In one, an old man hunkered over papers, glasses so low they looked near to falling off his gnarled nose. He swept a fountain pen delicately, etching out letters that re-formed into perfect swirls. Forgery magie.
“Fade and forget?” a woman asked to her right.
In her open palm rested dried flowers and leaves.
“What?” Elara asked.
“A quick tea to help you relax. To let the world slip away.” Beneath her canopy, people lounged on pillows, drawing invisible shapes in the air with their fingertips. They were high. Or drunk. Or both.
“No thank you.” Elara pulled away, shoving through the sweaty bodies to make as much distance between herself and the illegal market as possible.
It wasn’t the legality she cared about.
It was the nature of what could happen if this place was found.
Elara focused on the back booth where she and Fernand used to curl up together. Tonight, it was full. The small crowd wore similar patchwork suits and bleached dresses, with smoke weaving intricate patterns in the air above their heads. A smoldering light lit them from above, gilding their silhouettes.
Fernand sat in the center, and Elara hated the way her traitorous heart still flipped at the sight of him. Gaetan was right. Fernandwastrouble. The delicious kind, like a box of lemon madeleines or too much icing for too little cake. He was exactly the sort of trouble Elara couldn’t keep herself away from no matter what she did.
Right now, he was leaning forward, tapping the table impatiently as he spoke, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The golden light above made his warm brown skin molten, and his hair was haloed in the same light, the dark curls perfectly spiraled thanks to the sponge brush he used every morning. He prided himself on his appearance, and pride did not belong to a Reste.
Tonight, he wore a soft suit the color of violets in summer, and the white, bleached splotches seemed to move, swirling and changing their patterns. Elara was used to his daring persona in the safety of Étoiles, but he’d graduated in the year she’d been gone.
This was treason. He’d be arrested on sight.
Elara waited.
“You seem lost,” Fernand drawled, finally canting his chin in her direction. “Can I help you?”
Anger flared up her spine, but she pushed it down.
“Actually,” she called above the music, “I’m looking for someone. He’s hard to miss.”
“Go on,” he murmured.
“Tall,” Elara replied.
“Uh-huh.”
“A scoundrel.”
“Sounds promising.”
“Ideas of grandeur.”
He tapped the ashes of his cigarette into a tray. “Sounds like a stray. Might need a home.”
“I’d rather not get fleas.”
A boy to his left snorted, and Elara took in this new crew. There was something edgy about them all, a coldness she could understand but felt a little too nervous to be on the outside of.
“Why’d you call?” she asked.
“I have a little proposition. A business arrangement if you will.” He raised his palm to stop her. “Before you go storming off. Hear me out.”
He waved.
Without a word, his company stood, took their wine bottles, and left. From the dance floor, others followed, almost falling into regimented lines. Nicolette was last to disappear into a dark hallway Elara knew well.
