behind. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to witness it with her own
eyes anymore or be terrorized by its possibility. But she would
always know. Would always wonder.
And her friends would remain in danger.
Rage is a moment. Regret is forever. Celine had enough regrets on her head. Running away like a victim would not be one of
them ever again. She was not a victim.
She was a survivor.
“I want to stay in New Orleans,” Celine said. “But I have one
condition.”
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The Haunted Portrait
i
An hour later, Celine, Michael, and Odette stood in a corner
of darkly veined marble, ensconced in the farthest reaches
of a deserted hotel lobby.
Above them, crystal-and-brass chandeliers hung like silent
sentinels, chiming softly in a ghostly breeze. Lanterns housed
in spheres of opaque glass glowed around the room, resembling
will-o’-the-wisps floating through the night. Purple orchids and
white jasmine perfumed the air, the scent hinting of wealth and
far-flung locales. Positioned at either end of the entrance hall were large chinoiserie vases overflowing with long-stemmed roses so
deep a shade of red, their petals appeared black in the shadows.
Were Celine’s exhaustion not an anchor about her shoulders,
she would have whiled away a moment marveling at the gran-
deur of the space. Everything about it felt like it had been decorated to suit a queen of darkness.
“We’ve waited long enough, mon amie,” Odette said, her voice
scratched and weary. “Tell us your condition, s’il te plaît.”
Michael stood a healthy distance from Odette, his long arms
crossed, his dark curls mussed by the rain. Though his face
was lined with distaste, his pale eyes blazed bright.
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In a barely audible whisper, Celine informed them of her plan. Once she was finished, they stared at her in stunned
silence, Odette blinking rapidly, as if her mind intended to
flash through every possible outcome in the span of a single
breath.
“Over my dead body,” Michael announced in a flat tone.
“Here’s hoping, mon cher,” Odette quipped. She turned to-
ward Celine, her sable gaze uncertain. “But I must agree with
the boor’s sentiment. Using yourself as bait to catch a crazed
killer . . . sounds unduly foolish.”
Michael sniffed with unmistakable scorn. “Finally a sem-
blance of sense.” He nodded at Odette, who offered him a
mocking bow in return.
“I knew you would not agree at first,” Celine replied. “But
by tomorrow, I hope you will see the logic of it. How it makes
sense for us to take action rather than be forced into a corner.”
“Logic?” Odette snorted. “It’s madness, mon amie. Sheer
madness. I finally understand why you lied to Pippa before we
left the convent. You must have known she would never accept
this as an option.”
“Pippa is . . .” Celine exhaled with great care. “I don’t want
Pippa anywhere near me, at least not until this ordeal is over.
She’s not selfish enough to worry about her own safety.” The
image of Pippa trembling in a puddle—her eyes shining and
streams of blood trickling down her cheek—was one Celine
would not soon forget.
“Failing to worry about one’s own safety isn’t selfless. It’s foolish.” Odette quirked a brow, her lips puckering in judgment.
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Celine nodded. “I agree. But I don’t have the patience to argue with Pippa about it. It isn’t my place to dissuade her. And I’d
rather be the hunter than the prey. Wouldn’t you?”
A contemplative look settled on Odette’s face at the same
time a frown tugged at the corners of Michael’s mouth.
“Then I have your support?” Celine asked Odette.
Inhaling slowly, Odette nodded. “Though I’m certain I’ll live
to regret this.”
“You won’t,” Celine said, infusing her voice with a surety she
did not feel. “Thank you, Odette.” With that, she shifted her at-
tention toward Michael.
His displeasure deepened at her scrutiny. “I have no inten-
tion of agreeing to this plan, so spare yourself the effort,” he
said, his words characteristically curt. Unfeeling. “It was folly to come here. For both of us.” Michael pivoted in place and began walking toward the double doors at the hotel’s entrance.
“I’ll send for your things in the morning, then make my way to
the Dumaine shortly afterward to collect you,” he said over his
shoulder.
A crick in Celine’s neck sent a surge of discomfort down her
spine. She tilted her head, wincing all the while. “It’s unfortu-
nate you aren’t willing to listen to reason, Michael,” she called out after him. “But until you agree to help me, I plan to remain
here at the Hotel Dumaine.”
He spun around, anger sparking across his features. In a few
long strides, he stood before her once more. “A foolish choice,
especially when I’ve already arranged a place for you with full
police protection.”
