The interruption afforded Celine the perfect opportunity. “I’m afraid I must be going.” She pushed past the table, her face flushed.
“Not yet!” Odette stood, her sable eyes round, beseeching. “You must at least taste the îles flottantes.”
“Floating islands?”
“It’s a dessert Kassamir has been keen to add to the menu. We were to be among the first to try it. Clouds of perfect meringue floating in a decadent sauce of crème anglaise.”
Celine smiled sadly. “While that sounds heavenly, I’m afraid the hour is late. My friends at the convent will worry.”
Odette pouted, tucking a brunette curl behind an ear. “Then at least wait while I call for the carriage.”
“No,” Celine replied, straightening her skirts, keenly aware of their audience. “I’ll be fine. It’s only a few blocks to the convent.”
“I’m afraid I must insist,” Odette countered. “You simply can’t walk home alone, not after everything that’s happened recently.”
Frustration gripped Celine’s stomach. She needed to leave now. “Very well, then. I’ll hail a hired conveyance.”
“But that’s not necessary,” Odette protested. “Not when—”
“Odette,” Celine said through gritted teeth. “Thank you so much for the wonderful meal and the consummate hospitality. I’ll find my own way home.”
“I can’t in good conscience—”
“Let her be, Odette,” Bastien interrupted softly, the sound of his voice causing Celine to stiffen where she stood. “Tu ne peux pas tout contrôler.”
Odette moved from her side of the table. “Mais, Bastien, elle ne—”
“I’ll be fine, mon amie,” Celine said with another smile. “Please tell Kassamir the meal was a work of art. I’ll begin fashioning your gown for the masquerade ball immediately. Feel free to send the bolts of fabric and all the supplies to the convent first thing tomorrow.”
With that, Celine lifted her chin and made her way toward the stairs leading to the first floor of Jacques’. The members of La Cour des Lions—who’d stood silent and watchful throughout the entirety of this humiliating exchange—moved aside to grant Celine leave, though she could feel their eyes following her as she descended the steps, Boone inhaling deeply as she passed by.
Her hands trembled in her skirts, but she did not falter. She was a mountain, a tower, a hundred-year-old oak in the—
Behind her, soft laughter rose into the coffered ceiling.
Damn them all to Hell.
MEET YOUR MAKER
Celine regretted the decision to walk home the instant after she made it.
Less than a block from Jacques’, every shifting shadow and unfamiliar sound caught her attention, heightening her awareness, lending itself to a creeping kind of fear.
If only the Court could see the queen of darkness now.
It was Celine’s pride that wouldn’t allow her to admit she lacked the means to hire a hack. And it was her arrogance that forbade her from taking anything else from Odette. Or Bastien. Or any member of La Cour des Lions.
But now that the fervor over recent events had subsided, regret unfurled down Celine’s spine. She’d been too hasty. She should have taken advantage of the offered carriage instead of allowing her pride to get the better of her.
Celine sighed to herself.
No. It wasn’t just her pride. She was simply tired of being told what to do.
Steeling herself, Celine decided to let the beauty of a New Orleans evening distract her from her thoughts.
A balmy breeze riffled through a magnolia tree to her left, its downy white blossoms swaying in the sultry wind. The breeze coiled closer, carrying with it the sweet perfume of honeysuckle and lavender, the tiny flowers peeking from between the tines of a wrought-iron fence in front of a stately, four-storied mansion. Overhead, wraparound terraces and hanging baskets overflowed with waxy vines and brightly colored blossoms. A row of blue cypress trees dripped with Spanish moss, forming layers of scent and shadow. Somewhere in the distance, an unseen man with a beautiful voice began to sing, his words a mixture of French and something Celine could not quite discern.
In only a few short weeks, Celine had learned to appreciate how the city seemed to come alive the moment the sun dipped below the horizon. Not a normal kind of alive, like sunshine and laughter. But a sinister, sensual kind of alive. A warm caress and a cool whisper.
Despite everything, Celine found herself falling a little bit in love.
As she continued making her way toward the convent, footsteps shifted in line behind her, clear and crisp against the blue-grey pavestones. Heavy footsteps, like those of a man.
Celine listened as they drew near. Then straightened her spine. There was no reason to