by Sophie Davis
“I really don’t remember anything after I went to the water table. I’m sorry,” he added. “I just can’t remember.”
I reached across the table and patted Gaige’s arm. “It’s okay. You’re positive that it was a kid who handed you the glass, though?”
“Definitely. He couldn’t have been more than like ten or so.”
“Did you stop anywhere on the way back to the townhouse?” Cyrus asked.
Gaige looked helpless as he shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Do you know what time you left the gym?” I chimed in.
“I know Ernest had to be somewhere at five o’clock, so I’m guessing it was a little before then?” my partner replied.
“And you were home already when I got back from lunch with Hadley. That was a little after four,” I supplied. “If you did stop anywhere, it couldn’t have been for more than a few minutes.”
“I do remember being excited to tell you about Ernest having the third part of Blue’s Canyon,” Gaige recalled. “With such a big development, I doubt I would’ve gone anywhere on the way home.”
Our boss closed his eyes and began rubbing his temple with one hand.
“I think it’s safe to assume that the Dragon Dust was in the water at the gym,” Cyrus decided. “And if Mitchell wasn’t there….”
“It was probably him at the bar,” I finished, pausing to process this new information.
Gaige shot me a questioning look, and I filled him in on the guy who sent Hadley and I drinks at the bar.
“I know it’s a long shot,” Cyrus said, once I’d finished. “But let’s go through the pictures and see if either of you recognizes anyone.”
Gaige and I both nodded. Cyrus shot a glance at the door, then set the cameras on the heavy wooden table. It was a big risk, having our modern technology out in a public place, but there was no way around it.
“Just look for anyone who seems at all familiar,” Cyrus instructed, pushing a camera towards the middle of the table. “We don’t have much time, we need to make this as expedient as possible.”
Much to my surprise, Cyrus slipped the small sleeve over his index finger that controlled our cameras in playback mode. Just having the cameras in the police station was risky enough, but utilizing the advanced hologram technology in public was downright dangerous. It was another worrying indicator of how desperate the situation had become. Nevertheless, we all knew from experience that it was impossible to make out faces on the tiny camera screens.
Even once Cyrus executed a series of swipes and gestures to project the pictures two feet wide in front of us, the process was slow and painful. Each camera held hundreds of images. Gaige became increasingly frustrated as we flipped through picture after picture of various landmarks and notable sights—the Eiffel Tower, Versailles, the Louvre, and the Arc de Triomphe. We inspected each and every shot for several long moments, stopping frequently to study all of the faces in the background with the magnifying glass. It might have gone faster if we’d extended the projection—the hologram could extend up to thirty feet wide—but it would be a lot more noticeable should someone walk in. Not that a two-foot hologram in the middle of an interrogation room in the 1920s was inconspicuous.
“I’m sorry,” said Gaige, when we were about a hundred pictures in. He slammed a fist on the table. “This isn’t working. All of these faces are blurring together. I couldn’t tell you whether I’ve seen any of them before, not if my life depended on it. I’m usually so focused on—”
I snatched the magnifying glass from Gaige’s hand and leaned in towards the middle of the table.
“So glad you’re listening to me,” Gaige grumbled. “And, why yes, I was done using that.”
His words were lost on me as I held the old-fashioned brass glass in front of the current picture. It was a scenic shot from the gardens at Versailles. Standing off to the side, almost out of frame, was a man I recognized. His cheeks had a tinge more color and his eyes weren’t quite so haunted, but it was the same man. I’d have bet money on it.
“Son of a…,” I muttered. “I am so dense.”
“What do you see?” Cyrus demanded.
“It’s him,” I replied, handing the magnifying glass to Cyrus and pointing to the figure in the hologram. “It’s definitely the guy from The Ritz. I cannot believe I was sitting ten feet from him.”
Tears threatened to come as guilt washed over me. More than anything, I felt like I’d let Cyrus down. And Gaige, too. If I’d just done something when he was there. If I’d just walked over and asked who he was, maybe we wouldn’t have been sitting in a police station with my partner shackled to a table. I looked over at him, my eyes welling up against my will.
