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My heart squeezes out affection for Mr. Cline while the rest of me swells with adrenaline. The fight or flight instinct is so strong right now I can hardly sit still. Until I get to the ball, I won’t know which reaction is my best bet.

One reaction I hadn’t planned on is the one when we pick up Dave. I’m so used to seeing him in tattered jeans and faded shirts that
when I knock on his door
,
I hardly recognize him in a black tux with tails. His normally spiky hair is slicked back and…
damn
.

“Miss Casquette, I believe it’s rude to stare.” He winks. “Shall we?”

Once inside Mr. Cline’s car, we’re silent. Not the comfortable silence I’d expect with two of my closest confidantes. This is five minutes of awkward torture as we drive downtown to the convention center.

They’re truly worried.

I, on the other hand, am on top of the world. I look like a million bucks and I’m about to enter the year’s biggest party with two of my favorite men, one on each arm. It doesn’t get better than this.

The ball is completely over-the-top, like someone took a circus, an aviary, and a Broadway production and smashed them together. Add a touch of Creole seasoning,
et
voila
. You’ve got the annual
bal
masque
of the Mystics of Dardenne.

Massive gilded birdcages capable of holding a human are suspended from the ceiling. Exotic birds with multicolored plumage swing on perches, white feathers are strewn on every possible surface, and thick green foliage fills every nook and cranny. Most of the women wear feather-covered masks, feather-covered dresses,
feathers
in their hair…

“Looks like a chicken coop to me,” Dave whispers, “complete with clucking hens.”

I stifle a giggle as we’re announced and enter the ballroom. Several hundred people turn to watch us enter.

Dave gets drinks while I say hello to some acquaintances from school. Mr. Cline doesn’t let me get more than three inches away from him. When he returns, Dave is unusually pale. He hands me a drink and leans over to tell me something, but at that exact moment, the tableau begins.

The mounted marshals burst through the door, horse hooves pounding the marble floor. A massive black horse near the front snorts and rears back at the loud music and giant crowd. The rider lets fly with a rebel yell and moves deeper into the room. Next come the floats, one after another. I spot Daddy and Mrs. Laroche, but I can’t find Isaac. The last group through the door is the royalty. As soon as they enter, I smell the cloud of booze clinging to their sweaty, sequin-covered forms.

My eyes are immediately drawn to R.J. He stands out like a beacon and not for the right reasons. His costume is torn and there are
scuff marks
on his breeches. His hat is smashed in on one side and I could swear the skin around one of his eyes is purple.

I lean over to Mr. Cline and shout, “Think he fell off the float?” He shakes his head.

At the end of the procession is Geoffrey Swann, King Felix III. His mama and daddy must have gone with a second-rate seamstress after he blew through the original money, because he resembles a plucked turkey more than a swan king.

The presentations go on forever, concluding with a drunken speech by Geoffrey. He commands us, his subjects, to be merry and dance until the stroke of midnight ushers in Ash Wednesday and Lent.

Next is the call-out. Senior members and royalty approach friends and family with favors. In exchange, they must dance. As planned, Daddy finds me and asks for my hand, executing a deep bow that makes me giggle. My laughter dies when he drapes a gorgeous diamond
fleur de
lis
pendant around my neck.

“Daddy!”

“Just a little something to show you how proud I am and to remind you of us when you’re all the way up in Boston. And, um, I love you.”

He says the last part really fast, but the words are unmistakable. Still, I can hardly believe I heard them. Tears spring to my eyes and it feels so good to wrap my arms around his middle and squeeze.

“Oh, sorry. I don’t want to get mascara on your costume.”

“’
S’okay
.” He makes the same hiccupping noise he did when we saw Mama. “How about that dance, baby girl?”

We beam at each other like idiots. Halfway through the song, I remember R.J.’s appearance.

“Daddy, what happened to R.J.? Did he get in a fight?”

“With Geoffrey Swann.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know.”

“Too much booze?”

“Probably.”

The dance ends and Daddy walks me back to the table before setting off to find out what happened to R.J. Dave and Mr. Cline are involved in another exchange that ends when I approach.

“Mr. Cline, you don’t look so great. You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine, dear. Just overdid it a little with the parades.”

The next second, my entire body goes on high alert. I feel him near me without even turning around.

“Pardon me, miss.”

His mask is covered in gold leaf with a crackle finish. Under the right eye and extending back to the edge is a music staff with a few measures of sixteenth notes scrawled across it. The same pattern is repeated above the left eye. Without another word, he takes my hand and leads me out near the entrance.

“
What are you doing
?”

He pulls me into the coat-check room. We plunge through fur coats and London Fogs until we reach a
nearly-dark
corner where he traps me against the wall. The feathers on his sleeve tickle my neck. He pushes up his mask and does something with his tongue that should be illegal.

I close my eyes and breathe in the moment. I want to memorize everything about it…the smell of Isaac’s aftershave tinged with the sweetness of alcohol, the music pumping in the ballroom and buzz of people having a good time, the softness of the furs on my arms and the wanting of Isaac’s hands. I take a mental picture. When he reaches for the hem of my dress and pushes it up my thighs, I know this moment can’t last forever.

“Isaac, stop.”

“No,” he growls.

“Isaac, your mother’s fur coat is staring at us.”

He bursts out laughing.

“
Shh
!”

“I can’t help it. The more I have you, the more I want you.”

“Then dance with me. If you want me that bad, dance with me tonight, and I’ll see if I can sneak away after the ball. I’ll drive over to your house after Mr. Cline drops me off. That way, Daddy will think I’m home.”

