I press my lips tight and heap my puffer jacket over Alma’s before she winds her arm back through mine and tugs me through the throng of twittering witches and warlocks nibblingcanapés.
“What does he see in her? Besides every strain of venereal disease in Brume?” Her voice carries over the din of harp, violin, and piano, and raises the bushy eyebrows of a silver-haired warlock. It takes me a few seconds to realize the warlock is none other than Adrien’s father.
He looks me up and down in a way that makes me clutch the scratchy woolen barrier of my dress. “You’re wearing Amandine’s dress.” The fact that he knows this adds to his general creepiness. “Your resemblance to her tonight is simply astounding.”
I don’t think he’d ever try anything, but his fascination with Maman, and now with me, makes every warning bell in my head clang when we’re in the same space.
In spite of the fog of alcohol, Alma must sense my discomfort, because she steps in front of me. “And your resemblance to an old necromancer is simply mind-blowing. Wheredidyou get that black velvet vest, Monsieur Keene?”
The corners of his eyes crinkle with a smirk. “Always so delightful, little Alma.”
She shoots him a smile that’s more teeth than lip before hauling me away. “Dinner with him last week was painful enough. Why must he be everywhere?”
“Maybe because he’s the mayor?”
She scrunches up her nose, making the small bump at the top stick out. “I know Adrien isn’t like him, but imagine if you two end up married, and Geoffrey becomes your father-in-law.”
“Married?I just want to kiss the guy, not marry him.”
Alma lets go of me to seize two glasses of champagne from a passing tray. She pushes one into my hands, then clinks hers to mine so hard I worry for the etched crystal. “To this year being the year you crawl out of your little shell.”
I take a small sip, the bubbles bursting deliciously against my lips. “I like my little shell.”
“I know. God, I know.” She hiccups-snorts. And then she just hiccups. “You like it way too much.” She downs the rest of her glass. “Ah, the man of the hour!”
My father wheels himself to us. “Bonsoir, Almachérie.”
While she plops a big kiss on his forehead, he eyes my glass.
“It’s my first drink, Papa.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“What smells so divine? Oh. Ooh. Mini quiches.” Alma all but tackles the waiter passing around leek and egg tartlets.
Papa readjusts his simple black wizard robe until it lays flat on his lap. “I suppose it’s not Alma’s first.”
I smile down at him; he smiles back. I may have only one parent, but what a parent he is.
“Make sure she sleeps over. I don’t want her traipsing around campus inebriated.”
I realize Papa’s staring at my dress, and his blue eyes, a few shades darker than my own, slicken, resembling the lake on a frosty morning. “Is that—Is that Amandine’s?”
Biting my lip, I palm the black wool. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn Maman’s dress. It’s obviously paining him. “Oui. Pardon.”
“Don’t be sorry. You wear it so well,ma chérie.”
I didn’t even consider what it would do to him to see me wearing it.
“Rainier, I need two minutes of your time.” Sylvie, Brume’s one and only physician, lays her silk-gloved hand on the back of Papa’s wheelchair. She’s dressed in a purple tutu with a matching satin bodice so unlike her usual garb of tweed that I might not have recognized her had it not been for her waist-long gray hair. “I’ll have him back to you in no time, Cadence.”
Alma traipses back toward me, brandishing a paper napkin with a couple of fried shrimp. “Grabbed some for you.”
I pop a shrimp into my mouth as we weave around the boisterous crowd. It seems likeallof Brume has congregated inside my home. The crazy thing is that all of Brume could probably fit inside our giant manor.
“So, who’s your victim tonight, Alma?”
“Victim.” She snorts. “You mean, the lucky man upon whom I’ll bestow a kiss? Haven’t decided yet. What about you?”
