Conspiracies (Mercedes Lackey) - By Mercedes Lackey Page 0,35

supposed to do? The others who didn’t have money, well, they had powers, and there weren’t any rules out there in the world telling them they couldn’t use them. So they would, of course. And that made her think about something else; sure, there were plenty of honest ways to use your powers, but there were more that weren’t. How many Shadewalkers were master thieves for instance? Or spies?

But, of course, she didn’t have any powers.

Maybe she would have to work at Mickey D’s for the rest of her life. She had a fleeting vision of herself serving burgers, living in a trailer …

Strangely, that fleeting vision almost seemed more appealing than being here.

She shook off the mood and walked all the way into the gym. There were more little tables set up around the dance floor, also with little name-plaques on them, but it was clear when Spirit spotted her that Muirin had somehow managed to swap a bunch so the gang got a table in a corner. Muirin was putting the last of the name-plaques on the table when Spirit saw her; Muirin looked up at her as she hesitated, just inside the door, and waved at her. With relief, she pulled the wrap around her shoulders and joined them.

It turned out that the refreshments were pretty sparse—but then again, only someone like Murr-cat would have room for any kind of snacks after that dinner. There was punch and there were soft drinks—but not in cans or bottles, you had to ask the “bartender” for one and you only got a cup at a time, unless you were a boy, getting a drink for a girl, too. The boys were supposed to do that. The girls were not supposed to do the same.

There were shiny gold cardboard tiaras for the girls and shiny black cardboard top hats for the guys, and noisemakers all bunched up in the centers of the tables, waiting, but hardly anybody even looked at those. No one was wearing them.

“Welcome to our joyous celebration,” Muirin said, straight-faced. “Happy New Year. Be festive if it kills you.”

Now that she wasn’t concentrating on eating and making sure she did all the right things with the right silverware, Spirit got a chance for a good look at the other gowns, starting with Addie’s. It was strapless, with a chiffon scarf, corset-like top, and huge, flowing chiffon skirt, all in a pale ice blue. Like Muirin’s, it was pretty obvious that this hadn’t come from the Little Closet of Horrors, either. Addie didn’t wear jewelry, though she had matching silk flowers in her hair, and not the kind you got at a discount store; these would have looked real, except for the color. Bird-of-paradise flowers didn’t come in blue—though, of course, if you had the right powers, you could turn them blue.

As she looked at the other girls sitting down or milling around, it was really obvious who had gowns of their own, and who had been stuck with the Closet. Poor Elizabeth was one of the latter, bundled into an ill-fitting seafoam horror that made her skin look yellow, and bunched up around her waist. It made her look fat, which was pretty hard to do, considering how slender she was. Elizabeth wasn’t sitting down; she kind of hovered at the edge of the crowd as if she wasn’t sure what to do.

It occurred to Spirit at that point that, unless some of the others had made their dresses—she supposed that was possible; after all, there was a theater group, and a costume shop, so there had to be sewing machines—this was a good way to tell who had money and who didn’t. Anyone who could have a real formal clearly did.

Judging by the lack of Ugly, most of the kids, the girls, anyway, had money.…

“Do I get to keep this?” she asked Muirin. “The dress, I mean.”

Muirin shrugged. “Put it in your closet. If they don’t demand it back, it’s yours. I don’t suppose you know how to sew?” she added out of the blue.

Spirit flushed, because … well, that was one of the things her mom had insisted she learn along with her homeschooling. Most of her clothing was homemade. No, not was, had been, because it all burned up in the fire. The last two years before the accident she’d been making all of her own clothes rather than suffer her mom’s tastes. The only thing they’d ever bought was blue jeans. “Uh, yeah…”