I had been practicing.
“I thought about creating a few pieces of jewelry for you that would also serve as weapons, both defensive and offensive.” He lifted the lid again on his box of sorcerer’s supplies and withdrew a few bracelets. The one in the shape of a snake caught my eye. “Interesting,” he said. “Put it on.”
I extended my arm, asked for his help winding the flexible metal around my wrist, and held it up for his inspection. “It’s beautiful, Malvyn.”
“It is. But it is not you, Calliope. I do not associate you with snakes—though they are an ancient symbol of the Goddess and rebirth—but the shape gives me an idea.” He flipped the cover of his sketchpad, selected a fresh sheet of paper, and drew, occasionally glancing at my arm. In the background, Maritza spoke with Alabastair, their voices hushed. Christoph had left the luggage by the couch and returned to one of his outdoor projects. I could hear him hammering away.
“This,” said Malvyn, “is what I see for you. Mari, what do you think?”
His sister took the offered drawing and stepped closer to the glass doors fronting the back deck. “Vines. Brilliant. You create the piece for her to wear and I shall continue the design on her dress.”
“What do you mean?” It sounded like she and Malvyn had already made a decision about what they wanted me to wear.
Mal leaned forward. “Odilon will expect you to come to him prepared to do battle. You’re a mother, and he has threatened your children. He made quite a declaration by showing you those images. Make no mistake, Calliope, James and I are as upset about that as you. And Christoph. He and Wes feel guilty, but this is nothing they could have anticipated.
“None of us did,” he added. “And now we know there is someone in the mentoring program—adult, child, we don’t know—feeding information to the Fae.”
“How does this affect what I wear, especially knowing I could be searched?” I shuddered at the thought. I didn’t want Odilon’s hands on me any more than necessary, given that I was going to be a guest on “his” yacht. A perfunctory handshake, perhaps the cheek-to-cheek greeting I had grown used to exchanging whenever I saw Malvyn and James, and that was all.
“The dress Maritza has in mind for you will be simple, elegant, and completely weaponized. Odilon will not expect this. He will, I think, expect you to be accompanied by hidden Magicals and to have armed yourself in a more blatant fashion, with accoutrements typical of witches.”
“Like a bracelet?” I asked, curious to know how a spiral-shaped piece of jewelry could hurt someone like Odilon, especially given that he was Fae. Imagining him with an extendable blade at each fingertip, like Meribah and Adelaide, sent a tremor through my body.
“Like a pouch with herbs, vials for locks of hair, the usual clichés.” Mal tapped my wrist. “I will take this shape, the curving snake, and create a vine like the ones that do your bidding, Calliope. One for each wrist.”
“You mentioned the Vigne crest,” I said. “Odilon was wearing gold cuff links. They had strangler figs engraved on them.”
He gave a self-satisfied smile. “You will also be adorned with vines and he will see your symbol as a sign of compatibility. We can use that to our advantage.”
“This is so not me, Mal.” There was a reason I had never taken up a hobby that required me to be on a stage for any reason.
“Everything we create for you is with one goal in mind, to enhance the illusion of the very specific role you will play that night.”
“Get the bad guys to leave this island alone?” I joked.
“Ultimately, yes.” He returned to his sketches. I returned to vacillating between helplessness and righteous anger. I wasn’t helpless, though, and ill-expressed anger had gotten me in trouble. Somewhere in between those two endpoints of my emotional pendulum was the clear head I needed to plot Odilon’s exit strategy.
Maritza pulled her own sketchbook from the bag that Bas had brought in along with Malvyn’s case, and said, “Let me show you what I have in mind for your dress.”
A few sure strokes, a tilt of her head, and she turned the page to face me.
She’d designed a formfitting knee-length cocktail dress with bell sleeves. The neckline scooped to expose my collar bones and a series of panels shaped my midsection before the skirt flared out. “This is perfect, Maritza. And unlike anything I’ve ever worn.”
The witch who was more than a witch cleared her throat. “At some point, Calliope du Sang, a woman of your potential owes it to herself and those who support her to take a step up and assume her role. The right garment can help us grow more quickly into who we are becoming.” She added another flourish to the design. “This garment is being made for you, for this specific event. It may not survive, but it will make certain you do.”
“How can one dress do that?” If I made it through this dinner, I would ask Maritza to duplicate her design into a dress that lacked the capacity to put my dinner date out of commission.
Tanner would appreciate the forethought.
“With these.” Maritza placed her hands on the lid of one of her cases and flicked the latches with her thumbs. This case was filled with rows of wooden spools filled with threads organized by color. There was an entire row of black and most of the threads had the sheen of silk. Packets of needles were tucked into slits on the velvet interior of the case’s cover. “These needles were also made by my brother. However, they differ in design and purpose than the ones on your last dress. They also obey my instructions, working in concert with the threads and together stitching spells directly into the cloth.”
My laugh was
