Two hours later, Enne danced the Skipstep with a young man named Whitacker Blake. Whitacker wore a linen suit with white polka dots and a matching vanilla cravat. His blond hair was slicked to both sides, leaving a harsh part that accentuated his large forehead. Despite this, he wasn’t unattractive—if anything, he was far more interesting to look at than most of the other young men in the room, even those Poppy Prescott had so enthusiastically introduced her to.
“So how long will you be staying on Guillory Street?” Whitacker asked Enne.
“I’m not sure yet,” she answered.
“It’s a terrible time to be here. The election is a dreadful business,” he said. “Especially, I’m sure, for a lady such as yourself.”
She furrowed her eyebrows. “How so?”
“Politics is entirely improper for women—they shouldn’t have to get their hands so dirty. I’m sure the campaigns are spoiling your summer vacation.” Enne squeezed his shoulder a bit harder—not enough to hurt him, but enough to prevent her from biting back.
“Plus the campaigns have been all twisted by the North Side,” Whitacker continued, shaking his head. “The Chancellor’s death, Sedric Torren’s, this street war... Be very glad you’re south of the river.”
“How could I not be glad?” she asked, tight-lipped. “When the South Side men are so charming?”
His smile made it obvious he hadn’t understood her dig.
“But this is Worner Prescott’s party—are you not here for political reasons?” she asked.
“My father is,” he answered. “We’d normally never dream of voting against the First Party, but one North Side candidate replaced by another? It doesn’t matter that Harrison Augustine has been gone for so long—that North Side smell never really goes away.”
“I know what you mean,” Enne said, nodding solemnly. “It smells acidic...like old wine.”
He gave her an odd, unsteady look. “That’s very specific.”
“And hardly to be masked by Regalliere cologne.” She slid her fingers beneath his collar, manicured nails grazing across skin. He stiffened as she exposed his collarbone, and on it, a telltale stain of red lipstick. “It’s terribly difficult to get a Sweetie Street mark out, isn’t it?” Enne said, pouting her lips. Then she quickly drew away. “I’d finish the dance, but I wouldn’t want to get my hands dirty.”
Whitacker gaped at her, but just as his expression began to warp into anger, she turned on her heels and sped away. Poppy, who’d been watching while sipping a Hotsy-Totsy, laughed. “What did you say to him? He’s gone scarlet!”
“I don’t mean to be picky,” Enne breathed, “but these men aren’t nearly as charming as you’d led me to believe.”
Poppy leaned forward with a serious look. “Never, ever apologize for being picky. As if I’d want a friend so easy to please.” She scanned the remaining suitors at the party. “I wish I knew what youdidlike, though. You’ve exhausted the three men with the best cheekbones, the two disgustingly rich ones, the one with the cute butt,andyou don’t seem interested in the girls.”
“I didn’t hate the one with the cute butt,” Enne pointed out. Grace would’ve probably liked him even more, but until the business with Roy was resolved tonight, Grace needed to stay with the Spirits. Enne almost envied her. If not for Poppy, Enne wouldn’t even like going to these salons anymore. They were exactly the sort of gatherings she’d longed to attend in Bellamy, but she hadn’t belonged at them then, and she certainly didn’t belong here now.
“‘Not hating’ wasn’t exactly the romantic spark I was looking for,” Poppy said drily. Her eyes widened, and she squeezed Enne’s hand. “There’s someone else then, I bet. Back in Bellamy.”
Enne snorted. “Why would you think that?”
“You hardly talk about yourself.” Poppy smiled mischievously. “I bet you have secrets.”
Enne had little intention of revealing anything about herself to Poppy, but she didn’t like lying, so she steered the conversation away. “Could we go to the powder room? I’d like to reapply my lipstick.”
Several moments later, Poppy bent over the sink, straightening her false eyelashes, and Enne rifled through her purse.
“So what did Whitacker say that had you storming off?” Poppy asked.
“He mentioned something about how women shouldn’t dirty their hands with politics.”
Poppy barked out a laugh. “Our chancellor is a woman. And as of late, all our male politicians keep getting killed by one.”
Enne jolted, smearing pink lipstick across her chin. She quickly closed her purse to hide the white gloves of the Spirits tucked inside.
“I know,” Poppy said with a sigh, seeing Enne’s reaction. “That’s a horribly distasteful thing to say, coming from the daughter of a politician.” For a brief moment, the look on her face changed from cheerfulness to worry. “I never thought he’d win, you know. But his campaign advisors are saying he might.”
Enne put a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think you need to worry about your father.” Not with Vianca watching over him, anyway.
“He announced his candidacy over six months ago, but lately...” Poppy shivered. “It’s felt different at these parties. I no longer recognize all the faces. I don’t trust anyone here.”
