Mister Impossible (Dreamer Trilogy #2)(14)

Barbara’s smile was fixed in concrete.

Bingo. They didn’t know a damn thing about Bryde, either, except for his power.

“If you’ll ex-kwoooooooooooze me,” Barbara said, tapping a dainty silver watch on her wrist with the bottom of her wineglass, “I should get this rolling. I know you’re looking forward to it. So glad. So glad you could make it. Don’t forget about Jo. She’ll be around.”

The first time Jordan had been approached by Boudicca it had been a bit of a joke, a bit of a compliment. She and Hennessy and June had sniggered about it over a few drinks and a few tubes of paint in the way they might have snickered over bumbling, unwanted flirtation at a bar. Nice to be wanted, I reckon. As if. Dream on. But it was a different feeling now that she was alone in Boston. She’d forgotten that there was a disadvantage to being not one of many Jordan Hennessys, but rather one of one: vulnerability.

Jordan stood there with her orange drink and her orange top, feeling misgiving pile upon misgiving, and then she discovered the music had stopped and all the partygoers were moving generally toward the back of the building. They murmured and checked watches and eyed each other, and Jordan realized they must all be headed to the real reason for this party.

Eventually, after they had all pressed into a large room in the back, Barbara’s voice came over the speaker. Jordan could hear her unamplified voice as well, so she had to be close, but she couldn’t see her over the crowd.

“Thanks for coming,” said Barbara. “We have a really splendid group here today. You’re all really spiffy women. I know we’re excited about the events coming up and we’re all excited about, uh, where are my notes, Fisher? Fisher, you do this.”

A petite woman with very good posture and aggressively straightened brunette hair pressed past Jordan and through the crowd toward the front. She was dressed in a cocktail dress that said, Look at me, and also said, Now that you’re looking, did you notice I think you’re stupid? It was a good dress. She did not say excuse me.

Jordan just had a glimpse of her accepting a wired microphone; then a voice that matched the cocktail dress came over the speakers. “Everyone here has a dependent in their lives. Some of you know one, some of you are thinking of introducing one into your lives, others have inherited one, and some of you are one.”

Partygoers glanced around at each other.

Jo Fisher continued. “Boudicca is proud to be able to offer a variety of sweetmetals in different formats this year. As always, these are available by private arrangement. Demand is high, as sweetmetals have been losing their efficacy faster than usual and many of you are replacing empty ones this year. I trust everyone here’s had an opportunity to see that the dependents we’ve brought in to demonstrate the sweetmetals are genuine. Some have asked if these dependents are available; not at this time. They are for demonstration. For demonstration.”

“Let’s bring in a sweetmetal!” Barbara’s voice rose, unamplified. “Be nice, now, let everyone get a look!”

To Jordan’s surprise, people listened. The crowd reassembled, allowing her, for the first time, to see what they were all pressed close to.

The centerpiece of the room was a kid.

He was a lovely little thing, a boy of three or four years old, with fine dark hair, thick eyelashes, a thoughtless pout. He was presented sentimentally in a wingback chair, which sat directly in the middle of the room. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell.

No matter how loud the voices rose around him, he remained asleep.

Scattered around him on the bright brocade fabric were a few other objects. Some butterflies lying limp. A soft, small rabbit, stretched on its side. A pair of shoes.

It was clear he was an exhibit, like the rest of the art.

“This is very exciting, isn’t it!” Barbara said, still shouting without the microphone, sounding like a kindergarten teacher. “It’s a really nice sweetmetal, a very good one for your home, they’re not always good for a living area, but this one is! How L-U-C-K-Y are we all? Let’s all be quiet and look. Here it is!”

A side door opened.

Two women carried a large, framed painting into the room. The subject wasn’t very exciting, just a bucolic landscape dotted with sheep, but the art was nonetheless appealing in some way. It bothered Jordan, actually, that she couldn’t pinpoint why she found it so appealing. She couldn’t stop looking at it. She wanted to get closer, but the crowd and her dignity wouldn’t allow it.

She glanced at the other partygoers to see their reaction to the painting, but their gazes were all firmly focused on the wingback chair in the middle of the room.

“Can I put my shoes on?”

It was a small, high voice. The boy had half sat up in the chair. With one youthful hand, he rubbed his eyes, and with the other, he reached for his shoes. He searched for a familiar face among the women looking at him. “Mum? Is it time for shoes?”

All around him, the previously still butterflies had taken flight. The little rabbit made a small thud as it jumped from the chair to the floor and made haste. The partygoers drew back to allow it to lope softly into their midst.

“Mum?” said the boy.

“As you can see, this particular sweetmetal is effective for multiple dependents at a distance of several yards,” Fisher said into the microphone. “Please inquire for a full list.”