Something beautiful and monstrous.
Gargoyle, she decided.
She snatched it up.
The Pretty came back in, an envelope in hand, with Beau behind her. He stopped cold in the doorway, eyes on the gap of
thigh between where Anouk’s skirt ended and the socks began. His mouth opened, but whatever he was going to say never came out.
Anouk slid the silk jacket over her shoulders. Yes. Now she felt right.
“I’ll take this too,” she said.
The Pretty looked stunned. “But mademoiselle, that’s from the menswear collection. It’s a custom piece for an exclusive client coming in later today. It’s a Faustine original embroidered jacket. The price is . . . is . . . well, it is priceless. Non, it is simply impossible.”
Beau snapped back to himself. “You heard her. She’s taking it.”
“But—”
“She’s taking it.”
Anouk turned away from the infinity of her own face in the mirror and met his eyes, feeling uncertain.
“Yes. I’m taking it,” she announced, testing out this strange feeling of power.
She grabbed Beau’s arm, pulled him toward the escalators.
“Send the bill to the usual address,” he called back to the saleswoman, “and add a tip for yourself. Double the commission!”
Anouk jumped on the escalator, Beau behind her. She stretched out her arms like wings, taking the steps two at a time. The security guard at the bottom held the door open for them.
They tumbled out into the street. The sun was just rising. More people and cars were out now. An engine that sounded like a motorcycle’s revved and Anouk jerked around, but it was only a woman riding a Vespa, not Hunter Black.
“Cricket’s apartment is in the Eighth Arrondissement,” Beau said.
Anouk looked at the busy streets, the flashing traffic signals that kept changing, the eyes that seemed to peek around corners—?was that someone in a top hat?—?and then down at her oxford shoes. She looked back up at Beau. “We should hurry.”
Chapter 8
Paris looked different during the daytime. At night it had been shadowed corners and grim streets, but now that the sun had risen, Anouk started to notice little things she hadn’t before: a horsehead door knocker, a lazy cat blinking in a window, schoolchildren struggling under heavy backpacks. They entered a neighborhood that had fewer monuments and more shops and cafés. It was dirtier, with vibrant graffiti on the walls, but Anouk liked it. Music played from a corner café where couples sat sipping coffee.
Beau found a spot and parked the car.
Anouk climbed out hesitantly, smoothing a hand uneasily over her dress.
In the dress and the Faustine jacket, she looked just like everyone else. Looked, yes. But felt? Fear and anxiousness braided together inside her, screaming in her veins that she didn’t belong here.
Animal. Creature. Dark thing.
Beau hurried around to meet her on the sidewalk. He was still in his chauffeur’s uniform but he had lost the bloodstained jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. On impulse, she thrust her arm through his.
He tensed in surprise. “This is the Latin Quarter,” he explained. “It’s mostly students, or at least it used to be. There are a few cheap chambres de bonne to rent, and Mada Vittora doesn’t give Cricket much of an allowance. This is her street on the left.”
His eyes scanned every shadow as they turned down a narrow and winding road with a small café tucked beneath an awning. A young couple sipped tea as they chatted. The man wore a bowler hat set at a sharp angle and a neon-blue cravat. The woman had lime-green makeup on her eyelids and fingernails painted a rainbow of colors.
“Beau, look,” she whispered. “Goblins!”
Both the man and the woman wore brass chains hooked to their belts, like the kind Pretties used for pocket watches, but these were linked instead to the dainty china cups they sipped from.