Wicked After Midnight

12

“Honestly, Vale. Breaking in?”

He shrugged and grinned, his hands behind his back. “The window was open, bébé.” His finger sketched a circle in the air. “Now, at least turn around and shut the door.”

I leaned back against the wood, my breath catching as the door clicked shut. Last night’s room had been a closet with a cot, but Limone’s room was like a lady’s sitting room, with pretty damask wallpaper and rugs and a fire in the grate. The bed was sumptuous, iron with posts and draped in swaths of gauze and vines made of paper. I’d spent the afternoon trapped in here, waiting for my moment, but I hadn’t given the actual surroundings much thought. Now, with nothing between me and Vale but warm, smoky air scented with cinnamon and flowers and a jacket I’d already unbuttoned, it felt like a room made for seduction.

I nodded and closed my eyes, just to see if he would kiss me again.

“Good girl.”

A cork popped, and liquid glugged against glass. He stepped close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating from his skin and wrapped my fingers around the belly of a goblet. Gently, slowly, he brought it to my nose.

“Smell that, bébé?”

Breathing in deep, I smelled a million things. Blood, lots of it. Red wine, deep and perfectly aged and carrying hints of berries and vanilla and summer fruit I hadn’t tasted since passing out in Earth on my dorm room floor. He hadn’t let go of my hand, and his other hand now wrapped around it and brought the rim of the glass to my lips as he stepped even closer.

The scent of the wine was overwhelmed by the scent of him, just as powerful, just as dangerous.

“Careful, now. Just a taste.”

The goblet tipped up, and I opened my mouth, taking the small sip that he allowed me.

“Keep your eyes closed. What do you taste?”

I rolled the wine around my mouth, letting it wash over my tongue. “Blood. Wine. It’s greater than the sum of its parts.”

“There’s something else. Try again.”

I swallowed the wine, felt it caress my throat all the way down to my belly, where it settled, hot and mellow. I’d had bloodwine a few times since coming to Sang but not much. Criminy didn’t want any risk of his carnivalleros descending into drink or other illicit substances that tended to make one lazy or feral. But Vale was right—the wine he pressed insistently against my lips was different. I drank deeper this time, wrapping a hand around his wrist to hold it there. The flavor eluded me, and I opened my eyes. Vale was smirking, delighted. My fingers tightened around his arm as suspicion rose in my gullet.

“Is it your blood, Vale?”

“No. Of course not. I don’t want to make you go mad, bébé.” He winked. “At least, not that way.”

My fingers didn’t relax, and his bones ground together in my grasp, but to his credit, he didn’t flinch.

“What, then? Something dangerous? Magic?”

A peculiar distrust rippled through me. I dropped his wrist and threw the glass into the fire, where it shattered and sent sparkly red flames roaring up the chimney. I bared my teeth, my heart speeding up as I tried to puzzle out what he had given me, what he had done.

I had grown too comfortable with Criminy’s honor among thieves and had given this avowed brigand more trust than was wise. He could have poisoned me all too easily simply because I had a schoolgirl crush on him and felt as if I was filled with helium every time he stepped near. Funny, to think I had survived college frat parties without getting roofied, only to fall for the first drink set to my lips in Sang. I didn’t want to believe he was a villain, but that smirk he’d given me . . .

He took a step back, hands down, eyes wary. “Bébé, you’re taking it all wrong. It was unicorn blud, nothing more. There’s a certain cabaret where the Maestro and his Freesian Tsarina stay sometimes, and they keep the cellar stocked with special vintages of bloodwine. I nipped one and thought I’d surprise you. I assumed you would recognize the taste of unicorn. I’m told your people prize it.”

I licked my lips. True, I hadn’t tasted such magic before, and I was angry now but not insane. “Is it supposed to taste . . . fizzy? Warm?”

“Airy, yes. Effervescent, they say. That bottle of wine is one of the most expensive ones in the city, but they were unloading a crate as I came through the catacombs.” He carefully moved the bottle away from the edge of the desk, pushing it closer to a brilliant bouquet of mad sunflowers in a matching golden pot marked with a card that read “Limone.” “I thought it might make a nice gift to celebrate your debut,” although I was saving it for Saturday.

