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“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 fucking dance.”

Melody bit her tongue. Nothing the old woman said surprised her much anymore, not even her vast vocabulary of 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 Manor. Melody’s eyes went everywhere, checking out 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 new to her.

“Ah,” said Xiomara, 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 it made any 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. “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.