Elise shoved her hands into her coat pockets and walked down the front steps of the Saint estate. October introduced a crisp breeze into the air. The season reminded her of France in the little things such as the autumn leaves, the trench coats people began to wear as the temperature dropped, the jazz floating out of busy cafés. She missed the freedom of being abroad. Not just in the sense of being away from her parents and their rules. In Paris, Elise could walk onto a bus and sit wherever she wanted. She did not have to enter the downtown hotels from the back entrances, nor was she prohibited from entering nightclubs.
Elise never saw a Black musician or singer in France walk off the stage with the empty look in their eyes that so often followed the performances of Black artists here. She was almost glad to think she would never experience that, now that she was her father’s successor instead of a pianist. But almost was not enough.
“Saint.”
Elise stopped short. Layla Quinn stood at the estate front gates. She leaned against the iron curves, arms crossed while she watched Elise approach her.
“How did you get in here?” Elise asked, slightly awed.
Layla shrugged. “Your escort let me in.”
Elise’s heart stopped, realizing who she meant. “Did Sterling speak to you?”
“He might have grumbled,” Layla shrugged.
A sad sigh left Elise. “He hasn’t spoken to me in days.”
“Oh, forget him.” Layla pushed off the gate and straightened up, her toned arms catching the bold evening light while she stretched.
Elise couldn’t help but stare. Everything about Layla was lithe and smooth. Her skin seemed to glow a radiant golden even when the sun didn’t beam directly onto it, her eyes luminous amber pools at any tame moment. It was when she became hostile that the amber lit up into a fiery, almost white gold. Against Elise’s own precautions, she couldn’t help but long for that intensity. To be on the other end of those eyes while Layla was feeling particularly charged up and volatile… Elise wanted her devouring attention. She could only imagine how it would be to feel those eyes on her while her fangs sank into her throat—
Layla cleared her throat. Elise blinked, her cheeks growing warm while Layla watched her with suspicious eyes. “Saint?” she asked.
Elise nodded quickly. “Fine. I’m fine.” She pushed past Layla and the gates. If she was going to have such sinful thoughts, she might as well have waited until she was off Saint property. Elise was surprised she and Layla didn’t go up in flames while they stood there together.
“Why did you come? I thought you were done with me,” Elise asked once they were on a public street.
Layla didn’t look at her. She watched the sky while they walked, only occasionally glancing down to see where she was going. “I would like to know whether the treaty your father and Stephen Wayne have proposed is real.”
Elise let out a dry laugh. “I think you know. Last time we spoke, you seemed to know my father better than me.”
Layla stopped walking and regarded her with suspicion. “Saint. Be serious.”
“I am serious,” Elise said sharply.
The two of them watched each other, Layla’s face contemplative and perplexed, while Elise’s twisted with irritation. Layla broke the silence first. “What happened?” she demanded.
“Nothing,” Elise insisted. “I can’t help you, Layla. My father hardly lets me in anymore. We’re not…” She swallowed hard as tears crested in her eyes. “We’re not as close since I’ve screwed everything up. I’m sorry, I can’t help you. I can’t help anyone,” she muttered.
Layla pursed her lips. Silence fell between them while Elise wiped her eyes, and as she started back down the street, Layla spoke up. “Your father is wrong, Saint.”
“You’ve said that a hundred times—”
“No, I mean…” Layla sighed. “There should be no conditions on the love he gives you. He’s wrong for that.”
Elise blinked, her breath faltering. “I know that. But that doesn’t change the fact that I know nothing of what he’s planning besides wanting to deliver your clan a cure.”
Layla’s eyes widened. “What—”
“This cure is not a perfect fix—”
“It’s no small thing. Most of us have been tortured for years by our reaperhood. A cure would change everything for us,” Layla said quickly.
Elise sighed. “Layla. I understand this is important to you, but I implore you to reconsider trusting it. This cure has come at too convenient of a time.” Her voice trembled and Layla looked at her strangely, eyebrows creased. Elise began to spiral again. Her chest grew tight and hot despite the cool air pressing around her.
Layla’s expression hardened. “That’s how I know you don’t understand. You’re asking us to wait for options and to consider alternatives, but we have none. Reapers have never had a choice. To ask me—me, of all people—to wait and examine my other options is bullshit. And you know it.” Layla pressed closer to Elise now and that familiar rage glazed over her eyes. “I have never had a choice. Ever.”
A cold silence seeped between them. Layla’s eyes settled back to their usual color and she backed off, though Elise remained tense. “I just ask that you be more cautious. My father is involved in this, too, and I know you hate him. You would be eating out of the palm of his hand if you took the cure from him and Mr. Wayne,” she said quietly.
