“I think we’ll do a piece of gold appliqué fabric over the breast like a sash,” Monica said, tilting her head. “Like an Indian sari. If we twist it a bit, it will create a lovely tapering shape.”
“Yes, all right,” Libba agreed, considering the mirror. “I would’ve never imagined Lady Capulet as a pink, by the by. She’s so… opaque.”
“Yes, well,” said Monica with a shrug, “warriors were often depicted in pink because the blood wouldn’t wash out.”
At that point, the crashing and shouting began from the entryway of the house and distracted them both from their task.
“What on earth?” Monica murmured, offering her hand to Libba to help her off the pedestal as they both moved toward the door.
Libba thought the more pertinent question was actually “Whatnow?” but didn’t say so.
Her feet were bare and cold against the marble floor of the entry hall as she moved toward the voices emanating from the parlor.
“Shall I go get a steak?” Elias Selwyn was asking, the frown in his voice carrying down the hall. “Two steaks, I suppose.”
“Absolutely not,” Errol Cagney replied with open disgust. “Not only is that repulsive, it doesn’t work. A cold cloth is just as well. Ruby?”
“I’m not asking that beast in the kitchens for anything,” Ruby replied with a sniff. “You go. I can get the ingredients for salve from the greenhouse.”
Errol sighed. “Aloe,” he said. “Rice powder. There’s arnica drying on the shelf.”
“Yes, yes, Iknow,” she snapped. “I am the chemist, plant boy. Go get your cloths and water.”
Libba and Monica exchanged a glance as Errol emerged from the hall, nearly colliding with them, his sandy hair askew and his cheeks flushed with the force of his fluster.
“Ah,” he said, looking Libba’s costume up and down. “You might not want to go in there.”
“But whatexactly happened?!” Elias was demanding.
“They won’t tell me!” Malcolm’s voice rang back, accompanied by chuckles from voices that could be no one else but Rhys and Jasper.
Libba’s eyes immediately narrowed.
Errol sighed and shook his head. “I warned you.”
She gathered up the long, multi-layered skirts and moved decisively, marching on her bare feet directly into the parlor, where she was confronted with a scene that was not at all surprising and yet still managed to completely infuriate her.
Rhys was straddling a stool as Elias dabbed at a cut over his eye, evidently trying to assess if it needed to be stitched or not, grinning like a damned idiot through every hiss at the sting.
Jasper was reclining like a damned fallen angel on the chaise, half his face purple and puffy, one eye closed, possibly not by intention.
“Oh, you two bloody idiots,” she breathed, fury flaming in her chest with a crackling series of sparks at the state of them. The absolute state of them. “What in the deepest bowels of hell?”
“Ship came in,” Jasper said lazily, flinging his arm out toward her, which made him wince immediately. “We saw her.”
“‘Her’?” Libba repeated, incensed more by the second as she took in the bruises and cuts on his reclining body, thedamageof it all.
“The boat,” Malcolm explained, as though she were simple, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Boats arehers.”
She rounded on him, flashing dots of rage scattering along her skin, Jasper’s mangled face still imprinted on her retinas. “Did you let this happen to them, you untouched, pristine peacock?!”
“Well, wait just a damn minute,” Malcolm began.
“She just cares so very much,” Rhys cooed from his stool.
She glanced at Rhys, who grinned at her through the blood seeping out of a crack in his lip and felt the anger well up all over again. “My Mercutio looks like a pincushion!”
“And your Benvolio looks like a hero,” Jasper said, slurring just a little, like he was muzzy.
