Chapter Thirty-one
A
ddy didn’t stay miffed with Evie for long. She was too happy for her. She couldn’t wait to get her alone and talk about it, though. Addy suspected Blondy was behind Evie’s transformation, which put her in the giant hemorrhoid’s debt. Again.
The knowledge did not dull her happiness for her friend.
“That’s Evie dancing with Trey Peterson. Doesn’t she look fabulous?” Addy spied Meredith standing to one side and stifled a giggle. “Check out Meredith. She looks like she swallowed a bucket of worms.”
Brand nodded. “If by ‘check out’ you mean assess another person based upon their physical appearance, you should ‘check out’ Ansgar as well. He also appears to have ingested a large quantity of invertebrates.”
Poor Blondy looked miserable, like a dog that had lost a juicy bone. His gaze followed Evie as she glided around the ballroom in Trey’s arms. If looks could kill, Trey would be buzzard food.
They left the terrace and went back inside. The mayor hurried over to them.
“Bruce, what in the world happened to you?” he asked. “Where’s the Goober head? We’ve got the silent auction coming up, and you’re supposed to preside.”
Bruce hung his head. “I’m sorry, Mayor. The Goober head’s gone. I fell in the river and lost it.”
Mayor Tunstall’s mouth dropped open. “Lost it?
Lost it
. This is a disaster. How could you—”
“I will pay to replace the mask,” Brand said, cutting off the mayor’s tirade. “In addition, my brother and I will match the amount you raise in the auction on the condition that the donation is made in Pootie’s name.”
Pootie’s eyes widened. “That’s awfully gen—”
“Hush up, Pootie, and let the man talk,” the mayor said. He flashed Brand a wide smile. “And you are . . .”
“I am Dalvahni.”
The mayor rolled his eyes at Addy. “Italian shoe magnate,” she mouthed behind Brand’s back. She rubbed the tips of her fingers together to indicate that he was loaded.
Mayor Tunstall’s black eyes gleamed with avarice. “Will that be cash or check, Mr. Dalvahni?”
“If you refer to the physical form of what passes for currency here, then it will be cash.”
“Generous of you, Mr. Dalvahni. Very generous. I’ll let my secretary know. That’s Florence over there in the pink gown carrying the rhinestone possum purse. Made that purse herself. Has a whole line of animal purses she calls ‘Roadkill Chic.’ You interested in handbags, Mr. Dalvahni? No? Thought you might on account of you being in the shoe business. Well, if you change your mind, she’ll have a booth at the festival tomorrow. You can stop by my office before the parade and make your donation. This is most generous of you, I must say! But it’s a good cause, a very good cause, I can promise you that.” He gave Pootie a dismissive glance. “Bruce, you’re dripping all over the floor. Go home.”
The mayor waddled off, looking very pleased.
Brand watched him leave. “A singularly odd creature. Where do you suppose he got the notion that I am a cobbler by trade?”
“No idea,” Addy lied.
Pootie wrung Brand’s hand. “Thanks a million. You saved my butt again. I don’t know what to say, Brand.” He sneezed loudly.
“Pootie, you’d better get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death,” Addy said.
Pootie tugged on the sleeves of his ruined jacket. “You’re probably right. You still riding with me in the parade tomorrow, Addy?”
“Sure thing.”
“And you, too, of course . . . uh . . . Brand.”
“I would be pleased to accompany you. In fact, I insist upon it.”
Pootie sneezed again.
Addy gave him a little shove toward the door. “Go home, Bruce. Brand will see me home.”
Pootie waved good-bye and sloshed out the door.
Addy smiled at Brand. “That was a nice thing you did. Real nice.”
Brand shrugged. “Money is of little consequence to the Dalvahni. What we need, we are given.”
“Are you saying you’re rich?”
“Yes, I suppose in human terms I am rich.”
“Wow, health, wealth, and immortality. Sucks to be you, doesn’t it?”
“This is sarcasm, is it not?”
“Yep.”
