Then their ranks parted to reveal Talia, who’d spotted me and Lin and had started making her way toward us.

She wore a mulberry corset in alternating panels of satin and leather, above a floor-length riot of spiky charcoal tulle, like the skirt of an extremely punked-out wedding dress. Her silver mask was engraved with scales, and a wolf’s head pendant hung below her restored garnet. Her hair was half-up, thistle flowers embedded in the complicated braids that wound around her head.

She looked like a dark angel, like something that had been born in some shadow paradise. My heart swelled almost painfully to see her, the bottom of my stomach dropping out, as if I was on a too-abrupt elevator ride.

“And so the witches of the vengeance pact meet again,” she said as she reached us, a cool smile curving her lips. “And victorious, no less!”

“Damn straight,” Linden said, raising her glass. “Congratulations to the whole fam! And no shade from the Thorns, in case you were worried we might be holding it against you. Rowan’s practically being hailed as a hero for his part in knocking the Blackmoores down a peg.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Talia admitted. “We’ve never even had our turn at the helm. And besides, being salty about it would run against your wholesome grain, Angelcake.”

She tilted her head to look at me, her eyes glinting lupine behind the shadows cast by the mask, and my breath snagged in my throat.

“Thank you for this boon, Harlow,” she said, so formally my chest constricted. “My family is in your debt. And whatever else they may say about us, Avramovs never forget our friends.”

So I was Harlow, again, and worse yet, a friend. You know what, I thought with a surge of determination, to hell with that.

“Then I’d like to collect right now,” I said, lifting my chin, “by claiming this dance.”

Talia hesitated for a moment, clearly torn; I wished her mask were a little smaller, hiding less of her face. As it was, I had no idea how to read the unyielding set of her full lips, the stern cast of her jaw. Was it just hard-shelled composure, a façade thrown up to safeguard her true feelings, or was all hope lost between us?

Then she shrugged a little, and held out her hand. “Easy enough, as return favors go. Consider it yours.”

I handed my glass to Lin and took Talia’s hand, a tingle rippling through me at the familiar heat of her palm as I let her draw me toward the dance floor. Compared to the gala at The Bitters, the very human string sextet in one corner was utterly conventional, playing the kind of elegant, undemanding music that let you float thoughtlessly around the floor.

“Tawny owl,” she said eventually, taking in my feathered mask, the dove gray silk and crisp white lace of my dress. “Cute. And Harlow colors, this time around?”

“Let’s say I’m turning over a new leaf,” I said, trying to mimic her easy tone, and not let on how rattled I was by her proximity, her hand at the small of my back and her perfume stealing into my nose. “Talia, am I . . . am I allowed to ask about it? How it was with the shades?”