nor did Celine turn away.
These were the only truths that made sense amid such chaos.
Hooking an errant curl behind an ear, Celine strode toward the slate chalkboard to take a closer look at the worn map, pockmarked with metal pins from prior investigations. Again she struggled to understand what had made the killer shift his attentions to her. What had driven him to murder that poor girl along the docks weeks ago. Whether everything was connected and, if so, what the killer’s next step might be. Her gaze caught on the name of the street running in front of the police station, Rue de Chartres.
Come with me to the heart of Chartres.
The phrase was missing from Michael’s collection. Evidently Celine had neglected to mention it to him. Did it matter? Did it hold any meaning? Who was this madman, and why was he killing people around them? Where was he hiding, in plain sight or in a shadowy labyrinth of his own? He could be among so many of the people she had met thus far. Or he could be none of them at all.
One thing was clear: Celine was finished waiting for him to make his next move.
Frustration clutched at her throat, the heat of barely checked rage warming across her skin. Her resolve hardened further. She would bait the killer into a trap the night of the masquerade ball, when he believed her to be preoccupied by drink. She would appear to indulge herself in the carnival festivities, and then leave the ball to wander the Quarter alone, just as she had the first evening the killer had followed her, a mere fortnight ago.
The fiend wouldn’t know that members of the Court would be lurking nearby in an ever-tightening circle, waiting for him to reveal himself. To finally make a misstep.
And if it didn’t work?
Celine would simply set the trap again at a different time and place.
Perhaps it was ridiculous to think she could outwit such a villain. But at least it was something.
Beside her feet, the rays of sunlight stretched long and lean as dusk began to descend on New Orleans, the sky catching fire along the horizon. Celine huffed, the echo unspooling into the plaster ceilings.
“What a waste of time,” she murmured to no one. Stopped herself from kicking the corner of Michael’s inordinately tidy desk like a child denied a sweet. There were so many other things she could be doing. Should be doing. Her glance fell on the skirt of Odette’s ball gown, strewn across the end of the rickety cot. For several hours this morning, Celine had worked to persevere and put the finishing touches on it. The masquerade ball was only two days away, and she still needed time to complete her own costume. But the needles had fallen from her shaking fingers, her nerves frayed from the prior evening’s events. No matter what Celine did, she could not silence the riot of her thoughts.
Militant footsteps rounded the corner just beyond the locked door. Celine listened, glancing at the clock to verify—once more—the time the guards patrolled the corridors outside Detective Grimaldi’s office.
Being quarantined like a cholera patient had been a waste of precious hours in many respects, but at least it had helped Celine gather the information necessary for tonight’s venture:
A midnight prison break.
By her count, guards patrolled the impressive brick edifice beside Saint Louis Cathedral every fifteen minutes. In two-hour increments, someone knocked on the door of Michael’s office to check on Celine or deliver something for her to eat. If she wished to attend to her physical needs, an officer stationed just around the nearest bend in the hall was there to make sure she returned to Michael’s office immediately afterward.
Michael himself had come twice to check on her since daybreak.
As he’d promised, Celine was well attended. It would be quite a task indeed for any intruder to make his way past the impressive squadron of guards surrounding the building, up its winding staircases to the third floor, and into its slew of hallways, patrolled as they were at all hours.
But she would wager none of them had considered whether Celine would wish to break out of this makeshift prison.
Of course it was wild and irresponsible to attempt such a thing. Alas, Celine suspected that if she even asked to leave the premises, Michael himself would be there to thwart her every move. Besides that, Celine did not think he would take kindly to her request to meet with