Her dress has shifted again under my fingers, revealing, this time to a greater audience, that I find her about as attractive as I do terrifying.
“But I would never, ever do that,” she adds, her expression somber. There’s no ping. She’s telling the truth.
I catch my breath. “Why not?”
“I’m not a monster, Saskia. I would never do anything without your consent.”
Again, it’s the truth. I believe her now, and I’m flooded with even more guilt. The music slows and I get ready to take our last twirl.
“I’m sorry I made assumptions.”
“Good. Next time don’t judge a book by its cover,” she says, making me think of Angel’s words. “Especially if it’s a book you would like to see without its dust jacket.”
She gives a pointed look down at her dress which has dipped even further. The embarrassment blossoming inside me makes the dress quickly form back into place.
She smiles knowingly, and saunters off, leaving me alone on the dance floor.
Chapter Eleven
I’ve had two more flutes of champagne by the time Salvador approaches me. His hair is elegantly swept back in a velvet ribbon, his suit a sparkling black that shimmers like oil. He looks like a Spanish matador ready for the kill.
Luisa melts into the crowd, but I can still feel her gaze on me.
“Saskia,” he exclaims. “You look radiant.”
I wait for the lie that doesn’t come. Salvador has always been kind — I don’t know what he’s doing with my mother. He could do so much better, unless his kink is being belittled over tapas.
He takes my hand, and effortlessly spins me around the ballroom. I must admit, he can dance too.
“You look great as well,” I reply.
The oil in his suit shimmers and pulsates, reminding me of the nightmare painting I saw earlier.
“I’ve forgotten what your powers are,” I say, nodding at his lapel. “Although I’m sure you have many.”
Something crosses his features, something like surprise.
“My talents are similar to those of Beatriz but nowhere near as strong.”
He’s a Dreamchaser, of course. Vague memories of him helping a young Mikayla with her magic surface in my mind.
“It’s been a long time since you’ve visited home,” he says.
I want to argue with him. This isn’t home. I haven’t had anything that feels remotely like home for years. My moldy apartment in New York is more of a halfway house — a transition between losing Mikayla and finding her. I can’t imagine truly settling anywhere until I find out what happened to her.
“It doesn’t feel like home without my sister here.”
Salvador smiles. “Mikayla would be happy to see you in this room, among your own kind.”
He might be a nice guy, but he’s still into the MA eugenics bullshit.
“She would be shocked, more like.”
His brows furrow. “Why did you come? You were never fond of Maribel.”
So my mother hasn’t told him she summoned me? I contemplate telling him the truth. It floats up to my tongue along with the taste of champagne, but I decide against it.
“It felt like the right time. It’s been two years since I saw Mom.”
“She missed you,” he says. Again, I wait for the ping, but it doesn’t come. Clearly, she’s able to deceive her boyfriend.
“Are we talking about the same Solina?”
He laughs heartily as if I’ve made a wholesome joke.
“I can’t believe my own mother is in line to become head of the MA,” I say quietly.
Salvador nods, his dark brown eyes crinkling at the corner. “She deserves it.”
“What does that make you, then? First lady?”
He doesn’t balk at my joke but instead smiles, although terser this time.
“You mean because we’re lovers?”
Ew! Vom. The champagne in my belly threatens to make a reappearance.
“Yeah, sure. That.”
“I will remain MA treasurer.” Of course, he’s had that position since I was a kid. It’s as if with Mikayla’s disappearance, all the MA Snapple facts got wiped clean. Like my brain only has space for grief and nothing else.
“My mother shouldn’t be First,” I say bluntly. “She shouldn’t be given that much power.”
“Careful, Saskia.” His tone is still kind but rigid now. “Such words could be taken as a challenge in these circles.”
“Well, it’s the truth,” I say petulantly. “You know as well as I do, she always puts magic before the Mage. Before anyone around her.”
Salvador falls silent, and I stare over his shoulder. Beatriz, his daughter, is hovering behind the buffet table but isn’t eating. She’s craning her neck, watching which way her father is looking. He spins me around, and as soon as he turns his back, she briskly walks away, as if she’s been waiting for him to be distracted all evening.
Interesting.
“Sometimes, the truth is just as dangerous as the lie,” Salvador says.
I blink. What?
My head is spinning, the combination of champagne and twirling taking its toll. His words have not properly registered as I watch Beatriz dart past one arch, then another, throwing furtive glances around her. With one last panicked look, she disappears through a doorway at the back of the ballroom.
“Thank you,” I say to Salvador the second the music stills. “Please, excuse me.”
I pick up my train, and push through the other couples on the dancefloor, heading in the direction Beatriz went. I may not have been back at the MA for a while, but even I recognize the sight of a Bruixa up to no good.
Chapter Twelve
The straps of my infernal high heels have already caused welts on my skin, and it hurts to walk. Clearly, magical shoes that look nice and are comfortable is too much to ask for.
I followed Beatriz through the same doorway a few minutes back, but I seem to have lost her somewhere in the staff area of the grand hall.
Where the fuck is she?
Pushing open door after door along the wide corridor, I’m met with nothing but empty rooms. Most of them are offices full of dark wooden bookshelves and tired meeting rooms where I imagine art curators meet to
