The new location was just as opulent, filled with—as the woman said proudly—“understated luxury.” The girl knew that the “understated luxury” had nothing to do with her, it was all for the men. It was a fairy tale just for them.
When she asked about Belinda, they had at first told her only that she had died, just died. As if a woman Belinda’s age had just dropped dead from natural causes. But the girl hadn’t believed that. She had known there was more to it.
She had felt the handcuffs on her own wrists and ankles, had been dressed in a flowing white gown and taken to the parties. Now that the last girl was dead, they gave her the diamond ring. They warned her forgetting any of the lessons would call forth the knife. The woman had traced the blade across her throat—not enough to draw blood, but enough to make every muscle in her body tighten in fear.
That’s when the woman told her that Belinda had been murdered. The other girl too.
“She did not work out,” the woman said. “And it’s your fault.”
“Why, what did I do?”
“You taught her to be afraid, not to please. Fear has its place, but it never left her—she couldn’t break through it. She wore it in her eyes, all the time. She would never fit in. She would never be able to fulfill our clients’ dreams, make their fantasies come true.”
“Where is she now?”
“In the ocean, darling.”
“The knife?” the girl asked, her knees turning to jelly.
“Yes,” the woman said. “She earned the blade. Just make sure you don’t. There will be new students, and you will train them, just as I taught you. Remember—they need to feel loved and happy. I don’t want to see dread in their eyes every time I look at them. That poisons them. They need to save their fear and their fight for the right moment. When the men require it. For the handcuffs and the ring. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“They need to be Beauty when they meet the Beast. As you did, so brilliantly,” the woman said, leaning close to stroke her hair. “That’s why I’ve chosen you to follow in my footsteps. Because you’ve accepted the mission. And you’ll be rewarded as long as you remember your lessons.”
The girl nodded, keeping terror out of her eyes.In the ocean, in the ocean. They had murdered again, and she could be next. The warning was there—if she remembered her lessons.
How could she ever forget them?
Tuesday, July 6; 10:45 a.m.
Conor’s calls to Kate went unanswered. They went straight to voicemail, and he knew that her phone was turned off. She had told him that she had gone to Fernando Harris’s studio and that it was in Mystic, but Conor didn’t have the address. After Miranda’s call, Conor was out of his mind needing to find Kate. Even without an exact location, Tom was already driving them toward Mystic when Conor texted Sam:
Sam—what is Fernando Harris’s address?
He stared at his phone, but she didn’t reply.
Conor and Tom didn’t talk. Conor kept checking his phone, and finally Sam called.
“Sorry,” she said. “I went to the house first, and then the post office. Guess I got sidetracked talking to Steve. I don’t have Fernando’s address. Why do you need it?”
“I’m looking for Kate. She was heading to his studio. He emailed her and mentioned Maeve. He said Maeve had just dropped offFoggy Nighttoday, and obviously that got her attention.”
“I know how I can get it,” Sam said. “Let me text Lincoln real fast. He’s been to Fernando’s with Maeve, and he’ll have the address.”
Conor waited, and then Sam came back on the line. She gave him an address on Gravel Street in Mystic.
“Lincoln is really freaked out about Maeve, and so am I,” Sam said. “And now about Kate too. Conor, it has to do with 1740. I have an idea, and I just asked Lincoln if he wants to research it with me.”
“You’re right about the connection,” Conor said. “What are you researching?”
“Uncle Mike and the others found an ad in the Yellow Pages from twenty-five years ago,” Sam said. “It said ‘1740 Events—Fantasies our specialty,’ and it gave a phone number.”
Sam was on speaker, and both Conor and Tom could hear everything.
“Did they try the number?” Conor asked.
“Yes, and so did I,” Sam said. “No answer—I just got voicemail. It’s a florist.”
