Nox pressed her back against the wall and took another small sip of water. She used the damp towel to wipe her mouth and clean her hands before returning the soiled rag to Emily.

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

Nox eyed her freckled colleague. She shook her head.

“No,” she said, her voice flat. “I’m sure the Madame will want to speak with me.”

“Okay,” Emily agreed quietly. She left her hand on Nox’s back for a minute longer. “Please call on me, though. If you want to talk, or want company, or…” She didn’t finish her thought. Slowly, she rose to her feet and left Nox where she remained near the pot. “I’ll be right back,” she promised.

Emily left the cup of water beside her reluctantly deflowered friend and disappeared for a few moments. She reappeared with Nox’s nightgown, a pair of socks, and a robe made for warmth rather than the gauzy scrap of fabric intended for seduction. Emily cracked a window to allow fresh air to move into the space. The night was cool and damp, and always tinged with the coastal presence of salt. It was a welcome distraction.

Nox offered the ghost of a smile, and Emily departed, leaving her alone in the room with the memory of a dead man.

If Nox were honest, it was her heart, not her stomach, that recoiled at the night’s events. As she checked in with her body, she felt a levity akin to the times she’d shot whiskey with patrons, enjoying the buzz beneath her skin. The sensation wasn’t in her head the way alcohol blurred one’s thoughts but, rather, in her tendons and her muscles, humming slightly in her limbs. She stretched her fingers and looked at them, almost expecting to see a change of some peculiar nature. She had nearly finished her glass of water and was feeling far better than she had any right to feel when Millicent entered the room.

“Well, you certainly managed to make your first night eventful.”

Nox shook her head, dread and regret bubbling from her stomach into her words. She started, “I’m sorry, Madame. I have no idea—”

“How were you feeding before?”

“What?”