The Consequences of Champagne and Murder

Chapter Nineteen - There is Nothing Quite as Dangerous as Feelings

Jacqueline’s apartment was on the top floor of the building. Because of course it was. 

Even though I was exhausted, my options were to follow her or stay behind with a man I’d yelled at for having one eyebrow. Both choices were unfavorable, but at least Jacqueline wouldn’t strangle me within an inch of my life. I hoped not, at least.

So, with a deep intake of breath that caught like fractured ice in my lungs, I started up the stairs, cursing Étienne’s sister under my breath with each step I took. 

Jacqueline. Has. Ruined. My. Entire. Life. And. Has. Absolutely. No. Business. Having. Eyes. That. Large. And. Alluring.

I paused, frowning down at my feet before I resumed my climb. 

I. Did. Not. Mean. That. Last. Part. About. Her. Eyes. They. Are. Only. All. Right. I. Suppose. 

My progress was slow, made slower by me having to stop every few steps to catch my breath. Even so, I expected to at least reach Jacqueline and speak to her about what was to be done next. But halfway to the third floor, Jacqueline rushed past me, flying down the stairs with as much determination as she’d flown up them mere minutes ago. 

“Wait, murderer!” I called after her. “What are you doing?” 

“The journals are gone,” she responded. Her voice sounded wet and thick. 

She continued down the stairs. Though she wasn’t quite fast enough for me to miss the bit of sunlight that flashed over the metal clutched in her fist. 

A knife. 

I flicked my eyes to the ceiling, running my gaze across the cracked white plaster, dark spots of dampness and decay seeping out between the cracks like clusters of tangled spider webs. Surely, if I slid down to the floor and allowed my winded heart to stop for good, it would fix more problems than it would cause? Surely, no one would miss me? But then I heard Jacqueline cry out from the clock shop, and I ripped my eyes from the ceiling, starting for the first floor. 

I found her in the corner of the shop next to Duvaux, one hand on his shoulder and the other holding the knife against his throat. “Who came looking for the journals?” she asked. 

A sharp fear swam in Duvaux’s green eyes. He was almost twice Jacqueline’s size, and thus could have overpowered her and snapped her wrist in seconds if he wished. But he remained frozen on the chair, fingers curled in at his sides. “If they find out I told anyone, they’ll come back and kill me.” 

“If you don’t tell me—” Jacqueline pushed the knife deeper into Duvaux’s neck “—I’ll kill you now.” 

I stepped forward. “Erm, perhaps that isn’t the best idea.” 

She whipped her head around. “And if you don’t quit talking, Olivier, I’ll kill you next.” 

I snapped my mouth shut.

“No. No, I can’t!” Duvaux shifted in his chair, inching his hand toward Jacqueline. In it, was a shining clock screw, its tip sharp and silver and sure to cause substantial damage if shoved into someone’s throat. Which, I supposed, was exactly what he was planning to do.

I stared at the screw, eyes wide. Jacqueline’s focus was entirely on Duvaux’s neck, and I couldn’t warn her about the danger without startling her and potentially making things worse. But Étienne would hate me if I let anything happen to her, and she and Renée were growing close, and she might understand what it was like to feel uncontrollable panic, and. . . and— 

"DID YOU KNOW THE HOODED GREBE IS A MONOGAMOUS BIRD WITH A DANCE-LIKE MATING RITUAL?" 

Both Jacqueline and Duvaux turned to me in confusion. I leapt forward, yanked the screw out of Duvaux’s hand, and hurled it across the clock shop. It hit the window with a tiny ping. Jacqueline retaliated before the surprise melted off Duvaux’s face, shoving her knee into his crotch—I flinched a little at that—and angling her dagger closer to his neck.