Dinner felt more like a wake than a family meal. It did not help that Stephen Wayne was there once again, this time having brought Dr. Harding along. The philanthropist’s presence felt like an icy wedge driven between the family members. Elise glared at him across the table every chance she got when he was not looking, though her mother caught her a few times and nudged her beneath the table.
“This cure is already the talk of the town. Not all good talk, but I’m sure the chandelier incident will blow over soon enough.” Tobias Saint raised his wineglass to Dr. Harding. The doctor nodded, but did not lift his own glass. Elise’s father toasted Mr. Wayne instead.
Elise stabbed at her food, and her fork clinked the plate so hard, everyone turned to look at her. Mr. Saint cleared his throat. “Elise, if you want, you may be excused,” he said.
“I don’t want that, Father,” Elise said flatly.
Her father’s lips pursed. He turned back to Mr. Wayne. “How will we get the reapers to trust us to administer the cure to them?”
Mr. Wayne leaned back in his chair, expression relaxed. “Easy. We promise to propose official legislation to Mr. Arendale that protects all reapers and considers them part human beings in the eyes of the law rather than beasts.”
The room went still. Elise watched her father’s expression. The slight twitch of his eye told her he was just as displeased hearing this news from Mr. Wayne now as he was hearing it from Layla’s parents five years ago. And that had just been a written agreement between the empire and the Harlem reaper clan. Though Mr. Saint had eventually come around to making that agreement, it took him two years after the Quinns’ deaths to do it.
“Is that even possible? Just forcing the Harlem reapers into an agreement with the empire felt like pulling teeth. And they did that to avoid certain death.” Tobias Saint spoke calmly, though his hands fisted around his silverware.
“Mr. Arendale has already agreed to the new law if he becomes mayor. I believe it would incentivize reapers to behave better. My hope is that rogue reapers will follow suit as well. They will be allowed to apply for jobs and housing without hiding anything—this will allow us to keep track of every reaper in New York. To have the most powerful clan initiate this gesture will do everyone well,” Mr. Wayne said.
Stephen Wayne’s gray eyes twinkled while he spoke. Elise had trouble trusting his motives beyond his public persona. “The next demonstration of the cure should take place at the Hotel Clarice. We already have a decent bond with the Harlem reapers from supporting their economy through the Cotton Club. But I will need the Saints’ approval to ensure that things go smoothly. There is little that they will be able to resist in the face of a cure—”
“About that,” Elise interrupted.
Both of her parents shot her stern looks. “Elise.”
She shrugged. “I have a question.”
Mr. Wayne shared a gentle look with her. “Go ahead, Elise.”
Elise took a deep breath. “How did you find this cure?” she asked.
“Testing,” Dr. Harding said, it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. But to Elise, it was an empty response.
“Testing on who?” she nearly demanded. “Did you give a dose to Theo Smith?”
“Elise,” her father said sharply. He turned a softer look onto Dr. Harding. “My apologies. She has been unwell recently.”
Dr. Harding raised his hand in dismissal. “Nonsense. I enjoy an intellectual conversation with the youth.” He nodded at Elise. “Carry on.”
“Who did you run tests on?” Elise asked.
Dr. Harding just shrugged. “Science is wonderfully complex. I wouldn’t expect you to understand it.”
“I went to the best schools in New York and Paris. Try me,” Elise said flatly. She leveled her gaze with his.
The doctor took another sip of his drink. He set his glass down and moved into the chair next to Elise. He was suddenly so close, Elise felt a bit uncomfortable, but she continued to make eye contact so as not to let his overwhelming presence defeat her. “We do have a little secret, actually. It was all my idea, and even Stephen doesn’t know about it.”
Mr. Wayne’s jaw dropped slightly. “I beg your pardon?”
Elise swallowed. Her heart pounded so hard, she wondered if everyone could hear it. “Sure.”
“Your father has raised you well,” Dr. Harding said, in a tone that made Elise uneasy.
Mr. Saint cleared his throat. “If you’re going to thank me, make sure you thank my beautiful wife as well. She’s done more than I ever have when it comes to raising our girls. Analia is the reason why Elise is so talented. It was her idea to get her piano lessons. In fact… Elise, darling, don’t you have some practice to get done?”
Elise decided she would not take the hint. Besides, she was too drained to play anything well at all.
“I’m enjoying my conversation with Dr. Harding, Father; piano can wait.” Elise nodded to the doctor. “I know my parents are wonderful. Tell me. What’s your secret?”
“I take the bodies of the reapers your empire kills and my scientists study them,” Dr. Harding replied. “Reaper venom has become like a drug abroad, and people all over the world pay high prices for it. Moreover, I get a new offer every month from someone who would like to collaborate with me to create the next great race of human beings. I’m half inclined to accept them.”
Chills covered Elise’s arms as her insides turned to ice.
“A cure would surely conflict with this business, though,” the doctor went on. “So I must make the more morally sound decision. It’s quite a divergence from the scientists who first created this mess and left us to deal with the consequences. So, to fix what they left behind, you can understand that sometimes, we must make decisions that are not the most ethical?”
