The Beautiful (ARC) Read online

  behind. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to witness it with her own

  eyes anymore or be terrorized by its possibility. But she would

  always know. Would always wonder.

  And her friends would remain in danger.

  Rage is a moment. Regret is forever. Celine had enough regrets on her head. Running away like a victim would not be one of

  them ever again. She was not a victim.

  She was a survivor.

  “I want to stay in New Orleans,” Celine said. “But I have one

  condition.”

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  The Haunted Portrait

  i

  An hour later, Celine, Michael, and Odette stood in a corner

  of darkly veined marble, ensconced in the farthest reaches

  of a deserted hotel lobby.

  Above them, crystal-and-brass chandeliers hung like silent

  sentinels, chiming softly in a ghostly breeze. Lanterns housed

  in spheres of opaque glass glowed around the room, resembling

  will-o’-the-wisps floating through the night. Purple orchids and

  white jasmine perfumed the air, the scent hinting of wealth and

  far-flung locales. Positioned at either end of the entrance hall were large chinoiserie vases overflowing with long-stemmed roses so

  deep a shade of red, their petals appeared black in the shadows.

  Were Celine’s exhaustion not an anchor about her shoulders,

  she would have whiled away a moment marveling at the gran-

  deur of the space. Everything about it felt like it had been decorated to suit a queen of darkness.

  “We’ve waited long enough, mon amie,” Odette said, her voice

  scratched and weary. “Tell us your condition, s’il te plaît.”

  Michael stood a healthy distance from Odette, his long arms

  crossed, his dark curls mussed by the rain. Though his face

  was lined with distaste, his pale eyes blazed bright.

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  In a barely audible whisper, Celine informed them of her plan. Once she was finished, they stared at her in stunned

  silence, Odette blinking rapidly, as if her mind intended to

  flash through every possible outcome in the span of a single

  breath.

  “Over my dead body,” Michael announced in a flat tone.

  “Here’s hoping, mon cher,” Odette quipped. She turned to-

  ward Celine, her sable gaze uncertain. “But I must agree with

  the boor’s sentiment. Using yourself as bait to catch a crazed

  killer . . . sounds unduly foolish.”

  Michael sniffed with unmistakable scorn. “Finally a sem-

  blance of sense.” He nodded at Odette, who offered him a

  mocking bow in return.

  “I knew you would not agree at first,” Celine replied. “But

  by tomorrow, I hope you will see the logic of it. How it makes

  sense for us to take action rather than be forced into a corner.”

  “Logic?” Odette snorted. “It’s madness, mon amie. Sheer

  madness. I finally understand why you lied to Pippa before we

  left the convent. You must have known she would never accept

  this as an option.”

  “Pippa is . . .” Celine exhaled with great care. “I don’t want

  Pippa anywhere near me, at least not until this ordeal is over.

  She’s not selfish enough to worry about her own safety.” The

  image of Pippa trembling in a puddle—her eyes shining and

  streams of blood trickling down her cheek—was one Celine

  would not soon forget.

  “Failing to worry about one’s own safety isn’t selfless. It’s foolish.” Odette quirked a brow, her lips puckering in judgment.

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  Celine nodded. “I agree. But I don’t have the patience to argue with Pippa about it. It isn’t my place to dissuade her. And I’d

  rather be the hunter than the prey. Wouldn’t you?”

  A contemplative look settled on Odette’s face at the same

  time a frown tugged at the corners of Michael’s mouth.

  “Then I have your support?” Celine asked Odette.

  Inhaling slowly, Odette nodded. “Though I’m certain I’ll live

  to regret this.”

  “You won’t,” Celine said, infusing her voice with a surety she

  did not feel. “Thank you, Odette.” With that, she shifted her at-

  tention toward Michael.

  His displeasure deepened at her scrutiny. “I have no inten-

  tion of agreeing to this plan, so spare yourself the effort,” he

  said, his words characteristically curt. Unfeeling. “It was folly to come here. For both of us.” Michael pivoted in place and began walking toward the double doors at the hotel’s entrance.

  “I’ll send for your things in the morning, then make my way to

  the Dumaine shortly afterward to collect you,” he said over his

  shoulder.

  A crick in Celine’s neck sent a surge of discomfort down her

  spine. She tilted her head, wincing all the while. “It’s unfortu-

  nate you aren’t willing to listen to reason, Michael,” she called out after him. “But until you agree to help me, I plan to remain

  here at the Hotel Dumaine.”

  He spun around, anger sparking across his features. In a few

  long strides, he stood before her once more. “A foolish choice,

  especially when I’ve already arranged a place for you with full

  police protection.”

