"There's no need to refuse me a drink," she says sweetly. "It seems you have not done your job and produced a child in me. Perhaps, I was wrong about your potency after all."
My fingertips dig into her arm as I glare down at her. I was already aware of her unwanted visitor this morning. Antonia informed me with a whispered voice before she shuffled away and left me to stew in my irritation. But Ivy is being purposely spiteful, and I will not have that. I am considering my reproach when another masked man appears. He is well dressed in a formal suit, and his presence here means he is a Sovereign Son. But I don't recognize who he could be until he speaks in a low greeting.
"Santiago." He dips his head in a nod. "Would you mind having a word?"
I am surprised to find it is Angelo lurking beneath the mask, still clearly in disguise. I did not expect to see him again, particularly in New Orleans, as I assumed he would be back in Seattle dealing with his own revenge plans.
I nod and look at my wife before my eyes find my sister across the room.
"Go join Mercedes," I tell her. "She can introduce you to a few people while I have a word."
"I'm going to the bathroom." She tilts her chin up at me defiantly. "And then I will join your sister. But I don't need her introductions. I'm perfectly capable of conducting myself."
I lean down to growl in her ear, gripping her arm in warning. "Then you can start by watching how you speak to me. Don't fool yourself into believing I won't punish you in public. In fact, I would take great pleasure in doing so for all my brethren to witness. Don't test me, Ivy."
She yanks herself away and gathers a handful of the fabric of her dress, treating us to a view of her exposed back as she stalks away and disappears into the crowd.
32
Ivy
As soon as I am out of his line of vision, I take a flute of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray. I half expect someone to stop me. My husband has eyes and ears everywhere. But no one does, and I turn to glance casually over my shoulder as I bring the crystal to my lips and sip.
I don’t actually like champagne per se, but I want the slightly heady feeling I know the bubbles will bring. I don’t plan on getting drunk. I know what that will do to me. But tonight, I need just this little bit.
All around me, men and women float about the rooms of The Society’s main house in the center of the French Quarter talking, laughing, drinking. Some wear elaborate masks, others simple ones. The women’s gowns are beautiful, each one more so than the last. I see them looking at me, too, both the men and the women. Do they know who I am?
I touch the back of my neck with my left hand, his ring heavy on my finger. Those are the only things that would give me away. The tattoo and his ring.
I glance at my hand. It’s not as recognizable as his. Not like the monstrosity some of the men around me wear. The Sovereign Sons and the rings bearing their crests, their link to IVI. Like a status symbol of the elite. It’s disgusting.
At least Santiago’s isn’t horrendous like some I see tonight. Like the one I remember Holton wearing during my exam. I scan the room, remembering my brother’s request. Remembering if I get him information, he’ll bring Evangeline to see me. But when I do finally find him, recognizing him through his half mask, I realize I couldn’t tell my brother what he wants to know anyway because I can’t see the other man’s face, and even if I did, I probably wouldn’t recognize him.
Still, I walk closer, keeping my head down as if I were just making my way across the room. When I get near the two men, I look at Holton’s companion’s hand and take in his ring. He moves his hand quickly, though, so all I can make out is what looks like two hammers, which can’t be right. I’ll need to figure out a way to ask Santiago tonight.
Slipping behind cover in a corner, I watch my husband. He’s still talking to the same man. They’re thick as thieves, and I wonder what they could be discussing. The masks they wear are among those that hide the most. Santiago, I understand. He doesn’t like people looking at him. I wonder what the other man has to hide.
When Santiago raises his head to look in my direction, I quickly turn to walk away. I don’t think he can see me here through all these people, but maybe I’m wrong. I can see him clearly enough, after all.
I hurry out of the elaborately decorated room and out into the courtyard. I pass the place where we had the marking ceremony. It’s so different now. Not so ominous. The canopy of roses and vines is gone. The ornate chair and table nowhere in sight. No brands smoking in any fires. I look down at the ground and see the only thing that suggests anything like that ever took place here at all. The small ring between the stones he attached my leash to.
My leash.
Jerk.
But at least he didn’t make me wear that rosary tonight.
The voices around me fade as I stretch my foot out to touch it with the toe of my flat sandals. I didn’t wear the heels Mercedes provided knowing I’d have Santiago’s support if it came to it. But I should remember it’s not out of concern for me. If I trip and break my neck, his toy will be gone.
Mercedes’s words sting me again, and I swallow the rest of the bubbly champagne to numb their impact. When I look up, I notice more eyes on me and hear whispers around me.
God. I’m as paranoid as Abel. They’re not talking about me. They don’t even know who I am under this mask. That’s one thing Mercedes did well. She’s hidden my face. I’m sure this privacy she’s afforded me in the midst of all this wasn’t intentional, even if the mask is irritating and hinders my peripheral vision.
I set my glass on the pedestal of the statue behind which the girl had hidden on our wedding night, only realizing then where I’m headed as the voices fade behind me and the corridor grows darker. I reach out my hands to touch the walls on either side of me as it narrows, and from here, I can already smell incense.
It’s not a comfort. My association with the church is linked to the nuns who were rarely kind, but when I reach the doors, I don’t hesitate. I push one open and slip inside and away from all those people. There is a comfort in that, at least, and in the red glow of the tabernacle lamp. A constant.
I reach back to untie the mask and slip it off as I step deeper into the chapel.
My heart skips when I look at the altar and up at the crucified Christ. As I remember what we did here. What would Sister Mary Anthony think of her Sovereign Son if she only knew?
The thought of it makes me giggle. Or maybe that’s the champagne.
Someone clears their throat then, and I startle. That and movement at the back of the chapel draw my attention, and I feel instinctively guilty. But I need to remind myself that I’m not doing anything wrong. Even if Santiago were to find me here, he certainly couldn’t accuse me of anything.
“I just…” a soft voice starts. She steps out of the shadows. “I was lighting a candle.” She’s holding a long thin white candle in her hand. She’s not wearing a mask, and I recognize her instantly. She’s looking at me with the same wide, almost frightened eyes.
It’s the girl who’d hidden behind the statue the night of the marking ceremony.
I smile. “Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was in here.” I realize when she turns that she’s pregnant. I hadn’t noticed it before. I’d only seen her face, and even that partially, and I hadn’t noticed it now, either, not when I first saw her a moment ago. She has one hand under her belly, the tight moss green dress she’s wearing accentuating its roundness against her otherwise petite frame. I see how her wavy strawberry-blond hair falls to her waist down her back.