by Erin Johnson
Rhonda's dark eyes narrowed and she pursed her full lips as she looked between the two of them.
"Maybe they're having a staring contest?" I hiked up one brow.
Maple snickered—I could always count on her to laugh at my dumb jokes.
"Come on, dear, let's welcome our guests." The governor swept Annie and Yann forward, but Francis stood stock-still—and vampires can be completely still, not even breathing—holding up the rest of the line. "We have more guests to greet." The governor flashed his eyes at the butler, who jumped and stepped forward.
"Yes mum, many more."
Cordelia's throat bobbed, then she dropped her chin and looked straight down, dipping into a curtsy almost as deep as the one that had sent Pandora to the ground.
"Careful, Mom," her daughter murmured. "That's how I fell over."
Francis's eyes returned to normal and he stepped toward us, looking unusually pale, even for him. Rhonda poked his arm. "What was that all about?"
That's what I wanted to know, too.
"Nothing of consequence." Francis brushed it off.
Uh, yeah. I wasn't buying it, and judging by the glare on Rhonda's face, she wasn't either. But this didn't seem the place to delve into it.
Before we passed behind the grand staircase to the rooms beyond—and more importantly, to Hank—a maid held out a trim wooden box lined with padded velvet.
"Uh… sorry, I don't have any tip money on me."
Maple laughed and patted my hand. "No. It's for wrist and pocket watches—do you have one?"
I shook my head as Wiley pried off a battered wristwatch with a leather band, and Yann carefully laid a silver pocket watch in the box.
"It's Bruma Eve tradition. We stay up all night, on the longest night of the year, to make sure the sun will return again. So there'll be fireworks and cheering at midnight—like, yay! We made it through!" She waved her hands in mock celebration. "So, if you go to a party, it's tradition to leave all your watches and just go by one big clock at the house—so everyone knows to celebrate at the exact same time. We do a little countdown to midnight."
"Oh." I smiled. "Like New Year's Eve."
She lifted a brow. "I guess."
Hank, bow tie and all, stepped forward and took my arm. He escorted me into the party, my friends all trailing behind and Iggy in my other hand.
8
Bruma Eve Party
It was everything I could hope for in a winter party. I greedily plucked hors d’oeuvres from the passing waiters and popped little cheese squares into my mouth. I even stole bits of kindling from the pile beside the fireplace as treats for Iggy. While gathering them, I set Iggy on the mantle and when I straightened, found him chatting up a little magical flame glittering from one of the gilded candlesticks.
"Who's this?" I waggled my brows at Iggy.
He flashed his eyes at me. "This is Etna." He turned to the flame. "Etna, this is Imogen."
She winked at me. "Pleased to meet you, Imogen."
"Well, ready to get back to the party?" I lifted my brows but Iggy shook his head.
"I'm good to stay here for now."
"Okay." I pressed my lips together. "I'll come check on you in a little bit."
Iggy rolled his eyes. "Gah! I'm fine."
I grinned and couldn't help myself. I folded my arms and sniffed, pouting. "Guess someone's too cool to kiss Mom goodbye anymore. Am I embarrassing you in front of your friends?"
My little flame's jaw dropped in horror.
"Go!" he sputtered.
I skipped off, laughing.
The fire itself roared huge and hot, and between that and all the townspeople crammed into the lounge, hall, and dining room, little beads of sweat soon gathered at my nape. Maids and butlers opened the windows to let in a little cool. While toasty and cozy inside, we watched the snow drifting in lazy white clumps to blanket everything smooth and beautiful.
I was delighted at the magical punch. Hank ladled me out a cup of the wintry blue liquid, then used silver tongs to pluck up a glowing ice cube. When he plunked it into my glass with a little splash, I squealed as the top of my drink froze over and enchanted figures made of ice skated across the pond. A little ice man sat on a stump with a fishing pole.
"See, then you take your straw and make a little hole and—" Hank twisted the straw through the ice in front of the fisherman, and the little guy magically dropped in his line next to it.