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  “It isn’t foolish at all,” Celine argued. “If you won’t respect my wishes, I see no reason to bend to your will. Besides that, no

  place in this city is safe if the killer is watching me, as I believe him to be.” A shiver chased over her skin, but Celine kept her

  gaze steady.

  His thick brows tufted together. “It isn’t about respecting

  your wishes. It’s about what’s best for you. What will keep you

  the safest.”

  Irritation simmered at the edges of Celine’s vision. “Then the

  New Orleans Metropolitan Police will only protect me if I do

  exactly as Detective Michael Grimaldi says?”

  Michael said nothing in response. Soft laughter resonated

  from Odette.

  Celine sighed. “For whatever reason, this— thing—has singled me out. We can either run from that fact or use it to our advantage.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not a fool. I’m aware of

  the danger, and I promise I’m appropriately afraid. I just refuse to be a victim for a single second more.” A muscle twitched

  beneath her left eye. Celine rubbed the skin there and found

  another fleck of dried blood smeared across her fingertips, the

  smell thick and metallic. Her stomach churned at the sight. “I

  only wish we knew what this thing was so that we might determine how best to destroy it.”

  “Don’t believe every myth you hear. If there are no gods

  among us, there can be no demons,” Michael said, his voice

  leached of all emotion. “The same logic you’ve already em-

  ployed indicates the killer must be a man. Most killers with

  multiple victims are.”

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  “It’s not simply a man.” Celine shook
her head. “It’s something . . . else. Something inhuman.”

  “If it lives and breathes, it can be killed like any living and

  breathing creature.”

  Exhaustion burrowed deep into Celine’s bones. The strength

  to keep arguing with the intractable Michael Grimaldi was leav-

  ing her with each passing breath. Her fingers and toes had lost

  all sense of feeling. Soon it would be difficult to stand straight.

  Even still, Celine did not miss the fact that Odette had failed

  to counter Michael’s recent assertions. Nor could Celine over-

  look the thoughtful slant of Odette’s brunette head.

  Odette Valmont possessed information of value and was do-

  ing her level best to keep it from them.

  Here was proof of something Celine had long suspected. The

  members of La Cour des Lions did have an inkling of what—or

  who—this demon might be. Why they chose to keep it among

  themselves remained a mystery. It could be because the mur-

  derer resided in their midst, and they wished to protect his

  identity. But their recent behavior did not follow this reason-

  ing. In the last few days, Odette had become more than a mere

  acquaintance to Celine, and Bastien had gone out of his way to

  ensure her safety the other night. He’d even threatened to de-

  stroy the creature in a wholly remorseless manner.

  Why would they go to such trouble to protect her if their loy-

  alty lay with the killer?

  Unless . . . this was all part of their plan.

  An elaborate ruse to establish their innocence.

  If that was true, Celine had already lost the battle. Only mo-

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  ments ago, she’d divulged her plan in its entirety to Odette. If Odette betrayed her, all her efforts would be for naught.

  Celine’s shoulders sagged.

  She was tired of speculating. She needed the truth. And Ce-

  line knew who to ask, though she dreaded his answer. The lie he

  would offer in place of what she desired. Nevertheless, Celine

  planned to speak to Bastien tomorrow. She’d demand he share

  with her everything he knew. No more lies. No more masks. It

  was time for them to cast aside their façades and bare all.

  Bastien no longer had a choice. If he refused to be forthcom-

  ing, Celine would tell Michael about the yellow ribbon and al-

  low judgment to rain down upon them all.

  “Give up on this cockamamie plan,” Michael said to Celine,

  tearing her from her inner turmoil, his countenance grave. “Be-

  cause I will never agree to using you as bait.”

  Celine scowled, desperately wishing she could throttle Michael.

  Just a little. “I have no intention of giving up anything. Surely you of all people must understand that.” She reached for his hand in a weak attempt to channel sugar instead of spice. “Please, Michael.

  Don’t be so stubborn. I urge you to reconsider.”

  He blinked twice at her touch, a vein jumping in his neck. “I

  won’t reconsider. But . . . I will promise to do everything I can to keep you safe.” The last was said in a fervent tone, his words jagged, his grasp rough. Celine didn’t think Michael was aware

  of how he’d wrapped her cold hand in both of his, clutching her

  fingers with an odd kind of desperation.

  No matter what he said or how he said it, Michael’s intensity

  always betrayed him.

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  He cared for her. And that knowledge troubled Celine all the more.

  For a moment, she considered taking advantage of it. If she

  begged him, perhaps he would relent. If she cried prettily or

  raged in just the right fashion, perhaps she could do what she’d

  failed to do before and overcome his mulishness.

  But she didn’t want to play the role of the coy demoiselle. Not

  like this. It was never a role that had suited her well anyway,

  as evinced by their earlier interactions. Celine needed to be

  cold and calculating. If Michael refused to help her, the plan

  wouldn’t work.

