Chapter 19
Nineteen
Elodie
Other Elodie was truly terrible at keeping track of her jewelry.
Maybe it’s because she’s got a hoard a dragon would be envious of. Still, it’s hard for me to wrap my head around being so careless with things worth hundreds if not thousands of dollars.
I slide open the drawers of the walk-in closet’s built-in jewelry cabinet again, checking their contents against the photo Aunt Daphne pointed out to me. “The emerald necklace you picked out for your junior graduation would go perfectly with the new dress. This one here.”
The framed family portrait shows Other Elodie at age 14, flanked by Dad and his parents, not even Daphne having made the cut. Gold and gems glitter around my doppelganger’s neck, the fine chain dipping to a cluster of deep green teardrops by her clavicle.
It would coordinate well with the forest-green silk rustling against my skin as I dip lower to search the next drawer, but there’s no sign of it anywhere I can think to look. With a sigh, I pick up the simpler emerald pendant I did find and position myself in front of the full-length mirror.
The new dress Daphne inflicted on me during our shopping session yesterday is fancier than anything I’ve worn in my life.
The silk gleams across the fitted chest and flows out to ripple around my calves.
Delicate gold embroidery studded with tiny twinkling crystals emphasizes the waist and winds along the hem.
I had to argue with my aunt about cleavage—apparently Other Elodie was all for deep plunges. But my aunt accepted the relatively high sweetheart neckline I picked out as a compromise that wouldn’t be too out of character.
I’d prefer to be covered up to my collarbones, but a couple inches below still keeps the scars on my chest hidden.
When I twist to one side and then the other, the skirt flares around my hips. I tuck my hair behind my ears, exhaling my jitters as well as I can.
I’ve never been to a party like this before. I was too much of an outcast to be admitted into the Blossom club in my own reality.
Blossom regularly puts on joint socials with the equivalent male club, Bounty, because even though we Luminary students aren’t supposed to be getting really touchy-feely with each other, many of us still want to dance with the opposite sex. And to look very fancy while doing it.
It’ll be fine. More rich kids hobnobbing and playing out their privilege.
Grady will probably be there, and some of the other Eclipse members too. I didn’t glean anything useful from them at The Eclipse earlier today, but this party gives me another chance.
How has it already been a week since Daphne wrenched me into this world against my will? I’ve got to sink into this role, and maybe I’ll see something I’ve missed.
I certainly look the part. Like a modern princess waiting for her carriage.
Despite my intentions, my thoughts flit to my matches back home.
Imagining how they’d react seeing me dressed up like this: Salvatore’s approving grin, a gleam of eager appreciation in Byron’s eyes, Cole shrugging like it makes no difference to him but letting his gaze linger all the same with an unmistakable smolder.
A shiver runs over my skin. For a second, I miss them so much I can’t breathe.
Swallowing hard, I square my shoulders. Inhale. Exhale.
I can keep going. Every step forward takes me closer to them.
Someday I might be able to afford to dress up like this for them in our reality.
I pull on the matching silk gloves, which stretch to mid-bicep.
Only a few inches of skin remain bare below the cap sleeves.
It’s not even that daring when the guys will have long-sleeved shirts.
As long as the girls don’t go around bumping shoulders, my schoolmates should all be safe from inopportune matching.
And I shouldn’t have to worry about encountering any of my would-be matches of this world. No professors are allowed. Asher wouldn’t meet Bounty’s standards. My Byron rarely bothered with the parties—and he was already socializing at The Eclipse this morning. Salvatore scoffed at all the glitz.
After this week’s turmoil, it’ll be a welcome break.
No distractions. Just getting down to work… while getting down.
Grabbing my clutch, I head out to the waiting car.
As majestic as the Luminary buildings are, the most elite student clubs don’t consider them party-worthy. Tonight’s social is being held in the ballroom of a grand hotel downtown.
I head past the front door the footman opens for me, knowing he and the other hotel staff are seeing only a bunch of spoiled rich kids for whom a yearly prom night isn’t enough. Around drab employees, we can’t use any noticeable magic, but that’s not what anyone’s here for anyway.
I’ve arrived fashionably late, but the real dancing hasn’t started yet.
Pop music jangles at a subdued volume through the brightly lit doorway.
