Chapter Nineteen
I don’t see Orrin the next day as I already expected, and I almost make an excuse to reject his dinner invitation but stop myself. There’s no point being embarrassed, and we need to work out the details for Aven’s rescue. I can put aside the kissing…can I not?
After Jinny does my hair—again, I am allotted loads of pins—and helps me into yet another new dress, this one a lovely grayish-lilac that enhances my gray eyes, I shoo her out so I can have a moment of peace before I go down.
I use the cosmetics from the bag Mr. Brown brought.
I happily take in the scents of the stains, the powders, the way one might take in the familiar smell of their place of worship.
God, it smells just like the Apothicaire.
With shaky hands, I put on Aven’s earrings, the pair Sélie packed for me, and take a deep breath for courage.
I pause at a full vase one of the maids must have brought up and placed on the mantel, the scent of soft pink roses perfuming the air. I pluck out one rose, avoiding the thorns, and tuck it into my hairdo, just like Jinny once did. And then I leave my room.
Mr. Brown is waiting for me in the hall. He stares at my nervous smile. “What’s the matter with you now?”
“Nothing,” I snap, as if I’m a schoolgirl hiding stolen affections and not a grown woman all flustered over a mere kiss.
He only shrugs, and we head down the hallway. I glance over at the older man as we go down the stairs. The clean-cut butler garb, the smell of him: furniture polish and smoke and somehow, beneath all that, something delicate and sweet.
“Cream puffs?” I tease as we reach the grand staircase. “Is that what I smell on you?”
Mr. Brown scowls at me, and I laugh. It’s enough to ease my nerves as we keep moving closer to the dining room.
Once outside the room, he opens the door, and nudges me in. Orrin is already there waiting for me. I hold up my head and walk further inside, casually, as if I’m not bothered at all by our kiss yesterday. I take a seat, the same chair I took the last time.
“Good evening,” I say politely, as Mrs. Minthy pours my wine and then disappears again.
“Good evening,” his tone is slightly mocking, partly amused. He glances at the flower in my hair, and I lift my chin, daring him to tease me for it. He says nothing. But I can tell he likes it, as well as my new dress.
I take a long draw of my wine, sighing at the rich taste—the hints of berry and tobacco—that pinches my mouth with pleasure. It’s the best wine I’ve ever tasted.
Then I notice his eyes on me. God. I think I moaned out loud.
I stumble out, “It just tastes so good. I mean, the wine. Everything tastes better now, from the magic.” I grind to a halt before I say something really stupid, like the thought that’s circling through my head.
Even you, Orrin, your lips, your tongue, your skin.
My cheeks heat and I glance away before he can read my confused desire.
I try not to search his emotions—is he regretful?
I don’t regret the kiss. I’d like to do it again.
My intuition—my body—tells me that the two of us could start a fire if we ever joined together.
My face heats even more at the image. Not because I’m embarrassed, but because every inch of me would like that to happen.
Ignoring my reaction, he gets right to business. “I’ve learned additional details since we last spoke. The party is the night of the full moon, just two weeks hence, and I want you to prepare in the meantime. Emotionally, I mean.”
“Because of Aven.” Miserably, lustful thoughts fading, I say, “I won’t ruin our plan. Don’t worry.”
“Not only that. You may see or hear disturbing things. I’m not sure how Elisavet or the others will treat you. Stay calm. Don’t lash out at anyone, especially not at her.”
“How could I? I can hardly speak when she’s near.” Just picturing her has me jumpy.
“And when or if you see your sister? You’ll have to fight your instinct. That will be difficult, to not go to her or acknowledge her.”
“I’ve already said I won’t.” My heart actually aches. “But what if Aven comes to me?”
Quietly, he says, “I doubt Aven will even notice you. She’s been there nearly two months now, hasn’t she? Over time, humans lose who they are there.”
That hurts, thinking of it. I ask, still concerned, “What if she already told Elisavet about me? What if that’s why Elisavet’s interested in me?”
“I don’t think that’s why. She wants you.” He stares into my eyes, and heat floods me at what he doesn’t say.
I change the subject. “Is it just demons in the court?” Before he can correct me, I add, “I know that’s not what you call yourselves. But is it?”
“Mostly, but also humans, servants, and those in the process of trading.”
“Wait. Trading what?”
“Their souls, of course.”
“Their souls?” He doesn’t need to elaborate; I’ve already realized what this might mean. How foolish I am, not to have put it together before! “Oh God. You think Aven might intend to make a trade?”
