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Torra had suggested that Kierse sneak into King Louis’s Winter Solstice party with the rest of the people from Red Velvet. Though she would have much preferred Kierse not go at all, it was their best chance of getting Torra out on the other side. Plus, Torra had been dealing with King Louis for a year. If she said the invitation that Graves had wasn’t going to get her in, then she believed her.
Graves had agreed, too, and he planned to get in through the underground tunnel she had mapped out that day with Walter. They would meet up once they were inside, with Torra escaping to the tunnel before the carnage occurred and meeting Kierse and Graves at the exit after they retrieved the spear.
All of the heist planning came down to this moment, when Kierse had to convincingly look like a Red Velvet girl.
Except that Kierse didn’t look like one at all. She’d seen the sun and didn’t appear to be wasting away. But with a ton of makeup, the scanty outfit, and heeled boots, she thought she did an okay job of fitting in. It helped that all the workers were wrapped in white Red Velvet cloaks with high collars as they were escorted toward a back entrance. The cloak did the job for now, but Torra had insisted she tell everyone she was new if they noticed she had no bite marks.
Kierse held her breath and tried to look more like a zombie as she reached the front of the line. The vampire guard scrutinized her. “You’re from Red Velvet?”
She dipped her chin and looked back at Torra with what she hoped was timidity and concern. “I’m new,” she whispered, barely audible.
“What was that?”
“She’s new,” Torra spat, forcing his attention back to her. “Just a new debtor hoping to pay her shit off with this tonight. Can we move along? I want to get paid.”
The monster glared at Torra, and Kierse hastily slipped through the door. She’d worn many costumes and disguises in her line of work, but this was next-level. There was a slim margin of error for this to go right and a huge window for it to go terribly wrong.
Torra touched Kierse’s back, and they scurried into the entertainment holding area. It was a diverse group being housed in what appeared to be a seldom-used warehouse. Boxes were stacked high against the walls, and the rest of the room was full of humans who would be the main course and entertainment for King Louis’s party.
“At least try to be careful,” Torra hissed into her ear.
“You know me.”
“That’s why I’m telling you.”
“Just stick to the plan,” Kierse told her. “And if all goes well, we’ll both be on the outside before the end of the evening.”
They were closer to the party entrance now. Workers from Red Velvet shucked off their robes, revealing various tiny white lingerie—a white satin baby doll on one, white leather briefs and nipple tassels on another, a sheer lace bodysuit on the next—and passed them to a handler before stepping across the threshold.
Torra turned to Kierse then. Their eyes met across the short distance. She looked pained, as if she wanted to say more, to tell her to stop, go back. But she said none of it.
She just nodded her head with wide doe eyes. And then it was her turn. Torra shrugged out of her robe, showing off the white teddy that buttoned up to a choker around her neck, and entered in front of Kierse, who had no option but to do the same.
As soon as Kierse discarded her robe, she felt exposed. With Kierse’s muscle mass, a lot of the lingerie was too tight on her. They’d had to go with a white corset that lifted her breasts practically to her throat. Graves had gotten the outfit tailored with slots for throwing knives, since they were sneaking in the back way now. The corset was coupled with a frilly panty-and-garter set attached to white thigh highs. Her white boots came up just over her knees, where she’d hidden two handled knives that were better for fighting. Torra’s eyes had gone distant when she saw the outfit, swearing they were never going to believe she was one of them.
Now she was here. And she could be nothing but one of them. So, she swayed forward down the hallway and into King Louis’s Winter Solstice party.
Kierse hadn’t known something so beautiful existed in the underworld. Everything was usually so dark and mysterious. An air of staleness and vulgarity. But this ballroom held none of that. The marble flooring had been polished until it gleamed. Tall, towering columns lined the room made of the same white marble. The ceiling was something out of one of Graves’s storybooks. An intricately detailed painting stretched across the length of the domed ceiling that was half glorious, winged angels fighting a godly war—blood rippling down bodies and pain written across faces—and half angels lying naked in comfort and luxury. The message was clear. Only through war, death, and suffering could the comforts of life endure.
