Portraits of the Forsaken

by E. E. Holmes

  “Ugh, will you stop complaining? You’re gorgeous.”

  “What’s the point of being gorgeous if you can’t breathe?”

  “Suffer, sweetness,” Milo cried dramatically. “You must suffer for your art!”

  “This isn’t my art!” I whined.

  “Okay, fine. Suffer for my art, then,” Milo said with a roll of his eyes. “Just hold still so Hannah can take the damn picture already. And try not to look so miserable.”

  I shifted slightly. “Milo, you just told me to suffer, but not be miserable. Do you even listen to yourself when you talk, or do the words just fall out of your mouth in a random order like sassy fridge poetry?”

  “You know what I mean!” Milo cried, exasperated. “Models manage to suffer without looking miserable!”

  I laughed, which was a mistake because it made my pose even more uncomfortable. “Milo, Mr. Fashion Designer Extraordinaire, have you ever even looked at a fashion magazine? They all look miserable. Every single one of them! All. The. Time.”

  “That’s not misery, that’s smolder. You’re not smoldering enough.”

  I dropped my arms to my sides and sighed. “And how exactly does one ‘smolder,’ pray tell?”

  Milo groaned. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s a kind of pout, but with sexy eyes. Like this.” He instantly struck a pose, pursing his lips and staring at me intensely.

  I blinked, momentarily dropping my attitude in surprise. “Wow, actually, yeah. That’s pretty smolder-y.”

  Milo flipped his hair. “I know. Now, just do what I just did.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him and tried again. “I feel like a jackass. An itchy jackass.”

  Milo cocked his head to the side and looked at me appraisingly. “Yeah, you look like one, too. Smoldering is not in your repertoire, sweetness. Just scowl a little, you’re good at that.”

  I obliged with gusto.

  Hannah snapped a few more photos quickly, then checked them on the screen, presumably to make sure I hadn’t blinked. “Okay, we’ve got some good ones. We need to go, or we’ll miss the ceremony.”

  I slouched and sighed with relief, immediately kicking off the high-heeled ankle boots and slipping my feet into slightly faded black suede flats. Milo raised a critical eyebrow at me. “For the car ride, okay? I’ll put the torture devices back on when we get there.”

  “I need to get at least a few photos of you in the full outfit at the venue, so don’t forget to bring them!” he demanded. “I saw that,” he added, as I mimed chucking the boots into the trashcan before stowing them in a bag.

  “Wait, wait, there’s one more thing!” Milo said. He pointed to a stack of round boxes on the coffee table.

  “What are these?” Hannah asked, picking up the top box and pulling off the cover to peek inside.

  “They’re fascinators,” Milo said.

  “What the hell are fascinators?” I asked.

  Milo stared at me as though I’d just revealed to him that I didn’t know what a purse was. “Are you kidding me? This is England. We’re going to a ritzy wedding. Everyone will be wearing fascinators.”

  “Really?” Hannah asked skeptically. She pulled the fascinator out of the box and held it up. It looked like a tiny cushion of satin, with peacock feathers and puffs of tulle fabric fluttering off of it at unlikely angles. She held it up to the front of her dress, looking utterly bewildered. “Where… does it go?”

  Milo looked like his head might explode. “It’s a hat! It goes on your head! Am I the only one here who took copious notes during the royal wedding?”

  “Yes,” Hannah and I said together.

  “Oi, you lot, let’s get a move on, then, or all the good champagne will have disappeared down someone else’s gullet,” Savvy called from the front door. She was a much better sport than I was about her Milo Chang original, having gladly slipped into the jade green satin that so perfectly set off her creamy, freckled skin and red hair, which she wore in rippling waves over one shoulder like Veronica Lake—if Veronica Lake could drink your Irish uncle under the table.

  “I don’t think they run out of champagne at things like this,” Hannah said.

  “I’m not running any risks on that score, thank you,” Savvy said, winking. Then she spotted the fascinator in Hannah’s hands and gasped, evidently delighted. “Blimey! I’ve always wanted to wear one of these!” She opened another box and found the one that matched her gown. She perched it on her hair at an almost comical angle and grinned at us. “How do I look, then? Like one of the swells?”

