Chapter Thirty-One When the Bell Tolls

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

When the Bell Tolls

HENRY IS QUIET inside the carriage as the horses pull us forward through the dark streets. I clench my teeth and stare at my knees, doing my best to avoid his gaze.

Last time I saw him, his callused hands held a gun, his expression unfazed at the thought of murder. The image of his giant arms carrying my unconscious sister before they disappeared into the night is forever branded in my mind.

If Lirone's information is accurate, none of the henchmen are allowed to hurt me. Yet Henry's giant figure still makes me shudder. I press my body to the wall of the carriage, trying to minimize any contact with him.

If all goes according to plan, he should be taking me straight to where I need to go. All I have to do is act shocked when we get there. A dash of scared won't hurt either—though that won't be difficult to achieve, seeing that my heart is already racing.

"Where are we going?" I feign ignorance.

Henry grunts. "If you want to see your sister, keep your mouth shut."

I lower my head, my hand clammy as I tighten it over the diamond. This ring is my only hope to save my sister, the only card I have left to play.

I need it to be enough .

According to Lirone, the shipment of the Talents will happen at midnight, and since the performance ended so late, time is running out. A fact I was counting on. No one, not even Henry, wants to risk Dahlia's wrath if the diamond doesn't make it on time.

Even though Henry keeps the curtains shut, I can tell we are getting closer. I sense the bouncy shift of cobblestones under us, then the smoothness of stones as we cross the river over the bridge, the rushing water barely audible over the sound of turning wheels and clopping hooves.

Soon we slow, the careful pace marking our entrance into the narrow alleys surrounding the main avenue. We must be heading to the storage areas at the back of the fashion house. I'm fidgety, bouncing my leg under my skirt.

What if Dahlia sees through my act?

Fooling her henchmen is one thing, but Dahlia could always read me like an open book. My fears, my needs, my desires, they are all exposed under her gaze. One glance of her dark eyes is enough to awaken the need to please her. And one brush of her cherry lips is all it takes for me to forget myself and want to lay down my life for her. Just thinking about her soft touch makes my head cloud. How am I supposed to hold myself against her?

The carriage comes to a stop and my heart jumps to my throat.

I'm not ready for this.

One wrong move and my sister will pay the price, and the vicomte will never see his Talent again. Air refuses to fill my lungs, leaving me light-headed. The burden is too much. But I cannot turn back.

I have come too far.

Henry grabs me by the arm, dragging me out into the grim street. A single streetlamp twinkles at the far corner of the alley, giving a mellow glow to the gray stone walls. Just ahead, guards load a large wagon covered by a black awning, while more men carry wooden crates from a door to my left. And right there at the threshold, overseeing the work, is Pauline .

I freeze.

Where is Dahlia?

I did not expect to see my treacherous maid. In fact, I hoped I'd never have to see her ever again. Yet here she is, fiery red hair loose around her shoulders and a tight black dress aging her up a few years. My insides quiver, my stomach threatening to empty itself onto the uneven pavement.

"Well, well, well, look who decided to show up." Pauline looks up from the chart in her hand. "You're late."

"Her fault." Henry shoves me forward.

"Of course it is." She sneers. "Where is the Talent?"

"In her hand. I saw her steal it from the idiot myself. He was searching for it like a lost puppy right before we left." Henry barks out a laugh.

"I bet he was." Pauline cracks a smile, the expression resembling the lovely grins I remember, and yet there is something wrong about it—something twisted. "The police won't be able to cover things up much longer. Though I do appreciate the irony of their failed efforts. Chaos is inevitable now."

From the smirk on her face, one might imagine she actually relishes the idea of the panic to come. Years of quiet and safety snatched away in one fell swoop. It makes me sick.

Another man appears from inside the building, followed by a woman in a deep pink coat. "Twenty more crates left," Josephine Garnier says. "I hope the wagon has enough space." She pauses as her gaze falls on me, her eyes narrowing. "What is she doing here?"

Her voice is full of disdain. Did she not know I was working for Dahlia this whole time? Or is her anger aimed at the dress I wore today and the humiliation I caused her by outshining her creations?

