AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“And what about questions I do want the answer to?” His voice is soft as he leans down, his face inches from my own.
I despise the way the air crackles between us, the way he tugs at something in me that has been firmly shut off in the two weeks since my sister died. I despise everything about this moment until he... takes a deep whiff of my hair.
My brow furrows.
“For example,” he asks. “Why do you smell like smoke?”
A fraction of a heartbeat is all I hesitate. It’s hardly any time at all, but more of a tell than I ever give. When his eyes narrow, I know that he sees it. Though it’s too late, I do what I do best.
I lie.
“Afriendof mine quite enjoys it. I was with him before I came here, and since you insisted on asking, that’s where I’m headed now.”
The best lies play on the emotions of the person, and I’m banking on stirring up enough jealousy or at least intrigue to cover my slip.
But his careful features reveal nothing when he dips closer to me.
My heart beats a little faster in my chest, and I can’t tell if it’s because of his proximity or if I actually have the sense to be afraid. Not of him, but of what it might mean for me if word gets out that I’m the vigilante.
If word gets to Mother.
He narrows his eyes, inches from mine. “So you wouldn’t know anything about the recent string of fires, then?”
I force out a disbelieving laugh “Rest assured, Remy. If I were going to randomly set people on fire, I would have started with you.” My fingers press against his solid chest until he backs away.
I fold my arms over my corseted bodice, suddenly colder than the temperature accounts for.
“Obviously, I don’t think you incapacitated several grown men and then burned them alive, Gemma.” He shakes his head like the mere notion is absurd. “But you always have your ear to the ground, and I have a suspicion you might know something... might have even seen something.”
I almost wish I could tell him Ihaddone it just to wipe that patronizing look off his face.
“Well, I don’t, and I didn’t.”
The enormous bell at Palais Etienne chimes the first of its midnight tolls, reminding me that I have allowed myself to linger too long.
We are at the edge of the Heights, the wealthiest part of town. Bright paper lanterns line the road here, so at least he has no excuse to follow me when I turn to leave again.
“Trust me, Remy. No one knows anything about who the vigilante really is.”
It might be the truest thing I’ve said all night.
