Neely refused to let me sneak a peek in the mirror while he worked. After I tried one too many times, he moved us to the kitchen table as punishment, going as far as to draw the blinds so I couldn’t catch my reflection either. He trusted me to paint my own nails. Mostly because he decided since he didn’t have polish to match my dress that I would have to make due with a clear coat, which he seemed certain even I couldn’t botch.
An hour into my makeover, the guards changed. Volkov texted me so I wouldn’t worry when I found unfamiliar faces outside the door, and also so Woolly wouldn’t evict them on reflex. So far she was tolerant of Volkov and his entourage, which made me more curious than ever why the old house had a soft spot for him. Had Maud known him? His clan? Had she resuscitated one of them? More than one?
Again I wished I could access the basement and research how all this fit, but not even the weakened wards had diminished the strength of the binding on that particular door. Whatever secrets Maud had concealed down there, and there must be thousands scribbled on notecards and tucked like bookmarks into journals, she had wanted to take them with her to her grave.
An hour after that, Neely pronounced me finished and escorted me to the parlor, where an antique mirror leaned against the wall stretching from the floor almost to the ceiling. The woman staring back at me reminded me so much of those old pictures of Mom I had to study the light fixture until I was sure no tears would roll down my cheeks and ruin my makeup.
My hair had grown long during my incarceration, but I’d chopped it off below my shoulder blades with a pair of scissors after I was released. Neely had trimmed those ends before weaving a messy fishtail braid that started where my hair parted on the left and created a thick band that he had woven into an over-the-shoulder style before curling the wavy ends. I’d skimmed enough of Neely’s magazines at work on slow nights to recognize the smoky eye treatment responsible for highlighting my wide, tawny eyes. The glossy lips and understated makeup gave me a healthy, natural glow that made me radiant.
“You are a miracle worker,” I murmured. “I knew you were good, but this is— Are you sure that’s me?”
“At work, you’re a character. I try to tailor a look to each girl, but it’s still an act.” He rested his hands on my shoulders and smiled at me through the mirror. “For this, you get to be you. Just a version of you who’s had twelve hours of sleep and whose go-to look doesn’t always involve a messy bun that resembles the aftermath of a bomb going off on top of her head.”
“Thaaanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He grinned like an imp. “Now, let’s see how your beau did guessing sizes.”
Used to getting indecent with Neely, I stripped down to my panties and bra and let him help me step into the dress. Volkov flattered me a bit by purchasing a size too small, but Neely swore at the zipper until he had me contained. Not for the first time, I thanked my time spent as a Haint for teaching me breathing was optional. The shoes fit like a dream, but I kept a pair of waders strung on a hook off the side of the porch for when the spring and winter rains puddled in the yard. He could have gotten an idea of my size from those. I preferred that rationale to him having a foot fetish.
“Keep eating to a minimum, and you ought to be fine,” was Neely’s final assessment.
However the night unfolded, I doubted I’d have an appetite once Dame Lawson finished with me.
“I owe you for this.” I clasped his hands. “How can I repay you?”
“Do you know not all the girls even check their makeup? They couldn’t care less how they look or what I’ve done with them. Others can’t be pleased no matter how I try. You’re the exception. You’re always happy to follow my lead, and you trust me to make you shine.” He squeezed my hands. “That’s all I need. This…” he swept his hand down my body, “…is soul food for the artist in me.”
“Well, be that as it may, I’ll try not to feed you too often.” I released him before he noticed my sweaty palms. “I don’t want to take advantage of our friendship.”
That fast my thoughts spun back to Amelie, and a fresh pang of misery stung me. She ought to be here, I felt almost naked without her, but it was my fault she was missing the big send-off.
The front door opened without warning, and I sucked in a sharp breath that made me dizzy in my already restricted gown. There were only two people to whom Woolly had given carte blanche, and one of them would be nursing hurt feelings until I apologized. That left the one person I really, really didn’t want to see me dressed up like I was playing princess.
“Damn.” Boaz darted his eyes from detail to detail like he couldn’t take it all in at once. “You’re gorgeous.” He gave himself a mental shake. “Jolene ain’t gonna cut it tonight, Squirt. Not in that dress.”
Or at least I think that’s what he said. I was too stunned by the crisp black suit tailored to fit his wide shoulders, the gleam of dress shoes instead of scuffed boots. His wild hair was tamed into a neat crew cut that must have happened within the last half hour since he hadn’t mussed it yet.
The pale-pink rosebud threaded through the buttonhole of his lapel left me feeling two inches tall.
“I must have missed the memo.” He flicked it when he caught me noticing. “I thought you were borrowing Amelie’s pink dress.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing for the shawl. I wanted to hide the gown that had inspired awe a minute ago but now caused my stomach to cramp. “What are you doing here?”
“I can’t let you go alone.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I promise to behave.”
I choked on a laugh. “I don’t believe you.”
A throat cleared, and we both winced at having forgotten Neely was in the room with us.
Boaz had that effect on me, always had, probably always would to some degree.
“Boaz, I’m sure you’ve heard Amelie mention Neely. He works his magic on the Haints each night.” I tugged one of my curls, and he glared at me until I lowered my hand. “He was kind enough to help me with my hair and makeup.”
“Boaz Pritchard.” He stuck out his hand and winked. “I’m your new biggest fan.”
“Neely Torres.” He blushed when they shook. “Amelie said you’re a holy terror, and that I should run in the opposite direction if we ever met.”
“Amelie is my kid sister. She tends to exaggerate where I’m concerned.” In that moment, Boaz was pure Southern charm. “I’m not so bad once you get to know me.”
“He’s right,” I agreed, earning me a startled glance from brown eyes. “He’s worse. Much worse.”
“You shouldn’t listen to her either,” he mock whispered. “She’s had a raging crush on me since kindergarten. I used to have to run laps around the playground just to keep this little monkey off my back.”
Considering he was right, I didn’t have a conversational leg to stand on. Jerk.
Woolly chose that moment to quaver out another excited chime, and Neely ducked his head, looking like he wanted to be anywhere other than here. I didn’t blame him.
“Expecting someone?” Boaz studied my attire, and I heard the pieces clicking together in his head. “You have a date.”
“An escort,” I corrected.
“I saw the—” he caught himself “—guards.”
“There was an incident the other night.” I kept it vague, knowing he would have leapt down my throat for keeping secrets if Neely hadn’t been acting as a buffer. “Mr. Volkov left me protection as a deterrent.”
“He did, did he.” The skin beneath his left eye ticked. “That’s him at the door?”
“Pretty sure,” I murmured, staring at my hands.
“I’ll let myself out the back. I wouldn’t want to ruin your grand entrance.” He nodded at Neely. “Nice meeting you.”
Another chime, a questioning note, rang out as Boaz stormed through the kitchen and into the garden.
“Chin up, sweetheart.” Neely draped the shawl around my shoulders then gathered his supplies and rolled them behind him into the living room as we approached the front door. “The rest of the night can’t go worse than this.”