If I would’ve told my morning self that I’d be going to a con party that evening, I would have laughed. I can’t remember the last time I went to a party that wasn’t black-dress or cocktail appropriate. Or a party where I wasn’t expected to be Jessica Stone, hugging the arm of some up-and-coming star to bolster his fame (and perhaps his ego). Or the last pool I floated in where I didn’t have to suck in my stomach or make connections over finger foods or dodge paparazzi on the way out.

This feels like…a dream. Whether it’s a good or a bad one, I honestly have no idea.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and I look at the name. Ethan. Probably to ask what I’m doing, whether I’d lost a screw, what my plan was, why I shouldn’t do this—and maybe if I answer him, I won’t regret this later.

Will I regret this later?

Harper turns to me and arches a single eyebrow—why is she so good at that? It’s a look that makes gooseflesh ripple across my skin. I want to study it. I want to trace the curve of her brow and the slight uptick of her mouth.

She is curious, and I am Alice falling into the rabbit hole.

“You look like you’ve never been to a party before.” She leans against my ear to be heard above the ear-bleeding karaoke. “Relax, you’re with friends.”

“My friends?” I ask, trying not to sound too alarmed.

She shrugs. “Maybe? Were you in the Carminara circle on Tumblr?”

“That still sounds like an Italian recipe to me.”

She giggles, and her breath across the small hairs on the back of my neck sends a shiver down my spine. “Come on, let me introduce you.”

“No need to introduce me, I already met her,” interjects a soft voice, the timbre warm and rich, and a young man steps up to greet us. Oh, no. Pointed witch’s hat. Umbrella. Long flowing red robe. His hair is painted now with a shock of gold that accentuates his ebony skin. He was with the beefcake earlier. The one who thought I was Imogen.

Oh no.

He outstretches a hand. “But we didn’t have a chance to trade names. Bran.”

I accept it with a little hesitation. What do I say?

What can I say?

“This is Imogen,” Harper fills in.

He cocks his head a little, and then smiles, as if he knows my secret. No, he does know my secret. “Hey, babe,” he calls behind him to the muscular guy—the one who called me Monster. The room is beginning to spiral. “Your sister’s here—”

“Brother!” I cry forcefully, taking Bran’s shoulder to force him around as I go to greet the tall guy. This is Imogen’s brother?