Page 46 of This Ravenous Fate
“If not a blood fury, then what?” Elise asked. “And what about those other dancers? Why did the club have so many reapers hiding out, just waiting to attack?”
A sour taste filled Layla’s mouth and her throat went dry. Her mind flashed back to the attack. Then, things had been too hectic to question anything, but now, as Layla mulled over the memory of the other dancers tearing into Shirley, questions arose. They had gone right for Shirley, despite the gangsters hemorrhaging blood all around them and they had reeked of rancid blood—as if they themselves were rotting from the inside out. Layla’s heart sank. She looked up at Elise, whose brows were bunched in thought. “I don’tthink those dancers were reapers. They were something else.”
***
“Maybe this is what Dr. Harding meant about a poison spreading,” Elise mumbled. She ran her hands through her hair, dividing dark curls between her fingers and twisting the ends until they sprung back into place.
Layla watched the Saint heiress pace back and forth between the fountain and her, where she sat on a bench in a private park. A park she had not visited in years since the Saints owned it. Layla glanced up at the iron gate surrounding the small garden and the plaque that held the park’s name, CHARLOTTE’S SANCTUARY.
Elise stopped short. “The clinic,” she said.
“What?” Layla asked, only half-interested. She could not stop looking at the carefully arranged flowers. Roses, lilies, hydrangeas, chrysanthemums—every blossom one could imagine. She wondered if any of these plants had outlasted her welcome in the Saint estate.
“The Harding lab and clinic. Are you paying attention?” Elise demanded.
Layla blinked up at her. “No.”
“Classic,” Elise huffed. She crossed her arms and sat beside Layla. “Dr. Harding is researching the long-term effects of reaperhood and whether prolonged proximity with reapers can cause infection.”
“I think we would have noticed that already,” Layla said flatly.
“We just have. Those dancers were infected. If not by reapers, then by something else. We need to figure out what. The lab must have answers. If not him, then Mr. Wayne,” Elise said.
At this, Layla’s full attention returned, and she frowned at Elise. “You want to consult the white man?” There was truth to Elise’s words; Layla could not doubt that. But a prickling sensation formed in her chest at the thought of the rest of the Saint family involving themselves in reaper business even more than they already did. “Reaperhood started with a white man and a laboratory, so if a poison is coming from anywhere, it must be them.”
Elise gaped. “They might know something worthwhile. Why do you think you’re so much better than them? Than this—”
“Why do you think you aren’t?” Layla demanded. “You’re so ready to kiss the ground your father and his empire slaves walk on. Have you ever considered that maybe they do not have all the right answers? You don’t even know this doctor, or Stephen Wayne. Why are you so willing to trust him? Just because your father—”
“Yes, because of my father. I trust who he trusts,” Elise said firmly. “Mr. Wayne has helped many businesses and contributed to Harlem’s economy. He helps people. It’s what he does,” Elise insisted.
But apprehension cracked her visage of certainty, and Layla sensed her doubt. She spoke slowly, “I don’t know what this man has told you, but you must know that we will always give them more than they could ever give us,” Layla said. “They’ll do whatever it takes to keep themselves on top and keep us beneath their feet. If you want to consult Stephen Wayne, fine, but we treat him like thesuspect he is.”
“No,” Elise seethed. Her breathing quickened and then she was back on her feet, pacing again. “I cannot treat him as an enemy. I’ve already messed up at the club and I have not solved the murder. My father expects me tofixthings. If I don’t, he won’t…he won’t…” Elise trailed off.
The distress in Elise’s voice caught Layla off guard. “He won’t what?” she asked as she leaned forward.
Elise’s throat bobbed. She turned back to Layla, shaking her head. “Nothing.”
The determination and desolation in Elise’s eyes were not bound to vanish any time soon. Layla knew it would be easier to go along with Elise rather than fight her. The more she got to know this new Elise, the more it felt like a long ice path stretching across a frozen river. Slow and steady steps would get her to where she needed to go, but stalling and succumbing to her hot temper would only send her crashing into an icy abyss.
Layla nodded. “Fine. We’ll consult Stephen Wayne. As allies.”
Relief seemed to soften Elise’s edges. Even her voice was gentler when she spoke. “He is endorsing the new mayoral candidate. I will be able to attend some rallies to learn more about him. As for you, it would be best to track down the Cotton Club dancers—”
“You mean the ones from the club we destroyed two days ago? That will be tough if not impossible,” Layla said.
“Oh, please. You’ve never shied away from a challenge before.” Elise cocked her head to the side and offered her a sharp smile. Thelook she gave Layla was made of pure virulence. How Elise got her eyes to look so picturesque, the essence of fatal attraction that only a siren could conjure up, Layla would never know. But she fell victim to it every time.
Layla’s skin buzzed. She had to tear her eyes away and watch the flowersagainto concentrate. But the pounding of Elise’s blood, the glow in her eyes followed Layla’s thoughts. “Meet up again in a week?” she muttered.
“Of course.” In a flurry of gray skirts and luscious curls, Elise was gone. But her sweet scent of intrigue and betrayal lingered.
***
Elise gave herself to the beautifully demonic score she played on her grand piano that evening. Her fingers brushed the keys in shallow strokes over the bridge of the song, breathing life into the notes that projected hope. But as soon as the chorus came, her fingers struck down upon the keys as if she was striking death’s gong. Notes smashed together like stormy waves against the shore, crashing into a haunting crescendo. The song ended as softly as it began, but with notes filling only an echo of the hope the song’s first verse offered. It was as if a love letter had been written, detailing one’s affection in great detail, only to be sent to a grave.
When she finished, all that Elise could picture in her mind was that grave. Frozen over, too barren to grow new life.
