Wicked After Midnight

I fought the urge to hiss and claw his face off. “Tell me, are those éclairs filled with vanilla cream, chocolate ganache, or pudding? I always preferred the vanilla cream, myself. Especially the real kind, made with butter and Madagascar vanilla.”



The older gendarme’s mouth twitched. “These are chocolate ganache,” he said, patting his belly. “My favorite.”



“Let’s get this over with,” the younger one grumbled, and they led me through a thick metal door with a small, barred window near the top. Inside was a sturdy wooden table and three chairs. The older gendarme pulled out my chair for me, and I sat daintily, crossing my legs at the ankles. The gendarmes sat across from me, each one shuffling his papers and preparing his pen.



“Sergeants Bonchance and Legrand, questioning Mademoiselle Demi Ward, also known as La Demitasse, regarding the events of March nine,” the older gendarme said loudly and clearly, glancing at the window in the door in a way that told me we had a witness.



“Please proceed,” a metallic voice boomed through a rudimentary speaker.



“Mademoiselle Ward, please tell us everything that happened on the night of March nine.”



And I told them, conveniently leaving out the bit about having the hottest sex of my life with a costumed brigand in a private alcove. When I got to the moment when the copper elephant ripped free of its moorings and began to charge through the streets, the younger gendarme, Legrand, raised a hand.



“Mademoiselle, just to clarify, could you please tell us why you were to meet the prince in this pachyderm?” The nasty quirk of his thin lips told me to tread carefully.



“I have no idea what he might have had in mind, monsieur. I was merely asked to pay my respects to a visiting dignitary.”



“On your knees, mademoiselle?”



I smiled sweetly. “I’m a citizen of Almanica, monsieur. I kneel to no one.”



“So you’re saying no money changed hands? That there was no understanding?”



“Not with me. I had barely spoken twenty words to the prince beforehand. Whatever expectations he might have had are his own business. But pray tell, Monsieur Legrand, how does this apply to my attempted kidnapping?”



“That’s Sergeant Legrand,” the smaller man growled.



Bonchance put a kindly hand on his arm. “Let’s get back on track, lad.” He gave me a sympathetic look. “Now, can you tell us how you incapacitated your kidnapper?”



Another saccharine smile. “I hit him twice in the head with a heavy wrench. I assume that self-defense isn’t yet against the law?”



Bonchance shook his head no, but Legrand leaned avidly forward.



“Interesting. But how did the gentleman in question come to be exsanguinated?”



My nostrils flared, and I put up a gloved hand. Funny, how I’d never had so much power before now, the first time I’d been a minority. And I wasn’t taking his shit. “Please, monsieur. If I might ask a question? Would you be interrogating me if you thought I had killed him with the wrench? Or a knife? Or any other weapon at hand?”



“That question is not pertinent—”



“An attorney might think it is.”



Legrand went silent, and Bonchance stroked his mustache.



The older cop leaned forward, speaking out of the side of his mouth as if we shared a secret. “You must understand, mademoiselle, that as Bludmen are rare in Paris, this is a new conundrum for us. Technically speaking, it is against the law to drink from a human. But if it was self-defense against someone who clearly meant you harm, we must consider it carefully.”



“Messieurs, I beg you. Please remember, during your deliberations, that I was trapped in a very small, dark room with a man who had already tried to kidnap me.” I blinked, letting my eyes tear up. “And I’m also fairly certain that the crash had damaged him internally. Do you have any idea who that madman was?”



Legrand scoffed. “This is a police investigation, mademoiselle, not your personal gossip mill.”



I sat up straighter, dropping the doe-eyed act. “I have a right to know the identity of my attacker.”



“That remains to be seen.”



“And I’d also like to discuss the disappearance of my dear friend Cherie, who was abducted by slavers on the road to Ruin.”



“That is not part of the current investigation,” Legrand snapped.



Bonchance added, “And only the city of Paris itself is in our jurisdiction, you see.”



“You’ll not even take a statement? Not even send out a bulletin with her information?”



Legrand looked as if he might spit again. “The whereabouts of . . . cabaret girls is not our top priority. Girls disappear frequently, mostly as a result of the unsavory habits of your lifestyle. If we spent our time chasing down every loose woman who fell on hard times, we wouldn’t have time to investigate important things, like murders. We’re the ones asking the questions, mademoiselle; you’d do well to remember that.”



