Page 42

There’s a blow dryer on the bathroom vanity, like at a hotel, and I take the opportunity to dry my hair. When I’m done, I look distastefully at my dirty clothes. I really don’t want to put them back on my clean body. So, I snatch them up from the floor, crumpling them into a bundle, and walk back into the other room. Should I just put on my sundress from yesterday? I look at it, lying on a chair, but it looks dirty now, probably from sitting on the cell floor for who knows how long. Plus, that outfit is kind of ruined for me, a symbol of what has happened in the past twenty-four hours. I’ll just borrow something from his weird closet full of clothes. If he gets mad, I’ll remind him that I wouldn’t need to borrow clothes if he had just let me go home.

The selection is . . . odd. Mainly formal wear, as elaborate as my costumes at La Couronne Bleu. I wonder who he’s been having over that feels so comfortable leaving their red-carpet clothes at his house, but decide it’s not my business. Some digging finds a lacy spaghetti step yellow sundress and a white knit cardigan sweater. The outfit is a little too close to my white summer dress for comfort, but at least it’s not a ballgown. There are drawers in the bottom of the closet, and I open the first one, finding a plethora of underwear, all with the tags still on. In the next and biggest drawer, there is a rack of shoes in sizes from five to ten, all with designer labels. Why the women's clothing? Why all the sizes? This isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve experienced while knowing Julian, but it certainly is odd. I pick out some strappy sandals in my size and get dressed.

What now? I need to get to rehearsal soon. We’re changing the program again, like we do every week. We’ll be arranging the latest charting songs into jazz numbers, and that takes time. I think that Bruno will have a stroke if I’m late again, so soon after “solving my problem.” I snort a little at that thought. The antidote to my problem has definitely turned out to have almost more complications than the original poison. Then I picture Colton, sitting on my sofa days after we broke up, bold as you please, waiting for me to come home, his mood volatile. I shiver. Alright, maybe not more complications, but they are certainly there. Especially this whole siren nonsense.

Siren. I’m still not sure I believe it, though Julian seems sure. Sure enough to want to lock me down for a whole century. I still just feel like myself, though. Just plain Andi, with her street smarts and hustle, and certainly nothing ever handed to her. But, I suppose, at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter right now if it’s true or not. It matters that Julian believes it, and it matters that Colton might believe it. And their believing it makes them dangerous to me. Because they want to own me.

I shake my head again. Okay, got to clear out the nonsense. All it will do is paralyze me, and I want to keep moving forward. Maybe I can get Jade to talk about this with me, though Julian seems to think people knowing I might be a siren is dangerous. But I trust Jade. I’ll talk to her alone, if I can, and see what she knows.

Squaring my shoulders and steeling my determination, I head to the door. My hand hesitates as I reach for the knob. What if it’s locked? What if I can’t get out, and this really is a cage? But no, Julian said that I could keep going to work. Why would he lie to me? If he wanted to keep me locked away, I’d still be in the cell. I need to stop being silly. My hand rests on the knob, then I turn it. I am so incredibly relieved. I open the door and then yelp. Julian is there, leaning against the doorframe, casual as anything.

“Good morning, ma souris,” he slowly grins, making me feel fluttery. It is not fair that I still find him attractive after yesterday. There’s something wrong with me.

“Good morning,” I reply cautiously. At least he’s back to calling me a mouse instead of a snake. I don’t really like either, but one is definitely better than the other.

“Shall we get going?” he asks, still casual. “We wouldn’t want to be late to your rehearsal.”

So that’s how we’re going to play it? Like nothing happened and go back to flirty banter? No. I won’t do that. “I want another bodyguard,” I blurt out. His face turns thunderous, so I hastily tack on a “please.”

His face calms after a moment. He looks at me studiously and says, “No.”

No? No other response? For some reason, that infuriates me. “Why?” I ask, a little challenging. This isn’t a smart conversation, so I might as well be bold. And bank on the fact that he says he can’t hurt me.

“Why would you want that, ma souris? You've enthralled me, and I am the most fearsome man in all New Orleans. You will be safe as long as we are together.”

Oh man. Can I tell him? All my fear and resentment? That probably isn’t a good idea.

“You didn’t really give me the day off you promised yesterday,” I remind him.

He frowns. “That’s easily fixed. You wanted to go to an art gallery? We will go after your work. They’ll keep it open late for me.”

“The art gallery isn’t the issue!” I burst out.

“Then what? We figured out our problem for the most part. Things are good.”

He really is crazy. Things are not “good.” Maybe I need to be more direct, even though that could be dangerous. I glance away and say softly, “I know I signed a contract. I know that for all intents and purposes, you own my blood now. I know that you feel some weird . . . need to protect me now. But I don’t want that. And you threw me in a literal dungeon that you have in your basement. I need to know that I am safe from you, not just all of New Orleans.”

I’m not looking at him, so I don’t see his reaction. I brace myself for his denial again, when he surprises me by saying, “Why won’t you look at me, ma souris? Look me in the eye as you stab me in the heart.”

I force my eyes back to his, and quirk up a ghost of a smile. “I thought you didn’t have a heart.”

“Apparently, when you say such hurtful things, I do.”

I make my eyes stay on his, summoning what little backbone I have left. “You’re only saying that because you're still drunk, or whatever, on my blood. It’ll pass.”

He cocks his head. “I’m not sure that it will. Most blood exits a vampire’s system well before now.”

“Be that as it may,” I say, “it’s not how you really feel. My blood, like, roofied you into wanting to protect me. To be obsessed with me. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that it happened, and I would have never done it on purpose. But I still need to feel safe. To do that, I need to feel free, even from your grip.”

“What do you propose, ma souris?” he asks. “I feel a physical want when I’m away from you. Like everything is wrong without you in my sight. It is a potent feeling, and it has grown, not diminished, with time.”

I bite my lip, but keep his eyes. “Maybe . . . just for today . . . we use a different bodyguard? And see if more time lets you, I don’t know, dry out? Sober up?”

He looks mildly amused. “All these alcohol metaphors you keep using, ma souris, show that you don’t understand the gravity of what has happened. But, alright, let’s say that I take another day to ‘dry out’ and send you with someone else. Give you what you want. What will you give me in return?”

“My gratitude?” I ask hopefully.

He barks out a mocking laugh. “Not good enough. If I give you something you want, I get something I want. That’s the way it works. You know I am not a generous man.”