Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Honey, this is not just a dinner party.” Wren steps back to examine her work. “Blue invited all of Grimlock. The whole damn town is coming to meet you.”
My stomach drops. “The whole town?”
“Every last soul.” She picks up another brush. “When Blue throws a party, people show up. Trust me on this.”
The burnt orange dress she picked out for me is hanging on the wardrobe door, and just looking at it makes my chest tight. It’s beautiful silk, something I could never afford on a jazz singer’s tips. Dad would have loved seeing me dressed up like this.
The thought steals my breath. And here I am, letting Wren paint my face like I’m going to prom.
“I can’t do this,” I say suddenly. “I can’t go to a party and pretend to be normal when his killers are still breathing.”
Wren pauses, her brush hovering near my cheek. “And what exactly would staying locked in this room accomplish?”
“I should be hunting them down. Planning their deaths. Not worrying about whether my eyeliner looks good.”
“And then what?” Wren sets down her brush. “Storm into Crowshaven alone with nothing but rage and a death wish? Get yourself killed before you can make them pay?”
I want to say yes, because that’s what feels right. What feels honest. I’ve spent five years building a life in New York, but underneath every smile, every song, every normal moment, the fury has been growing. Festering. Turning into something dark and hungry that demands blood.
“I should be doing something,” I whisper. “Anything other than playing dress-up.”
Wren comes around to face me, her eyes sharper than I’ve ever seen them. “You think your father would want you to waste the chance Blue’s giving you? The training, the resources, the connections? You think he’d want you to throw away your shot at real revenge for some half-cocked suicide mission?”
“I want them to suffer,” I say quietly. “All of them. I want them to know exactly who’s killing them and why.”
“Good,” Wren says simply. “But first, you need to be smart about it. You need allies. You need to understand how this world works.” She picks up her brush again. “And tonight, you’re going to meet every person in this town who can help you destroy the Crow properly.”
I should probably be horrified by this. Instead, I feel something that might be hope.
“Now hold still,” Wren continues, returning to my makeup. “We’re going to make you so gorgeous that every person in that room remembers exactly who Saylor Mitchell is. And when word gets back to the Crow that Peter’s daughter is alive and thriving under Blue’s protection, they’re going to shit themselves.”
This time I do smile. “You really think so?”
“I know so.” She adds the final touches to my face. “Your father was proud of you, honey. He talked about you constantly when he’d visit. How smart you are, how talented, how you could make a room full of strangers fall in love with you just by singing.” She meets my eyes in the mirror. “Tonight, you show this town exactly what those bastards took from the world when they killed Peter Mitchell.”
“Tell me about the version of my father you knew,” I say suddenly.
Wren’s hands still. “Peter was genuine. Complicated, but genuine. He’d come here maybe four times a year, always bringing Blue some new problem to solve.”
“Problems I clearly was never made aware of.”
“Good, because they kept Blue awake at night.” Wren sets down her brush. “People in trouble. Women mostly, running from bad situations. Peter would find them, bring them to Blue, and between the two of them they’d figure out how to make the danger disappear.”
I think about Dad’s vague explanations of his work, the way he’d brush off questions about his trips. “He never told me any of this.”
“He was protecting you. The less you knew, the safer you were.” Wren turns to face me fully. “Your father loved you more than his own life. Everything he did was to keep that love pure, untainted by the darkness he dealt with.”
I look at my reflection and barely recognize myself. The woman staring back at me looks fierce, untouchable. Like she could walk into any room and own it completely. Like she’s never been afraid of anything in her life.
I look like someone worth killing for.
The thought should scare me. Instead, it makes me feel powerful.
“Wren,” I say as she helps me into the dress, “do you think Blue will really help me go after them? The Crow?”
“Honey, Blue’s been wanting to destroy them for five years.” She zips up the back of the dress. “Now that he knows what you want, the only question is whether you’ll make it quick or take your time.”
A knock at the door interrupts us, and Wren opens it to reveal Blue. He’s wearing a three-piece suit in onyx black with subtle pinstripes that nearly glow like captured starlight. The vest is cut perfectly to emphasize his lean build, and his pocket watch chain glints silver against the dark fabric. His shirt is crisp white with a high collar and onyx cuff links that match the single black rose pinned to his lapel. But it’s the details that make him look like he stepped out of a Gothic fairy tale. The way his dark hair is slicked back with just enough wave to soften the severity, how his blue-tinted beard is groomed to aristocratic perfection, and the mustache that frames his mouth like calligraphy.