Four.
Where did seven, six, and five go? And when did his hand land on my hip?
Three.
He leans over.
Two.
Lower still.
When the crowd yellsone, his mouth whispers across my cheek toward my earlobe. I feel the heat of his lips against the shell of my ear.
“If I relied on kisses for luck, I would never have made it off the streets alive.”
I’m so surprised by his confession, and the fact that he didn’t use the pretense of a tradition to kiss me, that I gape up at him.
He picks up my limp hand, bows his head, and brushes his mouth over my lace-cloaked knuckles. “Word of advice . . . make your own luck. It’ll last you longer.” And with that, he’s gone, slinking like a shadow through the embracing crowd.
When I shake off my daze, I remember the thin diamond bracelet with the emerald quatrefoil charm I clasped over my glove tonight. I’m already imagining it gone, which is probably the reason for how startled I feel when the white diamonds and green stones blink wildly back at me.
5
Slate
My lips are warm where they touched Cadence’s ear, and the fruity scent of her shampoo lingers in my nose. I could’ve kissed her. Hell, I think I would’ve enjoyed it. Immensely. She’s quick and shrewd, and her lips are like ripe cherries, but there’s an innocence in those blue eyes that made me hold off. I’m normally surrounded by girls with hard edges and harder hearts. Girls who thrive off of power games and greed. This one is different. A naiveté emanates from her. A kind of goodness.
I glance back. She’s still standing by the far wall surrounded by all of De Morel’s dead relatives immortalized in their precious frames. Her curly-headed friend has returned to her side, chugging champagne like it’s laced with rainbows. Side by side, they resemble before-and-after shots of Christmas morning—Cadence all wrapped up head to toe, and Curly-head completely exposed, ready to play with.
Cadence absently runs a hand over the wool hugging her waist.Yeah.I have a feeling there’s something amazing under that wrapper. Before leaving this dumpy, gray town, I might try to find out.
My cell phone vibrates in my coat pocket, and I turn away from the girls, ducking back into the foyer frosted with so many damn silver garlands I’m almost blinded.LITTLE BROflashes on my screen.
I lift the phone to my ear, stepping closer to the wall to peer at a graphite drawing. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah. Just checking up on you. You didn’t text me when you got in.”
“Sorry,Maman.” The way the women are sketched reminds me of Gauguin. I check for a signature. Sure enough, at the edge of the aged vellum, Paul’s sketched his name.
Bingo.
Bastian sighs. “Are you drunk? Your voice is a whole octave lower than usual.”
“Nah. I’m almost sober.” But my tongue chooses that moment to stick to the roof of my mouth, and it comes out, “Um ummalst soba.”
“Shit, Slate. Don’t do anything stupid. You always do stupid stuff when you drink too much.”
“No, I don’t.” I turn away from the drawing and slip my gloved hand under my armpit despite the fact that Bastian can’t see a damn thing.
“So, what’s it like there?” Bastian’s chewing on something—it better not be my madeleines.
“Like a damn Harry Potter convention. They worship magic here, man.” I grab a salmon mousse thing from a passing waiter and pop it into my mouth. “The town looks like it just stepped out of the Middle Ages—all stone and cobbles and shit. And it’s cold as a witch’s tit. Fucking glacial.” Little Miss Cadence steps into my line of sight again. “But the view isn’t bad.”
“And the De Morel dude? You find him yet?”
“Yep. Just need to get him alone.”
After Bastian makes me promise to call him, we hang up. Only eighteen, and he’s already such a mommy.
