I fix her with a cold gaze. “I am going to enter the Flesh Guild and I am going to kill the Tiger,” I say.

The gravity of my task should frighten her enough to calm down all her talk of adventures.

But to my surprise, she smiles, a glint in her eyes.

“Good,” she says. “It’s about time we did that.”

33

The Ruined Flesh

Outside in the rue Plumet, night has fallen. The oil lamps are feeble halos of light punctuated by long pockets of darkness, giving ample opportunity for any Wretched looking to carry out a quick mugging. Or to steal someone away.

“You know what to do?” I ask Ettie when le Maire has finally gone.

“Yes,” she says grimly.

I give a low whistle, the call of the Ghosts.

Behind me, Gavroche emerges out of the night. He has taken to following me around; I am not sure if it’s on Orso’s orders or because he is so fond of Ettie and thinks that if he follows me he might find her.

This is his lucky day.

Ettie gives a small cry and takes him in her arms. His smile is so wide it threatens to split his face in two.

“Gray Brother, will you bring Ettie to where she needs to go?”

He looks lovingly at Ettie and nods.

“Are you afraid?” I ask Ettie.

“Everyone is afraid,” she says, echoing Azelma’s words to me.

“You know we can’t survive this, Ettie,” I say softly.

“Then we die together,” she replies, shaking her curls defiantly. “I’d rather live one glorious night hunting by your side, Nina Thénardier, than a hundred lifetimes without you.” She raises her palm and I see the scar where we made our oath in the palace all those nights ago. I raise my own hand and we intertwine our fingers.

“Nous sommes d’un sang,” she says. And she and the little Ghost disappear into the night.

My next task awaits me. I slip over an unattended section of the palace walls, which I found years ago on one of my night wanderings, and creep stealthily to an entrance I know to be frequented by servants. In a back closet, I open my satchel and pull out a dress, the first of several items I “acquired” from the Duchesse de Callicèbe one night when she was away. I layer my skin with powder to erase the darkness, pinch my cheeks to add color, and dab scent on my stolen wig. I also helped myself to a weighty pair of diamond drop earrings, which I fasten to my earlobes.

Thus disguised, I slip from the closet and into one of the corridors, where I bump into several large footmen hurrying to and fro with great trays of food. I grab one of the men, seemingly accidentally, and I laugh too loud, pretending to sway.

“Oh my, I don’t have the faintest idea where I am!” I giggle.

The footman looks annoyed at being stopped in his tracks, but he pastes a smile onto his face and with great decorum disentangles himself from me. “Let me lead you back upstairs, madame.”