Chapter Two My Little Nightingale

CHAPTER TWO

My Little Nightingale

THE LEFT SIDE of my head throbs in pain. I open my eyes slowly, blinking through my blurry vision. The room around me is dark and stuffy, the scent of mold heavy in the air.

I try to move my arm, but it resists. I wince, squinting to see through the darkness. I've been tied to a chair, my hands forced together behind my back, my ankles wrapped with a coarse rope to the chair's legs. Panicked, I struggle against my bonds, the rope cutting my wrists.

Is my attacker here? I turn my head from side to side, but I'm alone. The last thing I recall is screaming and kicking while rough hands threw me over broad shoulders, and then a blunt blow to my head. These could not have been the actions of the police; they were too rogue. A personal guard, perhaps?

Should I scream? Try and call for help? Around me there's nothing but gray walls. No windows. No furniture. Only a short staircase leading up to a concrete platform with a bolted metal door. This has to be a basement of sorts—even if I try shouting, no one will hear me. No one except whoever put me here. My heart quickens, and my breath comes in short bursts.

What are they going to do to me? Torture me? Turn me over and throw me in jail? Kill me? What will happen to Anaella if I simply never return? Will she think I abandoned her? She'll die of heartache before the illness can take her.

I jump at the thud of heavy boots and fight in vain against the ropes. The rattle of keys chills my insides, followed by the shriek of the rusty metal door.

Two giant men loom in the entrance, their heads mere inches from brushing the ceiling. They step inside, forming a protective wall in front of a dark figure lingering on the stairs behind them.

"Boys," a young lady's voice says, "untie my guest, will you?"

One of the men marches toward me, a knife gleaming in his fist.

"Please don't hurt me!"

"No need to be afraid, my dear," the woman says as the man swiftly slashes the ropes around my ankles and wrists.

Something in her tone is sincere, yet the looming thugs make me cower into the chair. I massage my wrists as the man steps back, fingers tingling as blood returns to my hands. "Who . . . who are you? What do you want from me?"

The woman glides down the stairs, holding a candelabra with long, delicate fingers. The light falls directly onto her face, the flickering shadows accentuating her high cheekbones. Her slick black hair is tied into a tight bun, her dark eyes daggers. As she steps off the stairs, her lips press into a knowing smile. Yet the expression is far from one of simple kindness. There is a feeling of superiority to it, as though her grin guards countless secrets she could dangle over my head.

Against it I'm smaller somehow, weak, afraid. I shudder, my body more bound to the chair than when the ropes held me down.

"I'm Lady Sibille, but if our meeting goes as well as I expect it to, you could refer to me as Dahlia." She tilts her head almost playfully as she hands the burning candles to one of the men. The action is so confident, her control so natural, it's as if she were a great duchess—but instead of devoted countrymen, she commands an army of oversized thugs with knives. "And I think the better question is: what do you want from me ? "

"I want nothing from you," I utter. "I just want to get home to my sister."

"Ah, but that is a lie, dear. I believe you showed a particular interest in this." She pulls the necklace I attempted to steal from within her robes. It dangles in the air between us, flashing in the dim light of the candles before she places it around her neck. The ruby fits seamlessly with the open neckline of her tight gown. Most ladies would deem her appearance inappropriate, the crimson silk hugging her curves so tightly it's as though the fabric has become a part of her skin, outlining her shape to perfection.

I wonder what it must feel like to wear such a gown, to allow yourself to be so sensual, so daring. It's almost admirable. An unfamiliar warmth spreads to my cheeks as I stare, the sensation unsettling . . . dangerous. Claws of fear dig into me and I shiver, turning my head away from her in a sudden panic.

"I'm sorry," I manage, but it's as though my mouth is filled with sand.

Thieves, thugs, bandits—the city's underground has always hidden them in its shadows. This woman, no matter how elegant she may appear, certainly belongs to them. People like her respond to power, bribes, or bargains, yet I have nothing to offer. My only choice is to beg.

"I'm not a thief," I say. "I swear. I only wanted something I could use to pay for a doctor for my sister. She's sick, you see, and . . ."

Dahlia lifts her hand and my voice falters, my courage all but disappearing.

