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Rumors are spreading.
I took a sip of wine, thinking back at Cain.Seems so.
At least the wine was good. I didn’t usually have much of a taste for red, but it was rich and fruity, with an undertone of what I was pretty sure was plums. Maybe I’d just been drinking the wrong reds.
I continued my meandering path, examining artwork and floral arrangements and trying to eavesdrop shamelessly. It was great having Cain with me. He alerted me when someone might have been noticing me, or when he heard a snippet of something that might be useful. I wasn’t sure if Graeae could see ghosts or not. Most supernatural types could, and even some magical humans like Poppy, but so long as Cain was tagging along inside my body, no one around us was the wiser to his presence.
When I’d finally moved far enough into the room, I caught sight of a table set up against the wall, draped in black linen and positively groaning with plates of food. And not just little sandwiches like the shows on TV. There was everything from canapes to little rounds of what looked like baked brie, white spoons with scallops, and a wine sauce meant to be eaten in one bite. I was practically drooling, just looking at everything. Would it be unprofessional to stake a spot right there and stuff my face?
I’d always been too nervous to eat at the rich people’s parties I’d gone to when I was alive (the first time). But after a whole lot of years of eating nothing, I’d regretted all the things I hadn’t tried. I had no idea what some of the stuff on the table was, but I knew I wanted to have a bit of everything.
So, I drifted over that way, like I wasn’t in any kind of hurry, and definitely not like I was going to have to fish out a handkerchief to mop the drool off my chin if I wasn’t careful.
“I just don’t see what the holdup is. It’s been three days. What are they playing at?”
Shoot, that sounded important. I didn’t need Cain’s little internal tug to know that. With one mournful look toward the buffet table, I angled my gams over toward two gray-haired matrons who were tutting over glasses of something pale golden.
“Now, now, Margarita,” one of them said. “She’s only just buried. There’s still such a thing as propriety.”
Margarita flashed a glare in the other woman’s direction, her eyes bright, and her painted lips pressed thin. “A successor should have been announcedbeforeshe passed. This uncertainty is destabilizing the family. It is unacceptable, Xenia.”
Xenia hummed. “True, true. Well, I suppose the one who reins it all in is the right choice for new clan head. Though, Sophia had better get a firm hold. You know how hot headed the young can be.”
Margarita scoffed. “If she can get a firm hold. Manos might be the right one for the job, after all. Sophia has enough to deal with that useless son of hers.”
“That boy.” Xenia tutted. “Such a disappointment. How he came from Sophia, I’ll never understand. No responsibility in that one.”
The rest of their conversation devolved into generally catty comments about various younger family members, but I couldn’t stick around to listen. There was only so long you could linger in one spot before people started asking questions and paying close attention.
So far, other than the kids, no one had mentioned the idol or hinted at it being missing. Maybe the rest of them didn’t know it was missing? That seemed like the kind of thing that would be pretty hot gossip in a crowd like this.
All this gumshoeing was working up my appetite, so I started drifting back towards the wall, ready to interrogate that buffet table thoroughly, I caught sight of Sophia out of the corner of my eye while she was having a very intense not-argument with a young man.
She was doing that thing where she was whispering, but it was pretty clear she was yelling. Everyone had drifted away from their vicinity, like the young man was radioactive and if they got too close, he might poison them. I got the impression that no one wanted Sophia’s anger splashing their way, and having been on the receiving end of it myself, I couldn’t exactly blame them.
I didn’t know what the guy, kid really, had done, but he was the perfect mix of defiance while also wanting to melt into the floor—it was a look that only teenagers could master. I took a glimpse out of the corner of my eye, noting the same brow and nose line, the same dark hair. That must be the disappointing son, then. Poor kid. He looked like he was trying to attitude his way out of a bear trap.
I was just about to bug Cain for any suggestions when something brushed against the edges of my senses. That icy mint tingle that told me when the dead were nearby. Something, or someone, had just drifted past in the hall, I was sure of it.
One thing I’d learned over the past hundred years was that if you wanted the hot gossip, or even the lukewarm gossip, you went to the ghosts. Because ghosts seeeverythingthat goes on in a house—I mean, it made sense seeing as how ghosts have all the time in the world, and no sense of boundaries. And it wasn’t like you could really blame them. They couldn’t hold a book, so reading was out. And it’s not like they could turn on a television by themselves. So, ghosts did what they do best—they watched people. Obsessively, sometimes.
I cast one last tragic look at the buffet table and headed as discretely as I could toward the door. Once there, I dipped into the hallway. If I’d been expecting something other than more white paint and niches filled with marble busts, I would have been flat disappointed. Even the hallways looked like a European museum. Hadn’t these people ever heard of the rainbow? It made me want to take my lipstick to the walls. I didn’t, though. I was a professional.
That minty buzzy feeling turned out to be a pair of ghosts drifting down the hall ahead of me, gray haired and dressed in long gowns that sort of wrapped around their bodies. They reminded me of the ghost version of Margarita and Xenia back at the gathering, except the ghosts’ hairstyles were a bit more elaborate.
“What is the family coming to?” one ghost said to the other, shaking her head. “Nothing good will come of this.”
The other ghost sniffed, which was pretty impressive on account of her not having to breathe, or actually having a body with a nose. “This never would have happened in our day. Everything is falling apart. No respect for tradition.”
“Disgraceful,” the first ghost agreed.
I made a quick glance to make sure no one was looking before whispering, “Excuse me? Ladies? Could I have a minute of your time?”
The ghosts glanced back idly, and realizing that, yes, I was actually talking to them, drifted closer, tilting their heads to one side as they both looked at me with puzzled expressions. The second held up a pair of glasses on a little stick, like she was watching the opera or something. Or still had functioning eyes. Old habits died hard. Or didn’t die at all.
“I was hoping you ladies could help me,” I continued with the smile that had won me my first part back in the day.
“How are we to do that?” the first one asked.