I moved to inspect the bottle, struggling to read the Sanguine type. Criminy and Cherie both had tried to teach me the rudiments of the Bludmen’s mostly secret tongue, but it didn’t follow the usual rules of language, and I’d given up. The bottle was thick, green glass, the label hand-painted with tiny letters and edged with gold. A fierce unicorn stood rampant on it, and I didn’t need to read the writing to know I’d just thrown a hissy fit over something completely stupid. The taste still tickled my throat, utterly delectable. I had to change the subject or start crying over what an idiot I was for doubting him. Rattled by annoyance, I snatched the card from the flowers and tossed it into the fire.

“Did you see it?” I blurted out.

“See what?”

I kept my back turned so he couldn’t see my reaction. “The show.”

“I’m so sorry, bébé. I missed it. Didn’t think you’d be onstage for several days and made Blaise promise to let me know as soon as you were on the schedule. You surprised the hell out of everyone today. Twice.” He stepped close behind me, his hands landing gently on my shoulders as if testing the tension in me after the glass-throwing incident. His voice went soft. “Were you hurt?”

I shook my head no. “Told you I was mostly indestructible.” My eyes strayed to a poster on the wall that showed Limone dancing, and I spun around suddenly. “Wait. How did you know I was in Limone’s room if you just showed up? Were you coming to see her?”

He choked on a laugh. “Oh la la, so jealous. Do you think I’d be bringing a daimon a bottle of stolen bloodwine? And do you think I’d actually want to spend time with a nasty tart like that, even if she could stand me?”

His firelit eyes found mine, and my heart wrenched at the light golden-green that recalled the moors of Sangland. I pushed the homesickness down to focus on the thrill I experienced every time he settled on me.

“Blaise said Limone was gone and you’d spent the afternoon in here, and there’s a convenient window, and I had some news, so I took a chance. I do believe that’s the quickest I’ve seen a girl move from backstage to stardom. I have never heard of a crowd going mad like that.”

I looked down, the scrap of creamy paper in my corset catching my eye. “Well, I did receive a proposal from a duke. I guess that’s a good start, right?”

Vale’s nostrils flared, and with that same uncanny talent Criminy had, he suddenly seemed a foot taller and wider, capable of pummeling a tiny duke into the floorboards with a fist. “Which duke?”

“You mean there are more than one?”

Half giggling and half worried, I pulled out the paper and unfolded it. I hadn’t actually read it after taking it from Madame Sylvie and was more than a little curious about how a duke might offer to buy a woman’s body and time.

Chère Madame,

The new girl is a delight, and I will be the first to taste her charms.

The usual details apply. Please have her delivered after tomorrow’s show.

F.

The handwriting was overly curly but hasty, and I could see the lust written into every loop. Although I hadn’t considered the offer for even a moment, anger flared at the assumption.

“Doesn’t look like he’s offering you a choice, bébé.”

“I always have a choice.”

“Will you go to him?”

“I’m not some piece of meat . . .” A fierce grin replaced my rage. “Wait. I understand you’re a bit of a brigand,” I said. “Do you work on spec?”

His grin matched mine. “I’ll need a down payment, you understand.” He pointed to his cheek.

I lightly slapped it. “The whole point of this plan is that I’m not that kind of girl.”

“And I appreciate that, especially as pertains to dukes. So I’ll extend a line of credit, but you’ll owe me interest.”

“Oh, I think you’ll like this plan. Now, hand me that bottle of bloodwine, and get ready to take notes. Here’s what I need.”

It was all business after that. I told Vale what I needed, and he agreed to get it. But when I tried to tip up the bloodwine to test the airiness of unicorn blud again, he snatched the bottle from my hand and shoved the cork in harder.

“The rest of this vintage will make it easier to find Cherie. And buy your supplies. I only offered you a taste, bébé. Not the entire bottle.”

“But I wasted it!”

“That’s your fault, isn’t it? Perhaps next time you will trust me.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, and he returned the gesture. Throwing me a kiss, he slipped out the window with the bottle in his bag and a last, hot gaze that swept up and down my body and ended in a look of desire and regret. The room felt suddenly empty and quiet, so much so that I had to wonder if he’d even been there. Leaning out the open window, I found a narrow ledge and darkness, hazy with streetlamps. Vale had disappeared. Only the glitter of shattered glass around the fireplace and the lingering warmth of wine on my lips told me that I hadn’t imagined him in my room.

Alone now, I felt the little pangs and annoyances of a long fall and a thrilling debut. Slight aches, including the balls of my feet, much abused by my first public can-can. We would need better shoes if we were to perform it every night. My back still stung, thanks to my tumble from the catwalk, but it hadn’t affected my performance. When I undressed and sucked in a big breath, I had to wonder if perhaps I’d bruised a few ribs. In the excitement and adrenaline, I’d completely ignored the needs of my body. And I was deliriously hungry for blood, of which I had none. At that moment, I would have gladly licked the bloodwine from the floorboards, had any spilled there during my little rage.

