22. Harker
Harker
Louna took her earbud out that night, intending to sleep without constantly listening for Tennyson on the other end of the comms. That lasted about ten minutes.
Normally, she considered herself quite adept at compartmentalization—she could push her worries to the back of her mind and deal with them when she had the opportunity to.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d lost sleep over a job, thieving or otherwise.
But this wasn’t just a job, and as soon as she closed her eyes, her vivid imagination betrayed her.
She saw Polina, her face ashen with fear, clutching the tea tin as Hartmann kicked down her door.
She saw Lindsey, huddled in pain in his tiny dungeon cell, waiting for Harlow to order his death.
She saw the Verdier brothers outnumbered by Hartmann’s men, their hands raised uselessly against the guns aimed at them.
And she saw Tennyson, beaten bloody and prone on the white snow outside the castle, his unseeing eyes trained on the moon.
The earbud wouldn’t prevent any of that from happening, but at least it would mean that any cries for help didn’t go unheard. She rolled over and slipped it in, and sighed at the sound of tense but uneventful silence.
Tennyson woke sometime after she laid down, checked in, and went quiet again. She fell asleep to the sound of his soft breaths in her ear as he continued his restless scouting of the castle grounds.
In the morning, she rose early and got to work.
With the exception of Tennyson, who had likely not slept overnight, the others woke leisurely and enjoyed a slow morning.
Lindsey was fed something that resembled oatmeal, and he requested a steak with his impending rescue.
Jean-Claude made breakfast for the Nest, and they ate in forced cheerfulness and spent the morning in fretful conservation of energy.
When there was nothing else to stall them, they loaded up the van and headed to the castle to prepare for the evening’s events.
Ilya’s cousins had spent the night in strategic, periodic exploration of the castle, which had kept the guards busy enough to leave Lindsey in peace.
Louna released them from their duties when she received notice that Cristian had arrived.
They had done their part, and she wanted them far away from the party that night. The fewer people involved, the better.
Cristian greeted her with nervous excitement, and she tried once more to summon her sense of adventure. “Everything will go perfectly,” she told him.
She repeated it to herself even more often.
An oppressive mood settled over the castle as the day progressed, and their preparations took on a frantic energy. Heavy clouds had built on the horizon, and though the temperature had risen, the overcast sky and damp air combined to achieve a frigid effect.
“Looks like a storm,” Cristian said at one point, standing with Louna before the lancet windows in the hall.
“With luck, it will be rain and not snow,” Louna said cheerfully. “Perhaps some thunder. We couldn’t have planned it better!”
Finally, the clock in the entryway chimed four o’clock, and Louna drew Cristian out of an argument with one of the caterers and beckoned him up the stairs toward the bedrooms.
“It’s time to get dressed,” she told him firmly. “None of the guests can see you before you put your mask on.”
He went meekly, following her up the stairs to the tower bedrooms, which were off-limits to guests. Louna had claimed one of them as her personal staging area, and she directed Cristian into it and closed the door with an air of finality.
It was time for their transformation.
Despite the foreboding weather, the bedroom was bright and comfortable, warmed by a cast iron radiator on the wall near the door.
Two windows showed the gloom of the darkening sky, but the white walls and curved ceiling gave cheerful contrast to the dark hardwood floor, which was covered in a thick rug.
A settee bed was nestled into an alcove along one wall, and a desk, mirror, and antique chair settled across from it against the far wall.
The lights were electric, and a small bathroom had been added at some point in the last century.
She’d set up a folding screen to divide a section of the room for changing, and she waved Cristian toward it and went to the garment bags she’d laid on the settee.
She pulled his outfit free and held it up. “What do you think?”
Cristian inhaled. “It’s... it’s...”
“I know,” Louna said, preening. “Go on, get undressed. I’ll hand these over for you to put on.”
With a refreshing lack of argument, he disappeared behind the screen while she freed each piece of of the costume from its protective bag and draped them over the top of the partition.
When he’d donned the plain linen shirt, black leather vest and trousers, and a delicate cravat folded in layers of stunningly white lace, he came out so she could throw the black cloak over his shoulders.