"What are you doing here?" I force the words out, keeping my mask of ignorance intact. "You . . . you work together?"

"Ugh, I have no time for this," Pauline snaps. "I was hoping Henry brought you here so we could throw you in the cellar with the other one. But if you really have the Talent, just give it here so we can get this over with."

I stiffen, lifting up my chin. "My sister first. Or does Dahlia not keep her promises anymore?"

Pauline narrows her eyes, her lips tight.

"Do you want me to take her?" Josephine asks.

"Fine, but be quick and—"

"Miss Garnier!" A man comes rushing out, panting. "The bell on the main floor is ringing."

"At this hour?" Josephine blinks.

"It's some lady. She seems drunk, and . . ." The guard shifts uncomfortably for a second. "She keeps shouting that she made a mistake letting you go."

My body tenses in anticipation of Josephine's reaction. Her cheeks are turning a deeper shade of red. I guess Madame was right about her all along. The one thing Miss Josephine Garnier craves more than anything is praise. That will be her downfall.

"Oh, well, in that case." She pushes her chest out. "I'll go take care of that. Pauline, could you—"

"Go." Pauline sighs. "You," she shoots at me. "Inside, quickly."

I stumble as I chase after her, the darkness of the corridor closing around me. "Where are we? Is this Miss Garnier's fashion house? Where is Dahlia? And where is my sister?" I let the questions spill out, a combination of fake and real ones to keep it all believable.

"Stop talking," Pauline orders. "You're giving me a headache."

I bite my tongue, shoving my rage deep inside. If all goes well, the smug smile will be wiped off her face soon enough. She deserves to pay for everything she's done.

But Dahlia's absence sets my nerves on edge. I search for her around each corner, but she's nowhere to be seen. How am I supposed to bring her down when she's not here?

Pauline leads me to a rusty metal door. A lit candelabra awaits her on a shelf along with a set of keys. Stuffing the key into the keyhole, she turns it and pushes the door, the shriek of metal reverberating.

At once, the familiar sound grabs hold of me and an image flashes in my head. A dark room filled with the heavy scent of mold. A rope cutting into my skin. Dark red marks on a concrete floor. I know the truth before I even glance inside.

This is the same cellar that held me when Dahlia's thugs captured me the first time.

"Who's there?" My sister's voice echoes from within, and that's all it takes for my self-control to falter. I dash forward past Pauline, nearly tripping down the stairs.

"Ann!" I fall on my knees at her side, running my hands over her as if to convince myself that she's real.

"Cleo? Is it really you?" Her voice trembles.

She's sitting on the floor, cramped in one of the corners of the cellar, with a dirty blanket covering her body. Her skin is pale, her eyes red from crying, her curls a mess of tangles. I kiss the top of her head, my fingers tracing the line on her cheek. The deep cut has closed, a faint red line running from just under her eye to her jaw.

"Oh, Ann . . . I'm so sorry." I wrap my arms around her.

"No, I'm sorry." She sniffles into my shoulder. "I made everything a million times worse."

"You have nothing to apologize for. I should have listened to you sooner."

A snicker comes from behind me. "How touching," Pauline says. "Now give me the gem."

I turn to face her, wiping the tears from my eyes. "Let my sister go first."

"You really think you are in a position to negotiate?"

"What about Dahlia?" I ask. "Why isn't she here?"

"You like the sound of your own voice too much. Lady Sibille put me in charge. Now give it to me. "

I clench my teeth as I stand back up, everything inside urging me to refuse.

I cannot let her have the diamond.

But getting Anaella out safe is all that matters. That's why we didn't have the police burst in here before now. "Will you let Anaella go right away?"

She rolls her eyes, opening her palm.

Acid burns my throat again as I place the ring in her hand.

"Thank you, Cleo." She smiles.

"Now let her go."

"Oh, I don't think so." Pauline examines me like a cat looking at a fat mouse. "You see, I don't think you deserve to keep that Talent of yours, either. And I definitely don't think you can be trusted."

Panic clenches my throat. "What happened to you? I—I thought you were my friend. You and I, we're the same."