I undressed and slipped on a night shift I found in Limone’s armoire, a far nicer one than the ragged, worn thing I’d borrowed the night before. Would Limone come back for it? And did I care? Probably not, and no. Just as I had once walked the caravan, telling myself that it was home and I should forget Earth, now I paced Limone’s room, telling myself that it was mine and I should forget the caravan.

I couldn’t put down the duke’s note, couldn’t stop reading the cold words that turned me from a thinking, feeling woman into a commodity. Even after six years in Sang, I still hadn’t internalized the general sentiment that women were things to be used and, when they’d outlived their use, discarded. Women had practically no rights here, unless they had a father or a husband to stand behind them—or a big-ass sword to swing at whoever threatened them. The caravan was better than most places, thanks to Criminy’s liberal worldview, but here in Paris, I was on my own. And I was practically chattel.

I had no idea what Madame Sylvie had planned for me, whether she had any control over my destiny and my body—or whether she thought she did. This duke could likely own the lot of us if I made him too angry. The shit would probably hit the fan in the morning, but what did I care? My answer to the duke was already in motion, out of my hands, and if Sylvie didn’t like it, I would find another cabaret and teach them the groundbreaking, scandalous dance I’d just invented.

I undressed, turned down the lamp, and slid between the rich coverlets. The bed was luxurious compared to what I was used to, the feather mattress cupping me like angel wings under blankets as soft as melted butter. I stretched and writhed and stared longingly at the window. I’d noticed since becoming a Bludman that lust and hunger were painfully intertwined. When I hadn’t had enough blood, my thoughts grew dark with needs I’d never known on Earth. And when I couldn’t stop thinking about a guy, I couldn’t stop thinking about his blood and staring at the little vein in his neck. The last guy I’d dated had been poor Luc. He’d been hot, but his daimon blood hadn’t appealed, and neither, I’d soon realized, did his personality. I’d wanted Marco Taresque and had spent more than a few nights in my wagon car thinking about what it would feel like to drink the knife thrower’s blood while he traced my body with the points of his daggers. But Marco had been too old for me and then rightfully claimed by Jacinda, and my hungers had cooled.

The caravan meant two vials a day, one show a night, very little lust. A simple life.

Now I was again at the mercy of a hunger that didn’t quite fit. I wanted Vale, but I didn’t trust him, and I couldn’t drink from him. Still, something in me kept watching the curtain billow from the open window anyway, hoping to see his pointed boot slip over the sill, bottle in hand and eyes on fire with mischief. Was it foolish to think his kisses could sustain me?

Something had been bothering me all along, some restless sense that I had forgotten something important. I went over every look, every word in my conversation with Vale. I could never sleep when something evaded me like that and had sprung from my bed after midnight more than once to Google an actor’s name or pull up a thesaurus online back on Earth. I couldn’t stand being eluded.

And that’s when I remembered it. Vale had said that he had news. I’d glossed right over it in my excitement over the show, and he’d never returned to the subject. News about what? He had to mean Cherie, but he hadn’t said her name. I leaped out of bed and went to the window as if he might be lurking outside, waiting for me.

Of course, he wasn’t. That was just stupid.

As I slunk back into bed, the thrill that had lit up the night vanished. I’d been so self-obsessed that I’d forgotten the entire reason I was here. I had let Cherie down again. There wouldn’t be a third time. Despite what I’d told him, Vale could have all the pecks on his cheek he wanted, if only he would bring my best friend back.

The next morning, an unmarked package arrived at the duke’s doorstep. Underneath the beautiful wrapping that I could only describe as Tiffany blue despite the fact that there was no Tiffany’s in Sang, the duke found a box. Inside that box, packed carefully in bunched tissue paper, was a cow’s tongue.

I am not a piece of meat for your amusement.

Hope this charm is to your “taste.”

La Demitasse

By lunchtime, a new card had arrived, tripling his price.

When Madame Sylvie delivered it herself, demanding to know what I had done to inspire him so, I laughed and threw the creamy paper into the fire.

“I told him he couldn’t buy me. At any price.”

She tapped her foot, shook her head. “Someone will find your price, ma petite. That, or they will take you and tell you what you are worth after the fact.”

I grinned, showing her my fangs. “Let them try.”