My mouth hung open. "This is the cutest thing I have ever seen. Pinterest would lose its mind over these." I eyed the silver platter piled high with the glowing, magical cubes.
Hank took a sip of his frozen pond punch. He lifted a brow. "Pinterest?"
I chuckled. "Human thing." I took a sip and widened my eyes. "Hm. And it's yummy, too."
"Careful though—the hangover from it is crushing." Hank sighed as if he knew all too well.
I grinned around the straw between my teeth. "All the sugar?"
He nodded.
I took turns waltzing with Maple and Hank and Sam, though my shifter friend preferred to solo dance. He flailed and gyrated in a way that definitely cleared the floor around him and drew a lot of stares—some amused, some more malicious. I mean—he was a snake shifter. Wiggling and undulating was kind of his thing.
When a young man spoke behind his hand to his date and she snickered, I huffed and stepped forward to join Sam. I couldn't quite replicate his moves, seeing as I had bones, but I did my best, as Maple doubled over in hysterics on the sidelines. Annie got drunk on mead and told funny stories about Hank as a little boy, while his cheeks burned pink, and Yann charmed the few children in attendance by whittling them reindeer, pine cones, and magic wands from split logs.
Long tables piled with food and desserts lined the wood-paneled walls, illuminated by glittering chandeliers and flickering candles in tall candelabras. The table, the hearth, and the entryways were strewn with pine garlands and flocked ribbon, and a tall tree stood beside the fireplace covered in ornaments that magically changed color, or flitted about the boughs, glowing like fireflies. Soon all the cups of punch caught up with me, and my chest glowed warm and the room took on a pleasant, blurry glow. Man, did I suddenly feel confident.
I casually sauntered over to the doorway that led to the hallway and leaned against the frame, striking a dashing pose. Hank's expression flickered between a frown and smile. "Yes?"
"C'mere." I beckoned with a finger.
He chuckled and took long, loping steps to come and stand beside me. I looked up and wiggled my brows significantly at the spiny green leaves and red berries hanging above us—which barely cleared Hank's tall head.
"Well, I think you're intimating that we should kiss under the mistletoe—which to be clear, I'm all for—but that, in fact, is holly. It's a common misconception, but mistletoe actually has white berries and—"
I glanced hastily around and finding everyone nearby preoccupied with eating, dancing, or chatting, I grabbed Hank's suit collar and pulled him down to me. He grinned against my mouth, before wrapping his hands around my waist and pulling me into a deep kiss. I could have stayed there all night. Actually, not really. I could have taken him back to my room at the inn and stayed there all night. But a little "Eep!" startled me and I pulled away from Hank and his broad shoulders. The maid, Sal, blinked rapidly, her mouth open in a round O, then scuttled away down the hall. I leaned out the doorway. "We just… ’cause of the mistletoe, well holly I guess, but—" She disappeared around a corner without a glance back. I sighed and glanced back into the parlor, to catch a few people quickly drop their eyes, and a several others whispering with their heads turned, one eye on Hank and me.
My face fell, even as my cheeks burned with embarrassment and consternation. The whole point of keeping our relationship secret was to not tarnish Hank's reputation as he went forward with his, quite soon, wedding to Shaday. I couldn't just explain to all these strangers that the marriage was just about political alliances and that Shaday had a lover
of her own—someone she presumably actually had feelings for. Well, feelings besides respect. At least she and Hank got along well and showed each other kindness—like Shaday letting me know she was all for he and I dating. I held up my empty frozen pond punch glass. The thin layer of ice and the little figures on it were nearly melted away.
"I need a refill."
Hank hesitated a moment, but I shot him a heavy look and he plucked up the glass. "You got it. Pond Punch again, or eggnog this time? Mead?"
