Delilah Dawson - Wicked After Midnight

I licked my lips. True, I hadn’t tasted such magic before, and I was angry now but not insane. “Is it supposed to taste . . . fizzy? Warm?”

“Airy, yes. Effervescent, they say. That bottle of wine is one of the most expensive ones in the city, but they were unloading a crate as I came through the catacombs.” He carefully moved the bottle away from the edge of the desk, pushing it closer to a brilliant bouquet of mad sunflowers in a matching golden pot marked with a card that read “Limone.” “I thought it might make a nice gift to celebrate your debut,” although I was saving it for Saturday.

I moved to inspect the bottle, struggling to read the Sanguine type. Criminy and Cherie both had tried to teach me the rudiments of the Bludmen’s mostly secret tongue, but it didn’t follow the usual rules of language, and I’d given up. The bottle was thick, green glass, the label hand-painted with tiny letters and edged with gold. A fierce unicorn stood rampant on it, and I didn’t need to read the writing to know I’d just thrown a hissy fit over something completely stupid. The taste still tickled my throat, utterly delectable. I had to change the subject or start crying over what an idiot I was for doubting him. Rattled by annoyance, I snatched the card from the flowers and tossed it into the fire.

“Did you see it?” I blurted out.

“See what?”

I kept my back turned so he couldn’t see my reaction. “The show.”

“I’m so sorry, bébé . I missed it. Didn’t think you’d be onstage for several days and made Blaise promise to let me know as soon as you were on the schedule. You surprised the hell out of everyone today. Twice.” He stepped close behind me, his hands landing gently on my shoulders as if testing the tension in me after the glass-throwing incident. His voice went soft. “Were you hurt?”

I shook my head no. “Told you I was mostly indestructible.” My eyes strayed to a poster on the wall that showed Limone dancing, and I spun around suddenly. “Wait. How did you know I was in Limone’s room if you just showed up? Were you coming to see her?”

He choked on a laugh. “Oh la la, so jealous. Do you think I’d be bringing a daimon a bottle of stolen bloodwine? And do you think I’d actually want to spend time with a nasty tart like that, even if she could stand me?”

His firelit eyes found mine, and my heart wrenched at the light golden-green that recalled the moors of Sangland. I pushed the homesickness down to focus on the thrill I experienced every time he settled on me.

“Blaise said Limone was gone and you’d spent the afternoon in here, and there’s a convenient window, and I had some news, so I took a chance. I do believe that’s the quickest I’ve seen a girl move from backstage to stardom. I have never heard of a crowd going mad like that.”

I looked down, the scrap of creamy paper in my corset catching my eye. “Well, I did receive a proposal from a duke. I guess that’s a good start, right?”

Vale’s nostrils flared, and with that same uncanny talent Criminy had, he suddenly seemed a foot taller and wider, capable of pummeling a tiny duke into the floorboards with a fist. “Which duke?”

“You mean there are more than one?”

Half giggling and half worried, I pulled out the paper and unfolded it. I hadn’t actually read it after taking it from Madame Sylvie and was more than a little curious about how a duke might offer to buy a woman’s body and time.

Chère Madame,

The new girl is a delight, and I will be the first to taste her charms.

The usual details apply. Please have her delivered after tomorrow’s show.

F.

The handwriting was overly curly but hasty, and I could see the lust written into every loop. Although I hadn’t considered the offer for even a moment, anger flared at the assumption.

“Doesn’t look like he’s offering you a choice, bébé.”

“I always have a choice.”

“Will you go to him?”

“I’m not some piece of meat . . .” A fierce grin replaced my rage. “Wait. I understand you’re a bit of a brigand,” I said. “Do you work on spec?”

His grin matched mine. “I’ll need a down payment, you understand.” He pointed to his cheek.

I lightly slapped it. “The whole point of this plan is that I’m not that kind of girl.”

“And I appreciate that, especially as pertains to dukes. So I’ll extend a line of credit, but you’ll owe me interest.”

“Oh, I think you’ll like this plan. Now, hand me that bottle of bloodwine, and get ready to take notes. Here’s what I need.”

It was all business afterthat. I told Vale what I needed, and he agreed to get it. But when I tried to tip up the bloodwine to test the airiness of unicorn blud again, he snatched the bottle from my hand and shoved the cork in harder.

“The rest of this vintage will make it easier to find Cherie. And buy your supplies. I only offered you a taste, bébé . Not the entire bottle.”

“But I wasted it!”

“That’s your fault, isn’t it? Perhaps next time you will trust me.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, and he returned the gesture. Throwing me a kiss, he slipped out the window with the bottle in his bag and a last, hot gaze that swept up and down my body and ended in a look of desire and regret. The room felt suddenly empty and quiet, so much so that I had to wonder if he’d even been there. Leaning out the open window, I found a narrow ledge and darkness, hazy with streetlamps. Vale had disappeared. Only the glitter of shattered glass around the fireplace and the lingering warmth of wine on my lips told me that I hadn’t imagined him in my room.

Alone now, I felt the little pangs and annoyances of a long fall and a thrilling debut. Slight aches, including the balls of my feet, much abused by my first public can-can. We would need better shoes if we were to perform it every night. My back still stung, thanks to my tumble from the catwalk, but it hadn’t affected my performance. When I undressed and sucked in a big breath, I had to wonder if perhaps I’d bruised a few ribs. In the excitement and adrenaline, I’d completely ignored the needs of my body. And I was deliriously hungry for blood, of which I had none. At that moment, I would have gladly licked the bloodwine from the floorboards, had any spilled there during my little rage.

I undressed and slipped on a night shift I found in Limone’s armoire, a far nicer one than the ragged, worn thing I’d borrowed the night before. Would Limone come back for it? And did I care? Probably not, and no. Just as I had once walked the caravan, telling myself that it was home and I should forget Earth, now I paced Limone’s room, telling myself that it was mine and I should forget the caravan.

I couldn’t put down the duke’s note, couldn’t stop reading the cold words that turned me from a thinking, feeling woman into a commodity. Even after six years in Sang, I still hadn’t internalized the general sentiment that women were things to be used and, when they’d outlived their use, discarded. Women had practically no rights here, unless they had a father or a husband to stand behind them—or a big-ass sword to swing at whoever threatened them. The caravan was better than most places, thanks to Criminy’s liberal worldview, but here in Paris, I was on my own. And I was practically chattel.

I had no idea what Madame Sylvie had planned for me, whether she had any control over my destiny and my body—or whether she thought she did. This duke could likely own the lot of us if I made him too angry. The shit would probably hit the fan in the morning, but what did I care? My answer to the duke was already in motion, out of my hands, and if Sylvie didn’t like it, I would find another cabaret and teach them the groundbreaking, scandalous dance I’d just invented.