I run my hands down the fabric and smile.
I’m wearing a formfitting black velvet dress with a sweetheart neckline and off-the-shoulder sleeves. A re-creation of a dress Sofia Lapicki wore to a party on February 12, 1956, the night she and her husband were killed in a car crash. With one notable alteration.
Well, two.
Actually, three.
Sofia was quite slim, and I am quite not, so this is several sizeslarger than the original. What was chic and slinky on her is sultry and voluptuous on me. There are also several hidden pockets sewn into the lining of this dress, which I assume were missing from the original. But perhaps the most obvious difference is the human rib cage built into the bodice.
It’s not really a human rib cage. This is some more of Poppy’s arts and crafts. But even though my bone adornment and the clavicle Rook is wearing as a brooch are both fake, the bones sewn into the costumes of everyone else here tonight are very real.
You may remember that the Dead can possess a living person if they have one of said person’s bones. Well, it also works the other way around. A living person can be possessed by the spirit whose bones they wear. So, not only are we surrounded by people wearing human remains but also people possessed by the Dead.
The woman in front of me is wearing a dark navy dress with a high lace collar strung with teeth. Behind her is a man with crushed bones sewn into his lapel, sanded down so they almost sparkle. Over by the reflecting pool, a woman wears vertebrae as a belt. Others have finger bones as buttons, phalanges as fringe, hip bones as epaulets. One man is wearing a skull for a hat.
Each of these people is a very live body being inhabited by a very Dead soul. Living members of the Coven “volunteer” to play host to Dead members, allowing them to have a night where they can drink champagne, hear live music, and generally indulge in the sensory luxuries missing from the Afterlife. The Beforedeath has its own kind of magic.
Rook and I are posing as Rob Jurski and Christine Horridge-Shale being possessed by Tad and Sofia Lapicki. It’s all very complicated.
“Excuse us,” Rook says to Mary Eccles, handing her hishalf-drunk champagne glass. “You’ve reminded me that it has indeed been quite some time since I’ve gotten to partake in these little pleasures. As such, I would like to dance with my wife.”
He takes my glass from me and, after setting it aside, takes my hand.
I giggle and wave to Mary. All in character, of course.
He draws me away from the path toward the other dancing couples. Rook takes one of my hands in his and pulls me close. A dance wasn’t specifically part of the plan, but I won’t let him throw me. The plan was to blend in, and we are, in fact, blending in.
“I’d say you were very good at getting into character,” I say, keeping my voice low, “with all that ‘indeed’ and ‘partake’ and whatever, but it’s just that your embarrassing old-person vocabulary happens to be useful at the moment.”
“Hmm,” Rook says, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’m glad I could be of service.”
I watch over his shoulder for any possible threats. “Let’s hope that’s not the only service you provide.”
Rook smirks.
“I mean, tonight.” I shake my head. “I mean, when we slip away. I mean…you know what I mean.”
Imeanhis role in tonight’s heist, but for some reason, I can’t figure out a way to say it that doesn’t include the wordheistor a double entendre.
Rook’s expression softens. “Yes, I think I know what you mean.”
He stares deeply into my eyes and pulls me closer, and I’m suddenly aware of all the places where our bodies touch. His hand on the small of my back. The occasional brush of our thighs.
I won’t lie and say this can’t work to my advantage. Romantic feelings are the easiest to exploit. But if I’m completely honest—which I don’t like to be—there’s a part of me that wishes this were real.
It’s a weird feeling. I don’t like it.
But I know how to maintain a mark’s interest, so I reposition my hand so I can rub my thumb along Rook’s knuckles. “The cuts on your hand have healed.”
His fingers tighten around mine. “Well. I was provided with very attentive wound dressing.”
“See? That?” I snort. “That was the weirdest possible way to say that.”
He laughs, but his grin quickly fades into something more serious. And then slowly, his hand raises to the side of my face. My breath catches as his thumb brushes against the apple of my cheek, and he starts to bend toward me, slowly enough to give me time to pull away. But I don’t want to. I want to rise up to meet him.
This is such a bad idea.
But some inexorable force pushes me onto my toes, tilts my head toward his, curls my fingers around his lapel.
