Chapter 29
Noah arrives at my door at seven o’clock, bowing as I open the door. Punctual, polite, and deliciously handsome in his Van Helsing costume.
The trench coat, hat, and shirt buckles are unmistakable. “You’re going as a vampire hunter?”
“Why not?” He tugs on the front of his coat. “I’m a monster to the monsters.”
“But…” I start to ask him how Dora will feel about that, then I remember I haven’t told him all I’ve learned. I haven’t mentioned the talk of vampires, the mansion being a murder house, or that Alice has asked me to search for the journal.
Or that I snooped around his family’s mausoleum.
The list of things I’ve kept from Noah is long, but correcting all that can wait. Tonight is not the time. “Where’s your crossbow?”
“Too awkward to carry all night.” As he speaks, his gaze tracks up and down, taking in my dress. “Nice,” he says, reaching out to touch me, just a brush of one finger across the design on my stomach.
A red hourglass.
“Black widow?” He arches a brow. “Do I need to watch my back?”
Grabbing my beaded clutch, I ease past him and pull the door behind me. “Maybe,” I tease, locking up as I leave the apartment.
The night is cloudless, no rain in sight, so we cut across the cobblestones. “The courtyard is beautiful at night,” I say, feeling like a princess attending a ball in the castle. Even if I am a wicked princess.
Noah glances up at the moon. “It is, although this is technically the cour d’honneur, an entrance court.”
“Okay. I will add that to my French lexicon.” I grin at him as we walk up the stairs to the main entrance. Two doormen flank the entrance, pulling the doors wide before we reach the top step.
Just inside the foyer, the family stands in a line, welcoming their guests. Except Ric, who’s glaringly absent. Chantal is busy speaking to others, but Vincent cuts a sharp look at me as I enter. Does he blame me for yesterday’s scene with Alice?
“Brooke!” My name rings out, and Luci beams as Noah and I approach. At least one person seems happy to see us.
Dora is beside her granddaughter, and as matriarch of the house, she greets and welcomes us. “Brooke, you are très belle. Very beautiful,” she clarifies, tilting her head and looking up from her chair. She is dressed in black, but I can’t see enough of her clothes to guess her costume.
In contrast, Lyam and Luci both wear Victorian-style clothing, colorful and elegant, with no indication that either is a monster.
Dora shifts her attention to Noah and her smile fades. “Noah,” she says, the slightest nod her only gesture of welcome.
“You look lovely, Aunt Musidora.” He gives her a bow as he did for me, ignoring her obvious snub.
Luci breaks from the welcoming line, waving her hands for us to follow. “André’s already here. Food and drink are being served in the blue salon.”
I return her smile, but I’m still bothered by her lie. Why conceal her friendship with Rose? Why lie about such a simple thing?
Logic tells me I should be cautious, but there’s a vulnerability about Luci that tugs at my heart. Even when she’s happy, it feels like an act. As if a bruise of misery lives beneath the surface. Something anguished and sad, disguised by false cheer.
She leads us to a grand room with silk-papered walls in rich lapis blue. People mingle with cocktails in their hands, some holding plates, having served themselves from the banquet-style meal.
Champagne fountains sparkle, silver platters shine, and desserts create an ornamental display fit for royalty. Tables of food form a perimeter around the space, so much that if I tried a bite of everything, I’d be here all night.
I doubt I’ll be eating at all, not with the nerves jangling in my stomach.
At least a hundred people mill around the mansion, increasing the odds I’ll be recognized.
Since the scandal is all over the news cycle, I’ve come prepared.
Ready with stock answers and cover stories, all slightly altered versions of the truth. That’s what Lin would want.
No. Scratch that. Lin wouldn’t want me at this party at all.
I stick to Noah’s side as he introduces me to other guests. By first name only. He also helps by steering discussions to local events. Paris Fashion Week is coming up, a topic that keeps the group chatting about designers and trends.
Glancing around the room, I’m surprised by how relaxed the gathering feels. I thought a party of monsters might be intimidating, but even Hannibal Lecter seems tame with a pink drink in his hand.
Unfortunately, the same can’t be said of Vincent. He’s left the receiving line and now stands near the bar. He wears a robe with a black hood, an executioner from the gallows.