I lifted a finger. "Pond punch, please, good sir." Good sir? Maybe I didn't need another, but Hank was already threading his way through the tightly packed room on his way to the refreshment table. I meandered through the crowd, looking for my friends—or at least a place to sit, but spotted only strangers and occupied couches. Eventually I picked the wall with the tall grandfather clock and slouched up beside it, feeling rather low. I'd filled in Maple earlier on the wedding date being set, and she'd commented on how well I seemed to be taking it. But the more I thought about it, and really imagined attending, or worse, baking the cake for my boyfriend's wedding to another woman—no matter how impersonal their marriage would be—the heavier my heart felt. I suddenly wanted to curl up on the floor, take off my foot torture devices, and sob myself to sleep hugging a box of chocolates. Ooh, or maybe a pizza. I wondered if there were any of those cheesy breads left.
"Ah!"
I jumped as Wiley tumbled into me. "Oh sorry about—Imogen? Oh, Imogen, just the lady I've been looking for." He lifted a hand to cuff my chin, but missed and grazed his knuckles on the wallpaper.
I eyed his buttery white drink, my lip curling up in disdain. "How many have you had?" The sweet nutmeg scent of eggnog wafted over to me.
"How many have you had?"
"Toshave."
He leaned forward and squinted at me, swaying slightly… or maybe that was the whole room. "Did you just say 'toshave'?" He giggled.
"Whatever. Touché. You know what I meant. Where's Maple?"
He shrugged and turned his back to the wall, leaning next to me. "Dunno. I think she got mad when I started talking to that Ria girl."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Wiley!"
"What?" He blinked his blue eyes at me. "I wasn't interested in her, or anything, just trying to have a little fun… maybe make Maple a little jealous."
I shook my head. "You are such an idiot."
"I know, right?" He dropped his face and stared at his shoes, then let out a heavy sigh. "Not like it matters. She's too good for me… she should be with that Wool guy." He lifted his head and gritted his teeth. "You've met Wool, right? At the competition. What's he like? Is he like, buffer than me?"
I shook my head again.
"I know." He slumped lower. We stood there a minute, listening to the string quartet play songs that sounded like old English Christmas carols, barely audible over the din of conversation.
I took a deep breath and let it out at once. "Okay, here's the thing. You're not good enough for her."
His face pinched up and he looked like he was genuinely in pain. "I know. I know, and I've told her I'm sorry that I disappoint her, but—"
I held up a hand. "Nope."
He lifted his brows.
"She doesn't want you to be sorry that you disappoint her—she just wants you to stop doing it. Just step up."
"Huh?"
I growled in frustration. "If you want to be as good as her, worthy of her—if you want her to see you as her equal, you have to try to be like her. Let her be your role model. Notice all the things she does that make her so great, and do them, too. Like in the bakery, for example, you used to show up late, cause problems, mouth off, etcetera. She couldn't see you romantically because she saw you as someone she had to babysit. Then when you started doing better, she could see you that way, right? So you just have to keep trying and being better."
Wiley nodded slightly. "So like—like when she shows up early every day, or bakes treats for all of us on our birthdays—that kind of thing?"
I nodded. "Exactly. Clean out the ovens, stock the pantry without being asked—take on some of the responsibilities that show her that you see the million little unnoticed things she does every day to be head baker, and not only will she feel that you see her, but she's more likely to promote you, right?"
He nodded slowly, mulling it over.
"So if you want a promotion from fun friend to boyfriend, you have to do the same thing outside the bakery. Be responsible for yourself first, so she doesn't have to watch out for you. Then ramp it up—be there for her emotionally, ask her questions about herself and how she's feeling, see if you can anticipate her needs and make her day a little better."
He nodded. "That's good advice, Isabel."
I gasped and snapped my head up. "It's Imo— Oh."
He was laughing. Very funny.
"But—but Maple makes it look so easy." He ran a hand through his sandy-blond hair, leaving it standing at all angles. "It doesn't even seem like she's trying. How am I supposed to match that?"
I grinned. "I know. She's amazing, right?"
He nodded, eyes downcast.
"And you probably won't be as good at all those things as she is, at first. But she's had a lot of practice, and the more practice you get, the better you'll be. Try, and I promise she'll notice. And it'll change the way she sees you." I lifted my eyes to the coffered ceiling. "And she already sees you."
"She does?"
