“I brewed it on my terrace,” she added, smiling.
“I’ve never had a terrace,” murmured the guard, and his thumb stroked the bottle once, twice, before the lever turned down and the gate swung in. “Enjoy your visit, Miss Pennigrim.”
Alora hesitated, then walked in slowly, her lip caught between her teeth. Because she didn’t know what she’d done or what she’d said to cause the guard’s forlorn countenance and the defeated way he’d said her name.
Maybe he simply didn’t like iced tea.
At least no desperate strangers are galloping past me today, she noted with relief. It allowed her more time to examine the immense topiaries as she passed by, which still left her with unpleasant sensations in her chest, but at least there were no giant rakes and unattached arms lurking in the shadows. Nearly to the stairs, she paused in her next step; a topiary she hadn’t paid much attention to those three days prior now commandeered it.
The base appeared afire with green branches trimmed in mounting flames. They circled around two figures, one standing rigid and unfazed while the other bent back, arms outstretched as in dance. Or rapture. Alora found herself nearing when voices brought her abruptly away. She swung toward Opulence Mansion to discover two people she’d never seen before, bothclothed in gold and talking amongst themselves, oblivious to her.
Though not for long.
The man was tall and leanly built, his auburn hair swept artfully back from a high forehead. Alora appeared to have caught his attention first as his blue eyes met hers and held for several heartbeats too long. She dragged them away to the woman, younger than herself perhaps, with a clinging gown draped over her curves and loose waves of rose-red hair falling about her shoulders. She puffed on a cigarillo, her face animated as she prattled to her companion. She didn’t appear to notice a thing until Alora neared the first stair.
“Oh. Oh!” Rushing down the steps so quickly Alora worried she’d trip, the girl reached her in a swirl of smoke and cloves. “Who areyou?”
“Alora Pennigrim,” she supplied, lowering her hood. She supposed she'd not needed it raised while within locked grounds. Her throat constricted on telling her business, but the girl had such an inviting countenance. “I’m new.”
“New!” the woman squeaked, drawing on the cigarillo once more before shoving the entire burning thing down her bodice. With a cry of alarm, Alora lunged forward, but found her hands pushed aside with a grin. “Your dress isdecadent.”
Tendrils of smoke twined in delicate swirls from the golden girl’s gown yet, but still she seemed unbothered. “Thank you,” Alora managed, as her manners required no thought. She’d worn a lilac dress today, sleeveless to balance the heat of the cloak. “Your dress is magnificent too. But it’ssmoking.”
“It’s fine enough, I suppose. But I do grow sick of gold.” Her eyes ravaged Alora’s dress hungrily. “I’m Lennox. This is William. We work out of Door Eighteen.”
Lennox’s eyes were green as a new leaf and creased at their corners as she awaited Alora’s reaction.
Which Alora found she couldn’t give. She couldn’t remember what was behind Door Eighteen to save her life. She glanced from Lennox to William, who smiled at her with an easy intrigue, before giving up the game.
“Which one is that again?”
Lennox laughed. “I forgot already you’ve said you’re new here. The Room of Fire.” Then she plucked out the cigarillo from where it smoldered against her skin and sucked on its end. In a billow of smoke, she asked, “Which door are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
Lennox’s brow furrowed until William leaned in and whispered a short statement. Brightening once more, she reached out and hauled Alora in close. “You’re the new door?”
Alora didn’t think Opulence Mansion performers counted as off-limits in her agreement of confidentiality. She hoped they didn’t. “I’m not the new door. Only designing it.”
Lennox gasped. “You’re a designer. Goodness, that explains the look of you.” She bit her lip over Alora’s shoes before stepping back. “I’m sorry for exploding all over you. We rarely meet new faces outside of guests and those we aren’t allowed to interact with except during performances. It isn’t the same.” Her cheeks sucked in against another draw from the cigarillo. Finished, she made to hide it away in her gown again.
“Wait!” said Alora, shaken. “Won’t you burn?”
Lennox grinned, wrinkling her nose. “No. And neither will the gown catch.” Proving it true, she stretched out an arm, holding the burning end of the cigarillo to the sleeve. When nothing happened, she stuck out her tongue, and Alora could only clap a hand against her cheek as Lennox effectively doused the cigarillo without incident.
“Are you impervious to fire too?” squeaked Alora, breathless, turning toward Lennox’s companion.
William regarded her with the same half-smile having never retreated from his handsome face. “I’m not. Though I heal very quickly.”
“But you don’t feel the pain of it?”
His smile grew wide. “I feel the pain.”
“We were just about to begin a practice routine.” Lennox stepped nearer, her voice lowering in confidence. “Would you like to watch?”
“Is that allowed? I don’t have my membership yet.”
“Master is said to be occupied until opening, and so long as we avoid Madam Feebledire, it will be a fine afternoon.”
