1
Melody hurried along the halls of Blackstone Manor, struggling to keep up. It seemed no matter how fast she moved, she was still lagging behind. Which made no sense really, because the woman she was following was little more than half her size.
“The ball is tomorrow night,” said Xiomara. “But there are few things we need to go over first, so pay attention.”
The small African woman turned a sharp corner, causing her colorful kaftan robe to flare out behind her. Melody stopped gawking at the scenery and picked up the pace. It took some effort, but eventually she caught up.
“A ball? I thought you said it was a cotillion?”
“It’s a ball,” Xiomara said, “with a cotillion in it.”
Melody still looked confused. Xiomara’s mouth twisted into a frown.
“Forget the terminology Ms. Larson, and take it for what it is? Just another stupid godforsaken dance.”
She bit her tongue. Nothing the old woman said surprised her anymore, not even her vast vocabulary of colorful — and sometimes not-so-colorful — swear words. Luckily she was learning that when dealing with Xiomara Magoro — the Head of the Hallowed Order — remaining silent was usually the best course of action.
“Anyway, you’ll be leaving tonight. Momentarily in fact. There’s a car waiting out front, and—”
“Right now?” Melody’s mouth went dry. “But I’m not ready! I— I didn’t get to pack. I don’t even have a dress!”
“Oh we packed for you,” said Xiomara. “Dress and all.”
The whole thing was strange — more than strange, actually — but Melody would never say so. She was way too excited. Her first real assignment! She had a thousand questions, but right now she was afraid to ask any of them.
The Head of the Order led her down a stone ramp, into another part of the vast Manor. Melody’s eyes went everywhere, taking in everything. Though she’d been living at the Blackstone for almost a year now, she still felt like a tourist. This entire wing — the one forbidden to acolytes — was all new to her.
“Ah,” Xiomara sighed, stopping before an old oaken door. “Here we are.”
She pulled a long key from inside her robe and inserted it into the lock. The door swung open heavily, with an avalanche of dust. It looked like a closet. A big closet.
“Stand back,” said Xiomara, clearly annoyed. “You’re blocking my light.”
Melody stepped to one side as the old woman began rummaging through a series of dusty shelves. She saw boxes, cases, containers. The glint of gold, a flash of silver. There were stacks of cash too — old bills, not the new ones. Xiomara shoved them aside like they were worthless paper. None of what she was doing made sense.
Since when has this place made any sense?
“Ah! There we are.”
Xiomara stepped back into the hallway with a triumphant look that was almost a smile. Something long and gold dangled from her grasp. “Come with me,” she told Melody, snatching the object back into her palm. “And close that door.”
She did as she was told. A few minutes later they were back in a familiar part of the Manor. Xiomara stormed into the library and Melody followed, struggling again to keep up. She pointed to a young man and woman hunched over one of the timeworn tables, speaking to each other in low tones.
“Silvera. Alvarez. Piss off, please.”
The pair gathered up whatever they were working on and left quietly. Melody didn’t even wait for Xiomara’s gesture to take one of the still-warm chairs.
“Now then,” the Head of Order said. She winced only slightly as she slid her tiny frame into the seat across from her. “Down to business…”
Melody folded her hands on the table. If there was one thing Xiomara hated, it was interruption. She was determined to listen.
“You’ve been chosen for something that seems inconsequential,” Xiomara began, “but which is very important. More so than you know. More than I’m even willing to tell you, so keep that in mind.”
Her heart raced. Her body tingled.
This is going to be good!
She nodded obediently.
“You’ll be traveling to Evermoore, a meticulously restored eighteenth-century mansion, deep in the plantation fields of Louisiana. It’s an ancient place, on ancient grounds. You’re to treat it with respect, as well as its owner, Lady Neveux.”
Melody knew some of this already. She didn’t say so. She wanted to hear everything, so she kept silent.
“The owner is very old, very eccentric,” Xiomara went on. “She used to hold this ball annually, but now throws it only on the years she actually remembers.”
The Head of Order paused to shift her weight around in the wooden chair. The result was apparently unsatisfying. She still looked uncomfortable.
“Your goal will be very specific. Here’s the part where I need you to pay close attention.”