Layla was quiet for a moment. Her expression softened while she thought, fingers tapping on her forearms, which were still firmly crossed over her chest. “He knows better than to offer his hand to a reaper. But if you’re so concerned, why won’t you tell me what changed your mind?”
Elise hesitated. Then she whispered, “Come with me.”
“I must say, Elise, I am surprised to see you approach me without your father. And, my apologies, but Dr. Harding is too busy to join us today. I hope you understand.” Stephen Wayne’s cool voice swept over the empty hallway while he led them through the lab. Layla watched Elise pull her coat tighter around her, as if blocking out an invisible breeze. Discomfort looked rather odd on the Saint heiress.
“He prefers it when I take on more independence,” Elise said softly.
Mr. Wayne stopped in front of a door, his hand resting on the lock while he glanced at Layla. “And Miss Quinn. You are quite far from your territory.”
Layla laughed dryly. “Not far enough.”
Elise nodded toward the door. “Is that where you keep reapers you’re running experiments on?” she asked.
Something dark flashed over his eyes. “No reapers are kept on this floor since we have patients frequenting the clinic.” He pushed the door open. A large room opened up before them, with gleaming white walls and examination tables. The white-coated staff tended to patients, taking blood and recording observations. All of the patients, Layla noticed, were Black.
She and Elise watched the doctors and nurses with both hope and apprehension. Hundreds of years ago, Black and brown people had been studied under microscopes. They were prodded, drugged, bled, and tortured until they became the very monsters that Stephen Wayne claimed he now wanted to rid the world of.
Layla turned to Stephen Wayne. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Purity tests.” He led them to a cot where a young Black girl sat having her arm examined by a nurse. “This is Clara. She used to dance at the Cotton Club. As I’m sure you are aware, there were reapers there. She was sick from what my scientists determined to be reaper venom, spread through close proximity to other reapers. But now she is better. Isn’t that right, Clara?” Stephen Wayne asked.
Clara gave the girls a shy smile and nodded. “I thought I would turn, but Dr. Harding was able to reverse the effects. I’m very lucky.”
Elise let out a slow breath. “Wow.”
A sharp whip of envy tore through Layla. Biting her lip, she looked away.
“It would have been nice to have such a resource when you were younger, Quinn, I’m sure. But now you have the opportunity to help others,” Stephen Wayne said.
Layla shook her head. “My clan are already all turned. How would an antidote help them? They’re too far gone.” She felt Elise’s stare boring into her as they talked. The Saint heiress, for once, was silent.
Stephen Wayne nodded. “Follow me.”
They followed him down another hallway, then up a flight of stairs. The scent of rot and ruin began to penetrate the air, and Layla wrinkled her nose. Neither Elise nor Stephen Wayne seemed to comprehend that they might have been walking straight toward death.
“As we were working on the cure, we developed something essential.” Mr. Wayne gestured to a lab technician standing by an observation window, and the man began to pull the blinds back, revealing a dark examination room. For a moment, there was only silence. Then a low growl sounded from the room, and every cell in Layla’s body froze.
Elise gasped, “Oh my God.”
What looked like an ancient reaper lay strapped to the examination table. Their skin sagged in gray and purple creases against their body, their hands stretching into long talons that were black under the low lighting. Even the eyes looked empty, though an intense yellow burned around the pupils each time the reaper blinked and peeled back their lids.
“Horrifying, isn’t it?” Stephen Wayne muttered. “I know it’s hard to believe, but this gentleman was a normal human once just like you and me, Elise. He was turned only twenty years ago, but could not stomach the thought of killing and draining humans, so he didn’t. And here he is now. Decrepit, demonic, diseased.”
The breath stalled in Layla’s chest. She could not believe what she saw. She had only seen this type of reaper in pictures. They might as well have been legends, because no reaper would deny human blood for long enough to become this.
“Hell,” Layla whispered.
“Indeed,” Mr. Wayne said. “Your own clan leader forbids you from killing humans now, so what is there to stop you from becoming this?” He pointed to the reaper once more, and again, Layla’s heart stopped. “Dr. Harding has already cured humans from reaper venom, and he’s developed an antidote to keep you closer to your humanity and prevent you from becoming this demon.” Stephen Wayne tapped on the window. The reaper looked up and growled again, spit flying from his mouth. His eyes shifted from the pale yellow to an enraged red. “Poor thing has lost every part of his human past. He doesn’t even remember his own name,” Stephen Wayne said.
