“She has managed well enough,” replied Ree stiffly.
“And where is your mother, young child?” He looked about the chamber. “Where is Marie Laveau?”
Did he know? Could he know? It was possible that it had slipped somehow, that talk of Marie’s condition had spread from among the Voodoo ranks into the city. And Silas knew, but for whatever reason he hadn’t come to collect on her weakness, and she supposed she should give thanks to the loa for that.
“I could protect you from the Vatican,” the Collector said. “You would remain unscathed from their Inquisitors. I would see no harm come to a witch who bears my seal.”
“Chains,” Ree said with a sip of her champagne. “You mean chains.”
“Certain precautions, always.”
Ree let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I do believe you are taking precautions, sir. I believe you are scared. There are rumblings, talk of other rebellions in other states. What of Alabama? Georgia? Mississippi? They will hear what that great rule-abiding city of New Orleans has done with their magical-blooded, free or not. And they will be frightened. There are inklings of a civil war on the wind, Mayor.”
After what happened with Anabelle, and then her escape, folks might feel bold. Certainly, there was a feeling of anger in the air for the injustices that had gone unanswered for so long. Marcel’s hanging had been tinder in the flame, and his resurrection broughtnotions of Haiti’s revolution that New Orleans was not in a position to ignore.
Corbin’s face darkened, nostrils flaring. “Be very,verycareful, little girl, of what you say next.”
“I say you’re afraid. You wanted my mother, didn’t you? But you couldn’t have her. She was stronger than you.” His eyes flattened, and Ree smirked. “And now you want another weapon to add to your collection. Well, it will never be me.”
“I can make it so. Just likethat”—he snapped his fingers—“you insolent little cunt.”
“I don’t think you will, Mayor. You see, maybe we let the Inquisition come. And maybe I will be taken, arrested. Tortured even. But you? What would our sweet enterprising governor think ofyou,Felix? You would be the man who allowed all of the city’s magic to die on a stake. That would be very, very bad for business.” It was she who leaned in now, her voice a silken whisper at his ear. “Press me again, Felix, and I’ll turn myself in to Inquisitor Broussard. And if I go, I can promise you, the rest will follow.”
There was a faintcrickas the glass of wine in his hand splintered up the side.
But Ree held her ground. It was a cruel bluff, she knew. A terrible, terrible gambit to make. But it was the only language men like Corbin knew, the only one they feared. If she went down, he would go with her.
Corbin stared dumbfounded, eyes narrowing into his face as he considered the violent possibility she painted in no uncertain terms. “You play a dangerous hand, little girl. But you forget yourself. This entire city is my game. And only I make the cards,” he said at last.
Beneath the drawl and bravado, it was clear—she’d just scared the most powerful man in New Orleans. She only hoped it might be enough to buy her the time she desperately needed to save her mother.
Ree turned, heart racing as she snatched another flute of champagne, downed it in one go, then disappeared into the crowd. No sooner had she escaped Corbin than a dark-gloved hand caught hers.
A tall man in a colorful lacquered jester mask cocked his head to the side, long white-blond hair spilling over his shoulders.
“Silas,” she hissed.
“Hello, little witch.”
Ree made to move past him, to rid herself of him once and for all, but he pulled her firmly into a dance. “Get off of me!”
“Careful, now, people are watching. I don’t think you want an audience, my sweet.” He leaned in close to her ear. “We wouldn’t want them looking too closely, now, would we? Asking too many questions?Where is the beautiful Marie Laveau, I wonder?”
Ree froze. He took the opportunity to swiftly pull her into a twirl, and she begrudgingly fell into step with him. She glanced around. No one was watching, everyone was watching. That was the beauty of a masquerade. They could be anyone. Not a Voodoo witch and a Brotherhood alchemist. She was the High Priestess, all-knowing, and he the mad-eyed jester.
“Let me go,” she growled.
As if sensing her fear, Silas leaned in. “Do you remember my offer of friendship? Now would be the time I would highly encourage you to reconsider.”
But Ree wasn’t listening. In the very back of the room, a tall figure in a hooded red robe watched her from behind a black lacquered mask that shone with an eerie stillness under the fall of torchlight. But she knew it was him. Henryk.
Ree said nothing, her mind turning to their last encounter in Antoine’s quarters, the fear she’d felt coming face-to-face with the man behind that mask, watching her with such sterile emptiness. Silas silently tracked her gaze. “He’s been watching you this entire time.”
“He hates me.” She didn’t know why she said it, only that she did. The champagne had made her dizzy, wild in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to feel since before the interrogation.
“The boy does not know hate. Not really.” Silas’s voice darkened. “I have seen hate, little witch. Seen its true face. And I can tell you that is not the face the Inquisitor wears.”
“Are you defending the Inquisition?”
