King of Stars (The Next Generation #2)

8. Stella

Chapter 8

Stella

B eing so used to the vibe of the chateau gave me an advantage. Being so secluded only heightened that advantage. I could feel a change in the “pressure” of the chateau when something out of the ordinary happened. Because I’d lived in the dungeon part of this rich estate since I’d arrived here, and being so alone made me more aware of what was going on around me. I was like a woman who had been shipwrecked and lost on an island by herself. So much time alone made me feel the changes in pressure before an oncoming storm.

And the “pressure” in the chateau had changed. Each minute felt more imminent than the last. Like, at any second, that storm this place was preparing for was going to take us all under.

It had only been a day or two since Régine the wicked witch and her equally as evil daughter had stolen my hair and my coat, but it felt like the mood from that time was miles away from the mood of this one.

I set my eyeshadow down and toyed with the idea of a storm tearing this place apart, level by level, room by room, the people still in it, including me. I relished that idea, even if I was one of the casualties, if I got to watch each life drain before mine. I knew it wasn’t a very nice thought to have, but I’d built up a lot of pent-up anger and resentment over the years, even if I had mastered keeping it locked up.

Then I sighed, thinking about Matteo.

Matteo on a horse, riding in through the storm to swoop me up before the water drowned me like one of Régine’s pet rats.

The look on her face would be priceless. While her rats were clawing at her hair, he’d grab me by the hand and lift me up, charging me out of this place. The last image of her I would have would be her head going under, her rats trying to swim away.

Okay, maybe it didn’t make sense. Because how could the horse swim through all that water to save me? If we were all going under… I was sure I’d think of another scenario soon, one that made more sense. But did it really matter if it didn’t? It made me happy to think about. Giddy, in fact, and I refused to deny myself that. A few moments of happiness, even if the story made no sense and was so farfetched, not even paranormal novels would touch it.

I knew a thing or two about novels. Henri had given me a few to hide in the vanity.

“To keep your mind active,” he’d said.

Henri.

Asshole.

What made it worse was that he was probably my dad, and he didn’t have the balls to get me out of this haunted mansion, with characters who were worse than violent ghosts. They were monsters, and he was probably one of them, before Régine had killed him.

And if he was a monster, and Régine had taken care of him, what did that make her?

Shuddering, I set down a tube of concealer to fix my face. I stared into my eyes for a second, the true gray of them, such a pretty thing Henri had given to me, and then hid them behind true silver contacts.

What had Matteo thought of me on that stage, shimmering like a star in the darkened sky? Did he notice my silver eyes? The darkness of my hair? What looked like a diamond encrusted costume on my body, but what was supposed to be, collectively, a star—did he notice that too?

The reflection in the mirror stopped me cold for a second. A grin was on my face, something I hadn’t done in what felt like forever. All because I kept thinking about him and fantasizing that he was some kind of knight in shining armor, the kind my mom told me stories of for fun.

It was okay to keep that, right? A good dream for the desperate times. The times I prayed not to wake up. The times I pressed the button on the watch like it might save my life—if only my mom could feel it and come back for me. When she’d left me, she’d left with no promises, but said she’d burn the world down to come back for me when the time was right. Even though Henri was a coward, at least he gave me things to hide. Things to keep my mind busy. Like a fat dictionary with a thesaurus—he must have gotten a two for one deal. He also was nice to me when we were alone. In front of everyone else, he was indifferent to me. Cold.

That was the name of the song playing on the record player. The song I’d be dancing to later. “Cold.”

Régine thought playing the music of the night before my dances would get me in the “right state of mind.” She wanted the music to consume me, so that the girl on that stage would become a moving lyric. That part was always easy for me—losing myself to something that felt bigger than me. For a short time, it brought me peace, because I was something else entirely, and that girl and I shared this prison. If étoile had been trapped in a bottle by the Nemours, so had I, and as weird as it sounded, we were locked up together. It was bittersweet, because when the music stopped playing, étoile stopped moving, and again, it was just Stella against the world.

Closing my eyes to my reflection for a second, I toyed with the idea of opening the vanity and running my hands over my things, but something stopped me. Probably my awareness of the time, and that one of Régine’s henchmen would be coming to collect me shortly to escort me to the underground club.

My body started to sway with sleep. I always slept better sitting up. Anywhere but that bed. But even sitting up, it was never good sleep. I hadn’t had good sleep since my mom dropped me off. Like my mom, I had insomnia, which was why I knew what it was. She’d once told me hers had been brought on by fear, but she never told me why she was scared.

