Part of me had felt a thrill of excitement when my mother had made her announcement, because singing is what I’d always wanted to do. I loved it so, so, so much. But how dare I even consider such a life when so much of what mattered to me was in danger?
Imagine what your life would have been like if you’d never gone to Trollus…
I shoved the thought away. “Imagine what you wouldn’t have if you hadn’t gone,” I hissed at myself. “Imagine who you wouldn’t know. Imagine who you wouldn’t love.” But my words were cold comfort.
Back in the foyer, everyone was pretending to be reading the script, but I could see the furtive glances cast between the sullen and red-eyed Julian and the tight-faced Genevieve. Nothing would get done until the two of them reconciled, and I needed to be out and away from here looking for Anushka.
Squaring my shoulders, I approached Julian. “You can’t really believe she means to go through with it,” I said, leaning against the wall next to him.
He silently crossed his arms, eyes fixed on the floor.
“It’s probably only a ploy to increase the excitement over the masque. Genevieve de Troyes’ final performance,” I said, lowering my voice in mimicry of our stage manager. “Six months from now, she’ll probably be opening some grand new opera from the continent, and I’ll be back as her understudy.”
Julian snorted softly, unconvinced.
Nibbling on my lip, I stared into the depths of the brandy I still held. “She would have told you before anyone else if she really meant it,” I said. “She confides so much in you—more than even me, and I’m her daughter. The reason she’s upset is probably because she thought you’d see through to the heart of her little plot.”
“Why should she confide in you?” he muttered. “She hardly knows you to trust you.”
My spine stiffened, and I bit down on a retort that the distance between us was far more her choice than mine. But doing so would not help speed this process along. “I know,” I said instead. “I’m envious of you in that.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and I knew my ploy had worked. And frankly, everything I’d said felt true. I didn’t believe for a second that my mother had really decided to give up her career in favor of mine—she needed to be onstage like she needed air.
“Envy is unbecoming.” He plucked the glass out of my hand. “But I’ll take your peace offering. For now.” He swallowed the brandy with one gulp and grimaced. “My God, where did you get that? Tastes like it has been sitting behind a plant pot for a month.”
“I…” But before I could finish, a draft rushed through the room, and the dregs of the brandy beaded together, rising up the sides of the glass to perch on the rim. Julian’s eyes went blank for instant, and when they refocused, they were confused.
“I don’t really know why I care,” he said, then frowned. “Cared. What matters is asses in seats. No one wants to see an old woman playing a young woman’s part. Truthfully, I’m glad she decided to retire. It would have been embarrassing to watch her fight her eventual decline. This is our livelihood, and having you star will put money in our pockets.” He set the glass on the table, and the beads of brandy collapsed inward, pooling at the bottom once more.
I opened my mouth and then closed it. There was nothing in Julian’s expression or tone to suggest he intended his words to hurt. They were emotionless. Cool. Logical. Strangely out of character.
I picked up the discarded glass and sniffed it, a faintly herbal smell filling my nostrils along with the charge of something more. My skin prickled and my headache faded, because a charlatan couldn’t have made this potion.
This was magic; and what’s more, the spell had been intended for me.
10
Cécile
I found Sabine in the storeroom filled with costumes. At the sound of my footsteps, she turned, and I caught the bright glow of expectation in her eyes. It faded quickly at the sight of my expression.
“Julian took it upon himself to drink the brandy you gave me,” I said. “Not an entirely surprising thing for him to do; what made it interesting was what happened to him afterward.”
Sabine paled.
“I think we’ll skip the part where you deny the very obvious fact there was a potion in that brandy,” I said, my voice shaking with anger. “And past the part where you obviously intended to magic me out of love with my husband. Let’s go straight to the point where you explain to me why, knowing that I’ve spent months hunting for witches who could help me, you decided to keep the fact you’d found one a secret?”
“I wasn’t keeping it from you,” she blurted out. “I only met her last night.”
“And instead of telling me straight away, you decided to take advantage of the information yourself? Anything else you’ve been keeping from me?” Had she lied to me all along?
“No!” She reached for my hand, but I stepped back, crossing my arms. “I only wanted to help you. To give you a chance to live…”
“By stealing away the most precious thing in my life?” I snarled out the words. “You want to know where Chris and I were last night? We went to see the troll king. And he tortured Tristan in front of me until I gave my word I’d find the witch for him. A binding promise. I could no sooner turn from this path now than an addict from her absinthe.”
Sabine’s face crumbled and she pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Cécile. I’m so sorry.”
“Spare me,” I said, furious that Tristan would suffer so much for humanity, and this was how he was repaid. “Tell me the name of the witch and where to find her.”
“I can take you to her myself.”
Her voice was desperate with the need to make amends, but what she’d tried to do to me wasn’t something I’d forgive lightly. “So you can sabotage me further?” I shook my head. “I’ll go with Chris. At least him I can trust.”
Tears flooded down Sabine’s cheeks. “You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
“I thought I knew that,” I said. “Tell me her name.”
Her breath hitched. “They call her La Voisin—the neighbor. She’s got a shop in Pigalle.”
The words sang through me; and for a moment, they chased away my anger, fear, and even my love for Tristan in order to make room for the single-minded purpose of my hunt. I clenched my teeth and dug my nails into my palms to regain control of the compulsion, but it was like trying to stop a wave with my bare hands. “Let’s hope she can help me, and some good might come from this.”
Chris and I walked swiftly through the narrow and muddy streets of the Pigalle quarter, the only light coming from between the homeless huddled around piles of burning trash in the alleyways, their emaciated forms hidden by layers of rags. The buildings were pressed tightly together, windows boarded over and wooden frames weak with rot. Every so often, we passed a building that had collapsed from an earthshake, its bones picked away for wood to burn until nothing remained but the foundation.