Chapter Fifty-Two
I’m leaving this lavish bathroom when we hear the front door crash open. Robert shouts, “Is there anything I can help you with, miss?”
We hear stomping on the staircase. “Where are they, Robert?” Doors banging open, slamming shut.
“They weren’t on East Second like we agreed.
” She finally appears, one finger on Pax’s chest, driving him backward into the bathroom.
She looks puzzled for a moment, but then catches a glimpse of herself in one of the six thousand mirrors and composes herself.
She slides her fingers through her perfect sleek hair and closes the door.
Enter Clarice DuBois.
Pax smiles through a clenched jaw and waves his hand over her portion of the take. “Clarice! We were just dividing—”
But Clarice marches up to Pax and, without hesitation, smacks him fully across his right cheek.
Pax drops his head but looks up at her. “Would you believe you’re not the first person today to do that?”
“Oh, I can start a line,” she says. “Charge tickets.” There is no French accent now. Instead, there is a deep sniff of New Jersey. “No murder, Pax! We agreed—we were not going to harm Max Blanck. And you—dumbass. You bring a gun?”
Pax pales and shifts his weight. He nods. It’s not often Pax looks bested, but he does under the wrath of Clarice DuBois.
“I put my reputation on the line for you,” she seethes. “I sold Max Blanck on the idea of bringing you and yours in.” Here she points loosely in my direction. Is she implying that I belong to Pax?
I slide my eyes to Nirav. Nirav suppresses a grin and stares at his toes.
She glances at me, then walks slowly to Nirav. She looks supremely disappointed. “I can’t believe the two of you went along with this.”
Nirav shakes his head.
“We didn’t,” I say. “We knew nothing about Pax’s plan. I was just as pissed as you are.”
Pax points to the cheek opposite of the one that is now reddening. “Smack number one of the day.”
“Don’t make it three,” Clarice warns. She crosses the white tile floor to face me.
Spirit flashes an image of a white dove. Peace. The image surprises me. Clarice softens. We stand a moment, her eyes locked with mine. It’s as though she’s confiding in me, as if she’s saying Don’t do this.
Don’t do what?
“They didn’t know,” Pax says. “I promise. The gun—” His voice catches. “That was all me.”
We stand in silence a moment, and Pax says gently, “Your part of the spoils…” He motions feebly to her portion of the take again.
She looks at it with what may the saddest expression I’ve ever seen her wear. “I’m not taking that. I can’t have those jewels tied to me now.”
She turns to me. “You said before, while you were planning—you’re not in this for the slice of the pie. I wasn’t, either. It was never about the pie.”
Hmmm. Clarice wasn’t there when I said that; this was part of the discussion of whether we should include her in our plan. She is gifted, then. She’s been faking her gifts just enough, just like me. Interesting.
Another part of my heart softens toward Clarice DuBois. Dammit. She is likable.
She points to Nirav. “You. Child. You get my portion of the take. Don’t let anyone else have it, okay?” Nirav nods.
Spirit shows me a jack-in-the-box, the image it uses for a surprise.
Clarice whirls on Pax. Spirit changes the image it’s showing me to that of a hawthorn flower—lacy, lovely, white flowers, protected by spiny thorns.
“And you,” she says, her voice level and icy. “Give me your cash.”
Pax chuckles awkwardly and his eyes leap to each of us. I can only shrug and suppress a grin.
She motions to him in a give it here movement. As he reaches for his money clip, she says, “You’ll be making regular payments to me to keep your stupid foiled plan a secret.”
William licks his teeth, and I can’t tell if he’s uncomfortable or withholding a smile. Nirav shifts. I decide not to make direct eye contact with Clarice right now. It feels as if I would be looking directly at the sun.
Pax squints but hands over the wad of bills from his wallet. “Regular payments?”
His suspenders shift as he leans against the wall. How does he manage to look irresistible even as he’s being blackmailed?
Clarice tucks the roll of cash in her brassiere.
Her face is suddenly light and sweet again, the soft, lush petals of the hawthorn flower rather than the spike.
“Oh, I won’t rob you blind. I’ll just… pop in, whenever I could use some funding.
You know. Think of me as, oh, say, the kept mistress.
” She tosses her head back and laughs, her glossy blond hair gleaming, her laughter a mixture of bubbles and gravel.
Pax looks deflated and finally levels with her. “That gun… I thought that’s what I needed.”
Clarice leans in close and whispers something meant for only Pax’s ears. He gazes at me with sleek silver-green eyes and looks away. Huh.
She sashays to me. She reaches out like she’s going to touch my face, but she stops herself. “And you. You don’t have to worry. I believe that you didn’t know his plan, and I won’t turn you in. If it comes to that.”
I exhale.
She leans toward me, and she smells like clove cigarettes and French perfume. It’s intoxicating. “I’ve never seen anything like that show you put on last night,” she whispers. “It was… beautiful. And it was scary as fuck. You, I won’t be messing with.”
She gives William a quick hug, flashes herself a brilliant smile in the gleaming bathroom mirrors, squares her shoulders, and departs.
We’re quiet in her absence, until William chuckles. “Well, congratulations, Pax. You are finally part of the New York social elite.”
Pax wears a quizzical look, and Spirit flashes an image of a wide-eyed puppy cocking its head. “What?”
“You’ve made it. You’re being blackmailed. Nothing says social elite like extortion.”