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“It isn’t foolish at all,” Celine argued. “If you won’t respect my wishes, I see no reason to bend to your will. Besides that, no
place in this city is safe if the killer is watching me, as I believe him to be.” A shiver chased over her skin, but Celine kept her
gaze steady.
His thick brows tufted together. “It isn’t about respecting
your wishes. It’s about what’s best for you. What will keep you
the safest.”
Irritation simmered at the edges of Celine’s vision. “Then the
New Orleans Metropolitan Police will only protect me if I do
exactly as Detective Michael Grimaldi says?”
Michael said nothing in response. Soft laughter resonated
from Odette.
Celine sighed. “For whatever reason, this— thing—has singled me out. We can either run from that fact or use it to our advantage.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not a fool. I’m aware of
the danger, and I promise I’m appropriately afraid. I just refuse to be a victim for a single second more.” A muscle twitched
beneath her left eye. Celine rubbed the skin there and found
another fleck of dried blood smeared across her fingertips, the
smell thick and metallic. Her stomach churned at the sight. “I
only wish we knew what this thing was so that we might determine how best to destroy it.”
“Don’t believe every myth you hear. If there are no gods
among us, there can be no demons,” Michael said, his voice
leached of all emotion. “The same logic you’ve already em-
ployed indicates the killer must be a man. Most killers with
multiple victims are.”
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“It’s not simply a man.” Celine shook
her head. “It’s something . . . else. Something inhuman.”
“If it lives and breathes, it can be killed like any living and
breathing creature.”
Exhaustion burrowed deep into Celine’s bones. The strength
to keep arguing with the intractable Michael Grimaldi was leav-
ing her with each passing breath. Her fingers and toes had lost
all sense of feeling. Soon it would be difficult to stand straight.
Even still, Celine did not miss the fact that Odette had failed
to counter Michael’s recent assertions. Nor could Celine over-
look the thoughtful slant of Odette’s brunette head.
Odette Valmont possessed information of value and was do-
ing her level best to keep it from them.
Here was proof of something Celine had long suspected. The
members of La Cour des Lions did have an inkling of what—or
who—this demon might be. Why they chose to keep it among
themselves remained a mystery. It could be because the mur-
derer resided in their midst, and they wished to protect his
identity. But their recent behavior did not follow this reason-
ing. In the last few days, Odette had become more than a mere
acquaintance to Celine, and Bastien had gone out of his way to
ensure her safety the other night. He’d even threatened to de-
stroy the creature in a wholly remorseless manner.
Why would they go to such trouble to protect her if their loy-
alty lay with the killer?
Unless . . . this was all part of their plan.
An elaborate ruse to establish their innocence.
If that was true, Celine had already lost the battle. Only mo-
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ments ago, she’d divulged her plan in its entirety to Odette. If Odette betrayed her, all her efforts would be for naught.
Celine’s shoulders sagged.
She was tired of speculating. She needed the truth. And Ce-
line knew who to ask, though she dreaded his answer. The lie he
would offer in place of what she desired. Nevertheless, Celine
planned to speak to Bastien tomorrow. She’d demand he share
with her everything he knew. No more lies. No more masks. It
was time for them to cast aside their façades and bare all.
Bastien no longer had a choice. If he refused to be forthcom-
ing, Celine would tell Michael about the yellow ribbon and al-
low judgment to rain down upon them all.
“Give up on this cockamamie plan,” Michael said to Celine,
tearing her from her inner turmoil, his countenance grave. “Be-
cause I will never agree to using you as bait.”
Celine scowled, desperately wishing she could throttle Michael.
Just a little. “I have no intention of giving up anything. Surely you of all people must understand that.” She reached for his hand in a weak attempt to channel sugar instead of spice. “Please, Michael.
Don’t be so stubborn. I urge you to reconsider.”
He blinked twice at her touch, a vein jumping in his neck. “I
won’t reconsider. But . . . I will promise to do everything I can to keep you safe.” The last was said in a fervent tone, his words jagged, his grasp rough. Celine didn’t think Michael was aware
of how he’d wrapped her cold hand in both of his, clutching her
fingers with an odd kind of desperation.
No matter what he said or how he said it, Michael’s intensity
always betrayed him.
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He cared for her. And that knowledge troubled Celine all the more.
For a moment, she considered taking advantage of it. If she
begged him, perhaps he would relent. If she cried prettily or
raged in just the right fashion, perhaps she could do what she’d
failed to do before and overcome his mulishness.
But she didn’t want to play the role of the coy demoiselle. Not
like this. It was never a role that had suited her well anyway,
as evinced by their earlier interactions. Celine needed to be
cold and calculating. If Michael refused to help her, the plan
wouldn’t work.
