The Damned - Renee Ahdieh Page 0,65
deal of restraint to weather the effects of that altercation. Celine had spoken with her doctor at length about it. He’d reassured her that moments like those were not unusual for people who’d suffered head injuries. In fact, he’d recently read about a French philosopher with a developing theory on the matter. He’d called them “la sensation de déjà-vu.” A feeling of experiencing something a second time. This phenomenon would explain why Celine had felt the way she did in the boy named Bastien’s presence. As if she’d known him from a different life, even though the very idea was absurd.
Perhaps it could all be attributed to her injuries, as everyone kept insisting.
Or perhaps they were all lying to her.
It was a discomfiting thought. Would Michael lie to her? Would Mademoiselle Valmont—who’d returned from Charleston last week—agree to perpetuate such lies? Would Pippa, her dearest friend in the world?
A server bustled toward their end of the table, carrying a basket of pillowy brioche. He offered a bun to Celine, and she reached for the butter, the tips of her fingers grazing the large silver dinner knife to her right. A jarring sensation rippled through her bones. One of recognition and awareness. She tilted her head and picked up the dinner knife. Wrapped her hand around the embellished handle, its blade flashing in the light of a nearby candle flame.
When Celine caught sight of her startled face in its reflection, her fingers started to shake. Michael was being introduced to the elderly gentleman sitting beside him and had not yet noticed her distress.
Celine grasped the handle tightly in an attempt to conceal her trembling. She became overwhelmed by the sudden urge to pocket the knife. Not for the purpose of stealing it, but rather to protect herself.
Protect herself from whom? What was wrong with her?
Celine glanced about, fighting a wave of nonsensical panic. The gentleman beside Michael clapped a hand against the young detective’s back, offering effulgent praise for his recent accomplishments. Michael grimaced, but accepted the kind words with a murmured response of his own.
Her eyes flitting to and fro, Celine brought the knife into her lap. When she looked up once more, it appeared that no one had noticed her odd behavior. Less than ten seconds had passed since she’d first touched the dinner knife.
Smiling as if nothing were amiss, Celine tucked the knife into her skirt pocket with a deft motion.
Immediately her trembling ceased. Her body relaxed, her shoulders dropped. She reached for the brioche bun and locked gazes with Odette Valmont, her shop’s generous benefactress. Though the elegant young woman was seated much farther down the table, it was clear from her expression that she’d seen everything Celine had done.
Panic once more swirled in Celine’s chest. Of course Pippa would have asked Mademoiselle Valmont to attend her engagement party. Three days ago, their benefactress had come to the shop to order a custom gown complete with the newest style of Parisian bustle. Likely Pippa extended the invitation then.
And now here Mademoiselle Valmont sat, studying Celine in surreptitious silence, her sable eyes knowing, her bow-shaped lips pinched.
Celine stood the next instant.
Michael started, concern lining his brow. “Celine?”
She forced herself to smile. “I’m just going to take a turn about the garden.”
“I believe dinner will be served shortly.”
“I’ll return in a moment.”
“Would you like me to accompany you?”
Celine shook her head. “I need a moment to myself.” She discarded her linen napkin and stepped away from the table, taking in deep gulps of rose-scented air. Energy pulsing through her veins, she wandered closer to a trellis laced with grapevines, trying in vain to calm herself.
“Is everything all right, mon amie?” a soft voice said from behind her.
Celine turned around. Odette Valmont stood there, her brown hair lustrous, her silk batiste like a jeweled raiment around her neck. A familiar cameo surrounded by a halo of bloodred rubies flickered near the base of her throat.
“I’m fine.” Celine swallowed before smiling brightly.
One side of Odette’s lips kicked up. She stepped closer. “Don’t bother lying. I watched you filch some of the Devereux family’s silver.”
Horror took hold of Celine, an icy wave spreading down her back. “I—I didn’t filch it. I meant only to borrow it.”
“Pour quelle raison?” Odette canted her head. “Et pourquoi?”
“I don’t know,” Celine admitted in defeat. “I just felt . . . safer with it.”
Odette’s eyes became slits. “Is someone threatening you, mon amie?”
“No. Not at all.” Celine took a step back. “You must think I’m mad.”
A thoughtful