Page 17 of Bloodgrove

“No. Of course not.” Elodie sighed. “We should go back inside.” Yet she remained where she was, and Will understood. No amount of money could have persuaded him to sit beside Mr. Arcos in the display case of that opera box again.

“The mob is waiting in there,” he said.

She worried her lip, and Will watched her teeth sink into the soft flesh. “Let us walk. The streets seemed quiet on the way here.”

Following instinct, he offered her his arm, and after a moment’s hesitation, she slipped her hand through it.

“You must not hold it against me if we are eaten, considering it is your fault we are out here,” she said as she guided him uphill. Her fingers rested lightly on his coat, her wine-red glove a sharp contrast against the dove blue of his sleeve.

“Why were you so angry with Mr. Arcos?” he asked after a while.

“Because you were meant to be my grand reveal. I paid for your ticket. I am housing you. I am going to present a project the entire city will speak of. I will break the curse and open our city to the world.”

“Oh.”

They left the circle of light beneath a streetlamp and walked through the darkness, passing two extinguished lamps before the next pool of light greeted them. Part of Will’s attention slipped into the shadows, listening for footsteps against the cobblestones and cursing the moon for choosing this night of all nights to go blind.

Not far off, a bottle rolled into the street.

Will and Elodie exchanged an alarmed glance and quickened their pace. Walking through the city at this hour in such fine clothes truly was a bad idea.

“And of course Eric has to ruin everything. How did he even learn that you were staying with me?” She spoke softly enough that every surrounding sound remained audible, but her anger would not release her.

“He happened across me while I was out walking.”

“That dog is always lucky.”

An animal howled somewhere in the distance. Gooseflesh swept over Will’s arms, and he tried to make out the townhouse among the dark buildings.

“What is the Red Hand?” he asked, hoping to disguise his unease.

Elodie’s gaze darted toward him. “Did Eric talk about it?”

“The other guests did.”

“How much do you know about our city?” she paused. “Our King has withdrawn from public life, and the Red Hand oversees the daily affairs of Bloodgrove as his representative. He is the most powerful man in the city.”

Before Will could ask anything further, a figure stepped into the road ahead of them, hunched over and dressed in torn clothes. A bitter, coppery smell reached them first. Like a beggar, the woman held out an open hand.

“My lord, my lady… a donation? Only a few drops?” she whimpered, stumbling closer.

“Come any closer, and I will kill you,” Elodie said, slowly pulling off one glove.

The streets were empty. No carriage or guard was in sight; the houses around them were dark, and bars covered the windows. This was truly not the evening Will had imagined.

“Only a few drops, beautiful lady. You are so young, so tender, your flesh still pink. Give me only one drop.”

The woman advanced toward them.

Elodie drew a small dagger, far too short to cause any real harm. Will was certainly no fighter—the fencing club at the Academy had been more of a social club than anything else—but he stepped forward all the same. A breeze from the sea brought the scent of salt and seaweed, driving away the woman’s stench.

“Will, move aside,” Elodie hissed, forcing him back. With one swift motion, she cut across her palm, and at that exact moment, the woman charged.

Her mouth opened wide, and her fingers spread into claws. Every trace of restraint fell away as a guttural shriek tore from her throat.

But Elodie was faster. She drew the blood from her palm like an illusionist pulling a scarf from his sleeve, then flung it toward the woman. In midair, it formed a blade and buried itself in her skull. The body crumpled to the ground with a dull thud.

Will stared, stunned, at the blood pooling across the cobblestones.