“Patrice,” spat Merridon. “Leave us.”
“But—”
“See to your duty! There are people milling about the front doors. Why is that? Go away,now,and find out.” Madam Feebledire cast a wounded look toward her brother, but it was only a flash, one that quickly solidified into something more. Her face hardened as she spun away, her heels clicking soft on the marble.
“Now then,” said Merridon with a shake of his head. “Captain, fetch what I asked. You may meet us at Door Twenty-five when it is done.” With a charming smile, he turned to Alora and proffered an arm. “Shall we?”
Alora watched as Bash melded with the bodies behind him, his eyes on her, wholly black above the fabric. He inclined his head by the smallest fraction moments before she lost him, but she understood. He’d disappear, would follow them, and beneath her breath, where no one could have a hope of hearing, she whispered, “I trust you entirely.”
And oh, how good that felt.
Chapter Forty-Four
The music came from a gramophone. One so overlarge and gilded that Alora wondered how she’d not seen it rising up from the middle of the hall. It rested on a lacquered table, curved upward and carved, while Doors Eleven and Twelve winked at her on either side. The sound spun itself all around her.
Drink,it sang.Partake.
On either side of the gramophone were two cascading fountains: one red and one gold. The liquid streamed steadily from the fanciful stone, ready for one of the many flutes to be placed beneath it and filled. Merridon paused near them.
“Wine, Miss Jones? Champagne?”
Alora could smell its potency across the distance. She’d not eaten any dinner; one glass would surely send her stumbling, useless in her endeavor. She waved a hand. “Oh, no. Thank you.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, but she noticed he didn’t partake either.
Expose the rot.That was her grand plan. Well, she’d already stripped the grounds of gold, but what did anyone really careabout that so long as the attractions remained the same? So long as the music kept them eager, the drink euphoric, and the magical doors unlocked?
She thought over the song, at how it worked at her mind. It urged her to dance. To drink, be frivolous and impulsive, to find a pretty someone and a shadowed alcove. Alora buried her instincts—as surely, this was another of Merridon’s shuttled dark artifacts—and let the music soak into the very depths of her. It permeated her veins, lit her nerves with sensation. At once, she felt carefree, but also careless.
No, thank you.She’d been subjected to a much worse version than this once, and she didn’t enjoy the reminder. Alora cast an appreciative look around the expansive space, all for show. Then she changed the tune.
It was the same song, anyone would say so, but it also was decidedlynot.The enchantment of the gramophone was stripped, so quick it would have been impossible to see even if you did not blink. She’d replaced its horn with a new one, her own imagining conjured.
All at once, she did not feel like dancing or drinking. Though she couldn’t deny that if acertainhandsome someone invited her into a shadowed alcove, she would absolutely trip in her haste. She eyed Merridon from the edge of her vision. As of yet, he didn’t notice. His attention had been diverted, it seemed, by whatever transpired at the front door. She snatched at the opportunity.
The wine was a red so deep it was almost purple. With a simple thought, it became only grape juice, sweet and smooth, safe enough for a child to enjoy. The champagne would be trickier; it frothed up a fuss as it tumbled. Winnowillow juice was a similar color, though not bubbly naturally. That was fine, for what was one more detail? She would create bubbles.
She waited a moment, another sidelong glance revealing Merridon still preoccupied by the discussion at the front entrance where one door was left wide, and sniffed the air. No more cloying scent of alcohol lingered. Nothing but sugar and fruit.
“Master Merridon? Are you all right?”
At her question, Marshall Merridon turned around. He appeared irritated, and Alora had to smother a smile over why. She could well imagine what caused a commotion at the front entrance as the late arrivals were likely experiencing the grounds for the first time without its gilded glory. The strange, cracked wolves. But then he seemed to catch hold of her enchantment again, breathing deep, his pupils dilating with insatiable hunger. He wanted her for his mansion in a terrible way.
How tragic for him, that she would never be trapped again.
“Miss Jones…” He looked torn, his attention shifting between the fuss at the door and her. “My sincerest apologies, but might we continue our tour once my captain has returned? Here.” He scooped up a flute and filled it with grape juice. “Enjoy a glass of wine. Finest vintage from the southern coast.” Then he strode quickly away.
Alora sipped at her juice.This will not end well,she thought. But for whom? That she didn’t know. Shehoped, but she didn’t know.
She drained her glass, setting it onto a tray being whisked about by a gold-faced employee. “I would abandon your shift early,” she whispered.
The woman’s eyes widened at her remark. “Why is that?”
“Because Master Merridon is about to lose his composure, and I think we would all benefit from being far away when it vanishes.”
The employee turned toward the front entrance with alarm, in time to catch Merridon throwing the doors wide. They were too far away to see any great detail, however.
“I don’t understand.” She glanced back to Alora, her forehead wrinkling now in suspicion. “What’s happened?”
