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  Discomfited by the notion, Celine decided to shift tack. “Is there a place we could begin taking your measurements?” she asked Odette.

  Odette rested her arms akimbo and cocked her head to one side. “I’m fine taking measurements here, as long as you don’t mind.” It was almost as if she had issued a challenge.

  Such a thing simply wasn’t done. But then again, Odette appeared to enjoy bucking convention. Why should this occasion prove any different? Her features the portrait of apathy, Celine reached inside the pocket of her petticoat and extracted a length of measuring ribbon.

  She refused to be outmatched or intimidated.

  Even if Odette did wear trousers.

  While Celine worked to measure Odette’s torso, she peered through a parting in the crowd, catching a glimpse of an ongoing chess match. Neither of the players moved for the span of several breaths, their eyes riveted on the black-and-white board. Then the white king fell without ever being touched. The next instant, the entire chess set rearranged itself on its own—the pieces whisking across the checkered surface in a whirl—as the victor reached over to shake his opponent’s hand, a smile curving up his face.

  “Wh-what?” Pippa stammered. “What happened?”

  Celine stared, her expression one of disbelief. “More importantly, how?”

  “You needn’t look so surprised,” Odette said with a grin. “They’re simply illusions performed by those with the skill.”

  Pippa glanced at Odette, a brow arched in question. “You mean . . . magic?”

  “Of a sort.” Odette nodded. “This is a place in which students of the occult”—she searched for the word, her hands turning through the air—“gather.”

  “Like a gambling hell for magicians?” Doubt crossed Celine’s face as she resumed measuring Odette’s arms and shoulders.

  “I wouldn’t call us magicians,” Odette replied. “We prefer to be called illusionists or mentalists.”

  Pippa nodded. “I saw a performance by a mentalist once, just outside of London. He turned water into ink and transformed a bouquet of lilies into a bevy of doves.” She paused. “Do your members also give performances like that?”

  “Some of us do.” Odette raised a shoulder, eliciting a wordless rebuke from Celine. “But most of us simply choose to meet here in safety to hone our craft.” She paused. “It’s a blessing we’ve been provided with such a space. There was a time before when things were not quite so . . .” A shadow darkened Odette’s countenance as her voice faded into nothingness. Then she grinned brightly.

  Celine took in a careful breath while she worked, her doubts growing. Something about the girl’s explanation troubled her. It felt familiar. The kind of explanation Celine had been wont to give as of late—a skeleton of the truth. “What kind of mentalist are you?” she asked, her tone nonchalant.

  “One who divines the future,” Odette said matter-of-factly. “The ancients called it stargazing, but the mystics in the Quarter refer to us as soothsayers.”

  Pippa’s rosebud lips fell open. “Then you already know everything that will happen? Everything I will do or say?” She glanced about with obvious discomfort. “Even what I might be thinking or feeling?”

  Odette’s shook her head. “I know what may happen, depending on the choices you make.”

  “Just by”—Pippa swallowed—“looking at me?”

  “No. Physical contact is necessary for me to divine things with any measure of clarity.”

  During this exchange, Celine had kept silent for fear she would speak out of turn. She paused to take note of the final measurements, but disbelief flared hot in her veins when she recalled how Boone had claimed to taste the flavor of her lies. Such things are not possible, her mind screamed, demanding attention. Her heart, however, knew better.

  Celine could not deny she’d been in the presence of something otherworldly tonight, here at Jacques’. Moreover, she recalled her first encounter with Odette this afternoon. How Odette’s gaze had widened infinitesimally when Celine had taken her hand.

  The soothsayer had seen something, even in that briefest of interactions.

  Captivated by the prospect of such knowledge—of such power—Celine discarded the measuring ribbon, her pencil dropping from her lips. She knew it was a risk, but she simply had to know if Odette had uncovered any of her secrets. “What did you see?”

  Pippa turned toward her, confused by the question.

  Odette met Celine’s gaze, her expression knowing. “What do you mean?” Her voice sounded deceptively innocent.

