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The door opens behind me.
Adeline steps in, her professional smile firmly in place. “Baroness? The stylist is ready for you whenever you are.”
I glance back at Wicker. He gives me a small nod–acknowledgment, maybe, or something closer to solidarity. Then I follow Adeline out of the waiting room, the soft weight of the past settling a little more gently on my shoulders than it did before.
The chair is turned away from the mirror, so I can’t see what Michelle is doing, but I can definitely smell it.
It’s true that the appointment was made by Madame Duval, but during my consultation I had other ideas. One that involves the bleach currently being applied in careful sections, cool and sharp against my scalp. The smell of lightener fills the salon almost immediately, chemical and strong, settling into the air around me. This is just the first step in becoming something else for the stage.
“I think we’re good,” Michelle says, checking a strand.
Adeline appears like she’s been waiting this whole time. “You’ll have to sit in that for a while, so I have something set up while you wait.” I almost sob when I see the foot bath and massage chair and the woman sitting on a stool in front of it. “I figured a foot massage would get you good and loosened up before the performance.”
The side room is quieter, with softer lighting, the air warmer and scented with oils, but after seeing Whitaker in the waiting room, it’s not a total surprise to see Verity already seated with her feet in a basin. Her shiny red hair is pulled back, and she glances up when I enter.
We aren’t overly friendly, but the tension between us eases a little in the quiet space.
I sit in the chair beside her and slip my feet into the warm water. I exhale. “Oh gosh, that feels so good.”
Verity flexes her toes in the water and winces. “My feet are killing me. JJ loves to be held and walked. Constantly.”
“I saw Whitaker with him in the other room,” I say. “He seems really into being a dad.”
“God, he’s ridiculous.” A small smile tugs at her mouth. “Like, he was really afraid of being a father at first, like a full-on meltdown, which is no surprise considering how he was raised, but he’s taken to it.”
I think of what he said about having tantrums. How they always made things worse.
We trade a few more quiet comments about the baby—it’s easier than anything else–how much he’s grown, how he already has strong opinions about being put down. The conversation feels almost normal for a moment, but then the weight of everything else presses back in.
“Your performance is tonight, right?” she asks.
“You know about it?”
She shifts a little to face me. “Pace has been keeping me updated about the plans for tonight.”
She’s Queen of East End, and ultimately she has the final say in her house. It makes sense she’s in the loop. “It would be nice if everything ended tonight, you know?”
She nods, but the line between her eyes tells me she’s not convinced. Me either. Amber has been pulling the strings for so long, I have a hard time believing she’ll get tripped up by this one.
“It’s a good plan,” she notes. “Sofia is a good choice, and it’s understandable that she may be someone the Guardian would target next.”
The list of targets is short: Sofia, me, Whitaker, JJ… each one of us will be watched carefully until the Equinox is over or until Amber has been caught.
“I should apologize,” I say after a pause. “For everything going on with Amber and your family being pulled into this nightmare. It’s not fair to any of you.”
Verity looks at me steadily. “Trust me, as someone who had a sociopathic father, blaming us for our parents’ crimes is a waste of time. Amber was causing havoc long before you stepped into the House of Night.”
True, but… “Are you sure? Because it all feels like my fault. If I could just remember more details about my kidnapping, maybe we would have found Stella by now.”
“Forsyth isn’t kind to its women, Arianette,” she says, voice quieter now. “Especially those connected to the Royal houses. We’re tested and tormented. You’re a survivor, just like the rest of us.” She swallows and blinks rapidly. “Just like Stella.”
There’s hope there, and I guess she should have it. Stella’s body hasn’t been found, which means she’s likely still alive.
“Most days I don’t feel like a survivor, but like I’m just collateral damage in a fight I don’t understand.”
“I get that. More than you realize.” Her hand rests on her stomach, fingers spreading wide. At first I thought nothing of it. Then I notice the slight swell under her dress.
“Are you pregnant again?” I blurt.
