All of the art was housed on the first, main floor of the museum, and I roamed from one wing to the next and back again. The upper levels had all been closed off for the gala, but there wasn't much to see in them, anyway, just staff offices, spaces for artists to work, and rooms where paintings and more were being slowly, lovingly restored and authenticated.
The rotunda was in the front of the main wing of the museum, and it took me a while to make a full circuit through all of the hallways that curved around it. I passed a few more giants in my wanderings, but there weren't nearly as many guards out here as there had been in the rotunda. Eventually, I wound up back where I started, standing in the entrance that led to the exhibit of Mab's things. Since I wasn't ready to go in and look for Finn just yet, I headed for the bathroom.
Like everything else at Briartop, the bathroom was done on a grand, impressive scale. Several white crushed-velvet settees and matching overstuffed chairs had been arranged in the outer powder room, while the bathroom itself featured more gray marble, along with silver faucets and oval-shaped, silver gilded mirrors. A tangle of briars and brambles curving around a fancy letter B - the museum's rune - had been etched into the edges of the glass, adding to the mirrors' slick, glossy elegance.
I went into a stall, did my lady business, and came back out. A couple of women finished washing their hands and left, leaving me alone. I washed my hands, then leaned forward and peered at my reflection.
On the outside, I looked as calm as ever - distant, remote, cold even. I wondered if I was the only one who could see the purple smudges under my eyes, the ones the makeup couldn't quite hide. I wondered if I was the only one who noticed the faint slump in my shoulders or the way my mouth always seemed to turn down with a hint of sadness these days.
Because the truth was that Owen wasn't the only one haunted by Salina's death - I was too.
More than once, I'd dreamed of the night I'd killed her. The sharp, curved thorns of her water magic ripping into my skin, trying to tear me apart. My desperate struggle to release enough magic to overcome hers. My elemental Ice glittering all around us like a field of cold crystal. The way Salina's blood had spilled down her neck in a cascade of crimson teardrops.
Killing Salina had been a necessity. She'd told me herself that she'd never quit, not until she'd taken her revenge on everyone she thought had wronged her. And that she'd never stop loving Owen or trying to win him back by any means necessary - including murdering me.
Yes, killing her was something that just had to be done, but it didn't make the memories any easier to bear.
Because there was a second twisted truth to this situation, one that kept me up late brooding into the dark of the night: the fact that I was more like Salina than I cared to admit. Cold, brutal, ruthless. And I'd done some of the same things she had over the years, like killing people for revenge, or money, or because letting them live just didn't fit into my plans.
Maybe Owen was right to keep his distance from me. Maybe it would be better for both of us if I went ahead and ended our relationship for good. That way, at least maybe he could move on, even if I couldn't -
The door erupted open with such force that it almost banged against the marble wall before a hand reached out and stopped it at the last second. My head snapped to the right. Thoughts of Salina still filled my mind, and for a crazy moment, I thought the water elemental was coming after me again, or at least her ghost was.
But it wasn't Salina who stepped into the bathroom - it was the giant waiter who'd spoken to me earlier. Curly auburn hair, hazel eyes, nice features. The same waiter who'd been hovering nearby while McAllister and I had been insulting each other.
The giant realized that I was watching her. Maybe it was the hard, flat stare I gave her, but she hesitated a moment before stepping into the bathroom and letting the door swing shut behind her.
"Sorry about the door," she said, a slightly sheepish tone in her twangy voice. "It got away from me."
I didn't respond. All giants were strong, but she'd practically ripped the door out of its frame in her haste to get in here. And she'd pulled at least one of the hinges loose, since the door didn't quite line up with the wall anymore.
Given her seeming urgency, I expected the giant to scurry into a stall, but instead, she meandered over to one of the sinks and turned on the faucet. For a moment, the only sound was the steady hiss of water streaming over her hands.
"Lovely night, isn't it?" she said.
"Just gorgeous," I muttered.
The giant quickly washed her hands and dried them, before throwing her used paper towel into the silver trash container. I'd thought she'd go back out to the party, but instead, she turned to look at me again. She stared at me for another second before smiling and leaving the bathroom. The door shut behind her, once again not quite closing the way it should.
Well, that had certainly been odd. But since the giant hadn't pulled a gun out of her pants pocket, come at me with clenched fists, or otherwise tried to end my existence, I put her out of my mind and turned back to the mirror.
I was staring at my reflection and brooding once more when the door opened again a few seconds later. Only this time, it wasn't the giant who stepped through - it was Jillian Delancey. Of course. Because that was just my kind of luck.
Jillian stopped when she saw me standing in front of the mirrors. I wondered if she was as offended by the fact that we were both wearing the same dress as Finn was, but I decided not to be rude and ask.
"Oh," she said. "Hello again . . ."
"Gin," I said, when it became apparent that she didn't remember my name. "Like the liquor."
"Gin. Right."
Jillian walked over and put her small black beaded clutch down on the counter. Even though Finn had made me buy a purse to match my dress, I hadn't bothered bringing it inside the museum. I had my knives. That was all I needed.
Jillian opened up her clutch and pulled out a tube of scarlet lipstick, along with a small compact so she could touch up her face.
I washed my hands again, just to have something to do, and I took my sweet time drying them off. Finally, Jillian finished with her makeup. She put everything back into her bag, snapped the top shut, and headed toward the door. But just before she reached it, she turned around and faced me.
"So," she said. "Do I need to be worried about you and Owen?"
"Me and Owen?"
She hesitated. "When I came over to the two of you earlier, it looked like you were both . . . involved in something."
I didn't know that we were involved, so much as feeling awkward with each other, but I could imagine how we must have looked to her, each one of us staring at the other, pain and tension glinting in our eyes.