  “Like the Duchess of the House of Excessive Cleavage,” I said sarcastically.

  “Brilliant!” Savvy replied. “Pop ‘em on, and let’s go.”

  Hannah clipped hers dutifully onto her head, but I flat-out refused. Milo insisted on bringing the hatbox with us “in case I changed my mind,” and we argued about it all the way down the stairs and out to the waiting car.

  We piled into the Caomhnóir SUV that Ambrose had borrowed for the occasion, leaving the seat beside him in the front empty. He glowered at us in the rearview mirror like the babysitter from hell until he heard the click of all our seatbelts, and then pulled away from the curb and set off through the streets of London. I would have preferred to call an Uber, but was informed that all of the Caomhnóir were required to be present for vague “security purposes.”

  “Some of them will even be posing as waitstaff and dates,” Hannah had informed me. “I guess they do that whenever there’s a large event that involves Durupinen out in public like this.”

  As the car started and stopped in the congestion of the city traffic, Savvy, Milo, and Hannah began chatting about the final touches on the next post for Milo’s Closet, but I didn’t feel much like joining in, choosing instead to stare out the window and sulk like the mature adult I was.

  It had been a miserable two weeks. Though I called every day for updates, there had been no change in Flavia’s condition, and the Scribes had still been unable to determine what Casting had been attempted on her that had caused such appalling damage to her Spirit Sight. I had distracted myself as best I could by throwing myself whole-heartedly into the arrangements for the paranormal investigation at Pickwick’s. Catriona had been unable to uncover anything unusual in the history of the building—no trace of Durupinen connections or proximity to abandoned Geatgrimas, or anything like that. It seemed likely, then, that whatever was causing the haunting was something that had been brought into the building, and so the investigation would go forward with the goal of locating whatever that object or objects might be. I was looking forward to finally getting some time inside the building without Shriya and Charlie, so that I could openly speak with the spirits there and start getting some questions answered. Yes, the investigation was a welcome distraction. This wedding, on the other hand, was a very unwelcome one.

  I still wasn’t entirely sure how I had been talked into attending, except that Hannah waited until I was half asleep and used lots of words like “responsibility” and “clan representation” and rounded it all off with a generous helping of guilt until I agreed just to shut her up. To be fair, I don’t think she actually wanted to go either—she was too much of an introvert to enjoy big crowds, and I’m sure the idea of organized dancing probably gave her night terrors. But she had taken up the mantle of our clan’s Council seat with almost obsessive enthusiasm, and she saw this wedding as a responsibility that must be upheld if she was going to be taken seriously in her new role as Council member, which she was bound and determined to be.

  I, on the other hand, felt my palms begin to sweat as I ran through the litany of people I was absolutely dreading having to face, and wondering if it was possible, if I found a dark corner near the cheese display, that I might be able to avoid direct contact with most of them. Hannah had warned me that the entire Council would be there, including Celeste, whom I had seen only that once—in her office on the night of Flavia’s attack—since the day she had torn the better part
of my heart out of my chest.

  Okay, that was a bit over-the-top, but Milo had dressed me up like a heroine in a telenovela, so I would allow myself the corresponding level of drama. The fact remained that Celeste was the reason that Finn and I were likely never to see each other again, and I didn’t think I would ever be able to forgive her for that. I knew she hadn’t done it to be malicious. In fact, as Hannah repeatedly tried to remind me, she had done it in the least public, least damaging way she could possibly have managed, saving our clan from yet another public bombshell of a scandal. But I couldn’t force any of that information to penetrate the violent fury I’d constructed around the very thought of her. The encounter at Fairhaven had hardly been a time for discussing any of these events. We had had one urgent purpose—to uncover what had happened to Flavia. There had been no opportunity to address or even brood much upon Celeste’s role in separating Finn and me. But this was a wedding, a venue made for small talk and forced social interaction. And without the barrier of a life-or-death emergency between us, amidst a sea of lovey-dovey couples twirling on the dance floor, I didn’t want to have to face Celeste Morgan.

