Welcome to the Court of the Lions.
TOUSSAINT
The first thing Celine noticed was the sound.
Or rather the absence of it.
The moment her feet sank into the plush carpet at the top of the stairs, the noise from below dropped to a hush. As if it were being muffled, like a heavy blanket had been drawn over the entire second floor, warding away the possibility of eavesdroppers.
But that was impossible. How could anyone manage such a thing?
Celine let her vision slowly adjust to the darkness.
Dim lighting glowed around a large rectangular chamber replete with gleaming wooden tables. Surrounding the tables stood shadowy figures adorned in silks and sparkling gemstones, cut crystal glasses flashing with each of their movements. A faint breeze tempered the air, fending off the rising heat from below. The floors and paneled walls were stained a dark mahogany, polished to resemble the surface of a black mirror. Silk drapes of a costly indigo hue, trimmed with golden tassels, framed every arched window. A long chaise sat empty in the chamber’s center, like a throne meant for an empress or a goddess of old.
That same sense of a blurred reality—of a sight gone hazy along its edges—enveloped the space. Punctuating the din was the occasional clatter of ivory dice across felted baize, the flutter of glossy cards being shuffled and sorted, the occasional muted cheer.
“It’s . . . a gambling hell,” Pippa said, her tone a mixture of unease and anticipation.
Celine tilted her head.
It was. And it wasn’t.
She couldn’t ignore the feeling that she was peering at a beautiful mask. Some kind of artful illusion. That if she shook her head just so, her vision would clear, leaving behind nothing but truth. Was this place the “court” the two young women had mentioned in Jackson Square that afternoon? Could its bejeweled patrons be responsible for such a sordid crime?
At first glance, it did not appear so.
But first impressions were known to be deceiving.
Whenever Celine had heard talk of gambling hells, they’d been portrayed as dens of iniquity. Powerful men sloshed with drink, wasting away fortunes on the single roll of a dice. Powdered lightskirts plying their scented wares. Bared skin and spilled liquor, lush velvet and cool ivory. Wealth at the height of its debauchery.
The scene before Celine could not appear more civilized. Everywhere she looked, dazzling women and elegant men of all skin colors congregated as seeming equals.
As if this was not an unusual sight at all.
Just then, a cry of triumph rose into the darkness to their right, just beyond a game of faro. The sound drew Celine toward an oval table of lustrous burl wood, the sights around it unspooling like bolts of fabric, captivating her with possibility.
Roulette. She’d heard of this game before, but never had occasion to play it.
“Celine?” From behind her, Pippa took hold of her hand beseechingly.
Celine halted in her tracks and eyed her friend over her shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Pippa asked quietly.
The question emboldened Celine. Granted her a sense of purpose. Perhaps it was the golden glow of the gas lamps. Or the heady scent of spices mixed with smoldering cigars. Whatever it was, she did not want to hide among the wavering shadows.
She wanted to soar.
“I’m playing roulette,” Celine replied, her voice filled with conviction.
Shock fluttered across Pippa’s features. “What?”
Celine was tired of doing nothing but watching. Tired of wearing her own mask and being a mere observer to life. “You wanted to know who I really am.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m a girl who’d rather experience life than watch it pass by from my window.”
Pippa exhaled slowly. Then nodded as she released Celine’s hand.
Like a moth to a flickering flame, Celine glided toward the amber light surrounding the roulette table. She hovered along the edges, her skin tingling with awareness.
A croupier swiped away a stack of tortoiseshell chips, presenting them to the recent winner. He waited for the players to place their new bets, then held a small ivory ball aloft before spinning a wheel of numbers in one direction and dropping the ball in the other. The tic, tic, tic of the roulette wheel grew louder and faster, until each sound blended into the next.
“Rouge seize!” the croupier called out when the ivory ball landed in a red square labeled “16.”
Across the table, a trio of companions—two women with dark skin and a man with a burnished complexion—grumbled in French to each other before reaching to place another bet. The rings gilding both women’s fingers were immense, jagged pieces of raw stone set in pure gold.
Celine searched for a set of discarded dice. A way to join the game, despite her lack of fortune. Her gaze caught on the faces of the trio, and a strange realization gripped her stomach. They were all extraordinarily attractive. Their skin seemed to glimmer beneath the warmth of the newfangled electrical lantern hanging overhead, the centers of their eyes filled with lambent light. When they moved, the air around them shifted like smoke.
Celine blinked as if something had floated across her vision, her lashes fluttering to clear her sight, her lips parting ever so slightly.
“Lovely,” a male voice murmured from her left, his thick drawl catching her attention.
“Pardon?” Celine replied, turning his way.
“You could be my good luck charm, my beauty.” The young man’s elbow brushed her arm as he leaned in closer, his clean-shaven features sly. He, too, was inexplicably handsome, his face like that of an angel, his expression decidedly at odds with the cherubic curls atop his brow. Again Celine was struck by how clear his eyes were. How the blue ringing their dark centers seemed inordinately intense.
Inhuman.
The thought startled Celine. She banished it with a toss of her head, restoring her senses so that she wouldn’t appear to be a simpleton. “I’d rather be my own good luck charm, sir.” Squaring her shoulders, she met his appreciative stare.
He rolled a set of dice between his fingers, his angelic curls falling across his forehead. “I’d wager you’ve never played roulette.”
“You’d be wagering incorrectly, then,” Celine lied. She held out her hand for the dice. “I might be the best roulette player you’ve ever met.”
He laughed. “I can taste your deceit, my lovely little liar,” he whispered.
“What?” Celine dropped her hand, stepping back, disoriented by his words.
“It’s sweet on my tongue.”
Again Celine took a small step back, almost colliding with Pippa.