Michelle Zink - This Wicked Game

“What was it?” Bridget asked from a chair by the fireplace. “The blacklisted item.”

Bernard hesitated, and Claire wondered if he would actually say it out loud. Even she knew it would cause panic.

Bernard continued. “The clients in question each placed large orders which included, among other things, the blood of black Panthera pardus .”

A gasp escaped from the room, followed by an escalating murmur.

Bernard held up one hand. “Please. I know you’re all alarmed, but we’re here to compare notes so that we can better understand the nature of the orders.”

“Better understand it? What’s to understand?” Julia St. Martin asked. “Black panther’s blood hasn’t been routinely used for at least a century.” She lowered her voice. “And with good reason.”

Bernard nodded. “Absolutely. But since I have your account of the event at the St. Martin facility, and I have the one phoned in to Estelle and me from the store on Lafayette, let’s hear Claire’s version, as well, shall we?”

It was a rhetorical question, and Julia sat up straighter, smoothing her skirt like that would eliminate the wrinkles from her pride.

“Claire.” Bernard waved her forward. “Please.”

Claire rose reluctantly. Making her way to the fireplace, she was torn between regret that she hadn’t listened to her mother and put on something more “appropriate” than shorts and a tank top and a vague sense of triumph that she’d stood her ground. At least she’d had the sense to twist her hair into a long braid.

She stood next to Bernard.

“Please explain what happened when the woman came in,” Bernard coached.

Claire took a deep breath and recounted the chain of events, starting with the woman’s entrance through the private door and continuing with her order and Claire’s explanation that there would be a delay for the panther’s blood.

When she was done, she hesitated, thinking about the woman’s use of her name, wondering if it was important enough to mention.

“Is there anything else?” Estelle prompted. “Anything at all?”

Sighing, she decided she might as well tell them everything so they could take it from here.

“The woman knew my name.”

Her father stood up, shock registering on his face as everyone else talked over each other.

Bernard held up a hand to quiet them. “What do you mean, Claire?”

She shrugged. “Right before she left, she called me by my first name.”

“And you’re sure you’ve never seen her before?” Gabriel Morgan asked.

Claire nodded, thinking about the woman’s distinctive clothing, her cold, dark eyes. “I think I would have remembered her.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about the woman?” Julia demanded. “The other clients who placed orders were men.”

Claire thought about it. “Not really. I mean, she was pretty and . . . I don’t know, kind of glamorous, I guess.”

“Pretty and glamorous?” Julia said, disbelieving. “How are we supposed to identify her with that? ”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Claire paused. “She did say that she would come back next week, though.”

“Next week!” Julia exclaimed.

Claire’s mother turned to Julia. “Claire did the best she could under the circumstances.”

Noel placed a hand on his wife’s knee. Claire recognized the gesture as one designed to rein in her mother’s notorious temper.

Good luck with that, Dad .

“I know we’re all . . . disturbed by this news,” Bernard said, “but Claire did the only thing she could without raising an alarm. She filled the order without question and went right to Pilar. It’s all any of us could hope for in such a situation.”

“Wouldn’t it have been better to raise an alarm while she was still there?” Charlie Valcour asked, his pale face and blue eyes calling to mind nothing of the stereotypical voodoo families of old. “I mean, then she would have left, right?”

Charlie’s father, Charles Senior, heaved a resigned sigh. “Then the woman wouldn’t have come back. And if she doesn’t come back, we won’t have another chance to identify her or find out why she wants the panther blood.”

Charlie flushed, his skin turning pink under his freckles.

“I think we all know why she wants it,” Claire’s mother said. “There’s only one reason anyone would.”

“But it’s forbidden.” Delphine Rousseau’s voice was almost a whisper, and the room instantly quieted. Claire guessed that’s what happened when you didn’t talk much. People listened when you did.

“And if the woman entered through the locked door,” Delphine continued, “she must be a member of the Guild on some continent. Why would she risk expulsion?”

“Well now, that’s something we don’t know yet, isn’t it?” Julia’s voice was snide, and Delphine seemed to shrink a little inside her tailored suit.

The room erupted into noise as everyone volunteered theories about the motive behind the orders.

Claire, grateful for the opportunity to escape, took advantage of the chaos by edging to the door. Her mother was the only one who noticed, though she didn’t say anything as Claire slipped into the hallway.

Making her way to the back of the house, Claire continued through the kitchen, where Betsy was banging around in one of the cupboards. Claire opened the back door as quietly as she could and stepped off the terrace, heading toward the arbor at the rear of the property.

It was quiet, the air almost liquid with summer heat and humidity. She followed the winding path, not wanting to risk Estelle’s wrath should she accidentally step on the flowers, and took a seat at the big iron table.

“Bad luck, huh?”

The voice came from behind her. Claire turned to see Alexandre Toussaint standing at the entrance to the arbor.

She rolled her eyes. “That’s an understatement.”

He came toward her, the setting sun turning his skin golden. He held out a hand, pulling her to her feet when she took it. His arms snaked around her waist.

“I wondered why you didn’t text me back,” he said, looking down at her.

“Sorry. I was a little preoccupied.”

“No kidding.” His eyes, as smooth and liquid as chocolate, appraised her. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?’

He shrugged, his lithe but muscular shoulders pulling on the buttons of his shirt. “I was worried when I heard.”

“About the customer?” Claire forced a laugh, pushing away the memory of the woman using her name. “She was probably just thinking she could kill her ex or something.”

“She knew your name,” he said.

“She could have gotten that anywhere,” Claire said. “You know, with Marie and all.”

It was true. Claire didn’t like to think about strangers knowing who she was just because of her great-great-grandmother, but anyone with some persistence and an internet connection could probably trace Marie’s genealogy to the Kincaids.

He brushed a loose strand of hair back from her face. “I worry about you.”

She smiled. “Don’t. I’m fine.”

“So you always say.” He leaned in until his lips were just inches from hers. “How long do you think they’ll be busy?” he asked, referring to their parents and the rest of the Guild leadership.

“Long enough.”

He kissed her, his mouth conforming perfectly to hers. She never stopped being surprised at the feeling that arose between them. They’d known each other their whole lives and had been dating in secret for over a year, but somehow the rush of desire she felt in his arms hadn’t dimmed even a little.

He reluctantly pulled away, looking into her eyes. “Claire . . .”