He swirls a glass of liquor in his hand but doesn’t drink, his cold stare centered on me. He makes no attempt to hide his disdain, and I almost expect his lip to curl up in a snarl.
For the first time, I see how much Ric resembles his father.
I slip my arm through Noah’s and rejoin the conversation. At some point, we split off from Luci and André, spending time with a man Noah knows through his work. People enter our circle, and others leave, a pattern that repeats until we’ve met half the room.
Every other person seems to bear an important title, but one in particular stands out. Noah introduces the Chief of Paris Judicial Police, describing the department as France’s answer to the FBI.
I nod in his direction, keeping a pleasant expression plastered in place, but I can’t help remembering the day I met Alice. How she approached me in the café, told me Rose went missing from the mansion, and claimed authorities did nothing to help.
Claimed the police were protecting the Marteau family.
And here stands a high-ranking official in Parisian law enforcement.
“I see someone you’ll want to meet.” Noah steps away from the group, and I’m happy to go with him, leaving the beady-eyed chief behind.
Time passes and drinks flow, turning conversations loud and boisterous. Even Lyam has grown more animated, joking and laughing and opening up. As if the weight of playing a role has fallen off his back, and he’s able to be himself.
When he starts to expound on computer programming and the joy of writing code, I tune Lyam out and scan the room. Luci leans on a chair nearby, focused on a phone.
Maybe it’s the three Calvados and tonics I’ve had, the easy camaraderie, or the free-for-all party vibe. Whatever the reason, I jump at the chance to talk to Luci.
To ask her the question that’s been burning in my brain.
I ease up beside her and jump right in. “I saw you followed me on Insta. I followed back.”
“Oh, I know,” she says, standing straight. “Now we can stay in touch when you’re gone.” She fakes a pout and wraps me in a hug. “Because I’m going to miss you.” Her words hold a hint of a slur, telling me she’s had a few drinks herself.
I hug her back, careful not to spill my pale-yellow cocktail. When she releases me, I say, “I found Rose’s profile, too.” I hold Luci’s gaze. “She talked about you in a post.”
Luci tenses. Glances aside. Gets fidgety. Looking down, she rolls the phone between her palms.
The mention of Rose makes her nervous.
And I want to know why.
“So, you hung out with her,” I say. “The two of you were friends.”
“Yeah, we… no.” Luci shakes her head as if trying to remember what she’s supposed to say. “I met her once but didn’t know her very well.”
The answer she gave me before. Verbatim.
I might not be a detective, but I know a rehearsed line when I hear one. She even hit the same beats as before.
“She tagged you in her caption and said she’d never forget the time you spent together.” Suddenly annoyed, I press harder, trying to force the truth. “That sounds like you knew her. That you knew her very well.”
Luci doesn’t answer, just stares straight ahead and sips her drink.
“Did you say Rose?” Lyam leans sideways, his chin lifted in query.
He and a few others have migrated and are standing much closer than when I left them. How much did they overhear? Now I’m the deer in headlights, my mouth falling open but no words coming forth.
“André,” Lyam says, pointing at the tall Frenchman. “Didn’t you go out with Rose?”
He waves Lyam off. “No, I tried to date her, but she turned me down.” André presses his lips together, as if searching for what to say. “She wasn’t interested.”
“I don’t believe it,” Noah teases. “Hope her rejection didn’t bruise your ego.” He and Lyam exchange a glance, laughing at their friend.
Luci rolls her eyes and walks off. I start to call after her but stop when André’s hand falls on my arm. He glances after Luci. “Don’t worry. Her moods can change quickly.”
“Was it something I said?”
“No.” He sips his drink and shrugs. “Maybe she’s upset because I asked out Rose. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. She’s young, and, like I said, moody.”
With Luci gone and André feeling chatty, I lean in and lower my voice. “So did you get to know Rose pretty well?”
“Not the way I wanted to.” He looks stricken, shooting a worried look my way. But then he tilts his head. “I see no harm in telling you, since you never met Rose.” He glances at the others. “But don’t tell anyone else.”
André shakes the ice in his glass and mirrors my posture, leaning in. “Rose wasn’t interested in me,” he says with a lift of a brow, “because she was gay.”