In the vast room beyond, dozens of students in elegant suits and dresses cluster around the cocktail tables set to one side, casting coy glances at their hoped-for partners and waiting for the main event to begin.
The moment I walk through the doorway, my friends gather around me and usher me over to the drinks table. Glasses of champagne, bottles of coolers, and a crystal bowl of the punch that’s no doubt spiked stand ready for us to enjoy.
How much do our parents pay off the hotel so they’ll ignore the underage drinking? I guess I should be thankful the socials are only for seniors so I won’t have to witness any preteens getting wasted.
As I pick up a lemonade cooler with no intention of taking more than a few sips, Cadance brandishes a champagne glass. “Another week down! Just two more months and we’ll be on to our last year.”
Thank Lakshmi I won’t be around for that.
I clink my bottle to her glass and the drinks Stella and the twins have taken. Mia twirls around, fluffing the poofy skirt of her pink satin dress. “Can you imagine… It’s so soon we’ll finally find out our matches and our glims.”
I think her gaze lingers on an elegant 16th year girl whose name I don’t know. Well, if that one doesn’t spark with a match at her own graduation ball in two months, she’ll probably be at our ball for Mia to get her chance.
Cadance laughs. “I want to find out how many matches. Being in a trio would be nice, don’t you think? If you get pissed off at one, you always have someone else around.”
“Assuming you’re the core of the match,” Stella says wryly.
“Well, obviously I would be.”
As Cadance tosses back her ringlets, the main lights drop low. Streaks of glowing purple and gold dapple the dimmed space in the academy colors.
Maybe we should hold a séance for some actual school spirit.
Bass starts to thump from the speakers in the corners. The other attendees drift from the cocktail tables to the open dance floor. I note Grady Tadros among them, laughing with a couple of friends.
Target located.
Madison throws back the rest of her punch and narrows her eyes in a different direction. “Ugh. Why do they even let him come to these things?”
I follow her gaze. A familiar whoop and an unwelcome tug at my heart have my own spirits sinking before my eyes even find him.
Salvatore has come after all. He’s claiming the middle of the dance floor, gyrating his hips to impressive effect while he brandishes a whole wine bottle he must have brought with him.
He hollers exuberantly to a couple of his fellow Bounty members as they pass by, cuffing one on the shoulder, and then snatches a girl’s hand to whirl her around.
I swallow hard, the aftertaste of the hard lemonade turning from sour to rancid.
Right. My Salvatore stopped crashing these sort of parties after we matched. Since that hasn’t happened here… here he is.
In the years before our bond, I didn’t see him enough outside of school to get firsthand experience with the partier side of him.
I did overhear plenty of murmurings between my classmates about his exploits while drunk, high, or both.
Most of the upper-crust kids seemed to see him as part of the entertainment.
He’s certainly got plenty of people staring at him now, but he doesn’t give any sign that he cares. From what my Salvatore told me when I asked him about those times, the attention was the point.
He has a reputation to uphold, and he never wants anyone getting complacent around him.
Well, one match to steer clear of is easier than more. It doesn’t look like Byron’s made a surprise appearance.
While I gird myself as if for battle, Stella clicks her tongue and tilts her head with Irish-Setter alertness. “Boy toy at two o’clock, Elodie.”
My head twitches around to see Phillip Lowell striding over, with a flush in his face that suggests he’s already a little drunk. Fuck a faun. I don’t suppose a convenient hole would open in the floor and let me sink all the way to Atlantis?
No such luck. And my traitor friends veer off to the dance floor with a flurry of giggles, leaving me to deal with my overly determined suitor on my own.
“Elodie!” Phillip says over the blare of the music. “I needed to talk to you again. Without any little twerps shoving in.”
He laughs as if Asher’s intervention was nothing but a joke. My teeth set on edge.
This guy just doesn’t get the message, does he? This time I’d better deliver it loud and clear.
I step closer so only he will hear me and pitch my voice hard enough to pack a punch. “We’re done talking. We’re done anything. If you say a fucking word to me again, I’ll break your nose—and a few other bones too. Are we clear?”
I channel every shred of the Elodie who’s tossed back poison and wielded deadly blades into my words. Phillip’s expression stutters. I must have been convincing enough, because the color drains from his face.
He stumbles backward, holding up a hand as if to ward me off. “Okay, okay. Geez. You’ll come running back.”
Then he all but runs off with his tail between his legs.