Elise began, “As a practitioner of medicine, you are expected to heal—”
“And heal I do.” Dr. Harding nodded and picked up the knife at his place setting. He ran his thumb over the blade, a cold smile forming on his lips. “You would not last one day in the madness that is this line of work.”
Elise regretted not leaving the table. She felt impossibly uncomfortable now, her body caving in on itself the longer Dr. Harding watched her. It was a relief when someone else finally spoke.
“I’m desperate to discuss this again later, Dr. Harding. But for now, Elise, I would love it if you helped me with the Harlem reapers,” Stephen Wayne said. “You already seem so close to Layla Quinn. If you’ve got her on your side, the rest of the clan is sure to follow. Those bastards who killed Thalia are still out there, but perhaps if we all work together, we can stop them.”
Elise turned and saw the whole table watching her with anticipation. The promise to kill Layla at the end of the investigation still stood. The promise that she would figure out who was responsible for the crime that rocked their community still stood.
The burdens piled on top of her were sure to crush her soon.
Elise sighed and gave Stephen Wayne a brief nod. “I would be honored to help.”
“You sound stiff.”
Elise’s fingers slipped on the piano keys at the sound of her father’s voice. She lowered the fallboard and turned to face him as he walked into the music room. Though she hadn’t wanted to practice, Elise had not been able to stop fidgeting once she returned to her room after dinner. Playing basic scales helped clear her head, but when her father walked in, she went rigid once more.
“You never told me what you played for your conservatory audition.” Mr. Saint slid onto the seat beside her. Elise could smell his cologne; she hated having anyone this close to her while she played. Except for one person, at least. And that was different. It was always different when it came to Layla.
“It’s very personal to me,” Elise said quietly.
Her father ran his finger over the glossy piano board. “So personal that you couldn’t tell the person who paid for your lessons and your instruments?” he asked. His tone was mild, but the words conveyed every ounce of displeasure he had with her. Elise swallowed and remained quiet.
“Have you ever played it for me?” he asked.
“No.”
His knuckles rapped against the piano board so hard, Elise flinched.
“My pearl, what is this about?”
She finally looked up. “It’s bad luck to share audition details before the decision is made.”
“That’s understandable.” A wry smile split her father’s lips. For a moment, Elise thought she had convinced him. But he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a mask. It was the mask Elise had worn and lost at the fundraiser. Then he revealed a letter: the one she had written to decline her acceptance at the Paris Conservatory.
Elise’s mouth went dry.
“It is an understandable excuse for a superstitious musician. But you’re not superstitious.” Her father leaned closer to her. “You’re just a liar.”
A tight knot formed in Elise’s chest, pain increasing with each racing heartbeat, and she looked away, trying to focus on her breathing. But her father continued speaking. “Sterling told me about your recent activities. When did you become a liar, Elise? You had me place all my faith in you, and now you’re no better than the demons I trusted you to beat.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she swallowed past the painful lump in her throat. Already, she was too scared to move, to think, to breathe. Elise could only sit there and listen, hoping his searing words would be enough for him.
“I am very disappointed in you. This is why I couldn’t tell you about the fundraiser. You ruin things. You have made almost no progress on this case. You made me look like an imbecile in front of Mr. Wayne and Dr. Harding today. Stephen might say you’re an intelligent, kind, sophisticated young lady, but do you think he believes any of that? Of course not. It makes me wonder what else you’ve been up to with that Quinn girl behind my back.” Tobias Saint’s voice was steady and calm. Waiting for his explosion was always the worst part of any conflict with him. Elise hated tiptoeing around her words, not knowing what would set him off. He stood and she moved away off the bench, trying to put distance between them.
“Fuck, Elise.” Her father shoved the piano hard. It slammed the wall behind it and the room shook. Next, he kicked the bench, sending it into the wall. Wood splintered, the perfect glossy finish damaged beyond repair. It creaked and groaned like a wounded creature.
Elise whimpered. Tears finally broke past Elise’s defenses. Her lips trembled, and she tried to turn away, but her father gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t you know that I’ve put all of my faith into you continuing my empire’s legacy? Charlotte’s legacy? You might as well have killed her. You owe us something more than piano and your useless tears. Yet here you are, crying when it gets too hard. Your weak self wrongfully takes up Charlotte’s space. Are you a failure, or are you going to be a Saint?”
“I’m a Saint,” Elise whispered.
Her father sighed and dropped her chin. “Unless I ask you to perform, you are not allowed to play anymore. You’re not good enough anyway, seeing as how the Paris Conservatory doesn’t miss you. I might reconsider if you bring the Harlem reapers to their knees for their crimes against this city. But if you really cannot do this, please tell me. I will send you back to France and have Josi come home. She’s always been a much better listener than you. I’d rather have her around, even if she’s too young to contribute to the business now. At least she’s worth something.”
“No, please,” Elise cried.
His scowl deepened at the sight of her tears. “Since you’re already working with Quinn, I want you to present the cure to the reapers with Stephen. I want that girl eating right out of the palm of your hand when you turn your gun on her.” Mr. Saint stood, smoothing the wrinkles in his suit. He smiled at her. The anger suddenly vanished from his face, and the smile replaced it all with light. “Saints show no mercy. Make me proud.”
As soon as the door shut behind him, Elise folded into herself and sobbed.