“Looking at it objectively, I can see how a human would envy the Dalvahni lot, but since I’ve met you I’ve come to understand that—”
“Adara Jean, where’s your brother?” Bitsy glided up to them on the chief’s arm, looking very elegant in a silk charmeuse gown with an ivory bodice and a cappuccino skirt. “And what have you done with Pootie? Aren’t you supposed to be his date?”
“I haven’t seen Shep, Mama, and Pootie left. He was coming down with a cold.”
“Humph,” Bitsy said, which in mama-speak meant
Somehow I know this is all your fault, young lady, and I will get to the bottom of this later.
Mama would find a way to blame her for sun spots and global warming, too. Bitsy turned her attention to Brand. “You look very handsome tonight, Mr. Dalvahni.”
Brand bowed. “And you are a vision, Mrs. Corwin.”
“Yes, Mama, you look beautiful,” Addy said.
Chief Davis squeezed Bitsy’s hand. “Pretty as a picture, ain’t she?”
Bitsy batted her eyes at the chief. “Oh, Car-lee.” Fiddle dee dee, Mama was doing the Southern belle thing again. She inspected Addy, a small wrinkle forming between her brows. “That’s a lovely dress, dear, but why are you
still
wearing that wig?”
“It’s not a wig, Mama. I keep telling you.”
“Humph,” Bitsy said again.
In the space of a few minutes, she’d ticked off
two
supernatural malefic beings, first the demon and now Mama. Was she good, or what?
Muddy joined them with Mr. Collier. Mr. C. looked very dapper in his evening clothes, and Muddy was the picture of elegance in a black gown that exposed one shoulder and had a slightly ruched waistline accentuated with a rhinestone clip. Diamonds twinkled in her ears and on the bracelet on her left wrist.
“Wuz up,” Muddy said.
Good grief. Mama was channeling Scarlett O’Hara, and her great-aunt was Muddy from the hood. Her family was so odd.
“This is a nice party, isn’t it?” Mr. Collier said. “Been to the Goober Ball before, of course, but I’ve always been too pounded to remember much about it. I’m going to try not to throw up on anybody this year.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Muddy said.
Bitsy fanned herself. “It is warm in here with all these people. Muddy, why don’t you and Amasa join me and Carl for a glass of punch? Seeing as how Pootie’s not feeling well, Mr. Dalvahni can ask Addy to dance.”
That was Mama, always on the lookout for a husband for Addy and about as subtle as a sledgehammer.
“An excellent idea,” Brand said. “I have not danced with Adara this evening.”
Muddy twiddled her fingers at Brand. “See you later, Mr. Dalvahni.” She scooted up to Addy. “Enjoy your dance, darling,” she whispered. “That fellow of yours is positively scrumptious. Uh uh uh, take a whole loaf of bread to sop that up, if you know what I mean.”
She knew exactly what she meant, but Muddy was wrong. Brand was at least a two-loafer.
Muddy gave them another finger wave, and moved off with Mr. C. The orchestra began another waltz, and Brand took her in his arms. He was an excellent dancer, much better than she. That wasn’t saying much since she was born with two left feet. When she was thirteen, she nearly gave Mr. Fancher, the club dance instructor, a nervous breakdown during cotillion classes. He’d finally pronounced her hopeless.
“So, tell me, where does a demon hunter learn to waltz?”
He smiled down at her.
Thwack!
Instant brain freeze. The guy smiled at her, and she turned into a woozy floozy, a total doof.
“The Dalvahni, of necessity, have many abilities that enable us to move from place to place and among differing races and species in pursuit of the djegrali. We are highly adaptable and learn quickly. I watched you dance with the Pootie human and picked up the steps.”
He twirled her around to demonstrate.
“Just like that, you learned to waltz?”
He shrugged. “It is not hard. And I had excellent motivation.” His arm tightened around her waist. “As I was saying, Adara, I have been doing some thinking and I—”
“There’s Evie. Let’s go talk to her.”
Grabbing him by the hand, she dragged him off the dance floor.
She threw her arms around her friend. “Evie, you look absolutely beautiful.”
