Chapter 82: Codename: Aconite Chapter Thirty-Two

“UGH!” I groan loudly, flinging the stupid wig across the room.

I can understand the aesthetic appeal of being able to change your hair on a whim, but I had no idea they were so infuriating! Not to mention hot and itchy. No wonder aristocrats were such bitches.

“Is everything alright?” comes Camille’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Everything is fine. Just give me a moment,” I call out.

Leaning my hands against the marble countertop, I stare at my reflection as I attempt to gain some composure. The makeup I have applied has not only covered the remnants of my fight – or fights – with Silas but has allowed me to better step into the disguise of Camille Lefebre. To Silas’ credit, it’s a good idea. Having me take Camille’s place at this meeting gets me face-to-face with this guy without him suspecting anything, and naturally, of the two of us, I am the only one who can pull it off. Though I’m intrigued to know what Silas would look like in drag. I’ve done some subtle contouring to sculpt my face better to appear as hers and done my best to paint on freckles to emulate those that dust across her nose and cheeks. I could have used prosthetics on my nose to make it larger like Camille’s, but I’m no expert and didn’t want to risk it appearing obvious. I also couldn’t obtain coloured contacts, so I’m hoping that by using some dark sunglasses, I can distract from my nose while concealing my eyes.

Disguises work best in one of two ways. The obvious is to become invisible. This means making yourself so plain, so unassuming and average, that you become forgettable. You want to become someone who can walk through a crowded room and have no one even realise you’re there. The second is distraction. It’s not just about looking different, but about adopting a different persona and embodying it from head to toe. When you don’t want people to observe you too closely, the key is to distract them. You can do this in one of two ways. Create a focal point on yourself that draws the eye to it and away from what you wish to conceal, and the second is saying or doing something that gets their attention. Distracting someone through conversation can go a long way. If I were to walk around acting skittish and like I’m trying not to get people’s attention, it would ultimately have the opposite effect.

Think about a magician and their assistant. For the trick to be effective, one must distract the audience, while the second performs the trick. Have the assistant dance around in a pretty outfit, directing your attention to all the places except the one where the trick is happening. Make gestures that appear comical and exaggerated. Will they seem ridiculous? Perhaps, but you’ll be so busy watching them, you’ll miss the trick. Disguise is an art form, and I can admit, it’s not my strong suit. But I don’t need to go deep undercover. I just need to get through the front door long enough to capture Haruspex. The only thing left to add is this god’s forsaken wig.

Sucking in a deep breath, I remind myself of what’s at stake and retrieve the wig from the cold tiled floor. I smooth it out and make another attempt to secure it onto my head, and this time I’m successful. Taking a comb, I neaten it and ensure its secure before opening the bathroom door to find Camille standing there with a change of clothes in her arms.

Her eyes open wide as she looks at me with overwhelming discomfort. “How utterly disturbing,” she murmurs.

“Like looking in a mirror?”

“The mirror doesn’t speak back,” she points out, handing me the clothes. “Here, I grabbed you some of my things. If you’re going to look like me you should at least dress the part.”

“Merci,” I say, closing the door and changing into the attire she has provided for me.

While I don’t particularly love what she’s wearing right now, I do love the suit she’s selected for me. It’s all grey with high-waisted loose-fitting pants and a low-cut three-button blazer with ample shoulder pads that perfectly fit my curves. She’s given me a white turtleneck and black leather gloves along with a pair of black open-toe hush puppies. Once dressed, I assess myself in the mirror, quite impressed by the transformation.

With all the pieces together I steel my shoulders and exit the bathroom just as Silas enters the adjoining bedroom. He freezes like a Greek statue, looking from me to Camille and back. He shakes himself back to his senses and walks over handing me a pair of sunglasses.

“Hopefully this works,” he says with uncertainty.

“Lacking confidence in your plan are we?” I say, placing the sunglasses on my face. “So, you don’t mind me risking my life just as long as it’s your idea.”

He narrows his eyes at me, and I can see him fighting back a retort. Meanwhile, Camille looks between us with growing curiosity.

“Are you two married?” she asks.

Our heads whip to look at her in perfect synchronization.

“What gave you that impression?” I ask.

“You act like a married couple,” she says nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders for emphasis.

“We are most certainly not married. Now what can you tell me about the meeting?”

“The client gave me the name of Laurant Delisle,” she says while handing me a piece of paper. I take it to see a written address which I slip into my pocket. “He claimed that in the early hours, someone broke into his home and absconded with a highly rare piece of antiquity. When I questioned why he had not sought out the police, he explained that the nature of the artefact prevented him from seeking law enforcement and needed this handled discretely. This would suggest the item was acquired through illegal means.”

“Assuming there even is an artefact,” muses Silas, as I nod in agreement.

“Prior to your arrival, I had no reason to think otherwise. But if what you say is true, and this man is merely luring me to my death, then you might have a point,” she says with an unsettled tone to her voice.

“Should be easy enough to handle,” I say confidently.

“But how do you explain your voice? You very clearly have a Greek accent, and mine is very obviously French,” she points out.

I clear my throat and attempt the most authentic emulation of Camille’s voice. You can’t just simply put on an accent when imitating someone, as their voice is so much more than the country they’re from. It’s the region they grew up in, which can determine differences in pronunciation and even words themselves. There are also psychological and environmental factors. All these things come together to create a person’s specific sound. Unfortunately, I don’t have weeks to master it and must go with the bare amount of effort and some street smarts.

“What about this? How do I sound?” I say lowering my voice and adding some gravel to it.

“Why are you sounding hoarse? Camille doesn’t sound like that,” Silas says sceptically.

“No, but I’m hoping if I can make it sound like I have a sore throat, that would be enough to explain why I don’t perfectly sound like Camille.”

“Smart thinking. You would have made quite the agent,” she praises me.

I smirk. “Thank you, but like you, I prefer to work freelance.”

I glance at my watch and see that it is now an hour before Camille is to arrive for her meeting, so I decide now is the best time to leave. I grab my purse and double-check that I have all my emergency supplies. Just because we want Haruspex alive, doesn’t mean I’m prepared to go empty-handed. As I sling the bag over my shoulder, I feel a strong hand grasp my upper arm. I look back to find Silas looking down at me with concern.

“I’ll be following in the car behind you. If I can get a visual I can use my scope to keep an eye on you and make sure you’re okay.”

“One week you’re shooting me, the next you’re prepared to shoot for me. You’re just a man of contradictions aren’t you?” I tease.

“I mean it,” he says grievously, squeezing my shoulder as he looks at me intensely. “Please be careful.”

I drop the playful attitude and pay attention to the genuine care for my safety written all over his face. Even my parents don’t sound this concerned. They worry, of course, but they trust me and my abilities. It’s different with Silas though. He knows what I can do – that part is obvious – and yet it only seems to make him worry more. Maybe it’s because there’s something brewing between us and the thought of me dying before it can reach its potential is what has him so on edge. Either way, taking pity on the man, I lift my leather-clad hand to his cheek and smile as his eyes close and his head lulls comfortably against my palm like it belongs there.

“Worrying is bad for your health.”

“You’re bad for my health,” he corrects, his eyes opening and staring me down; that silent plea in them only growing stronger.

I smirk. “You love it.”

I give Camille a nod, who gives me a respectful nod in return, and then make my way downstairs and into her car. I adjust the seat and the rearview mirror just in time to observe Silas getting into our rental car. Once he’s inside, I start the car, pull out into the street, and make my way to the address Haruspex gave to Camille. No killer – let alone an assassin – worth a damn would invite a victim to their home, so it’s likely this is a location he has set up just for this meeting. It’s certainly what I would do.