“I am so sorry,” I began, furiously swiping at my eyes before the tears could fall. “This is all my fault. I—”
“You know it’s not really your fault, right?” my boss asked gently. “You had absolutely no way of knowing who he was or what he was doing.”
Cyrus wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me to his side. Against the instructions of the guards, Gaige reached for my hand. The tears finally fell when he squeezed it reassuringly, small rivulets tracing a path down my cheeks. Their compassion was making me feel even worse. They were the only family I had, and I’d let them down.
As quickly as the thought came, I banished it to the darkest corners of my mind. I refused to become a sobbing mess in the middle of the shantstorm we were in.
“You’re being ridiculous, Stassi,” Gaige said. His tone was light and without a trace of pity. It was exactly what I needed; I hated pity. “You didn’t murder anyone. And this guy didn’t have ‘Serial Killer’ tattooed on his forehead.” My partner leaned in closer to the hologram as if inspecting it. “I mean, he didn’t, right? Because if he did, yeah…major screw up, missy.”
His flippant tone instantly made me feel better.
“I thought it was supposed to be ironic,” I retorted, brushing a stray tear from my cheek.
“Did you really?” Gaige shot back. “Or is this payback for your little swim in the Arno?” He held up one of the chains that attached his leg to the table. “If this is your idea of revenge, I officially concede. You win, Stass.”
I rolled my eyes at him, squared my shoulders, and wiped the last of my guilt tears from my eyelashes. Cyrus smiled, the edges of his eyes crinkling as he watched me pull my shite together.
“Okay, that’s enough time wasted on making me feel better,” I declared. “Let’s catch this son of a bitch.”
AFTER HUGGING GAIGE goodbye and promising that he would soon be a free man, Cyrus and I left the préfecture. Between visiting Salpêtrière, being interrogated, and then visiting Gaige, it had been one of the longest days of my life.
When we returned to the townhouse, I went straight upstairs and collapsed into my bed without changing out of my dress.
The sun had already begun its climb to the middle of the sky when I opened my eyes the next morning. Panicked, I bolted up in bed. There was an insane amount to do, and I couldn’t believe that I’d overslept. After quickly washing my face and pulling on a clean cotton dress, I emerged from my bedroom.
The sounds of many voices and multiple conversations greeted my ears the moment I opened the door. Pausing at the landing, I looked down at the commotion below. There were at least a dozen people milling about downstairs with a frantic energy.
“There you are!” Ines’s voice trilled above all of the others. She’d spotted me, beckoning me to join the party in the living room. “We need to get you over to the style team, they have lots of work ahead to get you ready for tonight.”
Brushing off the offhanded insult, I descended the stairs and plopped down on the couch. Blueprints were stacked on the coffee table, and Cyrus was going over them with two men I’d never seen before. He paused to pour me a cup of coffee from the French press in front of him.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” I asked grumpily, accepting the teacup and saucer.
“It’s going to be a late night,” my boss replied simply. “I need you well-rested, focused, and in top form.”
My boss quickly went over the plans for the day—his to ready the strike team, mine to be accosted by the glam squad. It seemed odd that my sole responsibility was to look pretty, but Cyrus dismissed the notion as soon as I voiced it.
“We need you for a lot more than your pretty face,” he said with a wink. “I’ll be down to the styling stations in a bit to go over the plans with you.”
“Is this all going to work?” I asked him quietly, gesturing to the chaos around us.
“Honestly? I really believe it will.” Cyrus’s quiet confidence was the most reassuring thing in the world. If he’d been frantic, like everyone else, I would’ve been even more worried.
“Stassi?” Ines called, standing by the door. She tapped her watch. “We really must let them get started.”
I glanced over at my boss and rolled my eyes.
“I simply must be going,” I drawled sarcastically, hoping Cyrus would appreciate the levity. “I only have all afternoon to get ready for dinner—an impossible task, I assure you.”
