“Oh? Which place would that be,” Maude said, “the one that knows I hate rosewater but will accept clove in small, weaponized doses, that a croissant without salt is a cry for help, and that I drink coffee like it owes me money?”
“Yes, that…very specific place.”
Maude plucked the star-marked cup like it might bite her. It didn’t. It breathed steam into her face that smelled like a better mood. She tried not to look pleased and failed a little.
“The Samhain festival starts basically now and goes all day and all night,” Selene went on, tipping the contents of the basket into gentle little stacks like a priestess arranging offerings. “You promised to do fun things and not work until your eyes bleed, remember.”
“I promised under duress.”
“Like all the best promises.”
Maude took a bite of the hand pie because she was a coward in only one way and it involved onion. The pastry shattered in perfect flakes and the thyme hit her tongue. She made a noise that was not a compliment and notnota compliment either.
Selene’s eyes sharpened, unfairly knowing. “Good?”
“It’s food.”
“Uh-huh.”
They ate at the foot of the bed like teenagers planning a curse. Outside, Mistwood Hills stretched awake—bells testing theirthroats, distant laughter already leaking into the lanes. The second loom thrummed somewhere under the cobbles, far away and close as skin, both—the way a cat who lives in your house also lives a little in your lungs.
Selene dusted nonexistent crumbs off her skirt. “Oli says to meet at the square at noon. We’ll wander, buy ridiculous things, you’ll insult vendors in a way that somehow makes them love you. Then dancing tonight. Speaking of—what are you going as?”
“Home.”
“No.”
“Fine.” Maude sipped coffee. It hit like salvation. “I’m going as something festive and true to the spirit of the season.”
Selene narrowed her eyes. “Definefestive.”
“Alderman Veyne’s conscience.”
Selene choked so hard on a croissant flake that Maude had to thump her between the shoulder blades. “You cannot,” Selene wheezed, delighted and horrified.
“Why? It’s extremely rare. No one will have the same costume.” Maude sipped again, thinking. “I’ll make a sash that saysVIOLATION, carry a ledger, and a brass stamp that readsDENIED. Maybe a little bell I can ring when people make bad choices.”
“Maude, that’s not a costume. That’s psychological warfare.”
“Potayto, potahto.”
Selene rifled through the garment bag she’d brought like she was possessed. “Okay, fine, if you’re going as Veyne’s non-existent soul, I’m going as the concept of informed consent.”
“Timely.”
Selene’s grin softened. “Also, you invited Wesley.”
“I mentioned there would be dancing.”
“YouinvitedWesley,” Selene singsonged, feral joy returning. “What’s he going as? Sunshine? Manners?”
“I told him costumes were not mandatory. He said he’d come as ‘better company.’” Maude twisted a ring she didn’t remember putting on.
Selene leaned in. “And what about you?”
“I said I’d go as myself. Terrifying enough.”
“And he said?”
