Tella still wanted to ignore the appointment and throw the dress aside along with the gloves; she didn’t like the idea of Jacks dressing her up like his doll. But her trunks still hadn’t arrived. And Jacks had made it clear that to save her mother and her life Tella not only needed to win the game, she needed to be a convincing fiancée.
Beat … beat … beat.
Nothing.
Beat … beat … beat.
Nothing.
Beat … beat … beat.
Nothing.
Her heart wasn’t slower than when she’d woken up, but it wasn’t faster, either. She tried to eat a rushed breakfast and then hurry to the carriage house, but her everything was slightly sluggish.
It took more effort than it should have to keep alert as her coach landed. Perhaps that’s why Tella found herself standing on a street teeming with bloated shadows, searching for Minerva’s ModernWear.
Though Tella had yet to explore the city, she knew all about the different regions of Valenda, the illicit Spice Quarter, the brazen Temple District, the imperious University Circle, and the elegant Satine District. The last was where Tella was supposed to have been. One of the more glamorous parts of the city, the Satine District was said to be a labyrinth of glistening dress shops, hat shops, and sweet shops, all soaked in petal-fresh colors.
But, either Tella had her facts wrong or she was in the incorrect place. The shops around her were as dark as an unkindness of ravens, packed between alleys that smelled of unmentionable things, and full of patrons who were far from the genteel sort she’d expected. Clad in her delicate gown of sapphire-blue lace, Tella looked like a character who had wandered into the wrong story.
As she searched for Minerva’s ModernWear, Tella observed lots of fantastically gaudy jackets, overly amorous couples leaning against lampposts, women smoking pungent cigars, and lots of exposed corsets in harsh hues—burnt oranges, overripe yellows, bruised blues, and ruddy reds.
Every other post had painted signs tacked to it. Some had the word Wanted printed above a picture. Others said Missing Person. A few surprisingly decorative ones announced the advent of Elantine’s Day, though they appeared as out of place as she must have.
Tella resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest and reveal her discomfort as she passed a series of poisonous shops.
Mandrake’s Medicines—To Kill Nasty Colds, Maladies & More
Fausto’s: For all your Fennel, Feverfew, and Foxglove Needs!
Hemlock & Hawthorn’s Herbery
She was certainly not in the right district. This looked—and smelled—more liked Valenda’s infamous Spice Quarter, where people traveled when they wished to purchase contacts for assassins, untraceable poisons, people—or just certain body parts. It was also a home for gambling pits, drug dens, and brothels. None of which were legal in Valenda, so they all existed belowground in primeval passages, accessible only through passwords and hidden doors from the exotic spice shops above.
“Not sure a pretty thing like you should be on these streets alone, even in daylight.”
Tella took a nervous step back, though the woman who addressed her looked too old to cause any harm.
The crone had to be at least five times Tella’s age, with wrinkled hands stained with ink, and gleaming white hair that nearly reached the ground she swept. Back and forth, the old woman wiped all the dirt and grime away from the front steps of Elantine’s Most Wanted.
Tella loosed an uneven breath. The Spice Quarter might have been a stranger to her, but this ramshackle store called to her like an old friend. It was the same place where she’d sent all her letters to Jacks.
Tella had never actually been certain if it was a genuine business or merely an address people used to ferry illicit requests and letters. But clearly it was very real. She’d seen Wanted posters for criminals tacked throughout the quarter, and apparently they’d all come from here.
Tella drew nearer, to better look inside. Parchment posters flapped, flickering black-and-white images, with some of the most interesting criminals she had ever seen. Alluring and disturbing, she wondered if the portraits were bewitched, for they tempted her to climb the steps and come all the way inside, to take a closer peek, the same way her mother’s Deck of Destiny had tempted her to play with it all those years ago.
Of course that had led her nowhere good.
“Are you lost?” asked the old woman. “This isn’t a district where you want that to happen.”
In the distance, bells began to chime. If Tella counted she imagined there’d be ten in total. She was definitely late for her appointment now. Maybe she could come back to explore the shop later.
“I’m searching for Minerva’s ModernWear,” she said.
The woman’s gaze turned shrewd. “Not sure what you need in that place, but I think it’s just down that road.” She lifted her chin toward a sign down the block labeled Wrong Way.
“Watch yourself,” the woman called. “Minerva’s isn’t—”