“Eventually,” Orrin answers, solemnly. “Most people do, and that’s what Elisavet wants, to build her power. She uses the souls she takes for energy, she feeds off of them.”
“How does she decide who to keep and who to kill?” I wring my hands together under the table as this new information comes to light. If we can get to Aven in time, we can save her from this threat. But what if Elisavet’s already made up her mind?
“They have to want to trade, for one thing. Her power may be great, but she can’t force someone to become like me.”
“So Aven chose to go to Elisavet.” I blink away the tears. She did choose to die, in a way. “Why? Why would she?”
“People often want to trade their pain away. Others trade for riches, for power. I don’t know what her motivation might be.”
I do. I squeeze my eyes closed a minute, a hand at my heart, the feel of it breaking a little more. Opening my eyes, finding him again, I manage, “Well, we have to get her out before anything worse happens.”
“Yes.” He nods. “We will. Last I saw she was a human servant only. But healthy enough. I believe you still can save her. I believe we will.”
He quiets as Mrs. Minthy enters to serve dinner.
Now that food is being served, we can’t speak of such matters, though I doubt she’d hear us anyway with the glamor he’s placed upon the household.
I want to ask him about the Court of Death, what it’s like.
But I’ve met him and Elisavet. I fear I already know.
She would kill you with a smile on her face.
She might even make you think you liked it.
Orrin and I manage some small talk, and although the food is as fantastic as always, I can hardly eat, my nerves shot for more than one reason.
We say nothing of the kiss.
What in the Devil’s name do you wear to hell?
Or, as Orrin calls it, the Court of Death.
The contrast of imagery is not lost on me.
I’ve had fourteen days to ponder this and still am no closer to knowing the right thing to do here.
I stand in my corset and drawers, aimless.
My dressing gown, untied, floats around me in a silky caress.
Carefully, I consider each of the four dresses I’ve tossed on the bed.
I twirl one freshly washed curl between my fingers and force my brain to only think about shallow details.
Only the clothes I’ll wear there. Not the chance we’ll rescue Aven—or worse, that we won’t.
Not the certainty that I’ll see Elisavet, speak with her, get close enough for her to run her cold fingers along my cheekbone.
I quake and decide to do up my face for distraction. As I rifle through the small supply of products I have now, thanks to Sélie and Mr. Brown, the scents of the cosmetics come through again so clearly, a memory flashes through my mind. Seven years ago, but I remember it as yesterday.
“Beetroot powder is expensive!” Aven yelped as I over-measured and spilled the vividly hued powder.
I was trying a new recipe. She’d always been best at the recipes—not just in recreating the ones Mavis had come up with but with making her own.
In the time we’d been apprenticing there, she’d flourished, a natural at the art of beauty.
Matchmakers hired her to paint up their clients.
Mistresses and wives and would-be-sweethearts asked her advice on which color or style to purchase.
Mavis had been proud, if a bit flustered, when someone came in, asking not for her, but for her oldest ward to help them. Aven had a gift of alchemy.
“Sorry.” I cringed at her reprimand. I looked down, the reddish-purple powder all over the black-and-white penny tiles, dusting my new boots—a present for my fifteenth birthday: burgundy and cream leather, soft as butter, buttons all the way past my ankles.
Aven smiled at me, exasperated. “You have to be more careful.”
Her sapphire-blue eyes reflecting the light, the sun, my life, our hopes.
I shut my own eyes tight to hold onto the memory for as long as I can before it fades, until I’m clinging to the last fragments of it, until the last bit of smell and taste and sight of her smile slips from my mind. I open my eyes reluctantly. Gone.
After a deep breath, I carefully make up my face with the rouge, a cherry lip stain, and a plum eye color. I line my lids with a black kohl stick then dab my rose-perfume oil on my wrists, in the deep swell of my cleavage, and behind my knees.
Just as I’m finishing, a sharp knock on the door makes me jump. Even though I know it’s not Elisavet, of course not. I am still so on edge. Jinny peeks in the room and says, “Mister Orrin said I should come do up your hair.”
“Oh.” I flutter my hands, a little helplessly. “That would be nice.”
Jinny motions for me to sit at the dressing table. I take my place on the velvet stool, and she yanks her fingers through my hair. “Mrs. Minthy told us you’re off for an outing this evening?” The smell of chamomile tea lingers on her breath.