Evie hugged her back, her cheeks pink. “Thanks, babe. You, too.”
Ansgar gave Addy a haughty bow. “Evangeline is correct. You are lovely tonight, Adara.”
She dimpled at him. “Thanks, Blondy. You don’t clean up so bad yourself.”
Addy studied him through her lashes. Like Brand, Blondy was very handsome in his evening duds. Brand was dark and brooding and dangerous, the perennial bad boy. In contrast, Ansgar was as cool and remote as a snow-capped mountain, unruffled and still, as full of hidden depths as an underground lake. He was always glacial, but tonight he seemed positively frosty. Probably sulking because Evie danced with Trey. She stole a glance at Evie. The voluptuous redhead in the revealing gown was an alien creature. Since puberty, Evie had been riddled with insecurity, hiding her body under baggy clothes, changing in the bathroom stall during P.E., and refusing to be seen, even by Addy, in shorts or a bathing suit. The teasing Evie endured from Meredith and her cronies made things worse, convincing her she was fat and unattractive. The joke was on the Death Starr, however, because girlfriend was stacked, a glamorous old-time pinup girl with large breasts, a tiny waist, and generous, curving hips. And inside all that voluptuousness was a loving, generous heart, not a dried-up prune like the undersized organ that beat inside Meredith’s narrow chest.
And Blondy was behind this remarkable Cinderella transformation. The green gown fit Evie like a dream. No way she got that gown in Hannah. Ansgar and a generous dose of Dalvahni woo-woo were responsible, Addy suspected. But, the real magic he’d worked was in giving Evie the confidence to wear it.
Suddenly, what she had to say didn’t seem so hard. “Thanks for taking care of my girl, Ansgar. I’ve always known she’s beautiful. It’s high time everybody else knows it, too.”
“You are most welcome,” Ansgar said with his customary pain-in-the-ass hauteur.
So much for that Hallmark moment. At least she tried.
Instead of being thrilled at having gone from ugly duckling to swan, though, Evie seemed subdued and miserable; time for a little one-on-one with the BFF.
Addy grabbed Evie by the hand. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dying of thirst. Let’s get some punch.”
Brand and Ansgar moved to follow, but Addy stopped them with a bright smile. “Down boys, we’re going to get something to drink.” She pointed to the table in the opposite corner of the room. “See? We’ll be right over there.”
“Hurry up”—she tugged Evie in the direction of the refreshment table.—“before they decide to come along.”
She ladled punch into two cups and handed one to Evie. “Spill it. Why the long face? Is it Blondy? If he’s done something to upset you, I’ll thump him on the head, so help me, I will.”
Evie shook her head. “No, Ansgar has been great, getting me this dress and bringing me to my first ball. We danced together, and oh, Addy, it was wonderful.” Excitement glowed in her eyes and faded. “It’s Trey.” She glanced about the room. “He’s always looking at me and touching me. He makes me so uncomfortable.”
“The creep. Why didn’t you tell me he was bothering you?”
“What could you have done, Addy? And besides, I need my job.”
“How long’s this been going on?”
“A while. I try not to be alone with him.”
“Why’d you dance with him then?”
“I didn’t want to,” Evie protested. “He was waiting for me when I came out of the ladies’ room. He dragged me out on the dance floor. I couldn’t get out of it without making a scene.”
Evie, the shy wallflower, would hate that. She’d wondered how Trey managed to snag a dance with Evie when Ansgar guarded her like she was the last drink before Prohibition.
Evie took a deep breath. “I always thought it was my imagination.” She made a face. “I mean, who would be interested in Whaley Douglass, right?”
“Wrong. Take a good look in the mirror, girl. Half the guys in this place have a boner just looking at you.”
“Addy,” Evie said in a scandalized whisper.
Addy set her glass down. “I don’t want to hear it, Evie. You’ve been out-ed. You’re beautiful, and it’s time you accepted it.”
“Maybe.” Evie worried her bottom lip. “How do I get Trey to leave me alone?”
“Kick him in the bean bags. Guys hate that.”