“That must be nice,” Sophia said flatly, “because after my boyfriend died at St. Morse, I made a deal with Harrison and offered him...” Her voice broke before she could speak the word, but she continued on. “So it must be nice, you know, that you’re not self-destructively buying shades right now. That you’re not breaking.”
Poppy’s eyes widened. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
A server passed them carrying a tray of drinks that looked bubbly and dangerous. Poppy plucked one off and cradled it between them, like a shared conspiracy.
“It’s just been so public,” Poppy murmured into the cocktail. “Dad and I knew that everything was going to change after the election—we were prepared for it. Forsomething. And all the reporters, all the people who knew him, have been swarming around me for days. It still feels like the election, like some giant fake publicity stunt.”
“That’s sort of how I feel, too,” Sophia murmured. “My boyfriend and I achieved this big, nearly unattainable goal. I knew everything would be different afterward. And...” She was talking quietly, likely too quietly for Poppy to hear over the music. Which was probably for the best—Sophia never did feelings well. “Well, everythingisdifferent.”
Poppy must have heard her after all because she gave Sophia a small, understanding smile. Sophia had never had many female friends, and she didn’t think this was how she was supposed to make them—squeezed shoulder to shoulder in illicit parties at illicit places, where neither of them belonged, paying no attention to the music or dancing and instead talking about the stuff that hurt.
“Are you going to kill me and take my card?” Poppy asked seriously.
Sophia gaped—so much for friends. “No. I was never planning that.” At least Poppy knew she was telling the truth because she was still wearing the cursed ring.
“Whatwereyou planning on doing, then?”
“I’m not much of a planner.”
Poppy snorted, then she took a long sip of the cocktail and gagged. “Whatisthis?” she asked, disgusted.
“It’s a Snake Eyes.”
“It needs sugar.” She set it on a nearby bookshelf, which was probably also for the best, as Sophia would otherwise have downed it in one gulp—bitter or not. Sophia resisted any leftover urge by popping a piece of taffy in her mouth. “For the record, buying a cursed ring is not my kind of self-destructive. I totally would have bought this, anyway.”
Sophia was having a difficult time figuring Poppy out. “Why?”
“So I get to feel dangerous, too.”
Nowthatwas a sentiment Sophia understood. And precarious or not, the ring did have its uses.
“Come on,” Sophia said eagerly. “Let Delaney make small talk with the shopkeepers. You and I are going to get what we came here for.”
It wasn’t hard to approach people—when Poppy fluttered her eyelashes or Sophia twisted a dark curl around her finger, anyone happily welcomed them to their circle. Each of their smiles faded when Poppy asked her question, even as the responses poured from their lips like backwashed cocktail.
I don’t know anything about the Bargainer.
That’s just a story.
I don’t think theycanbe killed.
Their investigation led them through a maze of rooms and floors of the house. To dining rooms with tables piled high with expensive hors d’oeuvres that Sophia had no taste for. To an empty room upstairs, with a large black table clearly meant to play cards—which Sophia and Poppy had quickly fled. Even downstairs, to a strange hallway running beneath the building, full of alternating black and white doors and flickering, industrial lights.
“This isn’t working,” Sophia grunted as the ninth group shut them out. She had the urge to kick something—and given her black leather platform boots, she’d certainly worn the shoes for it. Sophia had accepted Harrison’s omerta in exchange for a place that seemed to know no more about the Bargainer than she did. Just another deal that she couldn’t take back.
“I hate this.” Poppy seethed, stomping her foot. “The Bargainer probably has hundreds of talents—she could win the game easily, if they wanted. So are we all just going to die in it?”
“Probably,” Sophia answered automatically.
Poppy’s blue eyes widened, then she slipped the ring off and handed it to her. “Maybe I prefer the pretty lies.”
Then a scream cut through the party.
The music screeched to a halt, and the guests quieted, confused. The shriek died out, but soon everyone pushed toward the other room to find the source of the commotion, whispering with more excitement than fear. Sophia and Poppy were wedged between shoulders and elbows. They spilled into the billiards den and into the shades shop. A crowd gathered around the back corner, beneath a painting of the Capitol.
“Oh, that’shorrible,” someone whispered.
“What is it? I can’t see!” another asked.