Everything hit Layla at once. The white lights hovering above them glowed so bright, a haze covered her surroundings and it took effort just to keep her eyes focused on the people in front of her. Elise spoke, but the words did not reach Layla’s ears. All she heard was roaring as blood rushed into her head and panic ensued. She stumbled back, and things shifted into perspective just long enough for her to hear Elise.
“Layla?”
But Layla was already gone.
The thought of blood consumed Layla. It didn’t help that the Cotton Club still reeked of old blood from the crime scene and sneaking into the closed-down establishment for a bit of peace and quiet to calm down had been a choice. But certainly better than staying in the lab while she had a breakdown about her inevitable fate. In front of a Saint, nonetheless.
She twisted an old Saint bullet from the attack in her hands. The steel burned her fingers, but the pain distracted her from her frightening thoughts of the reaper at the lab. The rancid stench of the old blood did keep her from feeling especially feral. But it only helped for a few long minutes before the scent of a blood so sweet Layla would recognize it anywhere filled the dressing room where she hid.
“Saint,” Layla muttered. She came out from beneath a dressing room table and saw the Saint heiress standing in the middle of the room. Her cheeks looked warm and dark with blood, her curls messy, no doubt from running through the city after Layla.
“Considering how deadly you are, I was surprised to see you break down like that at the lab.” Elise smoothed her hands over her windswept hair and took a step toward Layla. “I didn’t think you were afraid of anything. But that reaper certainly—”
“Why are you here, Saint?” Layla gritted out.
Elise pursed her lips. “We’re partners. I cannot do this without you. And this place is probably full of important evidence we should go through.”
Something warm crossed through Layla and she almost forgot about her fears having nearly overcome her earlier. Fighting back a smile, she asked, “Does the blood not bother you?”
“What blood?” Elise placed her hands on her hips, frowning. “The crime scene here has been cleaned rather thoroughly…” She gasped. “You can still smell it?” She brushed a stray curl behind her ear and looked away, lips pursing.
Layla caught her scent. “Yes. And I can smell you too.”
“What do you smell on me?” Elise breathed, vaguely stiff.
All four immediate notes of her perfume, specifically. Gardenia, vanilla, coconut, and sage. There might have been a hint of bergamot too. But beneath all of those luxurious scents, Layla could sense Elise. And it wasn’t just the essence of her skin and the natural scent she gave off. But Layla also sensed the warmth that radiated from her and whatever emotion tainted her aura in that moment. Right now it was unease, coupled with a bit of unbridled excitement.
The corner of Layla’s lips ticked up into a faint smile. Oh how she loved bringing the Saint girl to the edge, forcing her to reach out for stability, inevitably afraid, but helplessly, hopelessly engaged and eager.
Thrill sprung up between both of them.
At the quickening of Elise’s pulse, Layla’s smile widened. And when Elise finally turned back to look at her, expectancy heavy in her eyes, she saw the glow of her heated blood in the curve of her ears, outlined gently by the sun filtering through the windows.
Layla wanted to reach out and touch her ear, feeling the softness of humanity beneath her fingertips. “I can smell your blood too,” Layla muttered.
The heat in Elise’s cheeks went cool. As much as Layla deigned to feel that human fire, she wasn’t sure she could bear the loss of its warmth when she had to draw away.
Her mind switched instinctively back to the topic of the cure, which made her tear away from Elise. “The blood in this room is rancid. Someone here was infected.” She crossed the room, expecting Elise to follow her. But the Saint girl did not budge. “Saint?”
Elise looked up at her and swallowed. Something shifted in her eyes and for a moment, Layla thought she might back down. Nothing could have prepared Layla for what actually came out of Elise’s mouth.
“Did you like my blood?” she asked.
The question caught Layla so off guard, she choked on her own air. Layla, blinking and inhaling past the lump in her throat, nearly shouted at Elise. “What?”
Elise’s face brightened a bit at Layla’s tone. “Was my blood good?”
“Why do you want to know?” Layla asked. “If this is about feeding your superiority complex, I’m going to tell you it was disgusting.”
Shock crossed Elise’s features. The second a smile began to curve her lips, Layla knew she had made herself too obvious. She was practically transparent at this point, begging for Elise to see right through her and notice how her heart beat for the chance to cycle Elise’s blood through her body again. “My blood was disgusting?” Elise asked, unconvinced.
“So disgusting. It was actually unbelievable,” Layla said strongly. It was a lie. She wanted to wonder if Elise could see through it, but she feared that thinking about it too hard would give her away.
“You would never want to taste it again, would you?” Elise asked.
“No. Never. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about how wrong you felt on my tongue and how you poisoned my mouth.” If blood could intoxicate, drinking from Elise probably would have bewitched Layla. And in moments like these, when her veins closed up and breathing became hard because her senses felt so overwhelmed by her immediate surroundings, Layla wondered if she really had been bewitched by this Saint heiress.
