Chapter 10

Chapter 10

DENISE

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The restroom on the second floor was the one I’d always used when I visited the Blackwood estate, back in the early days when Dante would bring me here quietly, through the side entrance, in the hours when the house was mostly empty. It was a guest bathroom, small and well-appointed, with black marble countertops and a mirror framed in brushed gold. Someone had placed a small vase of white freesias on the shelf above the towel rack. They smelled expensive.

I ran cold water over my wrists the way I always did when I’d been performing for too long—it grounded me, brought my temperature down, reminded me that I had a body that existed separately from whatever face I was wearing at any given moment. The morning had taken more out of me than I’d let show. Not because it was hard, exactly, but because sustained pleasantness in a room full of people who had collectively made portions of my life very difficult required a specific kind of energy, the kind that burned clean and left nothing behind.

I dried my hands on the guest towel, checked my reflection once, and reached for my bag.