Page 17 of A Dance Macabre

The buzz that now seems to run through the six of us like a current tells me everything I need to know.

It’s time.

HadI known what was to follow, I would have enjoyed my time on the dais a lot more.

Walking through the rowdy hordes of bodies as I try to make my way through the crowded street is equal to getting my skin slowly flayed with tweezers. The city’s typical wariness of us six—especially me—seems to have evaporated along with their inhibitions.

Our small group dispersed after Aleksandr gave us the okay, spilling into the crowd in different directions, giving each other an hour to find what we’re looking for.

I’ve made my way to the west corner of the city square. The crowd doesn’t part to let me through, my presence barely acknowledged. It’s as if I’m simply another city-dweller partaking in the celebration.

Absurd. They should always fear me.

My fingers itch, eager to reach for my dagger hiding under my dress. I somehow manage to resist, practicing some semblance of self-control while I focus on the goals at hand.

I pass far too many plebeians mid-coitus, some on large hay bales, a few directly atop banquet tables or up against buildings. I wrinkle my nose at the egregious sight, their writhing naked bodies repulsive and uncouth. I shove as many as I can out of the way, verbally eviscerating a few as I go, whenfinally, I catch sight of something shiny.

Metaphorically at least.

He’s young, early twenties if I had to guess, with strawberry blond hair that frames his face in soft waves. His eyes, the color of the ocean, crinkle at the corners while he shares a hearty laugh with those beside him.

A kind of luring attraction hums through me similar to when I feel the quiet call of death. But this feels more … primitive somehow. Like falling prey to something much more powerful than me. As if time is dissolving and I am left standing amongst the echoes of similar memories, of countless times thisgamehas been played before.

A living pawn in the gods’ eternal game of chess.

My breathing slows, my mind quiets and the sound of the crowd surrounding us fades while I wait. I don’t move until he does. I’m not sure how long I study him, only that the moon has time to crawl higher up in the sky before he finally walks away from the group, accompanied by another man around his age.

I follow them, eyes tracking steadily as we all dodge intoxicated merrymakers stumbling over their own feet. When they turn a corner, I speed up, not wanting to lose them in the chaos. Luckily, this side street is a little quieter, making it easier to keep an eye on them.

As I’m passing an alleyway, distracted by the potential ways I can lure the blond-haired man away from his friend, someone crashes into me, barrelling into the street like a wild, clomping centaur.

“Uncivilizedswine,” I hiss, stumbling backward, trying to gather my wits.

The arrogant chuckle that follows sends a cold shiver down my spine as my eyes lock with Wolfgang’s just as his mouth turns into a hateful smirk.

“Who are you calling such callous names, Crèvecoeur?” he drawls, jutting out his chin as he looks me up and down with unbridled disgust. “Certainly you wouldn’t denigrate the Vainglory name with such slander.” He looks away while straightening his blazer. “Now if you’ll excuse me, you unappetizing tart, I have a pawn to catch.”

He strolls down the street, and it doesn’t take me long to realize he’s following the same two men as I am. Quickly catching up, I keep my voice low but pointed. “He’smine.”

“Which one?” Wolfgang asks with a small bored sigh, his gaze straight ahead.

“The blond one.”

“Well then, I want the other.”

My laugh is dry, my attention on the two men in front of us.

“Find a different sacrifice.”

Wolfgang scoffs, the tone slightly teasing, making my blood turn to a high boil. “I can’t control what the gods want—and mine,” he says as he points in front of us, “wants this one.”

I fall silent, grinding my teeth, cursing my luck. “Fine. Let’s get it over with then.” I look over, finding his gaze already on mine, his gray-blue eyes narrowed as we keep walking but he says nothing. “How are we doing this?” I ask dismissively.

His smile turns roguish, revealing his two gold teeth at the corner of his mouth.

“With my intoxicating charm, of course.”

12

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