"Yes, Anaella is terribly ill, isn't she?" Her voice is as soft as a cat's purr.

Dread spreads through my veins in waves. "How . . . how do you know her name?"

That calculated smile stretches again on her lips, and my skin crawls. What else could she know? Would she hurt Anaella for my stupidity? How could I have been such a fool? I deserve whatever is coming for me. If only I could spare my sister . . .

"I know all about you, Cleodora," Dahlia says. "I never go into business without doing my due diligence."

Her words make me pause, cutting through the rumble in my head. "Business?"

"Indeed."

This must be a trap. This woman cannot be trusted. Yet what choice do I have? The looming thugs seem somehow even bigger as they wait in the shadows.

"You can choose to refuse," she says as though she has read my mind, circling around me slowly. "Yet I doubt you will want to, once you hear my proposal."

"I . . . I have nothing to offer you. If you know everything about me, you must know I have no Talent."

"That is exactly why you'll do perfectly." Dahlia stops right in front of me, too close for comfort. "Your father left you with a shop you cannot maintain without his gift. Your mother gave her Talent to your sick sister, who can't even use it. No other friends or family to speak of—you are practically invisible. But instead of worrying about food on the table, you worry about medicine. So young to have such burdens. Only nineteen." The scent of jasmine envelops me as she leans closer, her lips nearly brushing my ear. "I know how you feel," she whispers, her breath warm. "Helpless. Worthless. I can help, if you'll help me in return."

Help her? There is nothing I can give a woman like her, nothing that won't mean delving into a world of shadows I want no part of. I should say no, beg for mercy, and pray for my sister's fate. Yet something within me stirs, making the words die before they reach my lips. How could she possibly have all this information?

I feel exposed, naked—my deepest regrets and shame laid barren. The urge to hide or wrap my arms around myself in protection is almost too strong to resist, yet I force myself to remain still. If she truly knows so much about me, could the rest of her words be true? Could she possibly help ?

"What do you want me to do?" My voice shakes as I speak.

She draws back with a smile, and I'm not sure if it's that jasmine perfume of hers or simply her intoxicating presence that's making my head spin. "You see, the jewel you tried to steal from Dame de Adley wasn't hers to begin with."

"Lady Adley? The famous soprano?"

"Nasty woman, if you ask me. Wouldn't you agree, Henry?" Dahlia turns to one of her guards, who immediately nods on cue, like a marionette. "Anyway," Dahlia sighs, "this beautiful gem was a gift from my family that I have long planned to reclaim."

I furrow my brow as she takes off the necklace, her fingers circling the gem. "What does this have to do with me?"

"Haven't you guessed already?" Dahlia laughs, the sound too sweet. "This is Lady Adley's Singing Talent."

" What? " I search her face for the lie, for any hint that she's only toying with me, but I find none. "It can't be, it was just stuffed in the bottom of her jewelry box." I stare at the shining ruby in disbelief. "No one would treat a Talent with such . . ."

"Carelessness?" Dahlia suggests. "You'd be surprised how ungrateful some people are. Which is exactly why I'm looking for someone to assume this abandoned Talent. Someone like you."

"Me?" And even though my nerves are still tingling with fear, I nearly laugh. She can't possibly be serious. I'm a nobody—a Talentless girl with nothing to my name. I cannot be an opera singer. A lady. Why would she even want me to?

"Lady Adley has recently retired," Dahlia says. "She has become too old to be a prima donna. She has no children, and no one to take over her estate. I have been watching her for a while now, and I've decided it is time she took her leave. Tonight's performance is Lady Adley's last social event, after which she will depart Lutèce for her vacation house on the Riviera." Dahlia snaps her fingers, and one of the guards places a tiny vial in her palm, full of thick red liquid .

My mouth turns dry, my stomach churning. "Is that . . . ?"

"Lady Adley's blood." Dahlia flips the bottle, watching the fluid drip over the glass. "Darrin here fetched it from her after he carried you over. I have all the necessities to complete a transfer ceremony. Now all I need is for you to take her place."

