I knew she wasn’t attacking, that she only wanted what was best for me, but I was sick of defending my choices. “I’m not going to stop loving him for the sake of improving the caliber of my performance,” I snapped, pulling my hands out of her grip, and a second later regretting my tone. “I’m sorry. It’s only that I wish you’d accept that I’m set on this path.”
“I know.” She rose to her feet. “I only wish there was more I could do to help you find happiness.”
Find happiness… Not find the witch. Sabine had been an integral part of my plan to find Anushka – her ability to ferret out gossip and information was second to none – but she’d been clear that she wasn’t happy about doing it.
“You do enough by listening.” I caught hold of her hand and kissed it. “And by keeping me in style.”
We stared at each other, keenly aware that the awkwardness between us was new and strange. Both of us longing for the days when it hadn’t existed.
“Come out with us tonight,” she said, the words spilling from her mouth in one last desperate plea. “Just this once, can’t you forget the trolls and be with us lowly humans? We’re going to have our fortunes told in Pigalle. One of the dancers heard from a subscriber that there’s a woman who can see your future in the palm of your hand.”
“I’ll not hand my hard-earned coins over to a charlatan,” I said, forcing lightness into my voice. “But if she happens to have red hair and blue eyes and seems wise beyond her years, do let me know.”
If only it could be so easy…
* * *
I lingered in my dressing room so that everyone would have the chance to go out into the foyer or vacate the theatre. I wasn’t in the mood to entertain subscribers, and besides, I’d all but given up on finding Anushka on the arm of some wealthy nobleman out for a night at the opera. Or at parties. Or in private salons. All that behavior had earned me was legions of admirers and a reputation for stringing men along. I needed a new strategy, and I needed it soon.
Drawing up the hood of my cloak, I hurried out the back entrance of the theatre and down the steps.
“Took you long enough.”
I smiled at Chris as he materialized out of the shadows. He was dressed in his work clothes, boots caked thick with mud and manure. “No loitering,” I said, pointing at the much-ignored sign.
“I wasn’t loitering, I was waiting,” he retorted.
“So say all loiterers.” I jumped down the steps and fell into stride next to him. “You have anything?” While Sabine had focused on researching the histories of the women I’d sent her after, Chris had been hunting down whispers of magic with the tenacity of one of the Regent’s witch-hunters.
He nodded. Stepping into the shadows, he handed me a curved statue with a necklace of herbs twisted around its neck. “Let me guess,” I said. “Fertility charm.”
“Put it under our pillow and you are sure to give me many strong sons,” he said, his voice full of wry amusement rather than the anticipation it had held when we arrived in Trianon.
I held it for a moment, then shook my head. “Anything else?”
He handed me a bracelet of woven twigs. “She called it witch’s bane. It’s from a rowan tree. If you wear it, a witch won’t be able to cast magic your direction.”
I frowned at the strange item, and then shoved it in my pocket. What nonsense. “How much did it cost you?”
He told me a number, and I winced as I dug the coins out of my pocket. I spent more than half my wages on potions and bobbles, and so far, it had amounted to nothing more than a strange collection of knickknacks. The few legitimate witches we’d discovered had known nothing about a mysterious redheaded witch or curses, and all had refused my request for tutoring in the arts.
“You discover anything new?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No one who looks anything like her. No one with an unknown or questionable past. No one who’s been inexplicably on the social scene for five centuries.”
Chris sighed. “I’ll take you home.”
We strolled, the walkway drifting from light to dark as we passed in and out of the golden glow of the gas lamps. But when we reached the street that would take me home to my mother’s empty townhouse, I stopped. I needed a change. “Let’s go see if Fred is at the Parrot.”
Chris looked surprised, but didn’t argue as we continued down the street toward my brother’s favorite drinking establishment. Sidestepping a brawl out front, we pushed our way into the busy tavern. Almost everyone inside was a soldier of some sort – not the sort of place artists such as myself were normally found – but everyone knew I was Frédéric de Troyes’ little sister, and no one would bother me here.
“Cécile! Christophe!” Fred shouted when he caught sight of us. He released the barmaid he had his arm around long enough to order a round of beer and deposit the flagons in our hands. He resumed whatever tall tale he was telling the girl, then his eyes went back to me.