possible surface and the ceiling is drenched in silk stars on strings.Music is playing from somewhere—a real orchestra, if I’m guessing right—and everyone has a drink in their hand.
This is the mansion where I grew up, and yet it’s wearing a mask, trying to be something it’s not.
The air still tastes evil, though, and I shiver as it touches me.This place still holds bad things.It’s just dressed up for the night.
I turn my attention to the people, now, and scan the crowd.Everyone is dressed to the nines and smells of money and power.I spot people I know from the underworld—the heads of families and their underlings, plus sons and daughters and wives.There are people I recognize from the society papers as well.Heads of industries—or what pass for industries in New Orleans—and those who have inherited wealth.Their faces are smooth and beautiful, their clothes expensive.
The people are also wearing masks.
I hiss at that.Of course my father didn’t tell me this was a masquerade.
Why would he tell me the truth?
I slip to the side of the door, where I find a tray full of masks, and pick one up, holding it to my face.It’s not fancy, but at least it allows me to fit in.I run my other hand down my dress, the deep green silk slippery against my palm, and feel the outline of the knife on my outer thigh.I wonder abruptly whether other people can see it—the material is clingier than I expected—and then realize that I don’t care.Let them look.Ihopethey realize I’m armed.
I would have been stupid to walk in here without a weapon.I’m already regretting that I only have one, and that I’m here on my own.I thought it would be better to arrive alone, but now that I’m here and facing the crowd of people, where I’m sure traffickers are hiding in plain sight, I’m second-guessing myself.This whole thing smells suspicious.My father has never thrown balls, and I know from the research Camille gave me—and the questions I asked—that Dom Landry has more money than he’s ever had.He’s spending at an alarming rate and daring anyone to stop him, telling people that he has more protection than he did before.
Protection from who, though?And for what?Is he running the whole smuggling ring for someone, or is he just a stopping point on the journey?
Do they still use his basement to hold the girls they take?
I take one step forward, then another, finally moving into the crowd and looking to the left and right as I slide through them.The faces don’t change.They’re animated with laughter and drink, food and company.All of them speaking rapidly, and all of them masked.The masks don’t hide their identities, however, and I have no trouble recognizing faces I’ve seen before.
I just don’t know if I’ll be able to identify any new faces again in the future.If the men my father works with are here and I see them, will I be able to name them if I see them again?
I’m not sure, and that makes me itch, like insects are crawling over my skin and I can’t get to them.Lucien and I have nearly enough to start moving against my father out in the open, and potentially saving the girls he has, but we need to know what direction to take.I have to know who he’s working with and where they’re keeping the girls.
Of course, that’s why I’m here tonight.
For the inside track.
Honestly, I’m surprised Lucien agreed to this plan in the first place.He’s more cautious than I remember, more possessive.The swashbuckling pirate I knew when I was younger has given way to someone more charming and polished, but less reckless.Hell, he wouldn’t have let me leave his house at all if I’d given him a choice.
Luckily, I didn’t.Because he doesn’t have the right to stop me.Not anymore.
I laugh to myself at the contradiction, well aware of how I’d sound to anyone else if I told them when I’m thinking.What I’m feeling.I’m furious at him for trying to keep me in his house and acting as if I belong to him, and angry at myself for the way my body reacts any time he’s around.I hate that my feelings for him are still so sharp, and the way my eyes seek him out in any room, looking for him like he’s some sort of security blanket.
