Chapter Fourteen #2
It’s not really a human rib cage. This is some more of Poppy’s arts and crafts. But even though my bone adornment and the clavicle Rook is wearing as a brooch are both fake, the bones sewn into the costumes of everyone else here tonight are very real.
You may remember that the Dead can possess a living person if they have one of said person’s bones.
Well, it also works the other way around.
A living person can be possessed by the spirit whose bones they wear.
So, not only are we surrounded by people wearing human remains but also people possessed by the Dead.
The woman in front of me is wearing a dark navy dress with a high lace collar strung with teeth.
Behind her is a man with crushed bones sewn into his lapel, sanded down so they almost sparkle.
Over by the reflecting pool, a woman wears vertebrae as a belt.
Others have finger bones as buttons, phalanges as fringe, hip bones as epaulets. One man is wearing a skull for a hat.
Each of these people is a very live body being inhabited by a very Dead soul.
Living members of the Coven “volunteer” to play host to Dead members, allowing them to have a night where they can drink champagne, hear live music, and generally indulge in the sensory luxuries missing from the Afterlife.
The Beforedeath has its own kind of magic.
Rook and I are posing as Rob Jurski and Christine Horridge-Shale being possessed by Tad and Sofia ?apicki. It’s all very complicated.
“Excuse us,” Rook says to Mary Eccles, handing her his half-drunk champagne glass. “You’ve reminded me that it has indeed been quite some time since I’ve gotten to partake in these little pleasures. As such, I would like to dance with my wife.”
He takes my glass from me and, after setting it aside, takes my hand.
I giggle and wave to Mary. All in character, of course.
He draws me away from the path toward the other dancing couples. Rook takes one of my hands in his and pulls me close. A dance wasn’t specifically part of the plan, but I won’t let him throw me. The plan was to blend in, and we are, in fact, blending in.
“I’d say you were very good at getting into character,” I say, keeping my voice low, “with all that ‘indeed’ and ‘partake’ and whatever, but it’s just that your embarrassing old-person vocabulary happens to be useful at the moment.”
“Hmm,” Rook says, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’m glad I could be of service.”
I watch over his shoulder for any possible threats. “Let’s hope that’s not the only service you provide.”
Rook smirks.
“I mean, tonight.” I shake my head. “I mean, when we slip away. I mean…you know what I mean.”
I mean his role in tonight’s heist, but for some reason, I can’t figure out a way to say it that doesn’t include the word heist or a double entendre.
Rook’s expression softens. “Yes, I think I know what you mean.”
He stares deeply into my eyes and pulls me closer, and I’m suddenly aware of all the places where our bodies touch. His hand on the small of my back. The occasional brush of our thighs.
I won’t lie and say this can’t work to my advantage. Romantic feelings are the easiest to exploit. But if I’m completely honest—which I don’t like to be—there’s a part of me that wishes this were real.
It’s a weird feeling. I don’t like it.
But I know how to maintain a mark’s interest, so I reposition my hand so I can rub my thumb along Rook’s knuckles. “The cuts on your hand have healed.”
His fingers tighten around mine. “Well. I was provided with very attentive wound dressing.”
“See? That?” I snort. “That was the weirdest possible way to say that.”
He laughs, but his grin quickly fades into something more serious.
And then slowly, his hand raises to the side of my face.
My breath catches as his thumb brushes against the apple of my cheek, and he starts to bend toward me, slowly enough to give me time to pull away.
But I don’t want to. I want to rise up to meet him.
This is such a bad idea.
But some inexorable force pushes me onto my toes, tilts my head toward his, curls my fingers around his lapel.
My eyes start to close—
—but not before I recognize someone on the balcony above us.
“She’s here,” I breathe.
For a moment, Rook doesn’t respond, his eyes still on my lips, his grip on me tight. Then he shakes his head as if to clear it.
“Who?” he asks.
“Hecate.”
Rook pulls back. He starts to turn around, but I grab his face to look at me. The movement is too rough, likely to draw attention, and I make myself relax. God, I’m no better than him.
“Don’t look,” I say lightly through a forced grin. “Laugh like I said something witty.”
He smiles wanly. “I…I’m not good at pretending to laugh.”
I burst out in fake giggles. This is bad. This is very bad.
There was no hint that Hecate would be here tonight. These sorts of events are beneath the Titans. There’s nothing for them, watching bodies possessed by the Dead dance and flirt and drink to excess. But there’s no doubt it’s Hecate on the balcony, looking down on the decadence.
Hecate is the only Titan who ever shows her face. I don’t even know what the rest of them look like. But Hecate loves the attention.
She’s tall and thin, her features angular.
Sharp chin, sharper cheekbones. Pale skin and jet-black sheets of hair cascading over her shoulders.
She’s in a long dark gown with a V-neck down to her belly button and two slits to her hips.
There are silver cuffs around her biceps and silver straps running up her shins.
She’s beautiful in the most intimidating way possible.
Trying to steal the grimoire right out from under Hecate is risky enough, but we have another problem—she might recognize me. If Adam Waring recognized me in the Reapers’ hideout, who’s to say the other syndicates don’t already know who I am?
“We need to regroup,” I whisper.
“What do you mean?” Rook asks.
I grasp his hand to pull him toward the exit.
But just as I step forward, all the lights in the courtyard turn off.
For a second we’re in darkness, the only light coming from the stars and the flickering torches.
Then, slowly, the lights turn back on one by one.
Tolliver’s signal that he’s in the security system.
There are a few gasps and applause, but then people start running toward the entrance, where a crowd has gathered. People are shouting, cameras are flashing, and I tense. The crowd parts and reveals the couple who has caused the commotion.
Poppy and CJ.