Cami shut her eyes. Next would come the mirror. “H-how b-b-bad is it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ruby actually bounced on her toes, a movement Cami could feel. “You’re gorgeous. Let me get my heels. Ellie, make her look.”
“She has to get her own shoes on, too.” Ellie patted Cami’s silk-clad shoulder. “Cami, sweets, it’s not bad at all. You’re gonna knock ’em dead. Cheer up, it’s your birthday.”
Not really. But they didn’t know that.
“J-j-just a-n-n-nother F-f-f-family p-party.” Things were getting more tangled by the minute. Oh, God, I probably look ridiculous in this thing. Why did I let Ruby talk me into it?
It was traditional for the daughter of a Seven to wear red on her sixteenth. Not just any red, either, but heartsblood, the red so dark it could only come from the last wringing of that deep organ. The straps would have worried Cami, but they were wide enough—and Ruby had come up with a pair of long white opera gloves to cover most of the scars. The others wouldn’t show much unless she blushed, so all Cami had to do was stay away from anything embarrassing.
This is so not going to work.
“Cami, honey.” Ellie patted her bare shoulder again. “You’re going to have to see to step into your shoes.”
The V waistline of the dress had looked okay while it was on the hanger, and the skirt skimmed her hips and flared enough that she could walk without tripping herself. Ruby had also found a pair of pumps in exactly the right shade; Cami didn’t have a clue just how.
Doesn’t matter, Ruby had said, cheerfully. If it exists, I find it. I’m a hunter, baby. Rawr!
Ellie and Ruby had fussed over her hair, torturing it with flatirons and pins with holding charms, and Ruby had painted the makeup on with a steady hand. Don’t make me look Twisted! Cami had wailed, only it took her three times as long to say it.
The reply was classic Rube: Relax, bitch. I wouldn’t Twist you up.
“I c-c-can’t. They’ll all b-b-b-be l-l-l-looking.”
Ellie’s fingers were warm and gentle. “If it makes you feel better, they’ll be looking at Ruby looking slutty more than either of us. You’re not showing enough skin to be a Magdalen, even.”
“I do not look slutty,” Ruby piped up. “You’re just overly modest. Or, to put it another way, boring.”
“I am comfortable with my boringness, thank you.” Ellie snorted. “Come on, Cami. One foot in front of the other.”
Sometimes she wished she’d met Ellie before Ruby. When Ruby arrived in third grade at the Hallows School, one of her first acts at recess was decking one of the girls teasing Cami about her stutter. Cami had simply put her head down and shrank into herself, but Ruby, afire with indignation, took on all comers. It’s not FAIR, she would yell, before leaping on someone in a flurry of fists and feet. From that moment, they’d been friends—and Ellie had come along later, in middle school at Havenvale. Private schools in New Haven had their own language, one Ellie hadn’t known since she and her dad had moved from another city, overWaste in a charm-sealed train—but again, Ruby had ridden in to save Ellie from getting picked on, and now they were a troika.
Or more like Ruby and Ellie were best friends, and Cami was the third wheel that made the thing stable.
She opened her eyes. Ellie was grinning, the faint freckles on her nose almost invisible under a light coat of translucent powder. She had great skin. “That’s good. She’s breathing and has her eyes open.”
“Check her for a pulse. Maybe she’s transitioned.” Ruby snorted, leaning over the vanity and touching up her eye makeup. The little black dress sheathing her was almost indecent, but with her glory of coppery hair and the expertly applied eyeliner she somehow looked fresh instead of whorish.
“Wow, even more tasteless than usual, Rube.” Ellie was in black too, a halter-topped satiny number that made her into a sleek old-timey film star, her pale hair slicked down and her lack of jewelry classic instead of poor. It weighs me down, she said, twisting at the ring on her finger—a charmed star sapphire, the only thing left from her real mother. The Evil Strep had been talked into letting Ellie stay the night, probably because Stevens had taken care of sending a formal invitation to one Ellen Sinder, with the Vultusino crest impressed on the wax seal and a heavy scent of money wafting up from the pressed-linen paper. She looked just about green when she got it, too, Ellie had whispered gleefully.
Even a famous charmer with a Sigil like the Strep feared Family.
“I can’t help it. I’m nervous. If Cami faints I might turn into a puddle of tears.” Ruby turned away from the vanity mirror and batted her eyelashes, making little kissy noises.
“F-f-f-fuck you!” Cami burst out.
They all dissolved into laughter, and Cami stepped into the pumps. They were okay, she guessed. Heels always made her unsteady, no matter how many Family functions she attended.
Ellie took her elbow, and they approached the full-length mirror in its heavy frame, the scarf over it fluttering from a stray breath, probably from the heater registers. Ruby arrived on a wafting breeze of chocolate perfume, whisking the gauzy material aside. “Voila. Gaze upon fair princesses, better than mortal man deserves.”
“Amen to that,” Ellie muttered.
Cami peeked at herself.
Oh.
The slim, red-wrapped girl in the mirror hanging on Ellie’s arm had a shy disbelieving smile. Her gloves were spotless white, her lips carmine, her black hair an artful mass of charmed curls, a single charmstick thrust through it and dangling a string of crystalline red beads. The kohl smudged around her blue eyes made them huge, and she looked tall, elegant, and completely unlike the regular, everyday stuttering Cami.
This once, the mirror didn’t frighten her. It was a miracle. “Wow,” she breathed.
“Amen again.” Ellie grinned. She tugged at her skirt, removing an imaginary wrinkle. “There. I think she appreciates our efforts, Rube.”
“She’d goddamn better.” Ruby tossed her curls. “Come on. We’re fashionably late, ladies. Let’s go Make An Entrance.”
Every house of the Seven had a ballroom. The Vultusino’s was a long wood-floored expanse, spindly wrought-iron chairs and tables along the walls and several smaller chambers opening away—the ladies’ resting room, the smoking room, the two supper rooms, the solarium, two private audience chambers for Family business, the playroom for children too young to participate in the dancing, and a private room for members of the Family hosting the event to retreat to. The licensed and charm-bonded caterers were already at work, threading through guests with silver trays bearing fluted crystal glasses of champagne, champagne-and-calf, and fruit juices, as well as tiny, exquisite canapés. The mirrored bar was two deep already, the massive crystal-draped chandelier blazed, and the portly moustachioed herald at the door—another traditional feature—gave a signal. The music halted, turned on a dime, and became a tinkling fanfare.
“The Lady Camille Vultusino has arrived!” The herald’s bass voice cut the hush, and Cami stepped through with her head high. Her knees almost buckled, and she heard very little of the herald announcing Ruby and Ellie.
Well, Ruby would be thrilled with that.