The inside was dark red velvet, shifting like shadow as she bent to adjust a few of the buckles across his vest. The original had had buttons, but she’d replaced them with a row of brass belt straps—historically inaccurate, but gorgeous nonetheless.
Satisfied with the clothing, she went back to the bed and retrieved his mask from her bag.
Two bat wings rose up on either side of the mask, lifting over the eyebrows and trailing down along the jaw, obscuring nearly the whole face.
She motioned for Cristian to bend his head so she could place it on him, and when he straightened, she grinned.
“It’s perfect,” she said. “Take a look.”
He turned to examine his outfit in the mirror above the desk.
The long cloak and expanse of leather from torso to toe made him appear even taller than he was, and the flare of white from the cravat drew attention to his face and mask.
He twisted to see each side of the costume, and a slow smile spread over his face.
“It’s amazing,” he breathed. “I hardly recognize myself.”
“Nobody will,” Louna said.
He met her gaze in the mirror. “And you? You won’t be wearing that, will you?”
Louna brushed a hand down her black turtleneck. “No, no. Now that you’re dressed, I will see to my own costume.”
She reached for the second garment bag on the bed and unzipped it to reveal her gown.
Cristian gave an appreciative nod. “You will make the perfect Mina,” he said.
A flush spread across the parts of his face not obscured by the mask, and he added, “You will dance with me, won’t you? The first dance?”
“I will dance however many times you wish,” Louna promised. After all, she doubted Tennyson would be up for enjoying the party.
“The guests are beginning to arrive,” Jean-Claude said over the earbud.
Louna touched her fingers to Cristian’s shoulders and turned him toward the door. “Go now,” she said. “Go and greet your guests. I’ll be down in a moment.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Truly, thank you. You are a miracle worker.”
Louna smiled and shut the door on him as he hurried away, then went to retrieve her gown.
It was vaguely Victorian, with layers of black and burgundy skirts overlaid with black tulle.
The bodice was a deceptively comfortable corset, with black lace fringing a sweetheart neckline.
When she pulled it on, the sleeves hugged tight to her elbows, then flared in silk and lace to her wrists, providing plenty of space for stashing treasures.
She’d sewn pockets into the skirt as well, and had brought along a ruby-studded hairpin to twist into her hair, just in case.
Hairpins had served as a handy weapon for many women throughout history, and she had a feeling she wouldn’t want to go completely unarmed tonight.
“Tennyson,” she said, once she was safely encased in her costume. “Come up and get dressed. It’s almost time.”
He grunted into the comm, and she sat before the mirror to pin up her hair and complete her makeup.
She was only adding a little mascara and lipstick, a deep burgundy to match the dress—nothing that would distract from her outfit.
She had just set her mask carefully into place when the door eased open, and Tennyson slipped inside.
He froze when he saw her, taking in every detail of her dress before landing on her face. “Is that a good idea?” he asked.
There was a rasping quality to his voice that unnerved her, and she stood to face him. “Why not?”
“Black feathers,” he said, nodding to the plumage framing her eyes. “What if someone puts two and two together?”
“Black feathers aren’t enough to prove a connection,” she said.
She’d been subtle with the mask’s design.
The elegant arches and swirls in the mask certainly evoked the graceful curve of a swan’s neck, but she’d left out any other details.
“Besides, I’ve already told Cristian that I’m meant to be Mina. He won’t think of anything else.”
He looked doubtful, so she waved him toward the settee and reached around the bathroom door for his costume. “Don’t worry, mon loup,” she said, projecting a confidence she didn’t quite feel. “It’s almost over. Come now, put this on.”
She held out his shirt, and he glared at it. “What is that?”
“Something I spent two days working on,” she said pointedly. “You’ll have to take off your glasses as well, the mask won’t fit with them on. I don’t suppose you have contacts?”
“I don’t need them,” Tennyson said, removing the horrible frames and folding them onto his the bed.
“You wear glasses you don’t need?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.
He stripped off his sweater and tossed it next to the glasses, easing his injured arm stiffly into the black linen sleeve. “Sniper, remember?” he said. “ I use them to read things up close, but otherwise, no. I don’t need them.”
“Then perhaps you can manage to break them tonight,” Louna said. “And I will buy you better ones.”