It was like she transcended body and soul. Just as she tasted, like the dust between planets coated Layla’s tongue, Elise Saint contained the whole universe in her when Layla felt her.
Layla wondered why Elise couldn’t see that in herself.
Elise shrugged. “Fine. Next time, I’ll let you starve.” And just like that, the conversation was over. Elise turned and finally began to examine her part of the room. “Do you believe Stephen Wayne? Do you really think humans are being poisoned just by being close to reapers?” she asked.
“Sure, why not. The dancers here were sick. We saw them and the way they attacked Giana and Shirley. Theo spent time here as well and got sick and attacked your friend. It makes sense,” Layla said.
“But what about me? I’m not sick.”
Layla paused. “Sure, but you are different.”
“Are you saying you’ve corrupted me?” Elise demanded.
“You’re certainly becoming a little heathen when you’re around me.” Layla smirked. Heat bloomed across the Saint heiress’s face and satisfaction swept through Layla at the sight.
“Everything I do around you is of my own volition. And as you’ve pointed out, I happen to have a lot of that because of my status. I take none of it for granted when I’m around you.”
Layla hissed, “Ouch.”
“I didn’t mean it like that—” Elise sighed.
“Then how did you mean it?” Layla challenged.
A pause. And then, “I don’t hate the time that we spend together. In fact, I look forward to it,” Elise whispered.
Layla’s breath caught. Elise stepped closer to her and her heart pounded so hard, her chest began to ache. “I’ve been awful to you,” Layla murmured.
“I was worse.” Elise’s voice was breathy as she spoke. She reached forward, her hand brushing Layla’s as she took the bullet. Instinctively, Layla curled her fingers around Elise’s. It was as if a match had been struck up and then refused to burn out. Layla had no idea when her desire for Elise’s blood had turned into a desire for Elise. But it carved into her now, her heart throbbing while she held Elise’s hand and looked into her eyes. She wasn’t sure why she ever tried to resist the Saint heiress. Her ice was desperately drawn to her heat. And the burn felt good, no matter how severe.
Elise cleared her throat, and Layla dropped her hand. She stood back as she watched the Saint heiress walk to the main performance hall, bullet clutched firmly in her grasp.
The most dangerous part of the Cotton Club might have been the stage. The wooden floor had a layer of dust so thick, one swipe of Layla’s fingers on the edge turned her fingertips gray.
She knew how hard it was to dance on wood; Layla couldn’t imagine having to do it in dim lights, and a tightly packed, hot environment such as the Cotton Club. And while the stage must have been cleaned frequently, no amount of water or rosin helped make it any less slippery. The dancers were at the mercy of the stage each night.
“Wow.” Elise’s voice echoed around the room. Her eyes crossed over every surface, every corner, her expression dimming as she took in the performance area. Murals on the ceiling were so faded, it was nearly impossible to make out the designs. Still, the room encompassed a feeling of general unease, one that Layla almost felt reverberating from Elise just by taking one look at the tight lines of her lips and jaw. Her hands remained close to her sides, as if she was afraid of touching anything in the room. But despite the obvious disgust in her eyes, she spoke with awe. “This is eerie,” Elise muttered.
“Agreed,” Layla said. Without thinking, Layla hauled herself onto the stage. The soles of her boots were slippery on the wood. But she could still imagine herself turning on this floor, over and over, her glittering skirts billowing around her like a cloud of magic. Once upon a time, it had been her dream to travel the world, dancing across stages of every country she could visit in a lifetime. But reaperhood had cut that dream short and quickly turned her life into a waking nightmare.
Now, Layla wasn’t sure she could do more than a couple fouettés or pirouettes even though, five years ago, she had been able to do thirty-two fouettés and ten consecutive pirouettes. Her flexibility remained intact even after years without training, probably due to some gross mutation that occurred in reaperhood—flexibility wasn’t a unique feat among the damned.
“Why didn’t you ever dance here like Giana and Shirley?” Elise asked.
Layla faced the Saint heiress. She didn’t have an explanation beyond the fact that it was risky to be around humans constantly as a reaper. When she was younger and didn’t know how to control her urges as well, dancing among other humans was out of the question. By the time she matured and could stand to be around fresh blood without snapping, Layla had assumed her dream had passed her by.