  “This afternoon,” Celine continued without batting an eye, “when you took my hand, what did you see?”

  Odette’s smile turned fierce. “I only caught flashes of possibility. The lace obstructed my view.” She held up a gloved hand. “Annoying, but necessary. It’s easy to lose sight of what’s real when you’re lost in the stars.”

  Celine stood taller. Then held out her hand, her gaze steady, determined to learn whether or not Odette possessed any damaging information. “Please tell me what you see. I’d like to know.”

  As she had earlier today, Odette canted her head in contemplation. “Are you quite certain, mon amie? Knowing what might happen is not the same as preventing it from happening.”

  Celine nodded. “I’m certain.”

  Odette removed the kidskin glove on her right hand. Without hesitation, she wrapped her cool fingers around Celine’s palm and closed her eyes. Her smile softened.

  “La dompteuse des bêtes,” she murmured after a moment. Her eyes flashed open, laughter tingeing her tone. “Je le savais!” she congratulated herself.

  “The tamer of beasts?” Celine translated, her expression one of puzzlement. “I don’t understand.”

  Odette did not answer. Her lips began to purse as if she’d consumed something sour. She swallowed carefully, her eyes squeezing shut once more. Whatever she saw now caused her unmistakable consternation.

  Pippa gnawed at her lower lip. Unease trickled down Celine’s spine like a bead of slowly dripping sweat. She gripped Odette’s hand tightly, noticing how much warmer her skin felt with each passing second. “What?” she whispered. “What is it?”

  All at once Odette pulled away, yanking her palm from Celine’s grasp. Her brown eyes flickered open, their darkened centers large, shimmering, out of focus. “I couldn’t . . .” She trailed off, momentarily disoriented. Then she straightened like a soldier and shot Celine a dazzling smile. “I’m sorry, mon amie, but portions of your future were too murky for me to divine.”

  Celine did not believe her. “What does that mean?”

  Odette shrugged. “It means the course of your life has yet to be plotted.” Her laughter resembled bubbles of champagne, light, frivolous, full of air. “But don’t fret. We can try again soon, I promise.”

  Celine swallowed her retort. Odette’s brand of magic was not as impressive or as helpful as she’d hoped it would be. It was also possible the girl was deliberately concealing what she’d seen. Neither option sat well with Celine, but it would be impolite to pursue the matter further in public.

  As though nothing had transpired, Odette shifted her attention to Pippa, her ungloved hand held out before her. “Would you care to try?”

  Pippa took a step back. “Please don’t be offended, but I’d rather my future remain a surprise.”

  Another round of airy laughter burst from Odette’s lips. “Smart girl!”

  “But,” Pippa said, her features knitting with confusion, “I am curious about how it works. Is it a skill with which you are born, or one you must cultivate?”

  Odette tilted her head from side to side, wordlessly balancing her thoughts like weights on a scale. Before she responded, she donned her glove once more. “Many of the women in my family were gifted with the second sight. This place has given me a chance to cultivate this gift withou
t judgment or expectation. For those like me, it’s the only safe haven we’ve ever had.” Her grin turned sad before she brightened the very next instant. “Truly, this is a place unlike any other.”

  “Kassamir called it La Cour des Lions,” Celine said.

  “The . . . Heart of a Lion?” Pippa attempted to translate.

  “The Court of the Lions,” Celine corrected in a kind voice.

  Pippa’s gaze widened in understanding, undoubtedly arriving at the same conclusion Celine herself had come to not long ago. That, yet again, Celine was responsible for dragging her friend deeper through a field of razor-sharp diamonds.

  Perhaps it was simply her fate to be a portent of doom.

  Odette rolled her eyes. “That’s not Kassamir’s doing. That’s Bastien’s. Honestly, that boy could sell a snowball to a penguin.” She snickered. “You would never suspect how dramatic he truly is.” Her features turned rueful. “Ah, but if he heard me say that, he would stare at me with those dagger eyes of his until I apologized. Really, men are such infants.”

