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“And who was yours?” Vernon asked Fia after making gooey eyes at Michael. “You didn’t say.”
“Well…” Her cheeks warmed, turning apple-blossom pink, she was sure.
Vernon glanced at Penbrook, who’d slouched just a little more against the cabinet, his chin fallen to his chest. “Looks like you good and well tuckered him out last night dancing.”
“What? Oh, no,” Fia said, her throat gone very dry.
“Mmm. What about that other handsome someone, then?”
“Sebastian Smith,” Michael supplied.
“There’s nothing to tell.” A crack of thunder rattled the windows, as if to shake out Fia’s secrets. Before they could press her for more, she said, “We shared one dance, and that’s all.” That had to be all. There was no reason—she dearly hoped—for her to ever cross paths with Sebastian again.
Hand to his heart, Vernon moaned. “Oh, what a shame. And he’d seemed so eager—”
“Not eager,” Michael corrected.
“No, I suppose not. Too guarded for that.”
“Intent.”
“Yes, he seemed so intent on meeting you.”
Open-mouthed, Fia stared. “But I thought… that you…” Swiped an invitation for me.
“As much as I like playing matchmaker, you were on the guest list. Alas, I can’t take credit for anything other than delivery of the invitation.”
I wanted to meet you, Sebastian had said, and she’d brushed it aside. Thought he was only being polite, his words those he might speak to any of his guests. But none of his other guests had spied him at Thistledown the night of the theft. What had he hoped to gain by luring her to the Willows? Had he intended for her to find The Book of Ribs? Fia didn’t like what that might imply.
Another boom of thunder followed the first, and Fia jumped, half expecting Sebastian Smith to burst through the door, brought by the vengeful wind. Michael’s hand tightened on Vernon’s shoulder. Regardless of how the gales had started, it no longer felt like an ordinary storm. The wind was shrieking too loudly, the temperature in the shop plummeting, thunder pounding—so fiercely Finnick scrambled into the apartment to hide.
“It’s a shame the weather is being so impolite,” Vernon said, not quite masking the waver in his voice. “We should probably head home before it gets any worse.”
“You’re welcome to wait it out here,” Fia offered, but Vernon was already pushing to his feet.
“It’s only a block, dear,” he assured her. Still, she followed him and Michael to the door, where they left with a swift farewell.
Through her whipping strands of hair, Fia watched her neighbors rush their way to the stationerium, and only when they’d gone safely inside did she look up at the unnaturally dark sky and the railing wind.
Somewhere close by, a terrified shriek pierced the night.
CHAPTER 23
As desperately as she wanted to dash inside, Fia edged away from the doorway, staring down the darkened street while the wind tore at her dress like a clawed beast. She guarded her eyes with one raised arm, searching for the source of that plaintive cry.
It came again, softly, desperately. And there, in the highest limbs of a tree, she glimpsed a spot of gold—a tiny bird in a precarious perch, tossed roughly by the wind.
Fia fought her way closer to the tree even as its bent branches cracked like huge knuckles and scratched at her arms. She reached for the delicate creature, releasing a rusty whistle from between her lips, madly hoping it would come to her.
The air shuddered, and the bird lost its grip on the branch, uselessly flapping its wings and sending up a puff of feathers. Before a gust could steal the bird away, Fia leapt, catching it up in her arms and bringing it close to her chest.
“Little thing,” she cooed, stumbling back. Amazed to have rescued something so precious.
With a sudden ferociousness, the wind lashed out, lifting Fia to her stockinged toes. Her heart thumped as her feet incredibly left the ground, her brain gone blank of any spell that might hold her in place.
In a panic, Fia swore, drifting higher, away from the doorway to Sable Spells, which glowed with light from within and was too far to reach.
Carried by some sort of uncanny magic, she rose to the treetops; she surpassed the rooftops, her skirt billowing, her toes dangling. Black clouds swirled above, menacing and thick. Through them, she could just make out others, like her, hanging eerily in the distance. Their dark silhouettes jerked and spun, aloft above the town, and at the wind’s whim. It screamed against her, and within it, she heard the shredded cries of all those who’d been snatched from the streets and swept up with her.
