The Beautiful (ARC) Read online

  New York and Charleston, leaving control of their New Orleans

  operation largely to Bastien. As such, there was always some-

  one who needed something, be it a word in the right person’s

  ear or an intervening handful of coin. Countless decisions to be

  made at the drop of a hat.

  Celine Rousseau was an unwelcome distraction. She brought

  with her nothing but trouble, as she’d proved several days ago

  during Michael’s interrogation at the convent, when she’d

  201

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 201

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  attempted to bait them both. A silly attempt that, by all rights, should have failed.

  Alas, it did not. It was as if she held Bastien by a spell, even

  at a distance. As if he’d been told not to think of the color red.

  Now all he saw were its vibrant hues. In the sunrise and the

  sunset. In every trembling flower. In the splash of wine into a

  crystal glass.

  It always ends in blood.

  Bastien already had too much to lose. This beguiling girl—

  with a sense of humor to match his own and a story begging

  to be told—would not be yet another casualty. Not if he could

  help it.

  “I’ll be sure to speak with my father about this tomorrow,”

  Ash said with a toothsome grin.

  Bastien countered with an equally obnoxious smile. “Excel-

  lent. Then I suggest we return to terra firma and grab ourselves

  a plate of the best sole meunière in the city, along with a chilled bottle of Chateau d’Ygeum.”

  Art howled into the sky while clomping drunkenly toward

  the suspended platform system positioned alongside the struc-

  ture, Phoebus trailing in his footsteps.

  Ash lingered behind for a second. “The only thing is . . .” He

  pulled Bastien closer by gripping his forearm, an action that

  sent the ball of latent anger from Bastien’s chest into his throat.

  “I know my father isn’t going to cotton to some of your . . .

  associates.”

  A cool wash of surprise unfurled down Bastien’s spine. Ei-

  ther Ash was far more reckless than Bastien had first surmised,

  202

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 202

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  or he was a complete fool. Neither boded well for the bastard.

  Nevertheless, they’d reached a critical juncture in their conver-

  sation. A decision needed to be made. Bastien knew what Ash

  meant. He simply wanted to hear him say it.

  So he raised a brow in question.

  “Come off it, Bastien, you know of what I speak,” Ash con-

  tinued.

  Bastien widened his smile. It appeared his bloodlust might be

  slaked tonight after all. “I haven’t the faintest clue which of my associates troubles your father. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  His voice had gone quieter with each word, until the last was no

  more than a whisper.

  “A man like Jay Ballon Albert can’t be seen doing business

  with Chinamen and ni—”

  It took less than a second for Bastien to draw his revolver

  from beneath his frock coat. He leveled it before Ash could take

  another breath.

  Slow to react, Ash remained stock-still, his mouth agape,

  his eyes blinking sluggishly. Behind them, Art stumbled to his

  brother’s aid, only to be knocked from his boots by something

  he neither saw nor heard. A ghost in the wind.

  To his credit, Phoebus knew better than to interfere or so

  much as utter a whimper.

  Indistinct shapes melted from the lines and shadows of the

  skeletal building, moving too quickly to track. They scuttled

  down steel columns soundlessly, blurring through the darkness

  until they sharpened into focus, forming a circle of cloaked fig-

  ures around Bastien and Ash.

  203

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 203

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  “What the devil?” Ash’s voice shook.

  Bastien stared him down, a smile of supreme pleasure taking

  shape across his face. “Allow me to introduce you to some of

  my associates, Ash.” He aimed the revolver at the shocked boy’s

  chest. “They’d like a word with you.”

  j

  Before the night was through, Ashton Albert was going to piss

  his pants.

  Bastien wouldn’t relish the sight. Or the smell.

  No. That was a lie.

  He’d relish the sight immensely.

  It was time for this insufferable creature to be laid low. To

  know what it felt like to have nothing, not even a mother or a

  father nearby to save their son from the demons lurking in the

  darkness.

  Tension raked across Bastien’s shoulders. With a subtle twist

  of his neck, he forced his muscles to relax. It had been almost

  a year since unremitting anger had taken hold of Bastien when

  he thought of his parents’ untimely demise. Of all things, he

  wished it wasn’t a whimpering Ashton Albert to serve as a re-

  minder of what he’d lost.

  Yet another reason to relish this weasel’s comeuppance.

  It was just as well. Bastien supposed he could make do with

  the sight of Jay Ballon Albert’s elder son dangling horizontally

  over a metal platform, eight stories above New Orleans.

  A burst of feminine laughter barreled into the night. Hortense

  took hold of Ash’s polished boots and spun the boy around once

  204

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 204

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  more, the uncut jewels in her massive rings flashing through the darkness, her ebon skin radiant against the velvet sky.

  When the pulley suspending Ash above the platform creaked,

  he cried out, begging for reprieve.

  “Dis-le plus fort, mon cher,” Hortense cooed. “I can’t hear

  you.”