  Distracted by her worries, it took a moment for Celine to register Odette’s words. Her blood turned cold. “Bastien? Are you referring to Sébastien Saint Germain?”

  Odette’s eyes went wide. “Yes, that’s him. Un vrai démon, n’est ce-pas?” She sniffed. “At least he’s a welcome sight for the eyes. Have you ever seen a more handsome devil?”

  “No,” Celine admitted. “Unfortunately, neither has he.”

  “Parfait! Simplement parfait!” Odette clapped her hands, her laughter lilting into the coffered ceiling. Then she resumed chattering without pausing for breath.

  Somewhere high above the clouds—or deep below in a fiery pit—an otherworldly creature must be having a grand time at Celine’s expense. Her shoulders fell forward, her lips thinning into a line as the words continued flowing from Odette’s lips like wine at a Bacchanalia.

  “Bastien’s uncle owns this entire building, as well as several properties in the Vieux Carré,” Odette said. “Of course you’ve heard of Le Comte de Saint Germain. Rich as Croesus and charming as sin. Bastien is his sole heir, a fact that hasn’t gone unnoticed by the débutantes of our fair city, despite the . . . concern many in society have with regard to his parentage.” Her laughter became mischievous, a sly flutter of sound. “I’d wager money solves most problems, non?” She winked. “Though I myself speak only three languages, the Count has mastered nine and can quote entire swaths of scripture on a whim. He’s also an immense fan of the—” She stopped short when she noticed the glazed look on Celine’s face. “Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself.” Odette leaned conspiratorially toward Pippa, who stood to one side, her fingers threading and unthreading through each other. “Don’t believe all the nasty rumors. Bastien’s uncle is a gem. After Bastien’s parents died, he took him in as a boy and cared for him like his own.”

  Celine cleared her throat, bewildered by the onslaught of information. “This is the first I’ve heard of the count, and I was only . . . introduced to his nephew this evening.”

  Odette tilted her head. “The count is not in the city at present, but I suspect Bastien should arrive at any moment.” She began scanning the plush carpet, her gaze weaving around the chair legs. “In any case, you should be on the lookout for Toussaint.”

  “What?” Celine refrained from shifting backward. “We should be looking for something . . . on the floor?” After witnessing chess pieces offer their own surrender, Celine did not want to be caught unawares by naughty parlor tables or stools with errant senses of humor.

  “Don’t be alarmed. It’s really nothing at all.” Odette gestured once more with her hands, a reaction Celine had come to associate with agitation. “Toussaint . . . is Bastien’s Burmese python.” She rushed through her next words. “Really he’s completely harmless. The poor angel adores his rest and wouldn’t hurt a mouse.” She grimaced and bit her lip. “Zut alors. I meant figuratively, of course.” Odette brightened. “Just wait. Before you know it, you’ll all be the best of friends.”

  It took a moment for her explanation to register, disjointed as it was.

  Bastien’s Burmese python.

  Bastien’s giant snake.

  Though the serpent in question had yet to make an appearance, Pippa stifled a small shriek and jumped backward, scrambling for a chair or something upon which to stand. Celine remained rooted to one spot, a familiar rush coursing through her veins.

  Odette cast them a rueful glance. “Occasionally, Toussaint does like to wrap himself around anything warm, but please know you have nothing to fear. I only mentioned him because—if you don’t know to look for him—he can be a bit . . . disconcerting.”

  “A snake?” Pippa squeaked, looking for all the world as if she wanted to melt into the paneled wall at her back. “What kind of person has a pet snake?”

  “Lucifer,” Celine said in a flat voice. “Lucifer would have a pet snake.”

  A trill of laughter burst from Odette’s lips as she reached for her glass of wine. “Ah, you simply must tell me what happened when you were introduced this evening. How delicious!”

  Celine sucked in her cheeks to marshal her retort.

  Pippa’s blue eyes darted across the floor while she gnawed on her lower lip, her fingers toying with the golden cross around her neck. “We encountered Mr. Saint Germain on our way here. He wasn’t”—she hesitated—“as gracious as he should have been.”

