what I told you,” he said quietly.
Before she could reply, Kurt opened the door and Sol Leander walked in.
Joy’s stomach flipped as he strode across the room, his sunken eyes sharp and ferret-bright beneath his dramatic widow’s peak. The cloak of starlight wheeled about his legs in a haughty sweep, and his arms were tucked into bell sleeves that made him look like a rather severe-looking monk or a vampiric Jedi knight. He bowed to the Bailiwick, who inclined his head in return.
“Welcome, Sol Leander,” Graus Claude said magnanimously. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”
The Tide’s representative stared right past Joy and rendered what he must have thought was a smile. It looked like it hurt.
“I am pleased to find you both here,” he said. Joy privately suspected that he had spies watching her and had known that she was here all along. When he spun to face her, she flinched. “I came to bid you welcome, on behalf of the Council.” He raised his hands in grandiose greeting. “Welcome, Joy Malone. Welcome home to the Twixt!” He slid his hands together, tucking them once more beneath his sleeves. Joy was surprised that his voice held not a hint of mockery. Sol Leander was very, very good at this game.
She, on the other hand, was new at it. Dangerously so. Joy could feel the Bailiwick’s eyes on the back of her head. She’d just written this down. Respond with grace, with thanks and in kind.
“Thank you, Councilex Leander,” she said with a bow.
“Very good,” Sol Leander said as he turned to her sponsor. “She can be taught! You are to be commended, Graus Claude. Proper manners and etiquette will, of course, be essential for her upcoming debut.”
Graus Claude’s left eye gave an infinitesimal twitch.
“Debut?” he inquired politely. “What debut?”
“Why, the one to welcome Miss Malone, of course,” Sol Leander said as he produced an envelope from one sleeve, signed in elaborate script. He handed it to the Bailiwick. “You were right, Councilex Claude—this is a rare and exciting opportunity that should not be challenged, but celebrated! It’s been far too long since we welcomed an addition into our world, and we have suffered far too much loss as of late—don’t you agree?” His smile was reptilian. “What better way to revive our community spirit than a gala?” He gave a small nod to Joy, who stood transfixed by the exchange. She had never seen Graus Claude struck speechless before. “I am here to extend a formal invitation to yourself and Miss Malone. The festivities will be in your honor, of course,” Sol Leander said to Joy. “You are to be presented to the Council and then to your people, the entirety of the Twixt, in order to take your place among them.” His eyes flicked over her shoulders and knees. “Proper attire is required. Masks are optional, although there will certainly be no need to hide your face—” his dark eyes glittered “—you are the reason all of this is happening, after all.” The pointed double meaning wasn’t lost on Joy. She pressed her fingers together to keep them from twisting into childish knots.
“I see,” Graus Claude said softly, his tone hinting that he comprehended far more than what was actually being said.
“Yes,” Sol Leander said. “I imagine so.” He gave a bow to the Bailiwick and then to Joy, his eyes hard. “The gala promises to be an event that will equal your esteem.” He inclined his head. “Formal attire. In your honor. In three days’ time.”
“Three days?”
Joy wasn’t sure whether she or Graus Claude said it first. Sol Leander looked mildly surprised.
“Naturally the Council wished to make immediate reparation for the unfortunate circumstances concerning Miss Malone,” he said. “Therefore, it was deemed urgent in order to put all of this sordid business behind us and continue forward as a people, united. You, yourself, Councilex Claude, called for such action before regarding Miss Malone’s necessary Edict and referendum.” Sol Leander lifted his shoulders and stood straight as an obelisk. “It is a matter of honor.”
The Bailiwick sat back in his chair, the groaning wood sounding like a threatening growl. He passed the invitation from hand to hand until it rested quite neatly in the center of his desk.
“Quite,” he said, over-enunciating the t.
Sol Leander stepped back with a flourish. “Until the Imminent Return,” he said with a bow.
“Until the Imminent Return,” Graus Claude answered.
Casting a last, parting glance at Joy, the Tide’s representative bent neatly at the waist as if to speak to her in confidence. “And I would advise that you keep your friend Miss Monica Reid well away,” he said with more than a hint of warning. “Her safekeeping is in everyone’s best interests. We are allied in this, at least, Miss Malone.” And without another word, he swept through the door, his starlight cloak a swirling flick of finality.
The office doors clicked closed.
Graus Claude leaned heavily to the side, one hand over his eyes. Joy wet her lips, her mind whirling in mad, panicked circles.
“What’s that about the Imminent Return?” she said, finally. It seemed strange for Council members to part with a toast.
The Bailiwick ran two of his hands over his face as the two others cleared away any trinkets on the desk. “It’s an old expression that hearkens to a mythical ‘someday’ when we won’t have to play these sorts of games any longer.” He sighed deeply and considered the invitation. “Well, that’s done it nice and neat,” he said, tapping a claw against the seal. “I could not have designed it better myself.”
Joy wound the edge of her shirt around her thumb. “I take it this gala isn’t a good thing?”
“Oh, a welcome gala is a marvelous thing—all finery and majesty, with riches to dazzle your every sense, opulence and decadence beyond anything imaginable. A parade of marvels and magics set upon a stage of high drama, low morals and clandestine affairs,” Graus Claude said, smiling. “However, three days...” He shook his head. “Three days? It’s unconscionable. And they agreed?” His many claws clicked against the desk. “Certainly, as your sponsor, I have only myself to blame. I suspect Maia is behind it. She entertains a particular delight in seeing me squirm.”
Joy waved a hand to get the Bailiwick’s attention. “Excuse me?” she said, leaning forward. “What are we talking about here? Because it sounds to me like this is just an elaborate excuse to let me fall on my face and make you look bad.”
“Precisely.” Graus Claude beamed. “Very well done!” He seemed genuinely pleased, which was strangely flattering. “Sol Leander has successfully woven a rope of many threads and expects you to tie the noose and hang yourself with it.” The Bailiwick squeezed a single fat fist. “Therefore, it is our job to make certain that he is the one who chokes on it instead.” He sounded positively vicious.
“Lovely,” Joy muttered. “So what do we do?”
“What, indeed?” he said. “There is simply no way to teach you all that you need to know before being presented formally to the community at large. A proper gala to welcome a new member into society takes months, years—perhaps he convinced them on an expedient time line given your mortal nature. More likely, certain favors changed hands. In any case, it is an effective way to
