Page 26 of The Dagger and the Flame
Sera frowned at the memory now.
‘What is that thought?’ said Mercure, reaching forward as if to catch it. ‘The one flitting behind your eyes.’
‘Mama was a good person,’ said Sera quietly. ‘That’s all I know. That’s all that matters to me.’ Silence fell. She wrung her hands in her lap, waiting for Madame Mercure to decide her fate. ‘She always said if anything ever happened to her, I should come to House Armand. She thought I’d be safe here.’
‘That’s because it was an offer I extended to her many years ago.’ Madame Mercure stood up and plucked the paper from the floor. ‘Back when you were small enough not to chance your tongue at lying.’
Sera jerked her chin up. ‘You knew my mother?’
‘I know everyone who sells to me,’ said Mercure, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. And suddenly it was. Just because Mama didn’t run her own deliveries didn’t mean she had never met her best customer. Her only customer. ‘I liked Sylvie. She was clever, steely-eyed. She loved you very much.’
Sera swallowed thickly. She reached for those warm, gentle words, desperate to fill the yawning hollow inside her chest.
‘I knew there was something familiar about you when you showed up on my doorstep. That riddle, at least, has been answered.’ Mercure cast the paper in the fire. The flames hissed, devouring it. ‘I must caution you, Seraphine. This is a dangerous time to be a Cloak,’ she said, unease creeping into her voice. ‘There are strange stirrings across the underworld of Fantome. The Daggers are getting sloppy. Reckless. First, a smuggler. And now one of their own. Pascal Loren hasbeen found dead. And then there’s the abandoned ship in the harbour. Thirty marks in one night. And many others in the south quarter unaccounted for.’
‘Even so,’ said Sera, rising to her feet, ‘I’m a lot safer at House Armand than I am alone in the Hollows.’
Madame Mercure looked her over. ‘Albert says you’re a quick learner. Blanche likes you, which is no mean feat. You seem to have made friends with some of my Cloaks. But you have yet to prove yourself.’
‘Then assign me a job,’ said Sera, before she could second-guess herself. It was time to set aside her aversion to thievery, bury her cowardice and choose survival. Only then could she have her revenge. And after, freedom.
‘Very well, Seraphine Marchant,’ said Madame Mercure. ‘I will send word to Theo. We will fit you for a cloak first.’
Sera smiled gratefully. ‘I promise you won’t regret it.’
Mercure went to the window, the frown returning to her face. ‘That remains to be seen.’
Chapter 8Seraphine
Sera stood outside the cloakroom in the basement of House Armand and knocked three times. She brushed the stray hairs from her face and adjusted the hem of her sweater, feeling a sudden flurry of self-consciousness. She didn’t know whether it was because she knew there was a handsome Shadowsmith on the other side of the door – though she had only managed to steal a few passing glances at him over the last couple of weeks – or because she was finally getting a cloak of her very own.
There was no answer.
She knocked again, louder. ‘Hello?’ she called out, uncertainly. ‘It’s Seraphine. Madame Mercure sent me?’
Silence.
She tried the handle, and to her surprise, the door opened.When she poked her head around it, she expected to see someone, but the room was empty. Her heart beat fast at the unexpected opportunity. She was hovering on the unguarded threshold of the famous cloakroom of House Armand, a place full of Shade.
She slipped inside, her eyes widening at the grandeur. This was no glorified closet. Exquisite walnut shelves lined each wall, stretching up to a row of squat, narrow windows that looked out on the gardens of House Armand. It was dimmer down here than in any other room Sera had been in, but she supposed the shadows that clung to the cream walls and spilled across the floor were deliberate. They added a certain secrecy to the cloakroom, a place where all things could be hidden.
On one wall, hundreds of cloaks of every size hung from gold railings. On the next were several shelves of smart black boots, then an entire wardrobe of gloves and scarves and hats, and even face masks. Everything was black, and though they all appeared normal on the outside, Sera could sense the Shade that had been stitched into every piece of fabric. It made the air feel colder, heavier. As she moved through the cloakroom, her skin prickled in recognition.
In the middle of the room, by a leather couch and two matching armchairs, was an island covered with glass. Sera ran her fingers along the case, gazing down at a strange collection of pocket-watches, none of which seemed to have a face. There were pens and knives, masks and handkerchiefs, and spectacles made for seeing in the dark. Sera smiled. The cloakroom at House Armand was a place of true artifice and creativity. Mama would have loved it here.
She trailed her fingers along the shelves, searching for a glimpse of the vials her mother used for Shade. Something flitted across her peripheral vision. She turned, sharply, but there was nothing there. She squinted up at the windows. Perhaps a cloud had moved in front of the sun, causing the shadows to shift. But then it happened again, this time on her other side.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose.
‘Hello?’ she called out. ‘Is someone here?’
She looked down and noticed a new shadow right beside her own. She waved her arms, feeling ridiculous. The shadow shifted, moving through hers and then across the floor, until it climbed up the side of a wardrobe.
A man stepped out of it. ‘BOO!’
Sera screamed.
‘Saints!Calm down!’ He pulled his hood back, revealing a sweep of bright silver hair and turquoise eyes that were wide with horror. ‘It’s just me!’