  “I’m unsurprised to hear that,” Odette said. “Bastien is like a character from a childhood nursery rhyme. When he’s good, he’s very, very good. When he’s bad, well . . . I’m sure you can finish the rest.”

  Celine certainly could. But she refused to waste more time contemplating that wretched boy and his ridiculous pet snake. It would take effort, but Celine intended to put a swift end to . . . whatever worrisome interest this beautiful boy had managed to wake in her.

  In truth, she didn’t understand it at all. They’d barely spent less than a moment in each other’s presence, and a handsome face was not enough to distract her from his many misdeeds. Before the night was through, Celine intended to have a firm rein on her emotions.

  Nothing good ever came from letting them run amok.

  Her gaze settled on a painting in a gilt frame across the room. She let her sight distort until its edges glowed molten gold. Celine hated how much her notice of a boy like Bastien brought to light how broken she was. In one short evening, he’d become a proverbial thorn in Celine’s side. A reminder that something inside her was not right.

  Perhaps that was it. Perhaps it wasn’t a fascination with him at all. Perhaps it was the allure of the creature that lurked within her. Not too long ago, that creature had granted her immense power over a tormenter and freedom over her life.

  But it had also made her a murderess.

  Celine’s expression hardened. She would put an end to all of it. Immediately.

  It would have worked. Later, Celine would swear she’d been on the cusp of victory, intent on shoving anything related to Sébastien Saint Germain deep into a dark abyss. To make him disappear forever.

  All would have gone to plan.

  If not for the high-pitched scream that suddenly tore through the room.

  THE GHOST

  Pippa’s bloodcurdling shriek echoed through the chamber, rebounding off the paneled walls, setting the golden tassels atremble. It rent the space in two, like a crack had split across the plush carpeting, Hell yawning in fiery fathoms below.

  Truly it was an impressive achievement, that scream.

  The moment it left Pippa’s lips, every member of La Cour des Lions leapt into action, their bodies tensed and alert. Odette scrambled to Pippa’s side, the glass of red wine in her hand tipping, its contents splashing on Pippa’s skirts. Before Celine could blink, a stylish man from the Far East moved swiftly toward them, brandishing a mot
her-of-pearl dagger. He halted at her shoulder, twirling his blade from one hand to the other. Boone sauntered into view while flipping an ice pick in the air. The two women with the dangerous rings posed like panthers about to spring, their fingers forming claws, as though their opulent jewels were really weapons instead of adornments. The victor of the recent chess match simply laid a pistol on the table before him, his bearded features cool and collected.

  Celine gripped her friend’s elbow, yanking her back, angling her body in front of Pippa’s, like a shield. “What happened?” she demanded of her friend in a hushed voice. “Are you all right?”

  Guilt pulled at the corners of Pippa’s mouth. “I . . . thought something brushed across my foot,” she said in a breathless tone, her expression one of bewilderment. “I must have been mistaken.” She spoke louder, pitching her voice through the room. “I deeply regret having frightened everyone. There is nothing amiss. Please accept my humblest apology.”

  Those poised to attack did not stand down. Many of them continued staring at Pippa, their features wary, their eyes continuing to flicker in a disconcerting way. Again Celine was momentarily struck by her earlier thought:

  Inhuman.

  But that was impossible. Wasn’t it? It was one thing to believe in magic and illusion. Another entirely to believe in creatures of childish fancy.

  Pippa took in a great gulp of air, her face flushed. “I’m truly sorry,” she said again, even louder, while trying in vain to prevent the spilled wine from soaking through her skirts.

  “Don’t apologize any more,” Celine muttered. “A pox on that damned snake and its fool of a master.”

  Then—as if Pippa’s scream had sent a message through the paneled walls—one of the two doors in the back of the chamber opened, a rush of cool air racing over the exposed skin at Celine’s chest and throat. At first, nothing emerged from the entrance, but then those nearby shifted slightly, as though to allow someone—or something—passage.

  “Ah, there he is.” Odette beamed.