I knew why I was scared. Because I’d been living in a nightmare since the day I arrived here. At first, after my mom left, I think I was in shock. Especially after Régine took me by the arm and hauled me down the steps, locking me in. The dungeon had been dusty back then, and I was terrified a spider would come and get me. The fireplace too. It was in the shape of a bronzed frozen scream full of fire. And the dungeon never was comfortable. Too close to the fire and it would be too hot; too far from it, I would freeze.

After time, though, I was made to clean, before Régine found out I could dance, and that became my routine. My place in the house. Be seen and not heard while I scrubbed their toilets, mopped their floors, and dusted every inch until I couldn’t get the smell of cleaner off my hands.

After that time, and they found out I could move like the women who worked with my mom, but even better, Régine stuck me in the underground club to see how well I could do. I became étoile, with a sad story to go with the falling star from the sky. I was parentless, without any family, and poor in spirit and in things worth money. The only thing I had going for me was my ability to shine, dazzle , while I moved.

Out of character? Yeah. No. Régine knew exactly who I was the moment she looked at me. étoile wasn’t a product of her imagination. étoile was me with a different look.

Spiders became the least of my worries. And at one time, I remembered mom reading Charlotte’s Web to me and I hoped for a spider friend. The dungeon was the loneliest place when I was down here all alone. Other times, when I wanted to think of my mom and touch my things, it was a hiding place, even though I was always vulnerable.

But sleeping? Sleeping, even when my body ached from cleaning during the day and dancing four shows a night, never came. Except for those times when my mind and body couldn’t deal with the exhaustion. At some point, instinct took over and I’d just pass out. A few times, it was like my mind turned on, but my body wouldn’t move. I was aware of what was going on around me, but I was almost paralyzed. It scared me so much, all I could think about was it happening again, and it only made it harder to sleep.

My mom never came to me in dreams. I was thankful of that. I’d always assumed it was dead people who came in dreams. Traveled those celestial skies to find the ones they love from someplace far removed from here. It made me believe that she was coming back. Still.

God, how awful I’d been to my mom when she told me she was leaving me with Henri. She said he could take care of me for a while. It would be like a vacation in Paris while we got to know each other. She hadn’t mentioned the word “father,” and I still wondered why. Maybe she thought he was going to pass me off as a long-lost niece or something? I had no clue then. I still had no clue. But I put up a fight. A fight like I’d never had reason to before.

Up until that point, my life was amazing. I had a mom who loved me, I could feel it, and she was like the sunshine in my days. We didn’t have a lot of money, but I barely noticed. The women at my mom’s work were so nice. And it was like we had a big family. We’d barbecue, and sometimes when one of them would need a place to stay, we’d have sleepovers and bake brownies from a box and stay up all night eating them while watching movies. My childhood was shaping up to be so good, then something happened and the next thing I knew I was on a plane to Paris. Mom told me we were going to spend a week together and then she had to go.

At that age, I hadn’t even noticed that she said that. She had to go. Not us . She. I was just so excited to be out of Louisiana and doing something my mom’s friends would think was so cool. A few of them had told me that before we left.

“Stella! I always wanted to leave Louisiana, but the furthest I’ve ever gotten was New Orleans. But I guess it’s something. You need a passport to visit!” That was Pearl. Who had hair the same color as one, and shimmering skin when the lights would hit her on the stage.

It hit me after mom left me that she’d said that to me. That she would be going and not us . I’d gone over our last conversation with a fine-tooth comb so many times, I questioned whether what I remembered happening really happened. Except for that part. It stuck in my heart like a thorn.

Why had my mom loved me so hard all those years just to leave me?

Why hadn’t she come back for me?

I was still swaying, and what snapped me out of the nap was the distressed noise from my mouth. I felt groggy and weak, like all the blood was draining from my body. Maybe because of that thorn that was still stuck in my heart.

My eyes slowly opened, and it was darker in the dungeon. Régine stood behind me, blocking any light from the fireplace. She’d been watching me sleep.

Creeper.

I toyed with the makeup on the vanity. “Am I late?”

“No,” she said, reaching for the hairbrush besides me. “We need to talk.”

Okay, those were four words I’d never heard come out of her mouth.

I nodded, not sure what else to say. Not that she needed permission. She didn’t even ask before she poked and prodded my naked body while it was on a scale.

“I did not want to have this talk with you, but I think it is time.” She reached over and reverently lifted the black wig from its holder.

She touched a wig with more compassion than she’d ever touched me. I hadn’t been hugged since my mom left me. I was, what…eleven or twelve? From my guess, I’d been here over ten years. Not even a happy birthday. And it was hard to forget. I’d been born on Valentine’s Day, which was why mom had given me the middle name Valentina.

