Fatal Introductions
Starla floats over to the refreshment table just as I’m stepping away to follow Jackal. She breezes across the floor like she spends every single day walking in a cumbersome dress and tall heels.
She laughs, throwing a shimmering smile over her shoulder at a suitor who calls something after her.
“You are too much, Louis. Honestly.”
As she faces the refreshments area, her mouth puckers like she’s sucked a lemon. She gives one more quick glance around, but we’re the only ones in the vicinity.
“I’ve danced more than a figure in a music box,” she bites out, snatching a glass of champagne off the table and downing it in a few gulps.
She puts a simpering smile back on.
“Oh, Frederick! Secured a seven-figure deal for your father’s furniture import business? Please, tell me more!” She sticks her tongue out for just a moment, making it clear what she thinks of all the small talk.
“Less than an hour left,” I remind her.
Then we can go back to Zyra’s, if only for long enough to retrieve our bags and return.
“It’s not a total bust. I have plenty of people to quiz for clues all weekend,” Starla says before grabbing and drinking from another champagne flute.
She sets the second flute down, burps behind her hand, and then adjusts her dress.
“Jackal is introducing me to someone in that crowd over there”—I gesture to the group—“if you want to take a break from dancing.”
She relaxes a fraction of an inch, then begins to follow me.
“Sounds perfect. I can spare a few minutes to mysel—”
“Starla, did you know that Harry Pitt’s nephew was in attendance?” Councilman Taylor calls out to her.
“Notice how he doesn’t even crack a smile at the name,” she grumbles. “The man has no sense of humor. Well, back into the fray! I’ll try to catch you soon,” she says before throwing on the same glistening smile and swanning back to the dance floor.
I reach the group, and Jackal smiles. It’s nowhere near the genuine, warm expression he normally gives me.
“Hello again, Carolina. I saw that Councilman Taylor has been furnishing introductions for you. At the risk of overstepping, I think you’d find Claude to be a fascinating dance partner.
He’s been attending these events nearly as long as Starla, so he might be able to give you the lay of the land.
We’ll grab him as soon as he’s available. ”
Jackal tilts his head toward one of the men I saw him speaking with earlier. Claude, I presume.
The gentleman is wearing a green suit, muted in color enough that it’s not garish. Brown hair slicked back, and glasses, with the lenses glinting in such a way as to prevent me from determining his eye color. Something else glints as he turns, and I see the top of a pin above his pocket square.
He turns our direction, one brow rising above the rim of his glasses as he takes me in.
“Come on, I’ll introduce you,” the hyena says.
My anxiety climbs, but I do my best to swallow it down. I trust Jackal.
We make our way through the small cluster of people, made up of mostly men with a few women almost literally hanging off the arms of one or two gentlemen.
“Have the rest of you had a chance to meet one of Councilman Taylor’s special guests?” Jackal asks the cluster of people who stand between us and his ultimate destination.
“Convinced him to allow more hyenas into these soirees, have you, shifter?” one of the men asks. He guffaws afterward.
“A few shifters might do this event good. Liven things up a little,” Jackal responds with a good-natured smile as I get my emotions under control.
“But no, she’s a particular friend of Starla’s and was personally invited to some of the more exclusive events the councilman has on the agenda this weekend. ”
This must pique their interest, because a few of the men crowd closer. One of the women narrows her eyes at me as her escort pushes her off to get a better look at me.
Claude is near the back of the throng, and all I can see of him is his face—and his hand as he lifts a glass of scotch to his lips.
“Are you an heiress?” one of the women tosses out, her mouth twisted in a sneer as though she’s already preparing to take me out as competition.
“A particularly gifted supernatural?” one of the men adds, not even blushing as he shoots the personal question in my direction.
“Or, maybe she’s another dud witch like the councilman’s daughter. Running off to America and keeping company with shifters. It’s a wonder he’s managed to convince so many respectable warlocks to consider Starla after all that,” a second woman scoffs.
I see red.
“What exactly are you implying, Lillian?” Jackal asks, voice smooth as glass. He stares at the woman, whose long, wavy brown hair is piled into an updo, without breaking eye contact.