  From our very first day at Fairhaven, Celeste had been an ally. She’d welcomed us when most others had turned their backs, and she did all she could to shield us from the nasty intimidation tactics of the other clans. She stood up for us in the face of the Council and had nearly always given us the benefit of the doubt. She was one of the last people within Fairhaven that I would have ever expected to strike such a blow to me, which was probably one of the reasons it hurt so profoundly.

  But worse than all of that, was the fact that Celeste knew the awful, irreversible consequences our family had faced as a result of that law. That law had destroyed our mother. That law had kept our own father a stranger to us. And though many would argue stubbornly that the law would have prevented the rise of the Prophecy had it not been broken, there was a much stronger argument to be made for the fact that the law itself was the Prophecy’s single greatest catalyst. And now, because Celeste chose to enforce it, that rule had torn Finn right out of my life by the roots, erasing him as though he had never been there, but for the gaping, suffocating absence of him.

  So, what was I supposed to do today? Give a little bow and smile serenely as she made her rounds amongst the guests? Nod and clap along to whatever toast she offered to the bride and groom.

  Not fucking likely.

  And then, of course, there were the rest of the guests. I’d spent enough time at Fairhaven now to be on fairly friendly terms with many of the clans, but the glaring exception was Clan Gonachd, which I was sure would be prominently and abundantly represented. Patricia Lightfoot was very good friends with Marion Worthington, whose attempted coup over our former High Priestess had led to her expulsion from the Council. Marion had schemed against us from the moment we set foot in Fairhaven, and though she had fallen from grace and Hannah now occupied her Council seat, I was not foolish enough to believe she was no longer a danger to us.

  And then there was Marion’s daughter, Peyton. Blessed with the same charm and warmth as her mother, Peyton had done all she could to make our lives hell during our first few months at Fairhaven, including one particularly memorable evening when she kidnapped us and left us to the mercy of the Elemental. Peyton, and her cousin Olivia, were two of Róisín Lightfoot’s best friends, which meant their entire pack of fem-bots would be in attendance.

  And finally, as if all of this wouldn’t be awkward and miserable enough, Olivia just happened to be Finn’s sister. I had no idea if they were in touch with Finn, or how much they suspected, if anything, about our relationship.

  In conclusion, I could think of several forms of torture that I would prefer over the cruel and unusual punishment that would surely await me at Róisín Lightfoot’s wedding.

  “You look nervous.”

  Milo’s voice thrummed through our connection, startling me. I turned to see him frowning at me in an uncharacteristically serious way.

  “Do I?”

  “You know you do,” Milo said. “As badly as you suck at having feelings, you suck even worse at hiding them.”

  “Not as badly as you suck at cheering people up,” I told him.

  He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry I made you wear the dress. And the shoes.”

  “And the torture bra?”

  “And the torture bra,” Milo amended. “I just wanted you to look fabulous.”

  “I’m not upset about the torture bra. Or any of the rest of it,” I told him, still silently.

  “You’re not?”

  “Nope. Well, not at the moment, anyway. It might be a different story after I wear the shoes for four hours.”

  “So, what’s up, then?” Milo asked.

  I only hesitated a moment. Gone were the glorious days when Milo and I could pretend our bond was constructed entirely of snark. Now, he was as much a confidante and friend as he was a pain in my ass. Maybe even more.

  “I’m really dreading seeing… well, basically everyone at this wedding, but most of all, Finn’s family,” I admitted.

  Milo sighed. “Oh, my God. I am such a jerk. I didn’t even think… I mean, I should have realized right away, but…”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “No, it’s not,” Milo said. “I’m supposed to be the Spirit Guide, and I haven’t done much guiding lately. The whole red carpet thing has kind of gone to my head.”

  “This wasn’t supposed to be a criticism of you, Milo,” I said. “I know how excited you are about your line. We all are.”

