Page 63 of A Dance Macabre

“I have a message from Miss Agonis,” he says with an unusually deep voice.

My gaze bounces to Wolfgang and finds the same questioning confusion.

“Why didn’t she just call us herself?” Wolfgang asks.

“I am to escort you,” Albert answers solemnly.

“To where?” I snap, impatience bubbling under my skin.

“The ritual needs to be finalized tonight.” He shrugs. “The moon must be in the same sign.”

Wolfgang lets out a long annoyed breath, his hand dragging through his short beard, and I have half a mind to storm out to protest Constantine’s facetious demand. I cross my arms in protest but don’t move from where I’m standing because there’s a small voice beseeching me not to defy the gods when all I’ve been doing in the past month is exactly that.

I share a wordless exchange with Wolfgang, something behind his eyes tells me a similar thought is rattling through his mind.

“We can do it here,” I say while not breaking eye contact.

Albert interjects. “Miss Agonis demands the ritual be performed in her sanguinary cellar.”

Still glaring at Wolfgang, my heart beating widely, I rasp, “Fine.”

Nearly two hours later,we arrive at the very limits of Constantine’s property. I had the men wait while I took a long shower and changed into a black sheath dress and fishnets. There’s a chill in the air, and I hug my mink coat closer to my body; Wolfgang does the same with the wool collars of his overcoat.

There’s barely a sliver of moon in the night sky while we approach the nondescript door hidden inside a small copseof trees. I’m surprised it’s not painted bright pink for how Constantine likes to go about things. Pulling a skeleton key out from his pocket, Albert unlocks the door and waves us inside.

Wolfgang nods, signaling me to go first, and I pass him, the scent of vanilla and bourbon tickling my nose as he follows me inside.

The creak of door hinges has me looking over my shoulder.

“What are you doing?” I bark when I find Albert closing the door with him still outside.

He stops in his tracks, his expression unperturbed. “Just following Miss Agonis’ orders.” He points his thumb behind him. “I’m to wait here.”

“WillMiss Agonisbe joining us?” Wolfgang asks, his voice dripping with condescension.

Albert shakes his head. “You will find everything you’ll need down those steps.” And with that, he closes the door leaving us once again—trapped and alone.

I can taste the tension between us like sugared poison on my tongue.

Wolfgang clears his throat. “Well then,” he says, walking around me to get to the stairs. “Let’s get this over with.”

There’s a chill coating every word he speaks, and my logical self can’t fault him for it. What happened in the underground quarters was foolish and downright dangerous. However, the pinch in my heart is anything but logical.

I muffle a small sigh and start down the stairs, my stilettos counting the dozen or so steps until I reach the bottom. The long corridor is dark and damp, the earthy smell reminding me of the flambeau-lit underground tunnel leading to Pandaemonium.

A large steel door greets us at the very end. Wolfgang glances at me from over his shoulder, a curious look etched on his face before pulling on the thick metal latch. The room inside resembles a cavernous cellar, the space dimly litwith cold artificial lighting. Countless rows of shelves built to accommodate the uneven walls house thousands upon thousands of small labeled vials stacked together like sardines in a tin can. Different shapes and sizes for the different centuries, some with yellowing labels half-peeled and some with the labels missing entirely. I don’t need to peer any closer to know they all contain blood.

A large wooden table sits in the middle of the room, and atop it is the same paraphernalia used at the inauguration: A velvet cushion, a ceremonial dagger, and two empty vials. We approach it without exchanging a single word. I idly wonder if the dagger is the same one as yesterday, somehow retrieved and salvaged from the wreckage.

The silence shifts. Like death’s call, it whispers in my ears about the immaterial and the unseen. Wolfgang’s eyes lift up, his gaze simmering with everything we have refused to speak aloud, and I watch him as he slowly slides his coat off his svelte shoulders.

I mirror his action, goosebumps breaking out all over my arms as the frigid air hits my skin. We both unceremoniously let our coats drop to our feet, our eyes still tensely locked together. The small lift of his lip is enticing as he rolls up his left sleeve with deliberate movements, revealing the day-old cut on his wrist.

My clit throbs, and I bite my inner cheek in retaliation for my body’s reaction to simplyobservingWolfgang. The sharp cut of his jaw. The perfect curves of his lips. The lean muscles of his forearm. The snaking veins over the top of his hands.

The memory of his naked body under the hot spray of water.

I lick my lips and break eye contact, feeling like I’m sinking into quicksand.

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