"Your friend?" Pauline lets out a laugh. "I was your maid. And I hated every minute of it. ‘Yes, my lady.' ‘No, my lady.' What a bore. And as for us being the same . . . nothing could be further from the truth." She circles her hand over the diamond. "You think that just because we both longed for a Talent we share some sort of kinship? But you only had to be Talentless for, what, a year? I had to live with it my entire life. Your father was a craftsman with a gem. My father was a drunk with seven kids. I've been working for Lady Sibille since I was a child!" Her face is now a mask of rage. "That ruby should've been mine once that stupid old woman tried to back out of her deal!"

"What—what are you talking about?"

"You didn't really think the former Lady Adley wanted to retire, did you? No one breaks a deal with Lady Sibille. You only got that Talent because she was an idiot—she grew tired of her missions but she wanted to keep all the perks. When Lady Sibille wanted to send her away, she tried to go to the police instead of accepting her fate. She could have enjoyed her old age by the beach, but instead she ended up getting herself killed. At least she got what she deserved. "

I feel sick, hot and cold flashes running through my body.

"And now . . ." She draws a gun from a hidden pocket sewn into the seam of her dress. "It will be mine."

Anaella yelps in fear, and I hurry to shield her body with mine. "It's me that you want. Let my sister go and you can have the ruby."

"So she can run to the police?" Pauline shakes her head in amusement. "I don't think so. Lady Sibille ordered us not to hurt you, but if you struggled and I had no choice . . . I'll be her hero." She aims the gun at my leg. "First, we'll need some blood for the ceremony."

"Close your eyes," I say to Anaella just as the gun fires.

My sister screams, and a second later there's a thump as a body hits the ground. I gawk at Madame's tall figure hovering over Pauline's limp body and gripping a fabric beater—the sturdy tool I've seen countless times smoothing out textiles, turned weapon in her hands. Just next to me, dust falls where the bullet dug into the wall.

"Are you girls okay?" Madame asks.

"What . . . ? Who are you?" Anaella trembles.

"I've never been so happy to see you!" I rush to hug Madame. "Is Renée—?"

"She helped me get in, and she's keeping Josephine distracted," she says, clearly forcing the words out. "I hate that the horrid woman still has a soft spot for her."

"I know." I squeeze Madame's hand. "Thank you for coming. You saved us."

She clears her throat. "Yes . . . well. Let's get out of here."

I snatch the diamond back from Pauline's limp hand and stuff it in my purse before helping Anaella up the stairs. "We need to be quiet—there are too many guards around."

"This way," Madame whispers as she leads us down the narrow corridor.

We climb a set of stairs, the floor under our feet soon turning from concrete to carpet. A moment later, Madame pushes open another door and we are in the upper level of the store, a row of fitting rooms stretching out on each side.

I hold Anaella's hand tightly as we tiptoe forward all the way to the main entrance. I pause by the door when I see Madame is stalling. "What are you waiting for? We have to go."

"Not without Renée," she says. "You go. I'll follow."

"What are you talking about?" I whisper. "This isn't part of the plan. You can't stay here on your own."

"I'm not leaving without her."

I bite my lip as I stare at her. But it's clear there's no changing her mind.

"Ann . . . listen to me. I need you to run to the corner of Rue de Legros, by the bakery that used to be on our street. Do you remember the man you met at the ball? He'll be waiting there—Nuriel Lenoir. I need you to tell him your name, and that I'm waiting for him. Do you understand?"

"What?" Anaella shakes her head rapidly, barely keeping herself from crying. "No. Cleo, I can't leave you here. It's too dangerous. You—"

I grab her by her shoulders and look straight into her eyes. "I need you to trust me. Please."

Her entire body is shaking, but she gives me a tiny nod.

"The corner of Rue de Legros, by the bakery," I repeat. "Find Nuriel."

She places her hand on the doorknob, and I feel Madame's body stiffen beside me.

"Wait, the bell!"

But her warning is a fraction too late. As the door swings open, the string hanging above stretches and the bell chimes, shattering the stillness. I flinch, a wave of dread washing over me. That's done it. Our location has been exposed. My heart drops as footsteps echo toward us in the distance.

"Go!" I say, seeing the color draining from Anaella's face.

She runs.