Page 95 of Hawk & Sparrow

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a theatrical voice. “May I present to you your winter prince, Maximilian Kite!”

He gestured upward, and everyone’s eyes went to the top of the stairs. There stood Maximilian, dressed in a blue suit complete with a cape, a scepter, and a crown made of what appeared to be real icicles. He extended his arms, descending the stairs slowly, as the guests clapped enthusiastically. Vesper rolled her eyes, but grinned all the same. There were no flying reindeer, but no one could say that Maximilian Kite didn’t have style.

“Welcome, everyone!” Maximilian called out as he reached the last stair. “Welcome to my annual end-of-year ball. As is the tradition here, I’ll be opening the dance floor.” Without warning, his eyes found Vesper in the crowd. “And I’d like to ask Miss Evans to join me.”

Vesper hesitated, but when Maximilian held out a hand, she slowly made her way to the center of the dance floor. He beamed at her. Vesper looked over her shoulder to find that several musicians were readying their instruments. Her panic grew. She felt the eyes of the room pressing in, and understood now that there’d be no backing out. Max took her hand.

“Max,” she whispered. “This is a bad idea. I don’t know how to dance.”

“Eyes on me, Evans.” He spoke at a volume only she could hear. “You’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” He placed one hand on her left side, just below her rib cage. “Now, put your hand on my shoulder,” he whispered.

Vesper acquiesced while he laced their free hands together. It was an inexplicable thing, but the press of his palm against hers, the quiet tempo of his pulse, calmed her just a little bit. A single note from a violin sounded to their left.

And then they were dancing.

Vesper hadn’t known what to expect as more strings joined the quartet, as the music swelled, but certainly she hadn’t expected Max to spin her so that her dress fanned out elegantly around her, earning soft gasps and murmurs from the watching crowd. He pulled her against him just as quickly, then bent his head so that his lips grazed her ear. She shivered.

“The dance’s steps are choreographed with an eight-count,” he murmured. “Two steps to the left, two steps to the right. Two steps back, two steps forward, then turn. Can you do that for me?”

Vesper barely had time to nod before Max turned her. He took one step to the left, then another.

“Other side,” he said quickly. “Then back.”

She was sure that, at any moment, she would trip, or fall, or both, but to Vesper’s surprise, she did neither. The counts as Max had explained them allowed her to break the dance’s steps into smaller more manageable parts, and she found that if she just focused on each segment of the dance, she could do the whole thing without error. Eventually she grew comfortable enough with the rhythm of the dance to stop counting in her head and look up. Max was beaming at her.

“That’s it,” he said, “I knew you could do it.”

There was something about the certainty with which he said the words that warmed Vesper. Perhaps it was the conviction itself, the fact that—unlike most of the men she encountered in this city—Max had never once discredited her thoughts, talents, or capabilities simply because she was a woman. Perhaps it was because, as insufferable as he could be, he could also be attentive and focused. He listened to the things she said.

Perhaps it was because, at that moment, he was looking at her with a tenderness she’d never seen before.

The violins’ song seemed to end as quickly as it’d begun. They both stopped, but Max didn’t move his hand from her waist, or disentangle his fingers from hers. He was still looking at her with that peculiar expression Vesper couldn’t name, and she was suddenly aware that her heart was pounding.

“Do you have a moment?” His voice was low, so that only she could hear it. “I have something for you.”

Vesper tensed. “What is it?”

A mischievous glint caught in Maximilian’s eyes. “Meet me in the den in five minutes.”

Exactly five minutes later, Vesper found herself standing alone in Maximilian’s den. It looked just like it had when she’d come in here the first time, down to the roaring fire in the fireplace. The door opened, and she spun around as Maximilian ducked inside. He was holding something behind his back.

“This was going to be a Christmas present,” he said, “but I couldn’t wait.” From behind his back, he brandished a crudely wrapped package. Vesper blinked.

“What is it?”

“That’s sort of the point of wrapping a present, Evans.” Maximilian sounded amused. “Open it, and find out.”

Vesper took it from him and shook it, but there was no sound except for the crinkling of the paper. It was heavier than she’d expected. She held it at arm’s length. “This is quite a lot of tape.”

For the first time that evening, Max looked slightly embarrassed. “I wrapped it myself.”

Vesper ripped the paper away. It was a brown leather book with golden embossing, but its cover was blank. Slowly, Vesper thumbed along the edge of its cover. She couldn’t explain why her heart had begun to pound. She flicked past a blank page, then stopped short. She was staring at a newspaper clipping, neatly cut, and mounted on creamed-colored paper. It was dated February 24, 1891. She read the headline slowly:

BASALTON ART GALLERY TO DEBUT IN WINTER

BY V. L. EVANS

“Max…” She stared at the clipping. It was the very first one she’d ever written for the Globe. “Where did you get this?”