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Kit would have appreciated the peace and quiet of a babysitter evening if she’d been with Fenwick. Maybe they could go to dinner and a movie, like they used to before Jade came along. But no, instead she was wearing a floor-length crepe dress with boning, sleeves that came to the wrist, and a black lace collar that made her feel as if she were choking. It even had a small black velvet hat with a tiny veil, and she wasn’t sure if she was wearing it appropriately, but at least an entire packet of bobby pins and half a can of hairspray would ensure that it and her bun could stay in place.
The wake took place at Councilman Branning’s adorable little lavender-painted house with the country cottage garden. She stopped to admire the flowers shining white in the moonlight. Kit held a large bouquet of white roses, white irises, white daisies and baby’s breath, which Silvara assured her would last three days. She had fruitlessly searched the Hallmark aisle in the drugstore, unable to find a card that said “Congratulations, you’re dead!” Finally, she settled on a blank one with a landscape painted on it, and she and Fenwick had both signed it with congratulations. Just in case they were going to be dicks about her being invited, Kit also brought the invitation that Jessi Mitchell had sent her.
The door opened, revealing a pair of black leather pumps in the triangle of moonlight spilling onto the carpet. Kit couldn’t see the vampire’s face and waited for her to speak to recognize the voice.
“Melbourne,” Councilman Branning said. “Come in. Please put the flowers on the table.”
Councilman Branning closed the door behind her, and Kit couldn’t see a damn thing. The only light in the room was the candelabra next to Mitchell’s bier, and that was on the far side of the living room with a crowd of people between her and the door.
Kit had been in the house before, but it had been years and years earlier. She’d laid a ward in the house, one of her first, but she couldn’t even feel it anymore.
“Over here,” Councilman Branning said, and it sounded like she was turning as she said it, gesturing, but Kit still couldn’t see anything.
Kit shuffled forward slowly, not wanting to spill the vase or trip over anything. The room was mostly silent except for the dry susurration of vampires speaking in sub-vocal whispers to one another. Kit took tiny, mincing steps, sliding each foot forward carefully as if treading on a lake that might not be frozen. It was like being in the desert with Fain and Kaltenbach, except without an arm to keep her from falling. Not being able to see the floor, see the furniture, see anything really, made her feel like she was drifting in space.
“How about I just take that?” Councilman Branning said, lifting the vase from her arms with an exasperated sigh.
“Thank you,” Kit said with feeling, holding out the card. “I can’t see very well.”
“She shouldn’t have invited you. You don’t belong here, Melbourne.” Branning made it sound like anyone with half a brain would have figured out that it wasn’t a real invitation. “I’ll chastise her for it when she wakes. The daughter of my blood ought to have more pride.”
Kit felt like she’d been punched in the gut. It wasn’t the words Councilman Branning said as much as the contempt behind it. Hadn’t Kit shot assassins in this house? Hadn’t Kit stayed here for days, making a bargain with the fey who lived in the house to protect Branning? Hadn’t Kit risked her life to keep Branning safe? To make the stakes that had saved Holzhausen?
Kit remembered a time when she was in school. She’d gone on a field trip and been seated next to a girl named Stacey, who was one of the more popular girls. They’d been seated next to each other alphabetically, and the teacher in charge of the field trip brooked no rearrangement, so for the five-hour drive, Stacey had chatted with Kit. She’d shared her Snickers bars and Kit had shared her Capri Suns, and by the end of the trip, Kit and Stacey were writing each other’s names in bubble letters in their notebooks and promising to be best friends forever.
And on the way back, Kit had been looking forward to having a friend to talk to, one of the popular girls, who lived in the big houses and had parents who drove nice cars. Stacey was one of the girls who was sure to make the cheerleading squad in high school, who got invited to the right parties and wore the right clothes and had clean hair that her mother braided for her. The whole field trip, Kit had spun fantasies about her new life, now that Stacey was her friend.
On the way back, Kit had taken her seat on the school bus. Stacey had looked at the bench seat, and then gone to the teacher, and in a voice loud enough for the rest of the class had asked, “Can I sit next to someone else? Mildred stinks.”
