Page 56 of The Scarlet Ball

He hadn’t, not the whys or wherefores of it. It meant nothing to him what Mielle meant to me, but more important than understanding, he had listened.

One tentative hand came down to rest on the crown of her head, so much like a benediction that I laughed.

It was a terrible crow-bright sound, and Sebastian’s head snapped up, nothing human about him except his shape, still hungry, always hungry, and here was what his kind would do if they were not fed. He vaulted over Mielle, coming straight for me.

There was nowhere to run, no way to fight, so in the instant before he reached me, I grabbed on to Mrs. Howard as tight as I could, dragging her to my side. She made a startled-chicken noise, and I held her tighter. Mielle and I had no protectors in this place, but Mrs. Howard—

A sensation of great heat flashed over me. Mrs. Howard and I were shoved back, and for a split second, there was Mr. Howard between us and Sebastian, the length of his dinner jacket already singeing, his shoulders hunched like an old bear’s. Then Sebastian struck, and they left off their human guises entirely. There was a boom of thunder, the roar of a fire, and the only reason we weren’t burnt right down to the bone was because they’d flown high into the air. Sparks showered us, burning pinholes through the satin of my dress, scorching my hair, speckling Mielle’s back where she crouched on the ground, and my scream was lost to the tumult of battle. I couldn’t tell if the floor was shaking or if it was only my trembling knees. I couldn’t tell if my vision was graying out or if they had darkened the air with steam and soot.

Maybe I was screaming, or maybe I wasn’t, but I shoved Mrs. Howard away and seized Mielle, throwing my arm over her blistered shoulders. I could feel the frantic beat of her heart, so fast it was nearly a buzz.

I will not forgive him if she is truly hurt, came the thought, clear as a bell.

Above us, the night sky of the ceiling cracked as Sebastian flung Mr. Howard against it. There was something dragonish about him, and he opened a fanged mouth to scream victory right before a lash of fire struck him square in the face. There was no head or tail to Mr. Howard, or rather, to the fire of Apollonia. There was no human name that could enclose him now, and the white-hot heat at the center of him expanded dangerously, making me flinch from his light.

I nearly punched Mrs. Howard when she grabbed me by the arm. She didn’t bother trying to shout over the sound of the hall breaking, instead pointing to the egress where the other families were making their escape.

Mielle and I went hand in hand out of that place, racing to the long line of carriages that had been left beyond the lonely gate. I laughed because it was just like finding your carriage after the opera, if the opera was inclined to shake apart behind you, same crowd, same traffic. There was Martha, grinning madly as she sprinted hand in hand with a smoldering young man, and Odile clasped grimly between her parents as they ran. She wasn’t making it easy for them, looking back over her shoulder with tears in her eyes, and I got the idea that if she could have broken from them and run toward the catastrophe she might have.

I reached our carriage first, yanking open the door and pulling down the step. I nearly tripped, I tore two fingernails in the step’s grating, and then I twisted to shove Mielle inside. As she grabbed my wrist to pull me into the carriage with her, I turned to see Mrs. Howard, who had fallen behind us.

She stood like a stone, her eyes turned toward the hell of the sky, her husband at war with a storm. I could have gone back after her. She was not so far away, and she was light enough that I could carry her if I needed to.

I thought of Mielle, naked on the ground, expensive, a sure thing. I stretched up to swat the uncanny coachman on the hip.

“Home,” I shouted. “As fast as you can, home!”

I fell back into the carriage with a curse. Through the window, I saw the manor shake, once, twice, and then it gave a mighty shudder as it sank in on itself, some great beast on the salt plain sinking to its knees in its last defeat. Mrs. Howard, if she still stood, was lost behind us in the dust.

I closed the curtain, and found the lap robes under the seat. I wrapped the first around Mielle’s shoulders; the next I spread over our laps, pulling her close. After a moment, she carefully leaned into me, resting her face against my throat.

I dozed briefly, strange fragments flitting through my mind like so many colorful fish in a tank, there and gone again in a moment. They were beautiful, but when I reached for them, they cut my fingertips to ribbons. I awoke with a start as the carriage hit a loose cobble in the road. Mielle still curled under my arm, and there was something alive about the air we breathed, no salt to desiccate our lips and our lungs. We were back in New York, I realized. Outside, the sky was just beginning to lighten in the east, but the tradesmen had already come out to make their deliveries to the restaurants and the fine houses. A man pushing a barrow full of fresh-cut pigs’ feet trundled busily down the street, and I watched him with a bleary kind of satisfaction because you would not see such a thing on the salt plains where the demon lords came from.

When the carriage stopped in front of the house, I hustled Mielle inside, snarling our way past the footman and not stopping until we were safe in my room. I locked the door behind us, and then for good measure I dragged a heavy chair over to lean under the handle. It would warn us, at least, if someone came looking, and then I turned to Mielle.

“Here, may I have that?” I asked, touching the rug she wore over her shoulders. “If anyone could make that old thing look fashionable, it would be you, I know, but here, let me have it.”

She gave it up without a fight, and I went to the wardrobe to pull out a fresh chemise. She lifted her arms obediently when I went to drop it over her head, but she only watched me with those same opaque eyes. She had withdrawn inside herself to weather the storm, and must be coaxed back out now that it was safe.

If she were a normal girl, I would put her straightaway to bed, but I realized I had no idea where her bed might be or if she slept at all. Then it came to me, and I led her over to the wardrobe.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll set you to rights.”

A Mielle set to rights was a Mielle who was definitely clothed. Her clothes were a part of her, as much and as little a part of her as her eyes or her pale hair. I did not know whether they were just one more appendage she’d been given to make her look human and she could change their appearance at will or if she in fact had a trunk of dresses and chemises somewhere, but that didn’t matter.

My wardrobe was filled with morning dresses, afternoon clothing, and the simpler evening gowns for dining at home, a full complement of dresses, jackets, and skirts, with shoes in the drawer below. I skimmed through them briefly, startled by the variety and luxury on display. How long had it been since I’d seen even Ginny Marshall’s everyday clothes as the wealth they were?

There was a seven-gored black skirt with a gorgeous matching gabardine jacket and a blouse in soft cream with the most clever cutwork detailing around the collar. It was plain but of surpassing fine quality, and I draped both garments over the wardrobe door while I went for the rest.

Mielle was already looking a little better, a little less frightened. She looked better still when I got the corset on her, pulling the laces tight as she exhaled. The blouse came next, and over that went the skirt, sitting perfectly at the smallest point of the corset.

I was briefly concerned because I couldn’t bend to pull up her stockings or secure her garters, but she took them from me, sliding the stockings up her legs and then stepping into the shoes I’d fetched for her. She tied them smartly with double bows.

She started to turn toward the vanity mirror, but I sat her down with her back to it, picking up the ivory comb. When Mielle’s hair was spread over her shoulders, I twisted it up into a simple knot.

“There, now you’re perfect. Go on and look in the mirror.”

Mielle turned her head from left to right, examining herself minutely before she rose and stepped back to see the effect all pulled together. She did not smile, she did not make a sound, but it was better by far than the silence that had come before.