House of Salt and Sorrows - Erin A. Craig Page 0,98
of the room.
A beautiful spread of tables boasted rows of crystal cups and three different kinds of punch. There was a miniature castle of stacked petits fours and trays of exotic meats, smoked, roasted, and pickled. At the center of it all, in the place of honor, was a magnificent tiered cake. Thirteen layers tall and surrounded by hand-painted edible flowers, it was stunning.
Before I could partake of this feast, I felt someone behind me. It was the dragon man again. He looked utterly resplendent in his tails. The velvet was thick and luscious and tailored to his form with precision. “May I have this dance?”
I was about to consent—I’d had such a marvelous time with him before—when something shifted inside me.
Had I?
I blinked and he seemed to lose a shade of his splendor. I noticed a patch of stubble he’d missed shaving, and his eyes seemed far more sunken than they had only a moment before.
Odd.
“Thank you, but I believe I’m going to sit this one out.”
“Nonsense! It’s the last dance before the fireworks. Dance with me, Annaleigh.”
I held out my hand, ready to accept, but then noticed the buffet again. I’d been thirsty before. I’d come to the table for something to drink. Such a silly thing to forget.
“I’m going to get a glass of punch, but thank you.”
“Wouldn’t you rather something stronger?” He pushed back his jacket, revealing a slim flask. He took a long swig from it before offering it to me. I waved it aside. “Get your punch, then,” he sneered. “But then we dance.”
That sneer. The tone of his voice, husky but holding back such a rank, entitled anger. It sounded so familiar. I suddenly remembered his thumb brushing my mouth, full of dark desire, and snapped to my senses.
Why had I forgotten that? Why had I forgotten everything? I wasn’t here to socialize and dance the night away. I was meant to be searching for information on who would want to harm my sisters.
“I’m not dancing with you.” I kept my voice strong and decisive and turned on my heel, looking over the buffet, steeling my mind for the task at hand.
Find a cup.
Pick a punch.
But even as I coached myself through such a simple process, my feet worked in open rebellion, itching to dance.
“Which punch, Annaleigh?” I muttered, grounding myself in the moment.
I finally chose the pink one. Dozens of iced strawberries floated on top. We hadn’t had any in months, since the cold weather set in, and this looked simply enchanting.
No. Not enchanting. Just punch.
Taking a large sip, I immediately spat it out. Something wasn’t right. There was a strong metallic taste, as if a dozen copper florettes were mixed in.
A strawberry seed stuck between my teeth, wedged deep enough that no amount of ladylike prodding with my tongue could dislodge it. I worked it free with a surreptitious swish of my fingernail.
I intended to flick it aside without a second thought, but it was much larger than a strawberry seed should have been. I brought it up for a closer inspection.
It was a fish scale.
I rubbed the silver speck between my fingers, puzzled. How on earth did a fish scale end up in a bowl of party punch? I turned to let a servant know about the contamination, then froze. The festive red floats I’d taken for strawberries weren’t fruit at all. Hacked-up bits of seafood bobbed in the punch, a veritable chum stew.
The punch was made of blood.
My stomach rolled over, threatening to toss up every bite of dinner I’d eaten. The cakes and the trays were gone, replaced with butchered carcasses of fish. A fluke here, a dorsal fin there. The yellow satin of the tablecloth was soaked red around these cuts of meat. Tentacles, long and ropy, flailed off the table, spiraling to the floor below.
My nostrils flared against the stench. This seafood had not been freshly caught. It was weeks old and had turned. So many people milled around, clearly unaffected. How did they keep dancing before such a massacre?
Then it hit me. Only I saw this. Only I smelled this. I was the only one who noticed any of this night’s horrors. Hundreds of people were here, but I was the only one to see this world for what it was.
How was that possible? How was any of this possible?
There is one way, a tiny, dark voice whispered in my mind.
I shook my head, as if warding off a buzzing mosquito.