Page 66 of Fire to the Stars

“You said your name was Marie!” Gérard exclaims, jumping to his feet.

All the human connection I won from him is lost. He’ll never trust me enough to accept the sleep powder now.

All I can say is “I’m sorry.”

Abel’s hand on Gérard’s shoulder turns himandme into stone.

“There are plainclothes gendarmes stationed outside,” he lies. “You have no chance of escape. We know you’re a dragon, Gérard Dupont.”

The bartender drops his mop. Gérard’s frightened eyes narrow on me. Slowly, I draw my arm behind my back, the one with the blood spots on the sleeve.Don’t tell Abel. Don’t tell don’t tell don’t tell, please don’t!

“What will you do with me, slayer?” Gérard asks, though his stare doesn’t leave mine. “Display me in the square so the masses can spit on me?”

“Come sit at my table.” Abel’s attention flits to me. “Both of you. I want to explain something.”

Both of us? I follow Abel and Gérard to the table, feigning innocence. He gestures for me to sit next to him, across from hisprey.

“My journal, please,” he says to me.

I hesitate, unsure why it’s necessary, but then dig through my satchel and offer it to him. While he unwraps it, my carefullycrafted persona cracks under Gérard’s scrutiny. With Abel’s eyes down, I give the subtlest shake of my head.

“What will you do with me?” Gérard repeats. He laces his fingers together in front of his mouth, terror clear in his white knuckles. The glassy look in his red eyes quivers, sending a wave of guilt through me for not alerting him to a slayer’s presence.

I risk a glance at Abel’s expression. He’s watching Gérard, fingers resting on his journal’s cover. Then his icy features melt into something…sympathetic.

He lifts a hand for the bartender’s attention. “Will you bring Gérard a glass of water, please?”

The bartender’s complexion turns ghostly, but he moves quickly. Water sloshes over the cup’s lip in his shaky hands. Gérard accepts it with a nod, as if he savors this meager show of human decency.

“What are you doing, Abel?” I whisper. My mouth is dry. I’m tempted to ask for a glass of water for myself, but frequent drinking is a nervous tell.

If Gérard reveals my secret, Abel might pass me off to Jardincourt’s resident slayers. Any of them would make a show of it: moonmetal chains, spike collars, standing stocks on a publicroad.

Please, no.

“Monsieur Dupont, do you know who I am?” Abel asks.

“Everyone knows the slayer family names,” Gérard murmurs.

“I’m asking if you know what I’m infamous for.”

Gérard’s grip tightens on his glass.

Play nice,I will him.

“You froze up when your brother turned and got your familykilled. Lost your riches in the fire.” He laughs, full of spite. “Guess you’re not as bad at your job as people say. You foundme.”

My heart races, as if I’m the one who spoke the damning words. Based on the notes, I thought he’s been trying to live life to the fullest, not enrage slayers. What does he hope to gain?

What does he hope tolose?

“Yes. I found you,” Abel replies simply.

“Let me guess: I’m your way back to fame? Gold? The public’s good graces?”

“No. I wanted to know how you feel about slayers.”

Gérard looks to me. “This…pretty thing was going to bring it up to me?”