Page 173 of The Next Lie

“Apparently it’s not optional.”

He looks at Nash. “Make it optional.”

Nash does not answer.

Cal’s jaw works. “She is not walking into that woman’s house.”

“The woman invited me,” I say.

Cal turns on me. “That is exactly the problem.”

His fear is too naked. It does something to me.

A few days ago, it would have made me soften. Now it makes my chest tight and my temper rise because fear has become another room men keep trying to put me in.

I look back at the invitation.

La Nuit des Masques.

Cream of society event. Old money. Masks. Champagne. Pretty dresses. Weapons hidden beneath polite smiles. Hosted by the head of the De La Rosa Syndicate herself.

I came to New Orleans looking for a man with a rosary tattoo. Now the woman behind the order has sent me stationery.

My revenge has adjusted its target.

My fear can catch up later.

I lower the invitation.

“There’s no problem here,” I say. “The Syndicate wants to see me, and so I shall be seen.”

Deedy—

We’ve slipped into a routine. And sometimes, for five whole minutes, I forget.

I forget I came here for revenge.

I forget you looked at me like a threat.

I forget the dead.

Then I remember, and it feels like betrayal. Were you ever happy there? Even once?

I need the answer to be yes.

I’m scared it isn’t.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

EVER

I don’t like this.

I don’t like that fancy invitation.

I don’t like the paper. I don’t like the wax seal. Don’t like the way Nash’s name sits beside Reva’s in black raised ink, as if Mother Superior has any right to put them together on anything she controls.

I especially don’t like that line at the bottom.