  “I know, I know, but that’s not the most important thing right now,” Milo said. “You have been going through some serious shit and I haven’t been helping at all. I’m sorry, sweetness.”

  I managed a small smile. “It’s okay. You have to screw up once in a while, so I have something to hold over your head.”

  “Happy to oblige,” Milo said, smiling back. “So, talk to me, then. I mean, if you want to. Or not. Does Hannah know how nervous you are?”

  “She knows I don’t want to go,” I said. “But she’s got Council stuff to worry about. It’s important for her to be there, I know that.”

  “She could go without you,” Milo pointed out.

  “Sure, and spend the whole night fielding questions about where I was and why I hadn’t come,” I said. “I didn’t want to do that to her. This is the first major social event they’ve held since she became a Council member. I didn’t want to screw it up for her.”

  “Okay, so you haven’t really talked to her about it. So, talk to me,” Milo said. “What’s got you worried?”

  I sighed. “What if they know?”

  “Know what?”

  “What if they know that I’m the reason Finn was sent away? What if they hate me for it?”

  Milo considered this. “Well… and this isn’t me being sassy, I promise, but… they already hate you, don’t they?”

  I almost laughed out loud, but stopped myself. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “So, then… what’s the problem, exactly?”

  “What if someone makes a scene about it? What if one of them confronts me?”

  Milo looked skeptical. “Is that likely? I mean, this is a huge social event, and these people are all about keeping up appearances. I’d be really surprised if any of them caused a scene with the entire Council there. Not to mention all of the guests on the groom’s side, who don’t know about the Durupinen. Plus, Finn’s reassignment is as much of a potential scandal for Clan Gonachd as it is for you. They aren’t going to want to draw unnecessary attention to it, not if they can help it. The whole clan is trying to save face anyway, after all the shit that Marion pulled.”

  I felt one of the knots in my stomach loosen slightly at this burst of logic. “That’s… true.”

  “And anyway, Finn distanced himself from them. He didn’t want to be associated with Marion or any of his clan, really. I don’t think he’d be confiding in any of them a
bout what happened, do you?”

  “No, I don’t,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean they couldn’t still find out what happened.”

  “True, but whatever they found out would be speculation. I know you’re pissed at Celeste—I am too, believe me—but I don’t think she’d ever tell anyone why Finn was reassigned. I mean, that was kind of the whole point, wasn’t it? She was trying to stop people from finding out about you two.”

  “I know, I just… I’m not looking forward to spending the night in a room full of people who despise me as much as I despise them,” I said. My voice inside the connection vibrated with a sadness that surprised even me.

  “Well, there is one good thing about it,” Milo said, a laugh in his voice.

  “Oh really?” I asked skeptically. “And what’s that?”

  “If there’s one thing a roomful of catty women hate, it’s one of their enemies showing up looking fabulous,” Milo said. I looked up at him to see him winking. “And sweetness, thanks to yours truly, you look utterly beyond fabulous.”

  I felt my lips twitching into a smile in spite of myself. “You really think so? Think they’ll hate it?”

  “Oh, honey, they will loathe it. Cross my non-corporeal little heart,” And he drew a long, slender finger over the specter of his chest, now grinning broadly.

  I laughed, out loud this time.

  Hannah and Savvy both turned. “What’s so funny?” Hannah asked, eyes narrowed, looking back and forth between Milo and me. “What are you two up to over there?”

  “Nothing,” Milo and I said together.

  §

  An hour later we pulled up to the sprawling manor house where the wedding was being held. I gasped at the sight of it as we rounded the bend in the drive. Well, I would have gasped, if I could have drawn enough breath in that straightjacket of a dress. It was like pulling onto the set of a lavishly produced Jane Austen mini-series. The house loomed over perfectly manicured lawns and gardens, four floors of stately stonework and softly glowing windows. There were even white-gloved servants opening car doors for guests as their cars crunched to a stop on the gravel in front of the massive front doors. I sighed and slipped Milo’s chosen shoes back onto my already protesting feet.