My eyes shift between the gem and the vial. This is not a trick. Not a lie. She wants to give me a Talent—the one thing I thought I could never have. The one thing capable of mending the fragmented pieces of my life that have been in disarray ever since Father died. The hot waves of desire and chilling fear running through me are undeniable, crashing against each other as I fight the urge to grab hold of the ruby and never let go.

"You will be presented as Lady Adley's distant cousin, and her chosen heir," she continues. "You will become an opera star, and her estate will be yours. With the money, you could pay for your sister's care, even buy her a new house."

I shake my head, trying to make sense of it all. "But . . . I have no knowledge of singing."

"I don't deal with untrained Talents." Dahlia's eyes flash with anger before she blinks it away. "You will have all the skills to use it once we embed it with your blood."

My blood . . . bonded with a Talent. No longer ostracized. No longer living on the edges of society. It sounds too good to be true. "But why—?"

Dahlia cuts me off. "Oh, I can already see it." She steps behind me, brushing my hair with soft hands. Chills run through me as she places the ruby around my neck. "Under all the grime, you are a beautiful woman. The stage will love you."

I know I should resist, that no good can come of even toying with this idea—not when I can sense the dangerous shadows behind it. But her words ignite a spark buried inside me—that same desire I felt watching the Elite at the opera house, to be among them, respected and adored .

True, it's not the Talent I always dreamed of having, but somehow that only makes it more exciting—a fresh start, a way to save my sister and me, a life of luxury I've never even dared to imagine. The weight of the stone presses against my chest—it's so close. The desire burns through me as I've never allowed it to before.

I need it to be mine.

"There is a price, of course," Dahlia says.

"I'll give you anything!" I say before I can even think, my voice echoing in the basement.

The smile spreading on her lips is so breathtakingly beautiful it's unnerving. "I was hoping you'd say that. You see, Cleo, in my business, connections are everything. I need people I can trust. Can I trust you?"

I nod at once, even though somewhere in the corner of my mind warning bells scream at me. Who is Dahlia? I've never heard of the Sibille lineage, not even back when Father tailored most of high society's clothes. I am certain associating myself with her would be a mistake. But the pulse of energy coming from the necklace against my skin is too strong, and deep down I know that I would do anything to claim it. To save my sister. To change my fate.

"When my father gave that Talent on your neck to Lady Adley, she was nothing but a street rat," Dahlia says. "He gave her a life in exchange for her services. Now that she has retired, her duties will fall onto you."

"What do you need from me?"

"I need you to help me provide my clients with whatever they desire. I pride myself on never turning down a job. For the right price, of course." She lets out a long cackle.

My eyes dart to her two guards, standing still as statues. "Like . . . an illicit market?" I can't hide the hesitation in my tone.

The corners of her lips curl up. "You will be one of my workers. You will integrate yourself within the Elite, live their life, gain their trust, so that when I need you, you can use your connections for whatever I deem nec-essary. "

"I'm not sure I know what you mean." I drop my eyes to the concrete floor. By my feet, dark red patches glisten in the candles' flickering light. My stomach quivers. What am I doing?

"My most lucrative currency these days is Talents. They are a rare commodity now that there are no new gems to be had."

A rare commodity is an understatement. The mines officially ran dry just before I was born, sparking riots in the streets. But no political uprising could change the reality: honing new Talents has become impossible, and each magical gem in existence has become ever more precious. But with all Talents claimed, how can they possibly serve as any sort of currency?

"Unfortunately," Dahlia continues softly, "not everything can be obtained through negotiation." Her long fingers lift my chin, compelling me to meet the depths of her black eyes.

Trapped within her gaze, I'm breathless. There is intimacy in this connection, a sense of vulnerability that frightens me. Only, somehow, I'm not weakened by it. I search her flawless face as she searches mine, and for just that moment I almost feel like her equal.

Dahlia doesn't blink, yet something shifts on her face—not uncertainty exactly, but perhaps curiosity? She narrows her eyes before speaking. "I need you to become my thief."

The connection is broken at once as I fumble, opening my mouth to protest but failing to produce any sound. I should have known this was coming. I did know. And instead of stopping it I allowed myself to momentarily indulge in this dangerous dream. But what she's asking of me is the stuff of nightmares.

I'm not a criminal.

