Lucien took Élise to a narrow house by the Seine. His safehouse. Books on anatomy lined the walls. Surgical tools gleamed under oil lamps. He pointed to a cot in the corner. "You sleep there."
"Why help me?" Élise demanded rubbing her sore wrist.
"The Vampire Court uses your perfumes," Lucien said. "Your stolen memories make them stronger. Feed their power. They took my sister too. Long ago." Pain flickered in his eyes. "I killed her when she became one of them."
Élise froze. "You murdered your own sister?"
"Mercy," he corrected. "Before she feasted on children." He tossed her a bandage. "Your wrist bleeds."
Élise saw scars on his knuckles. Old. Deep. "How do I find the Queen's tears?"
"Notre Dame crypt is guarded," Lucien said. "We attend the Vicomte's blood ball tomorrow. You play my wife. Find where he keeps the crypt key."
Élise laughed bitterly. "Wife. A surgeon married to a criminal."
"A necessary lie," Lucien said. He unrolled a dress. Black velvet. "Wear this. Smile at the Vicomte. Flatter him. Steal his key."
"And if he recognizes me?"
"He won't," Lucien said. "The Court sees humans as furniture. Or food."
The iron cuff pinched Élise's skin. Clémence's frightened face filled her mind. "I will do it."