  That simply was not an option.

  Her life—and the lives of those around her—depended on

  them all working together in concert.

  “I don’t need you to help me,” Celine lied, her words callous,

  channeling Michael at his best. “I’ll simply ask Bastien instead.”

  She extricated her fingers from his grasp.

  Dismay rippled across his face, there and gone in a flash. The

  next instant, Michael smiled coolly. “Ask him.” His smile turned

  punishing. “I have no doubt what his answer will be.”

  “Mon cher, you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

  Odette’s retort was pointed. “That’s the thing about beautiful

  fiends like Sébastien Saint Germain: they always do what you

  least expect them to do.” She brushed a speck of nonexistent

  dust from his shoulder. “And in the end, they always wear the crown.”

  Celine could not have scripted a more perfect response. It

  was a loaded weapon, cocked and aimed at Michael’s chest.

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  Sometimes it was necessary to be as cunning as a fox, even if it also meant being cruel.

  Michael narrowed his gaze. His nostrils flared. “The Court

  of the Lions does not rule this roost, Miss Valmont. I will see

  this city burn to the ground before I cede control of my in-

  vestigation to a band of lawless beasts.” With that, he whirled

  toward the entrance, taking his leave, the very air around him

  seething.

  It didn’t matter. Celine had planted the seed. Odette had

  watered it. Now they had only to watch it grow. If Celine had

  learned anything in the last few days, she’d learned that Detec-

  tive Michael Grimaldi was not the type of young man to allow

  his enemy to best him. In any way.

  She was counting on it.

  “Connard,” Odette cursed under her breath as Michael disap-

  peared from view.

  The veined marble around Celine started to sway, the will-o’-

  the-wisps blurring in the background. “It can’t look too obvi-

  ous,” she said to Odette, blinking hard. “And we’ll need to

  finesse the details.” She wound her fingers in her damp skirt and squeezed the ruined fabric in an effort to keep herself alert. “If you count the first murder of the young woman on the docks,

  the killer has taken one life a week since my arrival,” she bab-

  bled. “Following this pattern, the next murder is likely to take

  place in the coming week, which should give us a few days to set

  our trap.” Her head started to list forward. “Perhaps we should

  plan it for the night of the masquerade ball itself?” she thought aloud, just as the polished floor rushed toward her face.

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  “Ah, putain!” Odette cried out, catching Celine the moment before she struck the cold stone. “You’re falling to pieces before my very eyes.” She threaded one arm through Celine’s and

  wrapped the other around her shoulders, then began leading
r />   them down a darkened corridor.

  Celine braced herself against Odette, her eyes struggling to

  stay open. “Thank you.” Her words were hoarse. “For every-

  thing.” She gripped her friend’s gloved hand tightly.

  “You’re welcome, my brave little doe. But if you want your

  cockamamie plan to work—honestly, who uses such a word?—

  you’ll need to be more than brave. You’ll need to be ruthless.

  After tonight, I trust this won’t be an issue. It’s not every day one meets a girl who stabbed a demon with sewing shears. Ah, to

  have seen that!” Odette’s laughter was rueful, the sound chim-

  ing like bells. “Also I find it fascinating how talkative you are after bearing witness to a shocking event. Most people I know

  are struck silent by such things. You’re unusual at all turns,

  Celine Rousseau.” She grinned appreciatively.

  Even through the haze of her exhaustion, Celine smiled. Her

  thoughts sobered in the next instant. “Why do they hate each

  other so much?” she murmured.

  “Who hates whom, mon amie? I know nothing but love.”

  “Please.” Celine nudged her elbow into Odette’s ribs. “I’m too

  exhausted to play these games. It’s a struggle putting one foot

  in front of the other.”

  “Why do you think they hate each other?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Hazard a guess. It’s an age-old tale.”

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  “Because of a girl?” Celine’s eye twitched once more, her nose wiggling in response.

  “Correct.”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders fell.

  Perhaps this was the young woman who possessed the right

  pedigree. Celine exhaled slowly. Such things shouldn’t matter

  to her. Not anymore.

  They turned a corner, their steps light over the honed mar-

  ble. Celine could almost swear Odette bore the whole of their

  shared weight, as if she possessed the strength of an Amazon.

  “Was she impressive?” Celine’s voice sounded small. Tinny.

  Fitting for such a question.

  “Very,” Odette replied, at ease despite her burden. “She sang

  like a lark and danced in the light of the sun.” She added in

  Celine’s ear, “But don’t worry, she wasn’t as beautiful as you.”

  Celine snorted, then tripped over herself like she’d imbibed

  too much champagne. As inelegant as a swine in the mud, she

  crumpled to the floor.