Page 46 of The House Saphir
“If sheisa witch,” said Béatrice, “perhaps she could help us?”
“Gabrielle was a witch,” said Lucienne, “and she couldn’t help us. Just up and ran away the first chance she got.”
Mallory sketched out Lucienne’s exquisite ball gown, the apples of her cheeks, the bloodied hole in the bodice of her gown where Bastien had stabbed her.
Béatrice’s features were more youthful—big eyes and hair that trailed limply around her shoulders, the words that Bastien had carved into her forearms vivid red on her porcelain skin.
“I think we should try to get rid of her,” said Lucienne. “Just in case. You could start haunting the mirrors. A bloody reflection always spooks them.”
Béatrice pouted. “It’s socoldin the mirrors.”
“It wouldn’t take long. You saw how those feux follets got to her. She isn’t as tough as she’s pretending to be.”
The tip of Mallory’s pencil snapped off. Scowling, she pulled out yet another.
“All right,” Lucienne continued. “How about this? You take the mirrors, and I’ll sneak into her room in the middle of the night. No one likes waking up to a spirit over their bed.”
Béatrice sulked. “Can’t I be the one to hover over the bed this time?”
“You’re not scary enough.”
“I can be scary.”
Lucienne scoffed.
“Ican. But I don’t see why we have to frighten her at all. What is she going to do?”
“She’s been hired to get rid of us.”
“Perhaps, but she isn’t likely to succeed, is she?”
Mallory stood suddenly, crossed the tower room, and dropped her sketchpad onto the floor between the wives—open to the sketch of two women chatting to each other. She had done quite a fine job, if she did say so herself, perfectly capturing Béatrice’s anxious sulking and Lucienne’s nonchalant slouch. But that was not what would have drawn the attention of most people. Most would immediately have noticed the swaths of black blood drenching their fronts.
The wives stared down at the drawing for a long, long moment.
When they finally looked up, Mallory said, “Hello. My name is Mallory Fontaine, and I’m not to be trifled with.”
After another long silence, Lucienne’s confused expression broke into a wide grin. “Ooh, that was very menacing. I like her better now.” She took a giddy swig of her wine.
Mallory scowled. “I can hear you.”
Lucienne’s eyes widened. “Youcan?” She leaned toward Béatrice and loudly whispered, “You know, she may be a witch after all.”
Béatrice jumped out of her seat and ducked behind Lucienne. “Shecansee us! I had wondered before. Oh, dear.”
Mallory pulled a face. “Why are you hiding?”
“Yes,” said Lucienne. “Why?”
After a moment, Béatrice poked her head over Lucienne’s shoulder, peering shyly up at Mallory. “I don’t entirely know. It’sjust… it’s been quite a long time since I had to meet anyone new.”
“Was it my imagination,” said Lucienne, “or did we not see another ghost with you when you first arrived?”
“That’s Triphine. Duchess Triphine Maeng.”
They both gasped.
“The first wife!” said Lucienne. “You don’t say! Wherever has she gone off to? Why hasn’t she introduced herself?”
