Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(44)

“Not funny,” she told him sternly as he put her back on her feet.

“But you’re so portable, sister.”

I laughed, but I tried to cover it with my hand and it came out of as snort. My cheeks flushed hot as Gavin’s gaze snapped toward me.

Oh, no. He’d just heard me snort like a barnyard animal.

“And who is this?” Gavin whispered. “Have you made friends?”

Alicia grinned broadly. “I hope so. This is Ivy Cowell, whose grandmother is hosting our gathering today. And this is a new student, Cassandra Reed, who recently rescued me from a wardrobe crisis. Cassandra, this is my brother, Gavin McCray, he rescues me from everything else.”

Gavin smiled that sweet smile I remembered, but there was no flash of recognition as he took my hand and bowed over it. It hurt, just a tiny bit, that he didn’t know me, but at the same time, I was relieved. A pulse of warmth fluttered through the metal dragonfly’s wing. Gavin startled and turned my hand over in his. “That’s quite the magical mark you have there.”

“Thank you,” I said as he took my other hand and put the two halves of the dragonfly together. “It’s new.”

Ivy frowned at me. I shrugged. It’s new? Why didn’t I pretend to be mute? Why?

But Gavin didn’t respond to my socially awkward volley. He studied my hands carefully, turning the mark this way and that to inspect all the angles. It would have been fascinating to watch if he hadn’t been treating my hands as if they weren’t attached to my body.

Alicia cleared her throat. “Gavin. Please stop treating Miss Reed like a fascinating lab specimen.”

Gavin’s cheeks went red and he flashed me an embarrassed grin as he released my hand. “I apologize, Miss Reed. And Miss Cowell…”

Just as he was reaching out for Ivy’s hand, Gavin whipped his head toward Alicia. “Wait, did you say something about a wardrobe crisis?”

“Story of my life,” Ivy muttered, pulling her hand behind her back.

Alicia’s shoulders jerked. “Just a little spill. Cassandra was kind enough to lend me her ribbon to cover the stain.”

“That was very kind of you,” Gavin said, staring at me, considering. He startled at the sight of something over my shoulder, frowning. “Er, Alicia, I’ll speak to you soon. Ladies, it was lovely to meet you, but I have to go. Now.”

I turned to see Callista bearing down on us with a bright smile that didn’t quite match her determined step. Gavin disappeared into the crowd, ducking in the small spaces between people and reaching the door in remarkable time. Callista’s face fell into a disappointed snarl. I turned quickly to keep her from seeing me smirk.

“This party was far more entertaining than I expected it to be,” Ivy sighed as Callista flounced back to her flunkies. “I could really use something to eat.”

“Agreed.” I slipped my hand through Alicia’s arm and gently dragged her along with us. “Anything but strawberry tarts.”

“That’s not funny,” Alicia told me primly.

“It’s a little funny,” Ivy retorted.

We’d almost made it to the refreshment table, when a portly man with thinning grey hair and mutton chop sideburns that barely covered his drooping jowls stepped into our path. And his face seemed frozen in disapproval, as if he smelled something rancid.

“Mr. Crenshaw,” Ivy chirped uneasily. “How lovely to see you.”

“Yes, well, I don’t often attend this sort of occasion, but I was informed that I simply couldn’t miss it,” Mr. Crenshaw rumbled, his voice low, like a barely repressed growl. His gloved hand clutched at his ebony walking stick, topped with an ornately carved silver owl.

Alicia squirmed under his scrutiny, her wide green eyes bouncing back and forth between us, as if she wasn’t sure what to do in this situation, despite her no-doubt extensive etiquette training.

I stepped back from Mr. Crenshaw, whose flat, dark gaze had turned on me. I was reminded, uncomfortably so, of the bird specimens in Mr. Winter’s study with their blank glass stare. He reached toward me, breaking social protocol, as if he was going to pull me back into his orbit.

Ivy turned on her heel, breaking protocol even further and walking away without so much as a curtsy. Who was this man and what about him made him so intimidating that Ivy was willing to abandon courtesy so completely at her grandmother’s party? I glanced towards Mrs. Dalrymple, who was distracted by condescension toward some other young debutante. I took another step back and I felt the hem of my skirt snag on the floor. I looked down to see the tip of his cane pinning my skirt to the hardwood, keeping me from moving away.

When I looked up, Mr. Crenshaw smirked at me. His eyes, so glassy and empty before, seemed to shift, the pupils becoming so wide that there hardly seemed to be any iris. I felt a tickle at the edge of my mind, like a mouse scratching under the door, trying to get in. I felt oddly detached from the sensation, aware but not susceptible to it. I’d read about this.

Ceremancy, the art of creeping into someone’s brain and making them a puppet, controlling their moods and actions. Ceremancy was a “trade secret” of House Mountfort, a skill the family had perfected in the healing halls to calm patients and make them more cooperative during exams. Though the spell only lasted a few moments, it was a skill that made other houses nervous. The Mountforts claimed ceremancy was harmless because of their Hippocratic Oath – a rare leftover from the pre-Restoration Days – prevented them from doing any harm. Though he was a descendant of House Mountfort, it was a skill that Mr. Winter never deigned to practice. I got the impression he found it distasteful, somehow, to root around in another person’s skull.