The ghost vanished. Myla’s hand fell limp to her side. The girl’s voices died around Myla and the painted girl like a snuffed match. The painted girl clutched her arm as if it was broken.
The Lord Du Bois was a tall man. His thin frame was hidden under bulky clothing. His face hidden by a thick hood. Myla couldn’t see anything of him, but her pulse quickened in her veins. A tiny voice in her head screamed for her to run, but her feet were frozen in place.
The girls dispersed from around the painted girl. Most tried to smile or look down coyly. A couple shrank away behind the more flamboyant girls.
Lord Du Bois waved a bony hand at the girls, “Leave. I have no interest in any of you.”
Myla let out a puff of air in relief. She started to turn away, but she caught the Lord’s motion from the corner of her eye.
He pointed at the painted girl and Myla, “You two will stay. One of you will be my bride.”