“Hang in there,” he replied with a wink. “I’ll be down soon to give you a break.”
FIVE HOURS LATER, Cyrus sat in the armchair in my room, shuffling through a stack of papers while I finished donning the jewelry that completed my look for the evening. After slipping thin gold hooks through my earlobes, I stood in front of the mirror in my bedroom and marveled at my makeover. Felipe and Naomi had truly outdone themselves. Of all the beautiful gowns and exquisite jewelry I’d worn while in Paris, the look Naomi picked for my double date with Charles and the Hemingways was by far the most amazing yet. The gown was a rich blue, so dark that it was nearly black, with embroidered gold swirls adding pops of color. The fabric hugged my frame in all the right places, somehow transforming my athletic figure into an hourglass. My neck appeared longer and more swan-like, encircled by thin gold chains of varying lengths.
The earrings I’d just put in were long and gold as well, anchored by teardrop diamonds that hung to my chin. Though I was certain I wouldn’t have been able to afford any of my Parisian attire, the earrings would’ve been a stretch for even our wealthiest clientele. They were exquisite.
Felipe spent longer than normal styling my auburn locks into a sleek hairdo that would eventually become synonymous with “Old Hollywood Glamour”. For the first time since arriving in Paris, the length wasn’t pinned up, leaving my hair to brush my bare shoulder blades. Keeping with the style that would become popular with starlets in ten years, my eyes were winged with dramatic liner, and my lashes were long and dark with mascara. His final touch was a deep red lipstick that accentuated my cupid’s bow. The overall look was bolder and more eye-catching than ever.
And that was the point. The Night Gentleman was expecting me tonight. He would be looking for me, and I didn’t want to disappoint. My job was to be the shiny object that distracted the killer, so he wouldn’t notice Cyrus and his strike team.
“You just have to remember everything we’ve gone over,” my boss was saying drawing me away from my reflection. “No one separates from the group. Don’t drink anything unless you’ve seen the original container opened in front of you. Stay alert and in contact. Also, we managed to book the chef’s table at the restaurant, to thwart attempts to drug your food. It is extremely unlikely that Mitchell will be at the restaurant, but we don’t want to leave anything to chance.
“You won’t recognize most of the alchemists,” Cyrus continued. “We had to pull resources from all over France. Bane and his enforcement team will be there, too. Our people will be posing as ushers, ticket takers, stagehands, and other patrons. We’ll be focusing a good bit of our resources on protecting the performers, though we have a whole team dedicated specifically to you and your guests.”
“Do you think we’re actually his targets, and not just his audience?” I asked softly. I would never forgive myself if something happened to the Hemingways or Charles. In addition to my personal guilt, history would never forgive me if something happened to Ernest.
Cyrus leveled me with an open gaze and slowly shrugged. There was evidently no sugarcoating on the menu for tonight.
“The fact that the flower deliveries were addressed to you does suggest he’s developed a fixation of sorts. However, he seems oddly certain that he will see you again, so I would be surprised if his plan is to harm you. If any of you are the targets, I think it’s more likely to be Mr. DuPree and the Hemingways.”
My throat went dry and I nodded jerkily, unable to speak. This was not exactly news to me, but it was difficult to hear it admitted aloud. Since the roses and letter had arrived the day before, I’d been wondering if that was Mitchell’s plan. Only my implicit faith in my boss was stopping me from cancelling the whole thing.
Cyrus placed his hands on my shoulders and pinned me with emerald eyes full of concern. “Nothing is going to happen to you or your friends. Okay? I will not let him touch you. Any of you.”
A knock on the front door to the townhome interrupted the moment. In a truly shocking move, my boss placed a quick kiss on my forehead before going to answer it. I gathered my purse and shawl, and followed my boss down the stairs, expecting the driver was at the door.
“Cyrus, good to see you, mate,” I heard a deep, booming male voice say. The accent was thick and Australian.
Bane and his team had arrived.
