Page 10

But first things first. “Did you . . . did you just call me a mouse?” I ask, looking up at him. I’m tallish for a woman at 5’7”, and I’m wearing heels, so he’s got to be over six feet if I'm still looking up at him. But Colton is tall and handsome, too, and he was secretly crazy. This guy doesn’t even try to hide his crazy. After Colton, I believed myself incapable of feeling attracted to anyone, but when I first entered the room, I was surprised to find myself so entranced by this man. However, even that small trace of potential temptation has disappeared now that I’ve seen him become violent with barely any provocation.

The crazy Commandant lets his smile broaden, like he’s found a shiny new toy. “Tu parles français?”

I shake my head, wanting to head that off before he starts saying stuff I don’t understand. “No. I took it in high school for a semester. Barely learned anything. But I sing in French sometimes, so it did come in handy.”

He stares at me, his smile fading into something contemplative. He likes his long silences, this guy. It’s hard for me to keep his gaze when he goes quiet like this, but I get the feeling it’s a power play, and I sense I will lose his interest if I let myself be cowed. So, I summon as much of my past, fearless self as I can muster and keep eye contact. My heart is hammering out of my chest, and I really want to give up and leave, but I remember Bruno and my last chance, and I park my feet where they are. If I have to impress this psycho so that he’ll provide me with a bodyguard and I can go back to a mostly normal life, so be it.

When he finally speaks again, his words take me off guard. “I should have known you were a singer, with a voice like yours.”

I gulp. “Oh. Thank you?”

He takes the tip of my chin in his hand and tips up my face. I go totally still, not knowing what to do. Is he going to kiss me? Weirdo. Dangerous.

But again, he surprises me and just tilts my head this way and that, looking at my eyes as he does. “No question about it, ma souris. It is a compliment I am giving you.”

He tilts my head again, and finally I ask, “Um, what are you doing?”

Not answering right away, he moves my head one last time before letting go of my chin. “Forgive me. Has anyone ever told you that your eyes change color in the light? It is hypnotic.”

I want to ask him if anyone has ever told him that it’s fucking weird to grab someone’s face and move it around without asking them. Without even knowing them. I still don’t even know his actual name. But, again, I’m trying to stay on his good side. I still need something from him. So instead I say, “Oh, um, yeah. They designed the theater's lights to make them look violet. Like old Hollywood glamor kind of stuff.”

“Yet here I have you under normal fluorescents, and they shift from blue to purple, no fancy stage lights necessary. People would kill to have eyes like yours. Do you take after your father or your mother in that way?”

His words are giving me emotional whiplash. “I don’t know. I was abandoned at a firehouse when I was a newborn.”

“Hmm . . . and you never went looking for your parents?”

This is a super invasive inquiry. I’ve never even talked to Jade about this. I have to fight to keep my voice from being defensive. “No. Being abandoned is a pretty clear sign no one wanted me. Why would I want to find someone who left me like that?”

That makes him think again. There is something unnerving about the way he’s looking at me, like I’m the only thing that exists in the universe, or at least like a fascinating puzzle. I don’t see how anything about me is fascinating to a man like this. I don’t know what I’ve done to earn his compliments and his invasive questions, let alone this alone time with him. All I did was exactly what Jade told me to do, and now I’m in this absolutely fucking weird situation.

The Commandant decides to drop his intense personal interrogation because the conversation pivots. “So. You sing. And in a theater where they design light especially for you.”

“I work with Jade,” I answer. “At La Couronne Bleu. I’m the Nightingale.”

This seems to amuse him because his lips quirk up slightly again. “The Nightingale?”

“It’s an old jazz club,” I explain. “Kind of like a dinner theater. One of the last of its kind in the city and definitely the oldest. We’re mainly just there for the tourists, but we’ve got some regulars. Anyway, we’re all kind of assigned roles, and I’m the Nightingale, which just means that I solo a set between other acts.”

“I’ve been to La Couronne Bleu before, ma souris. Just not recently.”

“Oh,” I say. “Then you probably wouldn’t have seen me. I’ve only been there a year.”

“And you’ve been the leading role the whole time you’ve worked there, I presume.”

His presumption is pretty flattering, seeing as he’s only heard me talk and not sing. I’ve been told my speaking voice is musical, but he's the first to assume I sing well based solely on a conversation. And he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who just says things to blow air up my skirt. Why would he? With as much power as he wields, other people need to be flattering him.

“Yes,” I admit, “but it took a while to get there. I’ve lived in the city for about six years, and most of that time, I worked odd jobs while auditioning. I was a busker too, in my extra time. But show business is a people-you-know kind of business, and you can’t just walk in to audition for a place like La Couronne Bleu. It took five years of making connections to finally get invited to audition, but since then it’s been a dream . . .” I trail off. A dream until the last three months, when it's been a nightmare.

The Commandant takes my sudden silence in stride and cocks his head like he heard my unspoken words. Maybe they’re written in my eyes. I’ve never had much of a poker face.

“Ah, yes,” he says. “Back to the boyfriend.”

“Not my boyfriend,” I say, a little tersely.

“Forgive me. Of course not. Your ex. And you are sure that you do not want him killed?”

The way he asks so matter-of-factly makes me dizzy. “No,” I say emphatically. “That’s not why I came. I don’t want his blood on my hands. I just want him out of my life.”