Yes, I did try to steal that necklace, but it was supposed to be a one-time thing, a means to help my sister, nothing more. I only meant to take a jewel, something insignificant, forgotten, that no one would miss. Not a Talent . Stealing someone's gift is the most despicable crime there is. I know too well what it's like to have your fate, your future, snatched away from you .

After Father passed, taking his Talent with him, the world didn't delay in showing Anaella and me its cruel side. The customers were the first to disappear, and with them my dreams of following in the footsteps of my family's long line of tailors. Our friends didn't stick around much longer either, and my sister's health took a turn for the worse soon after. It was as if we were cursed, bound to live our lives in the shadows, just trying to sur-vive each passing day.

Agreeing to this deal would mean that we'd never have to struggle again. I would never again worry about putting food on the table, or cry at night while contemplating all the ways I'm failing to provide for my sister—failing as the head of the family. I could finally build a life for us.

But at what price? I'd be selling my integrity, everything I believe in—gaining my dreams by stealing them from someone else, inflicting my own pain on the world.

"You are concerned," Dahlia whispers. "Afraid to ruin someone's life. Well, if you accept my offer, I promise you will take only from those who can afford it."

She's mere inches from me now, her breath warm on my skin. Everything about her speaks of softness—the smoothness of her face, the perfect rosy color of her cheeks, so unlike the darkness surrounding us.

She is like an angel or a fairy godmother, offering me a way out. Or is she perhaps like the devil, asking me to sell my soul for her gifts?

Can I become what she asks? A thief? Forever lying, scheming, cheating . . . stealing.

Her full lips part, and a sudden urge to close the distance and test if they are as soft as they seem catches me off guard. I swallow the lump rising in my throat with a wave of embarrassment. She is a seductress, a beast in disguise who knows how to lure her prey with their greatest desires.

"Oh, Cleo, you disappoint me." She sighs as I stay silent.

At once a hollow ache fills my chest. I'm still not sure turning her down is even a real option, if I value my life. But even if it were, I'm not sure I could. I'll never have another chance. Not to have a Talent, or to afford proper care for Anaella. Beast or not, how could I live with myself if I gave that up?

"I really hoped we could work together." Dahlia turns to leave, gesturing for her men to pick up the ropes.

"I'll do it." The words are out of my mouth before I can control them.

"Oh!" She clasps her hands. "Did you hear that, boys? I'm so glad!"

My heart is beating so fast I fear it might burst through my chest. What did I just do?

But Dahlia is already moving. No time to regret. One of her guards unclasps the necklace from my neck with rough hands, and I nearly jump when he crushes it in his fist. The ruby breaks free from the setting of silver leaves, which fall broken to the floor.

"Excellent, Darrin." Dahlia flashes a perfect smile. "Henry, dear, the blood." She beckons, her eyes still locked on me.

The second guard steps forward with a knife in hand. He grabs my arm, and though I know this is a vital part of the ceremony I tense at the gleam of the blade, instinctively trying to pull away. But his grasp is like steel. A moment later the knife slices deeply into my palm, much deeper than I thought it would be. A whimper escapes my lips and I pant, chest heaving as blood drips on my dress.

"The shinier the jewel, the bloodier the Talent." Dahlia's voice is like a lullaby. She brushes a lock of hair away from my forehead, and goosebumps rise on my arms. With steady hands, she takes the ruby and pours the vial of Lady Adley's blood on it. "Trust me," she says, before pressing the gem into my wounded palm.

I flinch as the cut flares with pain but keep my hand steady. Eyes closed, I take a deep breath as my blood mixes with the blood on the stone—the magic ready to be transferred from one to the other, erasing Lady Adley's connection with the gem and replacing it with my own.

I had always imagined what it would feel like to bond with a Talent. Father used to say it resembled fantastic ecstasy, like floating on a cloud. Yet the warmth spreading inside of me is not soft. Instead, currents of static flow from the crown of my head down to my fingertips, as if my cloud is brimming with lightning. And when they quiet, I'm left breathless, but I'm no longer an empty vessel. The ruby pulses in my hand and my heart pulses with it. And all at once, I feel complete.

Dahlia kisses the top of my head, her lips the brush of a butterfly's wings. "You will make a fabulous diva, my little nightingale."