“We are,” Enne said, and she introduced herself.
Worner squinted at her. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”
Enne smiled wider, making her face look even more different from her wanted poster. “I don’t believe so. I’ve only recently arrived from Bellamy.”
“Bellamy!” he trilled. Worner spoke at a volume not quite appropriate for the indoors. “Why, I vacation there often in the summer. My house is right on Hawthorne Street. It’s by this bakery, the Gooseberry.” He beamed, as though quite pleased he’d remembered.
“I’ve been there a few times,” Enne told him politely.
“Well, what a delightful coincidence!” He looked around the room cheerily. “I’d be happy to introduce you to anyone here. I know them all.”
Before he could make any suggestions, a young woman appeared behind him. She had the sort of willowy figure that made Enne immediately identify her as a dancer.
“Oh, this is my daughter, Poppy,” Worner said. “Poppy, this young lady lived in Bellamy. Perhaps you went to school together?”
Enne tried not to gape at the girl. She looked far too elegant to be Worner’s daughter.
“The Bellamy Finishing School of Fine Arts,” Poppy said, twirling a blond ringlet around her finger. “I was only there a few months, though.”
“That’s where I attended, as well,” Enne answered. “I’m currently taking a gap year. For travel.” That was one of the prettiest lies she’d ever told.
“I still write to a few friends from there,” Poppy said, her voice suddenly filled with excitement. “Maybe you know Madeline Tanzer? Or Georgiana Glisset?”
Both girls had been far more popular than Enne ever was. She would’ve been shocked if they’d even known her name.
But Vianca had instructed Enne to insert herself into Worner’s inner circle, so she smiled tightly and lied. “Yes. I knew them well.”
Worner beamed brighter.
Within five minutes, Enne and Poppy were seated on a loveseat, Lola awkwardly hovering beside them while Grace scoped out the men in the room with an almost predatory stare. Poppy held a copy ofThe Guillory Street Gossipon her lap as she told them all a scandalous story surrounding the city’s favorite prima ballerina, who seemed to be Poppy’s rival and—in their not so distant past—former lover.
Poppy turned the page and pointed to a column calledMost Eligible Persons of the South Side. Poppy had dated nearly all of them.
“Excepther,” she said, pointing to an heiress who was listed at number six. “She set fire to my Regalliere purse in our ninth year.” Poppy turned the page. “Or him.” She pointed at a face Enne nearly didn’t recognize, since she’d only seen him through the hazy violet lights of the Catacombs. Narinder Basra. “I don’t think he likes women. Very disappointing.”
Enne suddenly had a bad taste in her mouth, which Narinder probably didn’t deserve—she didn’t even know him. Lola shot Enne a warning look, then asked, “Wouldn’t he be inThe Kiss & Tell’s version? He’s from the North Side.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be in both,” Poppy said. “He knows everyone in New Reynes, and the Catacombs is full of South Siders, as well.” She lowered her voice. “Though I heard a few weeks ago there was some sort of gangster turnout there. Kind of frightening, isn’t it?” But she sounded more excited than scared.
“I positively have goose bumps,” Grace said flatly.
“I’m still trying to get my hands on the other version,” Poppy admitted. “My father forbids me from reading it, but of course I do anyway.” She shot him an annoyed look from across the room, but he was too immersed in a discussion with a group of campaigners to notice. “He’s one to talk—getting a quarter of his donations from Vianca Augustine. Everyone knows what they say abouther.”
“She’s here,” Enne rasped. “Best to lower your voice.”
“Oh, I know,” Poppy replied airily. “The whole room reeks of her off-brand perfume.”
“Do you mind if I see that?” Grace asked, indicatingTheGossip. Poppy nodded, so Grace took it and flipped through the pages. While the others discussed the model who’d been interviewed for the cover, Grace announced that she’d spotted one of the most eligible persons at the party. She pointed at a photograph of a young man with red hair wearing a glittering family brooch against a suit jacket.
“Wealthy, working for his father’s company on Hedge Street,” Grace read. “He’s number eight, but do you think he really measures in at eight?” Grace winked at the three of them, and Poppy let out a shocked howl of laughter.
“I wouldn’t know,” Poppy mused, “but I’d be curious should you happen to find out.”
Grace tossed Enne the magazine. “Oh, I’m sure I will.” Then she left to stalk her victim.
Poppy looked between Enne and Lola, a mischievous smile brightening up her features. She reached behind her and grabbed three cocktails off a rose-gold serving tray and handed them out. “This afternoon might be a lot more fun than I expected.”
Enne sipped the drink. It was sweet and bubbly—far more palatable than a Gambler’s Ruin or a Snake Eyes. “What is this called?” she asked Poppy.