He stifled something that might have been a laugh and buttoned the shirt over his bare chest, tucking his necklace carefully under the collar. He eased a burgundy-black vest over his broad shoulders and topped it all with a black cloak, then made her turn away when he changed into the dress pants.
“All right,” he said. “Now let’s—”
“Not yet.” She lifted her favorite part of the outfit, and he crossed his arms.
“No.”
“You must,” she said.
He made an attempt at pulling away, but when she put her hand to his chest to stop him, he stood still. “It’s only a cravat,” she soothed. “Cristian is wearing one.”
“Because I want to take fashion advice from him,” Tennyson said.
Louna tapped his sternum. “You’re taking fasion advice from me.”
“I’m not wearing frills.”
“It’s historically accurate.”
“To what time? You’ve got Gothic music and Victorian costumes and—”
“It’s aesthetically accurate,” Louna said, lifting the item toward his collar.
He exhaled, but stood still while she tied and adjusted the layers of silk.
When it was displayed perfectly against his throat, she retrieved her bag from beside the mirror and dug through it for the smaller go bag she’d stashed inside.
Tennyson’s eyes widened when he saw it, and he snapped his gaze to hers with a suddenness she didn’t understand.
“Lindsey’s costume,” she explained, holding it open to show him.
The rigidity in his shoulders relaxed slightly, and he nodded.
“What did you think it was?”
He cleared his expression, giving her nothing to read. “I saw that bag outside your window.”
For a moment, she was confused—when had he seen it, and why would it matter?—but then understanding kindled, and she lifted her mask so he could see all of her face. “Did you think I was leaving?”
“I thought you were prepared to,” he admitted.
“Is that why you told me to go?”
He winced, his affected calm shattering with the movement. “I told you to go because I wanted you to be safe. I never meant—”
“I know,” she said. She held out the bag, and he took it reflexively. “I understand.”
He let out a breath and looked down at Lindsey’s costume. “If Cristian is Dracula,” he said, “and you’re Mina, who is this?”
“Lindsey is Van Helsing,” Louna said, as if the answer were obvious. “The unwaveringly good hero, undaunted by any threat.”
“Thanks,” Lindsey said dryly, startling her. “Not feeling exactly ‘undaunted’ now, but it’s a nice thought. Who’s Tennyson?”
Louna drew a mask from the bag and lifted it to Tennyson’s face. “Jonathan Harker,” she said, watching his reaction.
One eyebrow lifted. “Mina’s husband.”
“Logical,” Louna said. “Pragmatic. Heroic.”
“He also suffered a nervous breakdown after meeting Count Dracula.”
“And Mina helped him,” Louna said, adjusting the mask.
Of all her creations for this event, his was her most beautiful.
She’d taken Cristian’s advice and used a half mask, but had shaped the eyes into fierce, angled slits.
She’d sculpted the cheeks to sweep back along the ears, which she’d lifted and elongated into elegant points.
The effect was distinctly wolf-like, and she stepped back to admire her work before reaching into her pocket for the final detail.
It was a brooch, crafted of burnished gold and set with a blood-red ruby that matched her hairpin. She stepped toward him and secured it in the center of his cravat, feeling the warmth of his body not quite touching hers.
“Is that real?” he asked quietly.
She glanced up at him. “Don’t ask if you don’t want to know.”
Her fingers stilled on the jewel, and he lifted one hand to tilt her chin up. She was wearing heeled boots that put them at almost the same height, but he raised her face and studied it like he was committing every detail to memory.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
Louna straightened the clasp of his cloak over his cravat. “So do you.”
He smiled, but there was something hesitant in the expression. A worry buried too deep to be touched by a moment’s quiet, trained by years of struggle and pain. She was suddenly, achingly desperate to soothe it, to tend him the way Mina had tended Harker, to ease him slowly back to health.
“There are things I have to tell you,” she said, her voice as soft as the silk against her fingertips. “Tomorrow. When Lindsey is free, when we’re all safe. Will you wait for them?”
He didn’t answer. His gaze was locked on hers, and for a moment, she wondered if he’d heard. Then he moved his thumb from her chin and traced it across her bottom lip, holding her motionless with the faintest touch.
“I will wait for you,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath. “For however long it takes.”
Then he stepped away, lifted the go bag from the floor, and was gone.