Chapter 20

It's surprising how quiet two hundred people can be when they don't want to miss a single syllable of the main show. Louise's heels clicked on the floor as she approached. I had to turn, instinct demanding that I never present my back to the enemy. Two things gave me immense satisfaction in the horror playing out. The first came as I took in her dress, and had the satisfaction of knowing it was last season's. And here was the scullery maid, wearing Paris, summer 1919. Ouch.

The second matter to bring me a fraction of joy was her angry face adorned with the broken nose and darkened circles under her eyes, although she had layered on the powder in a futile attempt to cover the dark smudges. She could throw all the dirty names she wanted, but I could throw a punch.

"What is the meaning of this, Louise?" Seth asked.

She pointed a finger and stabbed the air in my direction. "She is a liar and a filthy, grasping whore!"

My feet wouldn't budge. I swallowed, but couldn't squeeze out any wo