They drew closer to the center of the gardens, looking out for Mrs. Ranulf and any cocktails they could usher her way.
Two men stood conversing by the statue of the chained woman. One wore a goat mask with swooping, bone-colored horns. The other sported a large set of feathered, gray angel wings. The angel turned as they approached, and Fiona’s mouth went dry. He wore a stony, gray-streaked mask that covered the top half of his face. It looked just like the weeping statues in the gardens. Security guards stood on either side of him, and a ruby chalice gleamed from his throat.
When she and Alan had squeezed past him, Fiona inclined her head. “The angel back there. I think that might be Senator Ranulf.”
“Where’s his wife?” whispered Alan.
“Probably waiting for her grand entrance. I imagine Munroe is doing the same.”
The houses’s river entrance opened, and Jonah wandered out, pulling on a gray mask. He wore a rumpled shirt and pants. Earlier, he’d said something about dressing as cement. Sadie followed, clad in one of Munroe’s blue cocktail dresses. She’d painted fat blue raindrops onto her mask, and periwinkle ribbons dangled from her blond ringlets.
A server with flaxen hair in a bun approached Fiona with a tray of flutes. “Champagne?” she said with a perky smile.
Oh good, no one has told her our ages. Fiona grinned. They could ply Mrs. Ranulf with alcohol all evening. “I’d love some, thanks.” She grabbed two, handing one to Alan.
Jonah was at her side in an instant. “Sweet.” He took two glasses off the tray, handing one to Sadie. “Why not indulge in an evening refreshment, darling?”
Sadie straightened in her best attempt at looking sophisticated. “Of course. Champagne after working in the office all day always calms my sciatica.”
The server gave them a confused smile. “Okay.” She moved on to someone dressed as a blue and gold dragon.
Sadie grinned, taking a slug of wine. “I’m really good at acting older.”
Jonah pushed his mask up on his forehead, eyeing Fiona from head to toe. “You look hot. Like, seriously hot. You found that dress in the basement?”
Sadie jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.
“It was at the bottom of a trunk.”
“Nice.” He grinned appreciatively before Sadie yanked him toward the dance floor.
The wooden door swung open again, and Munroe stepped out, arm in arm with Tobias. She looked even more beautiful than before, her pale skin shimmering with opalescent makeup. Her hair was swept up on her head, sparkling with little white crystals. With his warm complexion and flaming mask, Tobias was the perfect fiery complement to her frosty aesthetic. Munroe’s face shined as she slinked into the garden, rubbing Tobias’s upper arm with her palm. In the falling darkness, it took her a moment to notice Fiona.
Fiona had a sudden temptation to down the champagne, but she resisted. Munroe stepped closer, a hand slithering up Tobias’s sleeve, and the smile fell from her face. Her eyes blazed. “Where did you get that dress?” she hissed.
Alan answered for her. “The basement. Same place I got my suit.”
“That dress is not from the basement.” Her fingers flew to the silky fabric at Fiona’s shoulder. “Did you use magic to conjure this? My mother will have to hear about it.”
It took all of her self control not to throw her champagne in Munroe’s face. “You can tell your mother if you want, but she won’t believe you. She thinks you’re an idiot. And I can’t say I disagree.”
Munroe’s nostrils flared, and an angry blush crept up her chest.
“Not now, Fiona.” Tobias stepped close, his voice a harsh whisper.
Munroe clenched her teeth. “Yeah, Fiona.” She seemed to think Tobias was her protector.
The sound of a microphone’s feedback broke the tension, and Fiona winced, jamming her fingers in her ears. They’d become more sensitive since she’d learned to transform into a bat.
“If I could have everyone’s attention…” a voice boomed from the microphone.
With a final glare at Fiona, Munroe tugged at her date’s arm, pulling him toward the dance floor. “My father is about to speak.”
Frowning, Fiona strolled after them, Alan close by her side. He leaned into her and whispered, “Stay focused. The plan is to get Mrs. Ranulf drunk, not to fight with her daughter.”
At the end of the garden path, a small crowd had gathered around the dance floor. The weeping angel stood in the center, colored lanterns glowing against the dark sky above him. “Welcome, everyone!” he boomed into the microphone, his toothy grin a grotesque contrast to the mask’s dark streaks. His back was rod-straight, and he gripped a champagne glass. “I thank you all for coming this evening.”