Don’t keep thinking about mom. Don’t keep thinking about mom.

Régine was getting that look in her eyes. Like she could turn into a rat and sneak inside of my head to shred my memories. I looked away from her to the side. I could still see her, though, caressing the hair of the wig.

“Henri was your father, you knew that?”

My eyes crashed with hers through the mirror.

“No,” I breathed.

She made a disbelieving sound. It sounded like a rat “clicking” its teeth. “You had to know. You have his eyes.”

I looked at myself in the mirror, expecting to see them. All I got was silver orbs. I knew what she was talking about, though. His eyes were mine. At least, the color of them was. “I mean.” I fumbled with words, my hands picking up and setting down the makeup anxiously. “I thought, maybe…”

She waved a hand. “He was your father, and he had an affair with your mother.”

Duh, I wanted to say, but kept it in. As far as I knew, all her husbands had affairs on her. But she’d never shared with me like this before, and I was curious. Feeling a little breathless too. What if my mom had come back for me, and she was about to tell me that?

“Do you know of the name Olivier Nemours?”

I did. Ivan the Stupid used to call Olivier “Olivier the Stupid” for leading the family to ruin, even though Ivan reaped the benefits of it. The Nemours and the Russians had been brought together by whatever had happened with Olivier over that dancer. Before Olivier started a war, the Nemours did things their way. But after, it seemed like the family decided to partner up with the Russians. Sometimes Ivan would lapse into English. He’d gotten comfortable with me. Though he spoke his native tongue plenty enough. Maybe he only let me know what he didn’t care that I knew. I had to consider that too. I couldn’t put anything past the men around me. And Régine outpowered them all.

“He was a family member of yours?” I asked.

She set the wig on her hand, moving it this way and that. The dungeon had no windows, so the reddish hue of the fire sparkled like rubies against the silky black hair piece. “Cousin,” she said almost absentmindedly. “Have I ever told you my mom wanted me to dance?” Her voice sounded funny, like she’d taken a trip down memory lane and was far away from me.

“No,” I whispered.

“It wasn’t in the cards, but I loved it.” Her eyes met mine and I realized then how the cut and color of the wig was like the cut and color of her hair.

She set the wig on my head and started to brush it. The strokes were gentle, and I almost sighed in bliss at the imagined feel of it. But I didn’t. My mom used to brush my hair that way, and it made me feel like a traitor to enjoy it.

“It is such a pleasure to get your hair brushed, isn’t it? My maman never did this for me.”

I said nothing, because she was brushing the wig, not my hair. And I was thankful that she wasn’t. It wouldn’t be a pleasure for me. It would be hell. To have her do something that was a cherished memory for me, but it would be so insincere.

She said something in French and then set the brush down. She looked me in the eye. “My cousin was obsessed with a dancer years ago. In a way, I cannot blame him. She’s one of the best. And he had a contract with her. She broke it. Which means, she owes. She married into the Fausti family, and that is the only reason she is standing today. The Fausti family killed Henri. They also killed your mother.”

It took me a second to comprehend what she’d said.

“Killed?” I barely got out. My entire body started to tremble, and the urge to reach for my things was so strong, I had to ball my fingers into fists and pierce the skin of my palms with my nails to keep from reaching for the handle of the drawer.

She nodded, a solemn look on her face. “I am afraid so. This man, Matteo, is the dancer’s son. Scarlett is her name. That night he ran after you, he was out to kill you too. It is what they do. It does not matter if you are innocent or not. Our family struck theirs, and they are out for revenge.”

The words poured from her mouth, but…I was having a hard time concentrating. My vision was going in and out. My palms felt sweaty.

“My mom is…gone,” I barely got out. I couldn’t stand to say the word dead. If I said it aloud, it would be true, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t continue to go on.

No.

I refused to.

“It was during the middle of the war. Henri would go to Louisiana to help us find them, and your mother somehow got put in the middle of it.” She grabbed me by the shoulders, turning me around. “When that ratchet Fausti, Matteo, chased after you in Sub Rosa, he was out to kill you too. You were lucky to get out alive! He wants what is mine! Do you hear me, étoile?” She shook me like a rag doll. “He wants what is mine, and he will not have it! He will try to take you from me— kill you! You must do what I say at all times, understand?!”

It felt like the last droplet of blood was leaving my body, and I was about to be a puddle on the floor with it. I couldn’t keep myself upright. I couldn’t breathe.

Somewhere in the distance, someone screamed, and then I was being lifted, my body weightless, except for my heart. It felt like a weight full of pain I couldn’t bear to hold. It rooted me to this world when all I wanted— needed —to do was let go and be free.