When I reached the living room, I saw four enormous men crowded in the foyer alongside my boss. With more tattoos than all of the Hell’s Angels at the height of their popularity, and enough facial scars to make me wonder if they’d lost a fight with a propeller, these men looked every bit the enforcers that they were. The Atlic Syndicate had them, too—a crew who went in to deal with the unsavory side of our criminal enterprise—but our guys didn’t look like extras from the Godfather.
Ten eyes turned in my direction when I was in view of the foyer. A guy with a diamond-shaped scar bisecting his right eyebrow and a neck covered in tattoos whistled appreciatively. I couldn’t help but laugh—these guys were so not going to blend here.
“And who do we have here?” he asked, his smile bordering on a suggestive leer. He squeezed past the others, removed one fingerless leather glove, and offered me his hand. “I’m Wick. And it is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Stassi,” I said, returning the handshake.
Wick’s smile widened, revealing twin dimples in his cheeks. The look would’ve been one of boyish charm, if not for the scars that told of violent fights and the snakes and skulls covering his skin clear up to his chin. The effect was oddly unsettling.
“Calm down, Wick. You’re scaring the girl,” Bane admonished, clapping the younger man on the back before turning to introduce himself to me. “I’m Bane.”
“I know,” I replied with a nervous smile. “I’m Stassi. It’s really nice to meet you, thank you for coming.”
Though we’d never actually met, I recognized him from pictures; he was one of Cyrus’s original employees from back before the individual syndicates existed.
“These other goons are Raff and Tot,” he said, pointing to each in turn. “We’ll have your back tonight, Stassi. There’s a car waiting out front, I assume it’s for you?”
“Yes, it’s probably Jacque,” I confirmed. “I should be going, but I really do appreciate you coming here to help. Knowing you guys will be there makes me feel better.”
And it really did. Bane and his goons were large, imposing, and slightly terrifying. Which meant they were perfect for taking down a serial killer.
The others chimed in with more promises to keep me safe, then I said goodbye to the muscle. Cyrus offered me his arm while the large men made a path to the door, then my boss escorted me on the short walk to the car.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said as he pulled the door shut behind me. “They may not be the most sophisticated bunc
h, but they’re extremely good at their jobs, trust me.”
I smiled. “I do trust you. Good luck with the manuscript.”
“Just keep the Hemingways with you and occupied, let me worry about the rest.”
“That I can do,” I promised. Surprising both of us, I gave my boss a hug before climbing into the car. Cyrus closed the door behind me, and stepped back to watch from the sidewalk as the car pulled away. He gave me a reassuring nod and smile, though his rigid posture belied his calm façade.
HADLEY TALKED NONSTOP through dinner—a blessing since I was too jittery to engage in anything more than polite conversation. By the time our main courses arrived, I’d managed to knock over my water glass, dribble champagne down my dress, and send a steak knife, blade down, into Charles’s lap. The last incident had my heart beating out of my chest, as visions of nicked femoral arteries and gushing thigh wounds danced in my head.
Thankfully, no blood was actually shed, and Charles laughed it off.
Ernest asked after Gaige, inquiring about his treatment and wanting to know if there was anything he could do to help.
“I truly appreciate the offer,” I told him, touched by the writer’s compassion for a man he’d only known a short time. “My uncle already has an attorney working on bail. I am sure we’ll have this mess cleared up soon.”
“No one believes he did it,” Hadley said, reaching across the table to pat my hand.
“Of course not,” Charles added. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “We all know the police are under pressure. That inspector has latched on to your brother and is simply using him as a stooge.”
The food was amazing, yet I ate very little of it. The Hemingways seemed to attribute my twitchy mood and lack of appetite to Gaige’s arrest, which was for the best. Charles wasn’t so easily fooled. He waited to broach the subject until just before we left the restaurant, while Hadley was in the restroom and Ernest was occupied at coat check.
“You are awfully quiet this evening, Stassi,” Charles mused, leaning in close to speak directly into my ear.