Mildred. How long had it been since someone called her that? She’d left that name behind, along with shitty boyfriends and drunken step-dads. That was the old life, the one where Mildred lived with her mother in a shitty basement apartment with damp carpet. The one where Mom got in screaming matches on the phone with Dad’s lawyer about why there wasn’t any more money. There wasn’t any more money because Dad had left, to start his do-over family, with his new wife, and his new daughter Abby. That Mildred’s only escape had been the dojo, where she could punch a speed bag and ki-ai as if fighting off the reality of her life until she turned eighteen and could escape out west to her brother James.
Branning was right. She should never have come. At the very least, she should have worn comfortable shoes. It was a floor-length dress; who would know if she wore sneakers or not?
She took a breath. She wasn’t Mildred anymore. She was Kit Melbourne, Dayrunner Melbourne, and she had been invited by the deceased. She should pay her respects to Mitchell, and then she could make her excuses and leave. She knew the layout of the house, just walk normally, like the vampires did. Pretend she belonged here.
Kit strode across the room, and four steps in she felt an unbelievably sharp pain in her right shin. She sucked in her breath and just managed to stifle the curse word she desperately wanted to say. Kit tried to bend over to grab her leg, to get a hold of the pain but the corset boning on her bodice wouldn’t let her fold in half, and the crinolines of her skirt got in the way.
“You can put swine in a dress, but it doesn’t make a lady,” Leblanc said, loud enough for Kit to hear.
“Apparently, she’s not the only one who’s blind here, Councilman. And if you mistake swine and ladies among your hosts, it explains your unhealthy pallor,” Adamiak said smoothly, and took her by the elbow. “Melbourne, are you injured? Sit here. I’ll fetch you a drink.”
“Damn, sounded like it hurt.” said Lincoln quietly, sitting next to Kit on the couch.
“Sometimes it does, sometimes I’m able to just ignore him.”
“I meant the coffee table.”
“That hurt less. I don’t feel welcome here,” Kit said quietly. “even though I was invited.”
“I’m a black man in the Pacific Northwest,” Lincoln said with a snort. “Why don’t you write that up in a book called ‘shit I already know’?”
Kit laughed. He followed up with something else, but it was too quiet for Kit to make out.
“Melbourne?” Lincoln asked.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear what you said,” Kit said, as quietly as she could.
“I asked about that werewolf thing. You ever find those kids?”
“Yes.”
“They alive?”
“Yes.”
“People who did it alive?”
Kit turned towards his voice and gave him a look.
Lincoln chuckled. “That’s our girl.” He patted her knee, and she could feel him get off the couch.
Kit felt something touch the back of her hand. She reached up and felt Adamiak’s wrist, then traced her fingers down his hand until she encountered the cool glass of a wine stem. Using both hands, she carefully took it, carefully balancing it by cradling the bowl. Looking up to where she thought his face was, she mouthed “thank you” with the merest hint of a breath.
She felt someone sit down on the couch next to her. How different would this party be if she were a vampire? She’d be able to see, for one thing, more than just dark shapes skulking among the wan candlelight. And she’d be able to hear conversations as conversations instead of just the merest wisp of breath with an occasional soft chuckle. She’d also know who was sitting next to her just by smell. She managed to sip the drink without spilling, at least. It was some kind of barely-flavored seltzer water. Using both hands and very careful movements, she set it down on the table.
“Shall we pay our respects?” The woman was female, but not a voice Kit recognized.
Kit stood up. “Will you help me not embarrass myself?” she whispered.
The woman didn’t say anything. Maybe she nodded. The woman took Kit’s elbow and led her carefully towards the candlelight. Kit managed to not kick any more furniture.
Jessi Mitchell had been arranged on a table that had white cloth draped over it like a gurney or a bier. Her hands were folded over her stomach. She was wearing a white lace dress with a high collar. She looked completely dead. Her mouth gaped open slightly, and her eyes didn’t twitch like someone would when they were asleep. She didn’t have that dark flicker in Kit’s second sight the way other vampires did, but there was a shadow. Kit crossed herself reflexively, feeling like a hypocrite, but unable to stop herself.
Kit looked at the woman who had led her there. It was Carr, one of the refugees from Toronto. Kit barely knew her. They’d spoken maybe once. Adamiak must have put her up to it. “Thank you, Carr.”
She ought to know her. Adamiak was right. Her social game wasn’t as strong as it could be. She ought to form a Farley file on everyone, learn their likes and dislikes, who their hosts were. She would show them the power that a mere human could wield.