Page 65 of Fire to the Stars

Iamalone. I’m cursed.

The only person who might understand me is Gérard.

My face retains its air of calm as I spin on my heel and make my merry way to Gérard. Along with a full bottle, an array of tasting glasses sits on the bar in front of him. All empty save for the single shot glass he toys with. No obvious taste preference, it seems. Just an alcohol-resistant dragon trying to chase the buzz.

I set my glass beside Gérard’s and sit on the barstool. He looks up from his hunch. Despite his bloodshot eyes, an unrestrained smile erases his previous expression, like a lonely child making his first friend at church.

“Wow. You hold your drinks almost as well as I do,” I tease.

He gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “I’d challenge you to take back that ‘almost,’ but that bastard cut me off.”

The bartender’s back is turned, but a flinch hitches his mopping rhythm. I scoot my barstool closer to Gérard until we’re shoulder to shoulder. If the bartender can hear this conversation, so can Abel.

“That bartender is mean.” I pout. “He cut me off too.” I feign gripping Gérard’s shoulder for balance and yell at the bartender, “Youget out of here,bastard!”

Abel raises a quizzical eyebrow at me. The bartender’s mopping quickens, and he shuffles farther from us. Gérard erupts into a fit of snickers, obviously appreciating my adoption of his insult. Finally, a reason to grin. If there’s one thing the Dames Blanches taught me about creating connection, it’s that echoing someone else’s words makes the target feel understood.

I tap his bottle. “I’d say you have a few mouthfuls left here. Care to split it?”

“Delighted to.”

The wine comes out red.

Blood again. My once-sister’s blood. My balance sways. Gérard’s hand finds the small of my back, keeping me centered on the barstool.

“Maybe we deserve to be cut off,” Gérard laughs.

I open my mouth.Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“Oh, ma chérie,” Gérard croons. “It’s just the booze.”

He offers me a handkerchief. I take it, reassured of my character assessment. He’s still a mark, though—for my purposes, not Abel’s. Trust must be gained if I want him to hear my offer to take the sleep powder.

I raise my glass.Patience.“Cheers to Ascension Day, Monsieur…?”

“Gérard Dupont.” He clinks his glass to mine. “Your name?”

“Marie.” The alias I chose after reading Hanna’s notes about Gérard’s family background. There’s nothing like a same-name coincidence to fabricate a connection.

“Noctu be damned. That’s my little sister’s—”

He tries to turn his whole body toward me but slips from his barstool. His drink-holding arm sweeps the glasses off the countertop. The room flips sideways. Holding my hip, he drags us both to the floor, dropping us onto a heap of overturned barstools and broken glass.

I scramble out of Gérard’s grip and sit up. Blood leaks between my fingers where the stem of a wine glass pierced through my palm. Abel shoots to his feet, hands planted on his table. I shake my head at him and clench my teeth against the pain, slipping into a perfect look of calm.

Gérard kneels in front of me, which blocks Abel from view, and takes my wrist in a vise grip. Heart in my throat, I pull against him, but his thick fingers clamp tighter. I watch with horror as my skin betrays me, pushing the glass out before it heals with a wisp of steam. Just like Micah’s body did with foreign objects lodged in his back.

Gérard’s bloodshot eyes widen. “You—”

“Leave her be, Gérard.”

Abel’s footsteps draw near. I yank my hand from Gérard’s slackened grip, wiping my blood with the underside of my skirt and springing to my feet in a single movement.

Gérard blinks slowly between me and Abel, shoulders curling, anger and fear flushing his cheeks. “Who are you people?”

“Our fall was an accident, kind monsieur. Gérard didn’t mean to,” I say to Abel with a singsong tone. I offer Gérard ahand up. If Abel takes a hint and leaves, I can salvage this. I can talk to Gérard alone, dragon to dragon.

“My name is Abel Estellio,” Abel says, flashing his slayer badge. “Claire is my assistant.”