People moved around her, as if they could sense her presence. She seemed calmer than I’d ever seen her before, and while it should have eased me, it only made my skin prickle more. Like silence before a storm. My lungs filled with the unmistakable scent of rotten leaves and lavender.
“Look, there’s Wisteria and Ransom,” Cecily whispered, and I ripped my gaze away, willing the ghost to vanish.
The twins were looking at a jet-black haired girl and a boy with a copper-coloured nest on the top of his head. They stood apart from the crowd, deliberately isolated, and from the way they kept whispering into each other’s ears it was most likely intentional.
“Who are they?” I asked, as the girl surveyed the room from behind her royal blue mask.
“Hudson Lamont’s niece and nephew,” Cecily answered, her tone slightly bored, as if that wasn’t the most interesting reveal of the night.
Hudson Lamont, as in my father. Which meant—the girl and the boy standing only a few metres away were my cousins. My gaze flicked between the two. Ransom moved to the table closest to them and filled an empty plate with snacks, seeming almost disinterested. Bored. On the other hand, Wisteria, who wore a dark blue silk dress, scanned the room with controlled intensity like a hawk…or a crow. She was clearly looking for someone.
Her head suddenly twisted in my direction, like she’d sensed I was watching, and I inhaled sharply through my nose, grateful for the mask that hid my face. Was there any chance she knew who I was? That she knew we were related?
She didn’t look away. It looked like she was gesturing with her eyes, trying to tell me something. I followed her gaze down, toward her hands, and she discreetly pointed at a side door. My brows creased. Then, without waiting for my reaction, she tookhold of Ransom’s jacket and pulled him in the direction of the door.
I hesitated, glancing at the twins, to find them lost in another conversation, whispering under their breath while eyeing two boys on the other side of the hall.
I moved without a word. Pushing through smaller groups of people, I navigated around the circling staff, until I caught a glimpse of Lilian’s feathery dress.
I whirled away, colliding with someone else. At the same time, a hand brushed against mine, pushing something into my open palm. I turned around to see who it was, but the crowd closed back around me. Masks of every size and form—glistening bones, swirling snakes, and broken marionettes—I recognised none of them. I opened my palm and unfolded the scrap of paper.
My eyes darted around the room, searching for the tell-tale blonde hair and sly smile, but Preston was nowhere in sight. Not that I could tell. He could be anyone hidden behind these masks. I tucked the precisely folded note into my boot and moved to find the Lamont’s when a hand landed on my shoulder.
“Pres—” I whirled around, biting the end of the name as I faced Declan’s gilded mask.
“The time has come.” He smiled, holding his hand out.
Blood surged into my ears, and the music quietened. I exhaled slowly, then slid my damp palm into his. If I survived walking alone through the city in the middle of the night, I could survive this too. I could survive a few judging glances from the upper class.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ELODIE
“The opening waltz,” a sonorous voice declared, reverberating from every corner of the grand hall. My heart beat an anxious rhythm as the crowd parted to make us room. “The celebrated Elodie Thornbury, granddaughter of Lilian Thornbury, and Declan Marzouq, son of Vincent Marzouq.”
Whispers bloomed in our wake like smoke—thin and curling, laced with speculation—as we stepped into the centre of the chalked floor. My gaze flicked to the twins, who were giggling with the two boys they were eyeing before. Their distraction eased the knot in my chest. If they weren’t watching, perhaps no one truly was.
Then, just as Declan and I turned to face each other, I caught a glimpse of a black fox mask with deep green eyes sitting behind it. It vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, leaving me uncertain if I’d seen anything at all or if my mind had conjured him.
Declan moved, and so did I, my heart serenading a nervous beat. He danced swiftly and elegantly, but not in the way Preston had on that moonlit night in the ballroom. Declan’s rhythm wasquick, his movements determined, and I wished I could take the lead. I wanted to flow with the music like a swan on the river, not hop on the rocks leading through it.
The music slowed. Declan spun me—once, twice—his grip sure and practiced, then picked up speed again. We widened our circle, a hurricane at the ballroom’s centre, forcing the others to retreat as we swept past them.
A smile tugged at my lips despite myself. Declan caught it, and his grin answered mine.
“It’s not that bad, is it?” he asked, the music masking his words from prying ears.
I shook my head, my hair billowing behind, and his eyes gleamed with quiet triumph. Around us, couples began to pour onto the floor, the room filled with swirling colours and the soft thunder of synchronized steps. I felt lighter, like a bird, flying freely with the melody. The tempo shifted, softening again. This time I knew it meant the end of the dance.
Declan and I bowed our heads to each other just as the last note fell, and I quickly excused myself before the next song could start and someone else could catch me. I scanned the crowd but there was no sign of either Wisteria or Ransom.
I moved towards the narrow wooden door she pointed at earlier, when suddenly, a high-pitched note slashed across the room, sharp enough to still the air. I froze. Conversations faltered around me, every head turning toward the sound.
“Welcome, everyone,” Lilian’s voice purred through the room, rich and silken, like a cat stretching by the fire. “I would like to propose a toast to my very special granddaughter, Elodie Thornbury.” Her eyes found me between hundreds of faces, as if guided by a sixth sense. “It’s been only a month since your arrival, yet you’re already etched into the deepest chambers of my heart.” She lifted her glass, the golden liquid catching the light. “May this night mark the beginning of something far morebeautiful than either of us ever imagined. Happy birthday, my dear!”
“Happy birthday!” the crowd echoed as the silver clock above the mantle struck eleven.
Lilian walked off the platform towards me, and looped her arm through mine, her smile pearly and sharp.