A small animosity grew between her and Giana whenever she saw her in costume, ready to dance. But Layla did not want to risk it. She looked away, shoulders relaxing as she exhaled. “It didn’t feel right,” Layla said. “But I know you’ve been keeping up with your playing. The Saint princess is destined to tour the world playing the grand piano.” A bit of bitterness seeped into her tone. She couldn’t control the fraying of her patience when it came to talking about anything regarding her past. They had shared a childhood and music and dance tutor growing up, but only one of them got to see their dreams blossom. Elise consumed her past and so did Layla’s broken dream of dancing abroad.
Elise fell quiet. Layla didn’t face her, so she couldn’t see what she was doing, but moments later, she heard Elise moving around the room. The sound of wood sliding into place and a seat being taken came next. Then the soft notes of a familiar song filled the room.
If it was possible for a damned heart to start again and ascend to the heavens, then Layla’s might have in that moment. She did not face Elise, afraid for her to see the bareness of her face, the raw emotions she conveyed. But Layla fisted her hands when they began to shake. And, as if spurred on by some natural, uncontrollable force inside, Layla began to hum along to the song.
Flashes of her poring over the handwritten sheet music for hours slammed into her mind. Layla closed her eyes, and it was as if her eyelids were wallpapered over with the image of Elise playing. She had never heard Elise play the song, but Layla had learned it. As a dancer, she was required to study music and recognize notes. Layla knew the tune of the song by heart. She could have asked someone else to play it while she choreographed a dance to it, but she had wanted it to be a surprise for Elise and she had only ever wanted to hear the song from Elise; no one else.
The final measures of the song were slow and melancholy, the edges of the notes lifting to offer the sweetest bit of joy in such a tender moment. In Layla’s mind, it was the perfect depiction of the gentle beats of love. Just barely concrete, but so overwhelmingly there, it was impossible to not be thoroughly and utterly wrecked by it.
When Layla finally turned to face Elise, she noticed the tears cresting in her eyes. And in only a moment, Layla’s eyes were growing damp as well. She had finally heard Elise play her song. After five years.
Elise swallowed. “Does that sound like the music of a prodigy, destined for the Paris Conservatory?” Elise asked in a voice so small, Layla waited in pain to hear it break. “Because I’m no expert. But I know I’m certainly unfit to be granted such a coveted position.”
Layla’s lips parted. “It was perfect.” She didn’t stop the awe that seeped into her tone.
Elise’s eyes flickered up to hers, as if checking for any sign of a lie. “You couldn’t possibly know that.”
Layla knew the song from top to bottom; she knew Elise’s playing and musical tendencies like she knew the back of her hand. She knew how Elise chewed on her lip while passing through a particularly difficult part of the music, she knew how Elise’s fingers tensed up when she wanted to play, but couldn’t, and she knew how lost she got in the music when she fell in love with the notes and they fell madly in love with her back. Because how could anyone not love Elise Saint?
A painful lump rose in Layla’s throat then. “You didn’t finish the song.”
Elise narrowed her eyes at Layla. “How do you know—” Her face went ashen. “You…”
The lump twisted and Layla’s chest constricted as she came to a full realization. Elise had played that song because she thought no one knew it. She thought she could get away with making mistakes because no one would be able to call her out on them. But Layla knew that song. And even if she had stumbled over a few notes here and there, it was perfect because it was Elise. Every note, composed from her brain, by her heart. It was so wonderfully, maddeningly Elise. And she had mapped her heart out so precariously in this song, she had not wanted to show it to anyone.
“How do you know it, Layla?” Elise stood then. The tears in her eyes were no longer that of an overwhelmed, exhausted young girl, but they were angry, storm-filled clouds, threatening to burst at the slightest provocation. “Tell me.”
“Layla’s Night.” Layla whispered the title of the piece, as if it were a spell that could break either one of them if spoken too roughly. “You wrote it for me. I found the sheet music years ago and choreographed a dance to it to surprise you before I turned…” The song has haunted me for years.
Elise scoffed. “I didn’t write it for you.” The dismissal in her tone might have cleaved Layla’s heart in half. But when she spoke again, her voice was softer, although still heavily on guard. “I wrote it about you. There’s a difference.”
Layla’s eyelids fluttered. The difference was lost on her. As far as Layla was concerned, Elise Saint had poured her heart out into a composition about Layla, meant for Layla, centered on Layla. She looked Elise right in the eye, past all the self-doubt and the hatred and the dark depths of her disdain. “It was perfect.”
“You’re a liar and a thief,” Elise seethed.
The words stung. Layla’s hand twitched by her side and, looking down, she saw Elise’s fingers clenched into tight fists. They glimmered in the faint light, as if she held a flickering ember against her palm. But minutes later, as Layla left the room, wiping the dust from her fingertips, she realized it was just crushed glass.
Another illusion beneath all the dust.