She gulps, clearly feeling the instinct to run in the face of an angry shifter, but she doesn’t back down.
“All I’m saying is that some of us have kept ourselves in the right company since the day we were born. If I were a man here with promising prospects, I wouldn’t throw them away for some shifter’s sloppy seconds, even if the girl’s father was as powerful as the councilman.”
My throat is boiling with the urge to sing. Shifter’s sloppy seconds? Is she implying something between the witch and Jackal? She’s managed to trash-talk both of the people I love most in the world.
My temper threatens to snap. And surely, in this case, it’s justified? Any regular party guests would be bound to clap back, and perhaps it will look more suspicious if I don’t.
Grammy said to trust our instincts, and mine have some things they’d like to say.
“The witch you’re insulting has more integrity in her little finger than y—”
“Lillian!” the sharp male voice that interrupts me belongs to Claude.
The man has pressed his way through the crowd, and has the woman by the wrist, his fingers wrapping around it tightly and squeezing.
“The councilman is well-respected, as are his decisions. Maybe our long-standing association with him leads you to think you are free to express yourself less formally, but he will not thank you for it. I certainly don’t want you inserting your petty disputes into his business dealings.
Men, I will take responsibility for my sister’s careless words.
She’s had too much to drink, and I must beg you to forgive her inexcusable overstepping of bounds. ”
Siblings, then.
And apparently, the line begins and ends with Starla. Jackal is available for insults, because it must be common knowledge the councilman doesn’t care for him. But he’s showing obvious favor to his daughter and her friend, so we’re off-limits.
I tuck that information away for later. While Councilman Taylor might still be a threat to Starla’s independence, he is also our buffer from the more aggressive guests.
I step in front of Lillian, testing how much leeway I’ll be given.
“I would hate to have to tell Councilman Taylor that this was the reception of his daughter’s closest friend. Particularly when he’s been so kind as to help me generate connections. Many people have been very interested in what my siren abilities can do. I’ve already made several useful contacts.”
The woman swallows again.
“Siren?”
I smirk, relishing the chance to put her in her place. It’s not part of my day-to-day nature, but no one insults Starla and Jackal in front of me and gets away with it.
“Of course. As you all indicated, the councilman surrounds himself with the best. And what about you? Lillian, was it? Do you do anything worthwhile, other than being the daughter of the right people? Any talents of your own? Surely you’re not a dud witch?”
The insult tastes bitter in my mouth, but it has the desired impact.
The woman snaps.
“I’ll have you know I have a key that allows me increased strength, and if I were less of a lady I could flatten you.”
“And if I were less of a lady I could sing you directly off the manor’s second-floor balcony,” I say while keeping my smile firmly in place.
There are a few intakes of breath, the others waiting to see how the situation will conclude.
Lillian huffs.
“Go back to your room and sleep off your overindulgence,” Claude says, pressing his sister forcibly back into the crowd.
She glares daggers at me, but she does what she’s told.
“Got your work cut out for you with a sister like that,” one of the men says, laughing.
Claude shoots him a withering look.
“My sister has had a long day and merely had one drink too many. Any worthwhile companion would have been monitoring such a thing. Who was dancing with her most recently? Who brought her the last glass of alcohol?”
No one answers, so Claude continues.
“I’m sure none of us want to ruin the festive feel of the weekend, and it would be a shame if Councilman Taylor was pulled from his good mood for a small spat between two of the ladies, I’m sure we all agree?”
Jackal steps forward, reaching out to thump Claude on the chest.
“Very chivalrous of you, Claude, considering the ladies. I know none of us want to ruin the weekend.”
The others murmur agreement, the tension beginning to break.
I’m not focusing on them, though.
Jackal’s hand landed just above the pin on Claude’s chest.
I can see it clearly now.
A crest, with a pen crossing it, and a dragon wrapping its claws around a shield. The same symbol Leon used at Ivyrn Works.
Claude frowns at Jackal, stepping back and dusting himself off.
“Just to ensure there are no hard feelings, might I have your hand in the next dance, Carolina?” Claude asks.
I’ve had hand after hand offered to me this evening.
I want to take this one least of all.
“I would love to,” I say, accepting the warlock’s offer and following him to the dance floor.