“A brick to stop the bite.”
I jump and shut the book with awhump,whirling to face the man who crept up on me. He sports a gray ponytail and tiny glasses.Spectacles.The word suits them better—small and round and wire-rimmed.
“Hello…uh…bonjour,” I stutter, my brain racing for simple phrases as I take a step back.
“You are American?” He smiles and nods, gesturing to the book in my hands. “Which is why you have found one of the few English titles I own.”
“It grabbed my attention,” I say, folding my arms but holding on to the book. “I was just browsing.”
“And you are welcome to continue.” He bows slightly, the perfect gesture for his late nineteenth-century attire. In addition to the glasses, he wears a ruffled shirt and shiny vest, as if he’s channeling the character Lestat.
“I am Benoît, and this is my boutique. Please, enjoy.”
Before he walks away, I step forward. “I was told you have costumes?”
“Yes, madam. This way.” He extends his arm in invitation and winds through the furniture to a door in back.
I follow him to a separate area where racks of clothing fill the space. A partial wall divides the room into female and male attire, both equally eclectic in style and color.
He steps to the first rack and pulls out a dress. The lace bodice and capped sleeves remind me of an old-timey milkmaid. A verysexymilkmaid.
“I don’t think that will work,” I say. “I’m attendingLa Danse des Monstres.”
“Ohhh. At Maison Marteau?” He makes a face, but I can’t tell if he’s shocked or impressed. “Then you are right. This won’t work at all.”
“I’m staying there. Temporarily,” I add. “I’m renting one of the apartments.”
“La Danse des Monstresis a coveted invitation.” He nods and puts the dress away. “I have what you need.”
He guides me to another section where the pieces are of better quality fabric and embellishments. I run my hand along rich red silk. “I want to dress as a monster, but do you have anything besides vampires?”
“Yes.” He chuckles. “You will see several Draculas and other fanged creatures at the dance, but many avoid those costumes.Especiallyat Maison Marteau.”
I let go of the rich fabric. “I don’t understand.”
“The summer ball was always a tradition, but the name and theme changed some years ago. From what I’ve heard, it was a way for the family to . . .poke funat some nasty stories being whispered at the time.”
His explanation is similar to what Luci said, but I still can’t make the connection. Why would dressing like a vampire be a problem?
Feigning interest in a dress, I turn my attention to the rack. “Stories?”
He crosses his arms and leans in, as if preparing to share a juicy secret. “The hearsay is based on old accusations about the Marteaus. It’s said they gained their money through wicked means.”
My laugh is light, but a weight lands in the bottom of my stomach. “As in what, dark magic or something?”
He moves his head side-to-side. “Or something.” He stands back and opens his arms, his eyes tracking me up and down. “You are a size six in the USA?”
I blink at the rapid change of topic. “Yes. Size six.”
“And you prefer to be a monster?”
“Sure,” I say with a shrug.
He curls the finger resting against his chin. “Excellent.”
Tapping his hand along the rack of clothing, he names off options as he goes. “Grim Reaper, demoness, wicked witch.” He glances back at me. “Because not all witches are bad.”
Finally, he stops, gives me another once-over, and whips out a dress. “How about this?”