Melody could only imagine what she was being sent to investigate. In her short time at the Hallowed Order, she’d been witness to incredible things. As an acolyte, she’d already seen evidence of paranormal activity most people only dreamed could be real. And her ‘gift’… Xiomara had been instrumental in showing her how to use that as well. To cultivate its power. To wield it skillfully rather than fear it, even when—
“Am I boring you, Ms. Larson?”
She gulped hard and shook her head. “Um, no. No, of course not!”
“Good,” said Xiomara. She eyed her shrewdly. “Because the window of opportunity here is a small one. Small and narrow and rapidly closing. This is perhaps the only chance we’ll ever have.”
“The only chance at what?” Melody couldn’t help but ask.
“At acquiring the egg.”
She blinked. This time she didn’t even try to hide her confusion. “Egg?”
“Yes,” Xiomara replied. “A carved ivory egg, to be exact. The surface is chased with gold and precious metals. Inlaid with jewels. Eight inches tall, and—”
“A jeweled egg…” Melody searched her memory. “You mean like a Faberge egg?”
“Very much so,” Xiomara replied. She looked almost pleased at the reference. “Only much older. Much more valuable.”
“An egg.” The word sounded flat. Unromantic.
“A very important artifact,” Xiomara corrected her. “But yes. An egg.”
“And where do I find this… egg?”
“That we don’t fully know,” said Xiomara. “But it’ll be somewhere on the plantation. Either hidden within the Manor itself or possibly on its grounds.”
“Hidden?”
“We’re not sure,” the Head of Order admitted. “It may be hidden. It could also be in plain goddamn sight. Wherever you find it, you’re to take possession of it immediately.”
Melody’s brows knit together, forming a crease between her eyes. “So I’m stealing it?”
Xiomara’s mouth went tight. Her eyes fixated on Melody’s, darkening just a tiny bit.
“You’re not stealing it,” she said evenly. “Let’s just say you’re… recovering it.”
For a moment Melody was tempted to read her. To use her powers, even a little bit. Maybe she could lower Xiomara’s guard, get into her mind. Unmask whatever secrets she kept there…
“Ms. Larson,” spat Xiomara. Her tone was foreboding. Deadly serious.
“Y—Yes?”
“You’re not considering what I think you might be considering,” Xiomara seethed. “Are you?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “Never.”
“Let’s fucking hope not.”
The woman stared at her just a second longer than was comfortable before finally continuing. Lifting her arm, Xiomara held up a breathtaking jeweled pendant on a woven gold chain — the object she’d taken earlier from the strange closet. Melody had already forgotten all about it.
“This,” she said reverently, “is the Heart of Isolomara.”
The amethyst pendant dangled between them, glimmering a rich purple in the library’s warm light. Melody found herself staring it at almost hypnotically.
“It’s one of three sister jewels. Flawlessly cut, perfectly set.”
“Sister jewels?”
“While you are a guest of Evermoore you will wear this,” said Xiomara, completely ignoring her. Then, more sternly, she added the word: “Always.”
Melody reached for the chain but Xiomara pulled it back slightly.
“You are never to take it off,” she added. “And I do mean never.” The old woman’s eyes sparkled dangerously. Deep brown irises. Blue rims, where the pigment had worn away due to age. Melody saw an almost limitless intelligence there. Vast wisdom.
“Do you understand me?” the old woman was saying.
“Yes,” Melody nodded solemnly. “Yes, I understand.”
“When do you take it off?”
“Never.”
“Okay then.”
This time she allowed her to take the pendant, and Melody slipped it over her head. It hung low and heavy, between her breasts.
They spoke only about a few more things — small details she needed to know about the plantation, the mansion, the mission itself. While she listened, Melody made a promise to herself: no matter what happened, no matter what she needed to do, she wouldn’t fail. She wouldn’t return to the Blackstone without the egg.
When they were finished Xiomara leaned back and cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asked warily. “I mean, if not I can get—”
“Yes,” said Melody quickly. She still had questions. Even misgivings. But for now she shoved all those things aside. “Yes, I’m ready.”
The Head of Order nodded slowly. She looked her up and down one last time, as if deciding something, while rapping her knuckles gently on the table. When she finally rose, her eyes remained locked on Melody’s.
“It took us years to get this invite, Ms. Larson,” Xiomara warned. “Long years.”
Melody swallowed.
“Don’t fuck it up.”