“I wanted to check in. Things got a little dicey last night, and I’ve been thinking—there’s no reason for all this hostility. Whatever drama our ancestors stirred up doesn’t have to be ours. Water under the bridge, right?” Rafe extends his hand.
Jude doesn’t shake it.
“Well, just know there’s no hard feelings on myend.” He slides his hands into his pockets and turns to leave, then stops short. “Oh, I almost forgot. Isabel wanted to know if you got the job done.”
“What job?”
“Securing a date to the ball. I know you’re not thrilled about going, but you are a Vandenberg, after all. Certain obligations come with the territory.”
A wave of heat rushes up my neck. Obligations? Is that why Jude asked me—not because he wanted to, but because Isabel was pressuring him with obligations?
“After everything she’s done to bring the event here,” Rafe continues, “her one and only son can’t very well show up stag.”
“I’m not her son.”
He holds up his hands in mock apology. “Stepson, mea culpa. Anyway, with the Founders’ Descent being reinstated, the FHPS is pressuring her to make an announcement, so I was just checking in.” His attention slides to me, the girl with the face on fire, and his eyes brighten with an understanding that looks every bit as contrived as his apology. “Ah, so youhavesecured a date. What a perfect picture the two of you will make. The Vandenberg heir with a local girl on his arm. It’s almost like … history repeating itself.”
He shoots us a wink. Then he strolls to the staircase and leaves.
By now, the fire in my cheeks has spread to myears. Maybe even my forehead. “What’s the Founders’ Descent?”
Jude rubs his jaw. “It’s an old tradition. Founding family members of a certain age are formally introduced, along with their dates. Then they open the ball with a dance. I should have mentioned it last night.”
“What kind of dance?”
“An English country dance. Apparently, it’s a Foggy Hollow original. The steps aren’t complicated, but there will be a couple rehearsals to get them down. If you aren’t comfortable, I understand.”
I’d be more comfortable if he’d look me in the eye. As it stands, he’s making a concerted effort to look anywhere but, leaving me to assumehe’sthe one who isn’t comfortable.
“Do you regret inviting me?” I ask.
This does the trick.
His attention snaps to mine.
“Because if you do, I’d rather just go with Twig.”
“Of course I don’t,” he says.
“Okay, then,” I reply. “Let’s go see what Rafe was up to.”
Inside Jude’s room, nothing strikes me as out of place. But something must strike him, because he crosses to his desk in a few long strides and rummages through a stack of journals. “Two are missing,” he says, moving the journals aside. “So isa photograph I found of my great grandmother wearing the ruby necklace.”
Jude shuffles through more papers. “And the sketch of the locket.” He strides toward his wardrobe and yanks it open, revealing a row of neatly hung jackets and pressed shirts. He reaches past them, and with a relieved exhale, removesEzra’s Obsessionwith care.
Seeing it again—seeingmeagain—is every bit as jarring as the first time.
“I wish we knew what he was up to,” Jude says.
“Me, too.”
Whatever it is involves the ruby necklace, and those gemstones. And now, the locket. Because why else would he take the drawing?
My attention returns to the portrait. “I think we should move it.”
“Where?”
“My bedroom. It’ll be safer there than here.”