That simply was not an option.
Her life—and the lives of those around her—depended on
them all working together in concert.
“I don’t need you to help me,” Celine lied, her words callous,
channeling Michael at his best. “I’ll simply ask Bastien instead.”
She extricated her fingers from his grasp.
Dismay rippled across his face, there and gone in a flash. The
next instant, Michael smiled coolly. “Ask him.” His smile turned
punishing. “I have no doubt what his answer will be.”
“Mon cher, you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”
Odette’s retort was pointed. “That’s the thing about beautiful
fiends like Sébastien Saint Germain: they always do what you
least expect them to do.” She brushed a speck of nonexistent
dust from his shoulder. “And in the end, they always wear the crown.”
Celine could not have scripted a more perfect response. It
was a loaded weapon, cocked and aimed at Michael’s chest.
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Sometimes it was necessary to be as cunning as a fox, even if it also meant being cruel.
Michael narrowed his gaze. His nostrils flared. “The Court
of the Lions does not rule this roost, Miss Valmont. I will see
this city burn to the ground before I cede control of my in-
toward the entrance, taking his leave, the very air around him
seething.
It didn’t matter. Celine had planted the seed. Odette had
watered it. Now they had only to watch it grow. If Celine had
learned anything in the last few days, she’d learned that Detec-
tive Michael Grimaldi was not the type of young man to allow
his enemy to best him. In any way.
She was counting on it.
“Connard,” Odette cursed under her breath as Michael disap-
peared from view.
The veined marble around Celine started to sway, the will-o’-
the-wisps blurring in the background. “It can’t look too obvi-
ous,” she said to Odette, blinking hard. “And we’ll need to
finesse the details.” She wound her fingers in her damp skirt and squeezed the ruined fabric in an effort to keep herself alert. “If you count the first murder of the young woman on the docks,
the killer has taken one life a week since my arrival,” she bab-
bled. “Following this pattern, the next murder is likely to take
place in the coming week, which should give us a few days to set
our trap.” Her head started to list forward. “Perhaps we should
plan it for the night of the masquerade ball itself?” she thought aloud, just as the polished floor rushed toward her face.
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“Ah, putain!” Odette cried out, catching Celine the moment before she struck the cold stone. “You’re falling to pieces before my very eyes.” She threaded one arm through Celine’s and
wrapped the other around her shoulders, then began leading
them down a darkened corridor.
Celine braced herself against Odette, her eyes struggling to
stay open. “Thank you.” Her words were hoarse. “For every-
thing.” She gripped her friend’s gloved hand tightly.
“You’re welcome, my brave little doe. But if you want your
cockamamie plan to work—honestly, who uses such a word?—
you’ll need to be more than brave. You’ll need to be ruthless.
After tonight, I trust this won’t be an issue. It’s not every day one meets a girl who stabbed a demon with sewing shears. Ah, to
have seen that!” Odette’s laughter was rueful, the sound chim-
ing like bells. “Also I find it fascinating how talkative you are after bearing witness to a shocking event. Most people I know
are struck silent by such things. You’re unusual at all turns,
Celine Rousseau.” She grinned appreciatively.
Even through the haze of her exhaustion, Celine smiled. Her
thoughts sobered in the next instant. “Why do they hate each
other so much?” she murmured.
“Who hates whom, mon amie? I know nothing but love.”
“Please.” Celine nudged her elbow into Odette’s ribs. “I’m too
exhausted to play these games. It’s a struggle putting one foot
in front of the other.”
“Why do you think they hate each other?”
“How should I know?”
“Hazard a guess. It’s an age-old tale.”
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“Because of a girl?” Celine’s eye twitched once more, her nose wiggling in response.
“Correct.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders fell.
Perhaps this was the young woman who possessed the right
pedigree. Celine exhaled slowly. Such things shouldn’t matter
to her. Not anymore.
They turned a corner, their steps light over the honed mar-
ble. Celine could almost swear Odette bore the whole of their
shared weight, as if she possessed the strength of an Amazon.
“Was she impressive?” Celine’s voice sounded small. Tinny.
Fitting for such a question.
“Very,” Odette replied, at ease despite her burden. “She sang
like a lark and danced in the light of the sun.” She added in
Celine’s ear, “But don’t worry, she wasn’t as beautiful as you.”
Celine snorted, then tripped over herself like she’d imbibed
too much champagne. As inelegant as a swine in the mud, she
crumpled to the floor.