But perhaps it wasn’t only fear. Perhaps it was a premonition born of the instincts he’d sharpened so carefully over the last three years of service. And if that were the case, he’d have to sort out why he thought so and what it might mean. What particular dangers the man could pose. When Drake’s mind was less clouded with pain and medication, he’d work it out.

Margot clutched the glass, praying it would tether her to sanity. Somehow, though, she suspected that the fizzing soda had no such miraculous properties. It couldn’t combat the dozens of chattering people, the crowds that moved in chaotic patterns through Herschell’s house, the too-warm temperature that made her wish she’d agreed to a dress with a shorter sleeve.

Beside her, Dot actually seemed to be having a decent time. She wore an evening dress in green, had a necklace sparkling around her throat, and swayed a bit to the beat of the music. Two couples were attempting to dance in a space not designed for it, while Serocold laughed and launched into another verse of the song he was playing on the piano.

Margot could appreciate the rhythm, strong and sure. She could calculate the intervals and knew intellectually that some chords were more pleasing than others because of them. She understood the mathematics behind the music and loved it because of the rules it followed. But it never made her feet tap or her body sway.

“I haven’t been to anything like this since Nelson left.” Dot was smiling and sipping at her own glass of fizzing red liquid. “And not often then, I confess.”

Margot had already heard all about the man Dot had planned to marry. He seemed like he’d been a good sort. But at this point, the loss was stale enough that her friend’s voice never seemed strained or too sad when she mentioned him. Margot looked out over the crowd. “I attended one of these over the summer.” When Maman had made her.

Maman had also insisted she have a few evening dresses in her wardrobe for such occasions. Willa had come over this afternoon to tell her which she ought to wear. And, Margot suspected, to make sure she waved her hair.

She’d nearly refused to do so again after the flutter it had caused among the secretaries.

A man she didn’t recognize, but who bore a bit of a resemblance to Herschell, approached with a smile. Aimed, wisely, at Dot instead of her. “Good evening, ladies.” He looked young, maybe nineteen or twenty, and wore naval blue. “Would one of you like to dance?”

He said one of but looked only at Dot. Which suited Margot fine.

“Oh.” Her friend looked to her, obviously debating whether it would be rude to abandon her.

Margot produced a smile and waved her fingers toward the improvised dance floor. “Go. Have fun.”