Braeden made his way through the crowd up to his aunt and uncle. He was wearing black tails, a white tie, and white gloves, and he looked every bit the well-to-do young gentleman.
“You look very handsome, young man,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said cheerfully.
“Thank you,” Braeden said, blushing a little.
“You seem more chipper today,” Mr. Vanderbilt remarked.
“I’m feeling a little better,” Braeden agreed.
“Well,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said. “I know several little ladies who are reserving a spot on their dance cards for you.”
Braeden’s mood darkened. “I would rather not.”
“I know your heart’s not in it, Braeden,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said gently. “But when the dancing begins, it would be ungentlemanly if you didn’t ask some of the girls to dance with you. Many of them have come a long way to be here with us.”
“I understand,” Braeden said glumly.
“Does your leg feel all right?” Mrs. Vanderbilt asked compassionately. “Do you feel well enough to dance?”
“It’s not that. I just…” Braeden began, but then faltered. Serafina could see that he didn’t want to lie to his aunt, but he didn’t want to tell her what she didn’t want to hear, either.
“I know she was a good friend,” his aunt said. “But eventually, for your own sake, you’re going to have to accept that she’s gone.”
“I know,” Braeden said sadly.
“I’m not gone yet, Braeden!” Serafina cried out despite herself, forgetting her mature and somber acceptance of her death just a few minutes before. “Don’t let me go! Hold on to me!” But of course no one could hear her.
In the next moment, the conductor of the orchestra brought the evening’s musical prelude to an end, everyone clapped politely, and then he tapped three times on his stand and lifted his white baton.
An excited murmur ran through the crowd. They knew what was coming.
The sound of the orchestra rose up into a lively and sweeping waltz perfect for dancing.
Little bouts of enthused clapping rose up among the guests, everyone happy that the time had finally come. Gentlemen young and old throughout the ball walked over to the ladies of their choice, bowed deeply, took their hands, and asked them to dance.
The palm trees, furniture, and works of art that normally filled the Winter Garden had been cleared away to make room for the dancing. And while many of the mansion’s rooms and corridors were lit with candles, the finely carved beams above the dance floor were strung with thousands of tiny electric lights, like fireflies in a magic garden, so that the ladies’ dresses glowed and shimmered in the light.
So that’s what Pa had been working on, Serafina thought, and at that moment, she caught her breath, for her pa was standing across the room from her in a handsome dark suit, leaning against one of the black marble columns of the Winter Garden.
He was not in the formal, white-tie evening wear of Biltmore’s guests, but he was washed and shaved, and he looked more handsome and dignified than she had ever seen him before. He was gazing at the lights that he’d put up for the ball and listening to the pleased reactions of the delighted couples as they walked out onto the dance floor. There was a proud and satisfied look on his face. And all the emotion that she’d been feeling moments before welled up inside her.
She wanted to go over to him and hug him and tell him how proud she was of him and how much she loved him. Her pa had never been to school and knew no magic spells, but tonight he was the wizard of light.
As the elegant couples began filling the dance floor, Serafina noticed a girl standing across the room. She was dressed in a long, beautiful, dark green, iridescent gown. The girl had severely angled cheekbones, long black hair, and large amber eyes. The hackles on the back of Serafina’s neck went straight up.
There she is, Serafina thought.
Rowena’s face possessed a disturbing resemblance to her own, but it was different from her, too, like a more alluring, better version of herself. It appeared that Rowena wasn’t pretending to be her, but an older sister or a cousin. She must have stolen or used some sort of spell to create the dress. And she had fixed her long black hair up into an elaborate arrangement. To Serafina, she looked magnificent and beautiful and evil all at once.
Rowena was almost perfect in her appearance, but when Serafina looked more closely, she saw at the edge of her high collar the trace of the terrible scar on Rowena’s pale white skin. Determined to stop the sorceress before she started, Serafina walked straight toward her.
But even as Serafina charged forward, what she heard behind her made her heart sink.
“All right,” Braeden said softly to his aunt as he noticed the mysterious but strangely familiar black-haired girl in the green gown. “I’ll ask her to dance.”
“That’s excellent, thank you, Braeden,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said, barely noticing the girl, but immensely encouraged by her nephew’s sudden willingness to do his gentlemanly duty for at least one of the young ladies in the room.
“Do we know that girl?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked, eyeing Rowena with concern.
“I’m sure she’s from a good family,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said, obviously pleased that Braeden was finally beginning to socialize.
As Braeden moved toward the girl to ask her to dance, Serafina moved toward her as well.
“You shouldn’t be here!” Serafina hissed at her.
“Skedaddle, kitty cat, I’ve got work to do,” Rowena whispered beneath her breath, and then lifted her face and smiled a gracious smile as Braeden presented himself to her, bowed, and offered his white-gloved hand.
To those around them who happened to be watching, none of this seemed out of the ordinary. Serafina knew ballroom etiquette enough to know that it was the duty of every young gentleman to ask the young ladies of the ball to dance, and it was in fact rude for a gentleman to allow a young lady to stand for long without a partner. And for her part, if a young lady was properly and respectfully asked, she should not refuse to dance with a gentleman unless her dance card was already full.
“My name is Braeden Vanderbilt,” he said in a kind but formal way as he put out his hand to her. “Will you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
“With pleasure, sir,” the girl replied in the sweetest, most exquisite Charleston accent that had ever been spoken by a Southern belle, and placed her delicate hand in his.
Serafina watched helplessly as Braeden and Rowena walked slowly and formally out onto the dance floor among the other dancers. It was clear that he didn’t recognize who she was, but he seemed strangely drawn to her.
“Not her, Braeden!” Serafina shouted. “Anybody but her!”