  Boone laughed heartily, his cherubic features filled with de-

  light. At the building’s edge, Jae twirled his mother-of-pearl

  dagger between his fingertips, his black hair coiling in the

  breeze.

  Hortense’s sister, Madeleine, rolled her eyes. Near the hem of

  her cloak—stricken silent by fear—sat Art, who proceeded to

  vomit on the platform a second time, his chest heaving, his face

  soiled by snot and tears.

  “Wha-what do you want?” Ash wailed.

  Bastien intended to answer him. Eventually.

  “Oy, Bastien,” Nigel said, his Cockney accent gruff, his expres-

  sion severe. “Don’t descend to his level, gov. S’unbecoming of

  an honorable leader.”

  Bastien snorted. “Which fool said I was honorable? Depravity

  has no bounds.”

  “Amen to that,” Boone interjected in an exaggerated drawl.

  Grunting, Nigel adjusted the ties of his cloak. “S’enough.”

  He sliced a hand through the air. Arjun shifted closer, his lips

  wrapped around a smoldering cheroot, his expression one of

  shared agreement.

  Bastien studied them in amused silence. Like Odette and Jae,

  Nigel Fitzroy had been at his side from the beginning, Boone,

  205

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 205

  6/28/19 2:56 PM
/>   Hortense, and Madeleine following soon thereafter. Arjun Desai had arrived to New Orleans less than a year ago, but he’d

  joined their ranks quickly, becoming much more than a mere

  colleague or acquaintance. Bastien prized the counsel of these

  seven strange individuals above most things, though he would

  only admit it under extreme duress. Thumbscrews, boiling oil,

  and the like.

  “I really should find some new friends,” Bastien mused.

  Arjun exhaled a plume of blue-grey smoke. “If you can afford

  it.” His hazel eyes glittered with amusement.

  “Spoken like the bloody maharajah himself.” Nigel guffawed.

  Annoyance flashed across Arjun’s face. “In many of your be-

  loved Crown’s circles, a maharajah is no better than a mongrel.”

  “I would never—”

  “Dogs and Indians not allowed, Master Fitzroy. Right at the

  entrance to your beloved Astoria.”

  Anger darkened Nigel’s features. “If it had been left to me,

  none o’ that tosh would’ve happened. I know better, just as I

  know my betters.”

  “A benevolent imperialist,” Arjun said around another cloud

  of smoke. “How refreshing.”

  A feeble cry cut through the night, returning their attention to

  the matter at hand. Bastien gripped Ash by the rope around his

  waist, bringing an end to the slow torment of spinning in a circle.

  “I’m telling you this because I suspect you didn’t know,” he be-

  gan in a conversational tone. “My mother was a quadroon, a free

  woman of color. Those associates your father couldn’t be seen working alongside? They are me. They are my family.” He paused,

  206

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 206

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  dropping his voice to a whisper. “No one insults my family.”

  “I didn’t intend to—”

  “Shut your mouth, you miserable swine,” Boone interrupted.

  “God is speaking.”

  Bastien silenced him with a look. Then turned back to Ash.

  “Such a shame. I was going to share a bottle of wine with you,

  Ashton. Now . . . you’ll have to partake in a meal with those who prefer a very different kind of drink.”

  When Bastien finished speaking, the tension in the air pulled

  taut like a string about to snap. Ash blinked away his tears, forcing himself to focus. Whatever he saw in the faces around him

  caused his lips to quiver and his shoulders to shake.

  Bastien knew what he saw. What Art saw. What Phoebus had

  hidden from in the precious moments prior. Demons. Crea-

  tures of blood and darkness.

  Death, made flesh.

  Bastien’s family, for better or for worse.

  Art heaved again beside Madeleine’s feet, choking as he

  struggled to calm himself. Bastien glanced at Arjun, sharing

  a wordless conversation. The next instant, Arjun reached for

  Art’s wrist. The boy slumped forward a moment later, granted

  a blessed pardon.

  Tears streamed sideways down Ash’s face. “All I said was—”

  Bastien stepped back. Cocked his revolver. Took aim.

  “Please!” Ash begged. A suspicious stain darkened the front

  of his trousers, the acrid smell of urine suffusing about him.

  “I’ll give you whatever you want. I won’t say anything. I’ll forget this ever—”

  207

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 207

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  “No,” Bastien said. “Never forget this as long as you live.

  Words are weapons. And nothing else matters when the devil

  has you by the balls.” He fired a single shot.

  Ash screamed. The rope dangling him above the platform

  snapped, his bound body crashing against the metal with a re-

  sounding clang. When he rolled over, blood dripped from his

  nose, its scent curling into the air, warm copper mixed with the

  salt of the sea.

  Hortense and Madeleine stopped moving. Stopped breath-

  ing. Jae sheathed one of his blades with a snick. Boone threw his head back, inhaling deeply, his eyelids squeezed shut. Frowning

  with obvious frustration, Nigel crossed his arms while Arjun

  ground out his cheroot beneath his heel.