I bit my lip. I probably shouldn't have said anything. But he just seemed so down. Maybe some hope would help motivate him to try. I was saved from dishing about my best friend's feelings like we were in middle school (and I would've done it, too, with as many glasses of punch as I'd had), by an angry-sounding conversation. I lifted my brows at Wiley and we leaned forward to peer around the grandfather clock.
On the other side, bald Eddy stood glaring at Bridger, the drunk from the inn who'd pushed his way to the front of the line to use the loo. Or he’d claimed that was his reason. Line cutters were one of my pet peeves.
"His head's so shiny."
I snickered and held a finger up to my lips to get Wiley to quiet down. I wanted to eavesdrop.
"The government. Bah!" Bridger scratched at his neck. How he could wear a scarf in this sweltering room, I had no idea. "I deserve more, I tell ya. Years of service, and this is how they repay me. Well, I'll get mine soon."
Eddy jabbed a thick finger into Bridger's chest and growled, "This better be legit. Because I'd better get mine."
I grimaced at Wiley. This sounded serious. He burst into giggles and I shushed him again.
"I have proof—somewhere." Bridger blinked, looking confused again. He looked up suddenly, his eyes taking on a fierce determination. "I can get the originals from the records building if I can't find the copies."
"I don't really care." Eddy Kinn's voice sounded smooth as silk, but dangerous. "You'd better just get me my money." He pushed past Bridger, shoulder-checking him into the wall. Wiley and I flattened ourselves against the wallpaper, and held still until Bridger moved away into the thick crowd of partyers.
Soon Hank rejoined us and we moved through the crowd till we'd found the whole group. Together my friends and I found a few empty seats and Hank, Wiley, and Francis perched on the arms of the couches.
"Ahh." I let out a sigh of relief to get off my aching feet.
"What?" Maple lifted her blond brows.
I jerked my chin toward her stilettos. "Aren't your feet killing you?"
"Nah. There's a spell for that."
I sat up straighter on the leather couch. "You're joking."
She grinned and shook her head. "No. Sorry, I forgot or I would've done it for you. It's because you cast it on the shoes, and I've had these for months now. Here—some damage has already been done, but this'll help." She aimed her open palms toward my throbbing feet.
"These shoes do make my legs look good,
but will make them feel like pegs of woo
d,
with this spell like a cloud they'll feel,
I'll never fear a tall, thin heel."
"Oh, wow." I sunk back into the plush leather and wiggled my toes. My feet felt like feet again, instead of raw nerve endings. "I owe you. Anything. You can have my firstborn child."
Maple giggled and I patted her arm, grateful for the couch, the fire, and the relief. My eyes must have drifted closed because I blinked and jerked upright again at an unfamiliar face peering into mine. I frowned. Well… maybe not entirely unfamiliar. I'd seen this older woman casting a spell over the site of the destroyed mirror shop.
"Hello?" I cast a side-eyed glance at Maple, who just shrugged.
The older woman's small blue eyes twinkled. Though already short, she dipped down to my eye level and gave me a hard look. "Don't I know you?"
I blinked rapidly, trying to clear away the blurriness. "I—I don't think so. I don't recognize you."
She stroked her pointy chin. Her hand seemed to be missing a couple of fingers—though I counted five. It's just that two of them glowed blue and appeared semitransparent. She caught me staring at them. "Lost ’em to frostbite." She hiked up her chocolate-brown dress with fur trimming. "My leg from the knee down, too." Two feet in buckled shoes poked out from under her hem, but one shin glowed blue like her fingers.
"I'm sorry."
She waved her hand. "Long time ago. Anyway—you sure I don't know you?" She cocked her head to the side, her long, wavy white hair spilling over one shoulder. "Did you used to be much smaller?"
I gulped and looked to Maple and Hank at my sides for help. "Well—yes. I mean—when I was a child." I smiled. "We all used to be much smaller, didn't we?"
"Hmm." The old woman still didn't look convinced. "It'll come to me—I never forget a heart."
"A heart?"
She extended her hand with the missing fingers. "Junie Kingston."