“But Dave’s staying at my house.”

“Then meet me in the studio.”

“Deal. Just one request?”

“What’s that, Mr. Laroche?”

“Keep the dress on.”

“My dress?”

“Been thinking about taking it off of you since you wore it to the symphony.”

I smirk. “Really?”

“You’re killing me. And you’re enjoying it.”

“Maybe just a little. Now, do you need a moment to…um…compose yourself?”

“God, you’re a cruel mistress.”

“Then come on, slave, you owe me a dance.”

Still hand-in-hand, we emerge into the light of the hallway and almost smash into a tall woman with a blonde bob.

“Excuse us, Mrs. Swann.”

“Of course, child.”

Isaac lets go of my hand and takes off toward the ballroom. I do my best to keep up with him, but my heels aren’t cooperating. The warm, mellow glow drains out of my feet and is replaced by a creeping, dizzy tingle.

“Isaac!”

“She saw us.”

“So? It doesn’t mean anything. Relax.”

He throws his hands in the air. “Relax, she says.”

“Lighten up and just dance with me.”

“Really don’t think—”

“You promised. It’s just one dance.”

“This is not the time or—”

“So, you were ready to screw me against a wall a minute ago, and now I’m not even good enough to be seen dancing with?”

He runs his fingers through his hair, a sure sign he’s about to cave.

“Fine. One dance.”

“God, you’d think I was asking for your firstborn.”

“Not funny.”

“Oh, stop being such a buzz kill. Everyone here’s drunk anyway. They won’t notice you and me together.”

I slip my arms around his neck, and he carefully places his hands on my waist, but there’s still a good four inches between our bodies. It’s too much, too far away. I lick my lips in a way he’s sure to notice, and he automatically draws me in closer so the silk of his costume chafes against the chiffon of my dress. It’s making me crazy. There’s no way I can wait until after the ball.

He clutches the small of my back at the same time I feel a strong grip on my upper arm. Marcie Swann sinks her claws in and drags me away from Isaac and across the dance floor. Up on the stage, Lenny and the rest of the Cotton City Crooners look confused when Mrs. Swann wrestles the microphone away from him.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Excuse me.”

Mrs. Swann taps on the microphone while, one by one, every person in the room stops dancing to give her their attention. I scan the crowd and spot Isaac near the back of the room, his hands in his hair again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I do hate to interrupt our evening of frivolity, but it seems we have some emergency business to take care of. As many of you know, there was quite a disturbance on the knights’ float during the parade. Richard Andrew Casquette Junior attacked several members of my son’s court. Patrick Mumford was rendered unconscious for a time, though I’m told he’s recovering at home.”

R.J. did
what
? We’ll be kicked out of the Mystics for sure. Daddy will freak.

“This is just one of many infractions committed by the Casquette family, the latest of which occurred just minutes ago. And, I’m sorry to say, it involves another family with a reputation for immoral behavior.”

The crowd murmurs and Mrs. Swann’s grip on me tightens. It’s a good thing, because my knees threaten to give out. Isaac was right. He was right the whole time. He warned me, but did I listen? I’m about to be skewered on a stick in front of the entire ball while he just stands there, hiding in the crowd behind his mask.

“Y’all know her, but this is Julianne Casquette, R.J.’s sister. Julianne,” she says, “please tell everyone how old you are.”

“Seventeen, ma’am.”

“Seventeen. And how old is Isaac Laroche, who has been ‘tutoring’ you in piano for the last few months?”

“Twenty-eight, ma’am.”

“My, that’s quite an age difference, isn’t it?” She squeezes my arm. My shoulder throbs.

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

A disturbance in the crowd catches my eyes. To my left are Daddy and R.J., who push their way through the crowd.

Oh my God, this isn’t happening.

“So you can see why I find it so disturbing that I found you two sneaking out of the coat room together.”

There are gasps and murmurs, and somewhere near the back, someone whistles a catcall. I lock eyes with R.J., who’s stopped pushing through the crowd and stands with his mouth open. Even from here, I can see the disappointment and shock on Daddy’s face. He looks so old. The pendant around my neck burns into my flesh.

“I have it on good authority that you two have had other inappropriate relations. If y’all remember, this isn’t the first time Isaac Laroche has chosen a young girl as his victim. He has a pattern of preying on teenagers. Ten years ago, I caught him seducing my 15-year-old daughter.”

A glass hits the marble floor and shatters. The room goes fuzzy.

In my head, I huddle my small frame against the wall. I balance on the step and pray they don’t hear me. My toe sticks out of a hole in my footed pajamas and I rub it into the carpet for comfort. Mama’s thrown a picture frame at Daddy—the pretty one R.J. and I got her for Mother’s Day, I think—and then, it happens. She hits him. He stalks out of the room and the back door slams open and shut.

“Daddy! Come back, Daddy! Mommy’s sorry. She says so all the time.”

I give up my hiding spot by stumbling down the steps and into the kitchen. I pound on the window, but Mama gets ahold of me.

“Get back to bed this instant, Julianne Elise, or you’ll wish you were never born. Let this be a lesson to you—men will always abandon you. They’ll always disappoint you. You can’t count on anyone.”

She swats me on the rear as I scuttle up the steps and dive under the relative safety of the covers.

Trust no one. They’ll disappoint you. They’ll always abandon you.

The words from long ago echo in my head as I stare, pleading with Isaac to step in and put an end to this disaster of an evening—to stand up for me.
For
us
.

But he doesn’t. He’s abandoning me. Right this very second. Mama was right all along. I close my eyes and disappear into a dark place.