  Bitter amusement wound through Bastien’s chest. Another

  wish granted.

  Today might be his lucky day.

  Ash fought against his bindings as the cloaked figures around

  him drew closer, their eyes silver coins beneath a crescent

  moon.

  Then Madeleine, Hortense, and Boone fell on Ash like whips

  cracking through the night, his cries of terror muffled by the

  heavy fabric of their cloaks. By the sounds of ecstasy rising into the air high above New Orleans.

  Nigel watched the frenzy in cutting silence, his long arms

  crossed, the judgment on his face plain. “You’re better than

  petty revenge, Bastien. Your uncle wouldn’t be pleased.”

  “I never claimed to be a saint,” Bastien replied, his expression

  cool. “And Nicodemus isn’t here tonight, is he?”

  208

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 208

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  “Gomapgae,” Jae muttered in gratitude before wandering back toward the edge of the unfinished building, twirling a butterfly

  knife around his fingers with insouciant ease.

  “A fine shot,” Arjun interjected, deftly changing the subject.

  “Severing the rope with a single bullet. Bravo.”

  Bastien said nothing, his eyes tightening around the edges.

  “What?” Arjun blinked. “Was it something I said?” He swayed

  unsteadily on his feet.

  “You’re weak.”

  “It happens. It took a lot of effort to subdue the brother. Un-

  like you, I’m not God,” he joked.

  A dark smile ghosted across Bastien’s lips. “See to it you have

  something to eat.”

  “But of course, old chap.” Arjun bowed with a flourish.

  Despite his best efforts, guilt kindled in Bastien’s chest,

  threatening to catch flame. He battled the feeling, refusing to

  be troubled by their judgment. Then he called for Madeleine,

  who blurred to his side with the stealth of a shadow, her cloak

  trailing behind her like smoke. Not a trace of blood could be

  seen anywhere . . . until she opened her mouth, showing white

  teeth stained crimson and canines as long as those of a wolf.

  “Make sure no one dies tonight, Mad,” Bastien said softly.

  “We have too many eyes on us as it is.”

  “Mais oui, Bastien.” Madeleine nodded, her features serene.

  “And what should we do with him when we are done?”

  “Leave the trash with his younger brother, in the alley near

  their favorite watering hole. See to it they remember nothing.

  As always, my trust is with you.”

  209

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 209

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  Madeleine nodded, then whirled back to resume her meal.

  Exhaling slowly, Bastien glanced about the open space un-

  til his gaze settled on what he’d been searching for: Phoebus

  Devereux, huddled in a corner, his knees pulled to his chest,

  undoubtedly praying he’d been forgotten for the first time in

  his life.

  When Phoebus
caught sight of Bastien gliding his way,

  he wrapped his arms around his knees, clasping his hands

  together until his knuckles turned white.

  Making a point to move with care, Bastien crouched in front

  of Phoebus. “I’m genuinely sorry you had to see any of that.”

  “What are you going to do to me?” Phoebus trembled like a

  dying leaf in a breeze.

  “That depends,” Bastien said, “on what you want me to do.”

  “I—I don’t understand.”

  “I can simply let you go.”

  “You . . . could?” Phoebus’ eyes went wide behind his smudged

  spectacles.

  “If you wished it.”

  Phoebus nodded. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t say any-

  thing, Bastien.”

  “I know you won’t.” A half smile curved up Bastien’s face.

  “Who would believe you?” Sympathy laced through his fea-

  tures. “Just another tantalizing story about the Court, which

  I’ve found to be far more helpful than hurtful, for reasons I’m

  certain you can understand.”

  Shuddering, Phoebus looked away.

  “Conversely, I can help you forget.” Bastien paused. “I can

  210

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 210

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  make it so the events of tonight never haunt your dreams.”

  Phoebus swallowed. “Are you going to . . . kill Art and Ash?”

  “No. They won’t remember anything either.” His expression

  hardened. “But they don’t have a choice. You do. I never take

  away the choice from someone I respect.”

  “You . . . respect me?” Phoebus’ voice was hoarse.

  “You’re a good man. See to it you stay that way.” Bastien un-

  furled to his feet with the grace of a jungle cat. “And make your decision.”

  Phoebus pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, his

  fingers trembling. Conviction settled across his sweating face.

  “I . . . want to forget.”

  “And so you shall.”

  High above the Crescent City, the youngest grandson of the

  mayor began to scream bloody murder into a sky bruised with

  clouds.

  211

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 211

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  Champagne and Roses

  i

  Celine leaned back into the jewel-toned damask of her

  gilded chair. “I have nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Odette laughed. She reached for another morsel

  of quail, pulling the tender meat apart between her delicate

  fingers.

  “There is nothing I can say,” Celine continued. “Nothing I can