“What about that kitchen?” I asked to try and keep him talking.
“I thought you were ridiculous. That rusty knife.” He laughed again then winced with pain.
“You’re delirious. Now hush,” I said, and brought a finger to his lips.
He grabbed it. “You’re stronger than I thought.”
I gave him a long look then jerked when he brought his hand up and brushed his thumb against my mouth. It lingered there, and my pulse skittered.
“I wish . . .” His voice trailed off.
“What do you wish?”
His gaze pinned me for a moment. Then his eyes shut and he fell against the bed.
I hung over him, startled. “Bel? Can you hear me?”
He didn’t move.
I touched his cheek and he groaned. Where his skin wasn’t bloody, it was clammy. But he was supposed to heal himself. I couldn’t do that for him. I knew how to scrounge for meals, but Maman was the one who bandaged our scraped knees. I needed her now. Help me, I begged. I ran a finger over her necklace.
My hand flopped down, palm bloody. At the sight, I suddenly remembered how Zosa’s cut from the orange shard had miraculously healed. That vial of gold paste. That first morning here, I’d seen a jar of the same paste sitting on the bar top in the salon, hidden among the bell jars. If it were still there, I could grab it and run before anyone saw me. It would be risky; kitchen workers were forbidden to step foot inside the salon.
When Bel moaned again, I shot up. I had to at least try. “Don’t go anywhere,” I said. “And don’t yell at me afterward. You’re not allowed.”
He didn’t even open his eyes to look at me.
* * *
Salon d’Amusements was packed with diners sipping on rose-tinted alchemical concoctions. I barely paid them any attention. The sticky blood between my fingers kept me focused. The bar. Yrsa wasn’t behind it. Instead, Hellas was the barkeep on duty tonight.
His long silver hair was pulled into a knot. His uniform sleeves were rolled up while he mixed a drink. The golden paste sat behind him. I tugged on a vacant expression and walked to the bar.
He glanced up. “Are you lost, pet?”
“I—I’m looking for Yrsa.”
“Oh?” His lion eyes narrowed. “Why is a kitchen maid wearing a pink jacket over her frock?”
Not good. I’d forgotten to take it off. Spots of blood dotted my sleeves. Thinking fast, I held them up for him to see.
“You’re bleeding,” he said.
“It’s not my blood. There was an accident. Chef—” As if on cue, I whimpered. A guest turned.
Hellas shrugged. “Not my problem.”
He wouldn’t help a worker who was bleeding? I wanted to dig my fingernails in his silver hair and make him listen. I managed to keep my face blank until a voice rang out.
I couldn’t believe it. I’d forgotten.
Zosa stood onstage between the two other chanteuses. I’d caught hazy glimpses of her through glass, but I hadn’t seen her. Not like this. The two girls hummed while Zosa sang a song Maman would sing to wake us up so long ago.
All I wished to do was shut my eyes and disappear. When my sister finished her song, the trio began another.
“Shouldn’t you be meeting the Magnifique soon?” Hellas said.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“It’s confounding Bel would sink so low as to disappear with a kitchen maid.”
He knew I met Bel. My blood pulsed. He must have seen us together. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you don’t.”
Something I recognized hid in his words. But when Zosa hit a high note, I lost my patience. “Let me take the gold paste to Chef.”
Hellas arched a silver brow. “And how does a kitchen maid know what this does?”
Damn it.
“If Chef wants it so badly, she can get it herself.”
“Please.”
“No.”
It was clear he wouldn’t give in, and arguing was only going to waste my time. Time Bel didn’t have. I gave Hellas a tight nod and left the salon in a daze, looking around. There had to be a way to get to the gold paste, something I could do to cause a commotion, a distraction, to get Hellas out of the way. Because he would never give the paste to me. It was clear he didn’t like me, though I couldn’t tell why. Even that day in the library—
The library. That giant bird. I rushed to the entrance. The room was near empty, the massive bird asleep.
I climbed the ladder. I tossed my jacket over its cage and heaved it off the high stand. The contraption weighed the same as a small child. Inside, the bird’s obsidian feathers ruffled. I stilled. Please don’t wake up, bird.