The dress fits her like a glove, as if it’s been tailored to her exact measurements. She slips it on in a hurry, keeping an eye on the house through the gaps in the blinds. No one has come after her. No one will. She is nonessential to the plan. They have everything they need to finish the job. Asher, the soldier. Lys, the prince. Poppy, the genius.
And then there’s Shea Parker, the blood bag.
All she’s good for is opening up a vein.
The silk clings to her curves, lace spilling down her figure like water. She’s never worn anything so pretty in all her life. She doubts she ever will again. She’s midway through stuffing Bugs back into her bag when the door swings shut. She turns, an excuse already building in her throat, and finds Poppy standing there, Kit in her arms. Several moments of silence unfold as Poppy looks her over.
“Shea,” she says softly. “You can’t.”
“I’m just trying it on.”
“Don’t lie.”
“He’s the one who lied.” Her eyes are hot with tears. “He promised me. He told me if I came with him, he’d get me a cure. Helied, Poppy. He lied about everything.”
“He did,” Poppy agrees. “He panicked, and he made a huge mistake—”
“Are you seriously defending him?”
“No.” Poppy looks appalled. “No, I’m not defending him. I’m just saying that if you want to make him regret it, Shea, there are better ways.”
“This isn’t about Lys at all,” she says, with more vehemence than she meant. “It’s about my mom. It’s about Ellie. You heard Asher in there—he doesn’t even believe us. He won’t listen, and I don’t know why. Ellie is here. Youknowshe’s here. You feel it.”
Poppy is quiet. “You really think Paris is going to help you?”
“I think he’d be willing to negotiate.” She doesn’t explain how, or why. She doesn’t tell Poppy about the woman in the woods, or the promises she’d made.Paris is a kingmaker. A dealbroker.“The man at Van Haut’s called me Keeling’s ‘singular obsession.’ Do you remember? I can use that. I can work it to my advantage.”
Poppy frowns. “I don’t know, Shea. It feels like a bad idea.”
“It’s not. I’ll go to the party. I’ll introduce myself. I’ll—I’ll flirt.”
Poppy makes a face. “Flirt?”
“Yes,” insists Shea. “I can flirt.”
“Shea, I’ve seen you flirt.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“I have, too,” Poppy counters. “I’ve watched you around Asher our whole lives. You panic. A-and your hands get sweaty. And, if I’m honest, you’re a little bit rude.”
“I don’t have to be good at it, I just have to be there.” She pushes her hands through her hair, casting another glance through the blinds. The house is still, the door shut. If she wants to leave without notice, it needs to be now. “Look, I’ll wear the dress. I’ll get close. I’ll make a deal with Paris, whatever it is. I don’t care about Lys’s stupid little need for retribution. I don’t care if Paris lives or dies. I care about my mom. I care about Ellie.”
Poppy sinks onto the edge of the bed, frowning up at her. “Are you doing this because you think it’s a good idea, or because Asher said you live in a bubble?”
The question jabs at her like a needle. “It’s a good idea.”
“You don’t have to prove anything, Shea. It’s not a condemnation of your character to have had people in your life who wanted to protect you as long as they could.”
Shea thinks of her father, stacking spare change in the dead of night. Her mother, making broth out of nothing. Lying to her and lying to her to carve out a tiny little pocket of safety in the shadow of something sinister. What good had it done? She never knew things could be different until she woke up and found reality standing over her with fangs. This is her chance to set things right.
Come to the revel. Alone.
“I’m going,” she says. “And I love you, Poppy, but nothing you say is going to change my mind. So, either help me get ready, or get out of my way.”
Leaving is easy.
It’s the rest she miscalculated. Shea picks her way along the dunes, sweating already, her boots squishing in the sun-dried sand of a little inlet. Pink patches of muhly grass tickle her bare legs as she goes. The sky stretches on and on and on without end.
