The egg folded its arms. “Pray, how d’you mean help, sir?”
Alan’s eyes opened wider. “The… you know. Egg with a face. We’re trying to find some sort of spell that will help us locate our friend. She’s lost.”
The egg winked. “Lost her virtue? Ravished by a rake? A cockle-brained—”
“No,” Alan interrupted. “The Purgators took her.”
It waved its arms. “A French pox on them!”
Alan crossed to the table, placing the egg down gently next to a pudding. The egg continued to rant. “A mistress is like a rum flip. One sip—”
“These spells are duds,” said Alan. “We need a new plan.”
Fiona raised a finger. “Mrs. Ranulf was wasted the other night.”
Alan frowned. “Drunk? When?”
“When I was sitting on top of Tobias.” Heat rose in her cheeks as they both stared at her. “I mean, when we snuck up to the holding cell. She was stumbling all over the place with a pink cocktail. And she had the key around her neck. If there hadn’t been red dust everywhere, I could have snatched it right from her.”
Alan grinned, nodding slowly. “So we need to make sure she stays near the cocktails tonight. And then someone needs to get her alone.” He turned to Tobias. “Any chance you can charm the older Ranulf lady as well as you charmed the younger?”
Tobias was squinting at the river and didn’t respond. Fiona hit his arm. “Are you even listening?”
He held his arm, glancing at Fiona. “Ow. Yes, we need to get her drunk. Don’t worry.”
She frowned. “What do you keep looking for?”
Ignoring her question, he put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find Mariana soon. I can feel it.” His thumb lingered on her neck for a moment, his fingers unnaturally warm. “Just—stay near me at the party. I have to go now.” He said it with conviction, but didn’t move. He wrapped a finger around a curl by the side of her face. “Find me in ten minutes.” He stared into her eyes before turning to stride off though the trees, the breeze ruffling his hair.
Alan stared after him. “He’s getting weirder. I didn’t think that was possible.”
A gravelly voice shouted. “For what purpose should a woman learn magic, only to grow cuckold’s horns on her husband’s head?” The egg was engaging in some sort of soliloquy, his hands spread wide before an audience of green macarons.
She bit her lower lip. “Everything’s getting weirder.”
Alan plucked a pink flower from the edge of the banquet table and handed it to her. “For you, my virtuous lady.”
Fiona smiled, weaving it into a lock of her hair. She took Alan’s arm to step through the grove toward the party. Despite the humid air, her skin prickled with goosebumps as they crossed toward the gardens. I know there’s something Tobias isn’t telling me. And I have a feeling it’s going to get us both into trouble.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Fiona
Her arm looped through Alan’s, Fiona hobbled toward the party in her stiff shoes. They slowed their pace as they approached the banquet tables that stood between he gardens and the river. Tobias’s caginess was making her stomach clench. Why did he have to rush off so quickly? And what the hell does he keep looking for?
More guests had trickled in through the gardens, some sitting at the small tables with champagne flutes and plates of h’ors d’oeuvres. None of them seemed to mind the horrific wail emanating from the crypt.
Iron candelabra stood on the tables, each draped with strings of pearls. In the darkening evening, the tabletops twinkled with the candle’s red, dripping candles.
A string quartet tuned their instruments alongside the dance floor, and above the parquet tiles, colorful, round lanterns dangled from the boughs of magnolias. Strands of tiny white lights glimmered between them. The effect was like tiny planets suspended among the stars.
As the music swelled, a waltz partially drowned out the mournful wailing of the Fury.
Fiona squeezed Alan’s arm. “This is amazing. If the Purgators weren’t psychopaths, I think I’d consider joining them.”
Alan pulled his wolverine mask over his face. “Fiona, I’m sure we can get invitations to cool parties without selling our souls to a cult.”
They paused for a moment by a buffet table beset with bowls of fruit, pecans wrapped in prosciutto, and smoked salmon canapés. Fiona attached her mask’s gold ribbons behind her head. When it was secured, they continued further into the gardens, admiring the guests. Up close, the costumes were stunning. Some guests dressed as animals with furry masks like Alan’s, and others as mythical creatures: a harpy in a yellow feathered mask, a mermaid in a sparkling sea-green dress, and a grinning centaur.