“I’m not going.”
“Why not?” asked Hypnos. “We’re all celebrating!”
Zofia grimaced. “I have work—”
“Oh posh,” said Hypnos. “Join us! Just change out of whatever that is you’re wearing, and we can go! Feast upon the offerings of the town! Pour out libations to life itself!”
“What about your attire?”
“What’s wrong with my attire?” Hypnos asked, plucking at his outrageous velvet suit. The collar had opened at the throat, and Enrique remembered how his pulse had leapt that first time they had met. How Hypnos’s fingers had coasted down his chest.
Enrique shook himself and turned to Zofia. “Come out with us, phoenix. Your work won’t go up into flames if you take an evening off.”
“Very true,” said Hypnos. “Besides, remember how we decided to be friends?”
Zofia glowered. “Please do not suggest that we are now going to sacrifice a cat to Satan. It’s not even Wednesday.”
“Friends,” he said, ignoring her comment. “May go on outings. To the theater. Or concerts.” He glanced at her smock. “Although one might suggest less ascetic apparel. Should you decide to join, we will be waiting here.”
Zofia huffed and turned on her heel without comment. Enrique watched her go, feeling the slightest pang. He understood how she felt. Shaken, still, by what happened in the catacombs. Eager to concentrate on anything but her own thoughts.
“I think everyone could use a distraction from last week,” said Hypnos. “You especially.”
Enrique looked up, startled at how close the other boy stood. He had only just noticed. Around them, the lights of the hall had dimmed. The only illumination came from the gilded baroque patterns along the wall. Hypnos smelled of neroli and jasmine, the scent more concentrated at the base of his throat—Enrique could see a slick swipe where the other boy must have applied the pomade.
“Perhaps you’re in need of convincing?”
“Unless you have a treasure trove of jewels and undiscovered Forged instruments, I am not sure what you have to offer,” joked Enrique.
“Well, there’s always this.”
Hypnos bent down and kissed him.
34
ZOFIA
Zofia looked at the dresses covering her bed. It seemed as though someone had melted a rainbow atop her duvet—rich, nearly edible looking colors covered every inch of it. Laila was to blame.
Yesterday, Laila had left a trail of cookies leading from her laboratory to her bedroom. When she opened the door, she saw a wardrobe filled with gowns of pale lilac and dove gray, rich sable and gold-streaked chestnut.
“Voilà!” Laila had said, delivering a low bow.
“What?”
“Your new wardrobe! I stole your measurements a while ago and had these commissioned. You can even wear them underneath that butcher’s smock you call a uniform.”
Zofia had taken a couple steps forward, lightly stroking the silk. It was soft and cold beneath her hands. She liked silk far better than she liked other materials, which Laila had laughed at.Who would have thought the engineer would have the most expensive taste?
“Until when?” asked Zofia.
“What do you mean?”
She’d always had to return the gowns she wore for acquisitions. Zofia was used to this. Even in Glowno, she and Hela had only one fine gown to share between them.
“They’reyours,” said Laila. “For the keeping. And wearing. Which means you must actually wear them.”
Hers.Zofia let out a breath. The gowns were worth far more than her salary, and yet, with so many to choose from, she could even send one to Hela. The thought warmed Zofia’s face. What did she say to someone who had done something like this for her? “Thank you” was inadequate. She needed to parse apart the moments that had led her here. She glanced at the floor where a bitten cookie lay on a tray.