I stood, the chair clattering to the ground behind me. “I’m sorry, but are you telling me that you’re satisfied to let slavers kidnap innocent travelers? And that when a madman kidnaps me in a giant machine, I’m not only prevented from knowing his name, but I’m also on trial for killing him in self-defense? Because I’d like to speak to a lawyer. Attorney. Barrister. Whatever you call it in this insane excuse for a justice system.”



Bonchance held out his hands. “Now, mademoiselle. Let’s stay civil and reasonable.”



Legrand’s lip twisted up. “I hate questioning women. So melodramatic.”



Anger flared, my cheeks blazing hot. “So when women are kidnapped, you treat them like criminals? This is clearly a case not only of misogyny but also of racism. Were I a human man, you’d be clapping me on the back and handing me a cigar. But because I’m female, a Bludman, and, in the words you’re too cowardly to speak and which aren’t actually true, a whore, I don’t deserve justice?”



They both stared at me, mouths open.



“Mademoiselle—” Bonchance began, and I almost felt sorry for him.



“Tell me, either of you. Tell me you think that because of who I am, because of what I am, I deserved it. I dare you.”



“We didn’t mean—”



“Tell me,” I said clearly, turning to let my eyes bore through the window in the door, “that every word I just spoke isn’t true, and I will cease to be, as you say, melodramatic.” I sat down daintily. “And I’ll wait for that lawyer now, while I compose my remarks for whichever reporters would consider my little story worthy of their time.”



After a long, dangerous, and painful pause, the speaker squawked, “The mademoiselle is free to go.”



Bonchance opened the door, and I flounced out of the room like the queen of goddamn England. Now I just had to discover who had kidnapped me and where he had planned to take me. I had to find Cherie and prove all those self-righteous good-old-boy hypocrites wrong.



24



Back at Paradis, I ignored Charline and all my curious coworkers and went straight to the tailcoat I’d stashed in my armoire. There had to be something I’d missed. Gentlemen always left a signature of their grandeur in this world.



I stretched the garment out on my bed, running my fingers along the seams and searching for a tailor’s mark, a tag, a button, anything. It was well made and of the latest fashion, but tiny white stitches showed where the tailor’s tag had been torn from the lining. I sniffed at the thick fabric, scenting oil and hot metal and an unsavory, magic funk. It was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. An odor clinging to the cuff made me gasp—Bludman and pine and vanilla. Cherie. I put my lips to it, breathing it in.



“Did you just lick a coat?”



I spun, hands curled into claws, as Vale swung his other leg over to sit on my windowsill. “Do you ever knock?”



He grinned. “Not if I can help it.”



His fingers drummed on the sill as the gauzy white curtains billowed around him, highlighting the deep gold of his skin and the brightness of his eyes. He was back in his brigand’s gear, all black and shadows, and I unconsciously licked my lips, remembering what it felt like to pull him close by tuxedo lapels and devour him.



“Aren’t you supposed to be mad at me?” I asked.



He shrugged. “My anger burns off easily, like clouds on a sunny day. And you’re not drunk or drugged, so I’m hoping you took my warning to heart.”



“You’re not my boss.”



The grin deepened, quirked, took on a new meaning. “Didn’t say I wanted to be.”



I looked down and swallowed hard, all my earlier bravado fled. “Thank you for the book.”



“De rien, bébé. I’m glad it pleased you, even if I didn’t.”



“You did, but . . .” The apology was on the tip of my tongue, but something held it back.



“I didn’t come here for thanks, you know.”



I sat down on the edge of the bed and jumped right back up, suddenly skittish. “What do you want, then?”



He stood, took a confident but tentative step. “Just this moment or in general?”



“Your choice.”



“You want to have this discussion now, bébé? Might be easier after a bottle of wine.”



But after my outburst at the police station, I was done with being misunderstood. “Tell me the truth, Vale. Why did you offer to help me find Cherie?”



“You know why. Because I have a soft spot for lost girls. And so I would have an excuse to keep seeing you.”



“What do you want from me?”



“Everything.”



I blushed and turned away, twisting the tailcoat between my black fingers, aware now more than ever how other I had become. In the police station, I’d been furious at their prejudice, at their assumptions. But now, faced with the truth about someone who had no such qualms, I felt strange and unlovable and desperately alien. And so close to my goal yet so very far away.