his eyes alight upon us, he flashes a dimply grin and saunters over. He’s so tall now that I’d need to get on my tiptoes to reach his mouth, but he’s still a kid with his rounded jaw and splash of acne. A good kid. Although I had bigger dreams for my first kiss, all in all, it wasn’t so bad.
Alma tracks her gaze up his lanky body. “Dude, did you grow another foot since Thanksgiving?”
His grin strengthens. “Nice mini-hat, Alma.”
“And this is why I like this guy.” She latches on to his arm. She’s touchy-feely and gets in people’s spaces. It used to drive me insane until I understood that her need to touch others is visceral. “Any other guy would’ve commented on my tits or ass, but nope. Not this one.”
Romain’s dimples deepen so fast I expect them to leave a permanent imprint.
Alma cranes her neck. “What are you doing at the stroke of midnight, Romain?”
He glances at me, fuzzy jaw pinkening against the lacy white collar of the chemise he’s paired with a black cape. He looks more vampire than warlock. Then again, warlocks don’t exist, and if they did, they might be into capes and froufrou shirts.
“Or rather, whom are you doing?” Alma adds seductively.
I shake my head and laugh. To think Papa worries for her safety. We should be worrying for the poor boys of Brume.
“I, uh . . .” He rubs the back of his presently brick-colored neck. “Cadence?”
Alma winks at me. “She has a groomstick all lined up.”
Romain raises a blond eyebrow. “Groomstick?”
“Don’t ask.” I shake my head some more. “Seriously, though, you don’t need to take pity on me every year.”
“It’s tradition, not pity.”
I sigh. He really is sweet. If only Adrien could be as sweet. Of its own accord, my gaze stretches back to him. He’s no longer chatting with the science professor; he’s now making the rounds, grin in place. Everyone loves the young, brilliant, handsome professor of history, especially since he’s lost his mother. Every girl and her mother want to coddle him.
He catches me staring and smiles. My heart catapults against my ribcage. Which is all kinds of silly since he smiles at me often. He smiles at everyone often. Affability is as much part of his nature as flirtatiousness is part of Alma’s.
“If it doesn’t work out, come find me, okay?” Romain says, and I blush when I realize he’s trailed my eyes’ trajectory.
I flash him a grateful look, but then my gratitude turns to astonishment when I spot a head full of wild black curls over Alma’s shoulder. The boy I bumped into near the cemetery is here, in my house, studying the oil painting of Viviene trapping Merlin in a cave.
When he strokes a gloved finger along the ornate, gilt frame, I stick my half-drunk glass of champagne in Alma’s hands, tell her and Romain I’ll be right back, then weave through the crowd.
“I don’t think your pockets are large enough.”
The boy pivots to face me, his brow going from furrowed to smooth. “Whatever are you insinuating, Bellatrix Lestrange?”
Bellatrix Lestrange? His Harry Potter allusion temporarily makes me forget what I rushed over to say. Right . . . the painting.
“I’m insinuating that you’re clearly not here for the party.” I nod toward his attire—slim gray jeans, black turtleneck, leather gloves.
“Why? Because I left my magic wand at home?”
At home, or at the bar? He smells like a distillery. “What’s with the gloves?”
He stares down at his hands as though he’s forgotten all about them. Something protrudes from his middle-finger, straining the leather. I’m suspecting it’s a big ring. Unless it’s a giant wart. Or boil. Or an identical twin he devoured in utero.
“My fingers are very sensitive to the cold.”
I cross my arms. “Uh-huh.”
“Besides, you’re also wearing gloves. So are half the people in this room.” He looks over my shoulder at the pointy assortment of hats, brooms, and wands. “What’s with the crazy-fest anyway?”
“It’s a Brumian tradition.”
“People take their lore very seriously around here.”
“Very.” I drag out the word menacingly. Or at least, I’m going for menacing. Maybe I just sound haughty. “So, what are you really doing here?”
He stares down at me, tipping his head a little to see under the brim of my hat. I hadn’t noticed how tall he was back in the cemetery. Then again, he was on his hands and knees for most of the two minutes we spent in each other’s company.
“I’m a new student.”
I raise an eyebrow.