Free Whisper the Dead (The Lovegrove Legacy) by Alyxandra Harvey

later by the time Gretchen finally escaped to the ladies’ parlor set aside for torn hems and discreet chamber pots. Rumor had it the waltz was to be played next and so the room had cleared down to hairbrushes and half-empty champagne glasses. She found her cousins on a settee, sharing a plate of iced cakes.
    “I thought you’d be waiting for the waltz,” she told Penelope as she stole a forkful of her icing.
    “And I thought you were in the library.” Penelope raised an eyebrow. “You’re all sweaty. Were you bowling on the back lawn again?”
    “I did that once. And no.” Gretchen dropped into a chair. “I may have crumpled up my mother’s dismal list but she clearly hasn’t. Every man on it has sought me out for a dance.” She licked the last of the frosting off silver tines, then swallowed slowly, as though an afterthought. “Emma?”
    “Yes?”
    “Why are there moths all over your antlers?”
    She slumped resignedly against the cushions. “I have no bloody idea.”
    There were over a dozen of them, from tiny white moths to mint-green luna moths, gypsy moths, apple sphinx moths, and a giant death-head’s moth, with its skull pattern watching them carefully. They clung to Emma’s honey-hued antlers, like she was the only candle in a dark house.
    “They won’t go away.”
    Frowning, Gretchen stood up. She waved her fork menacingly. “Shoo!” “Go on!”
    “I can’t think why we didn’t try that ourselves,” Emma pointed out drily when the moths shifted slightly but would not fly away.
    “That
is
odd,” Gretchen admitted. “Even for a girl with antlers.”
    “It occurs to me that our definition of ‘odd’ has certainly changed in the last few weeks.” Emma snorted. “But now I can’t leave the parlor. When I try, they hover over me, just out of reach of the Fith-Fath glamour.”
    “It’s like a crown,” Penelope added. “It’s rather a pretty effect. You know, if you’re fond of insects.”
    They watched Emma circle the room, calling up the glamour and letting it slide away. The moths trailed her like the sparks of a falling star.
    Penelope stood up so abruptly the plate fell off her lap. “Snake,” she said in a particularly calm voice, pointing to the carpet. A small green grass snake slid over the hand-knotted pattern.
    Emma stepped out of its path. It circled around, as though trying to seek her out. “What the devil?”
    Two more snakes emerged from under the nearest chair, gliding in her direction. Another slithered down the hall, toward the crowded ballroom. The strains of the promised waltz played prettily, punctuated by a startled shout. Behind them, an insistent tap sounded at the windowpane. They glanced over to see an osprey clicking its beak against the glass. The white feathers of its chest glowed.
    “Is that … a giant bird?” Gretchen asked, bewildered. “I don’t remember balls having quite so much wildlife.”
    Emma gulped, going pale. “Moth, snake, and osprey.” Thunder growled outside, a direct result of her anxiety. “The Sisters’ familiars,” she said. “The ones I bottled.”
    “What does it mean?” Penelope asked, climbing onto a chair to escape the attention of a large snake with viciously colored scales.
    “It means we need to get out of here.” Gretchen hazarded a guess. “Now. Before the Order catches wind of this. We’ll have to use the window,” she added, already striding over to the nearest one not currently occupied by a giant bird. She poked her head out gingerly to make sure there weren’t any more ospreys or, worse, couples sneaking kisses in the bushes. Chaperones, in her experience, didn’t make one more virtuous, merely more creative. She popped back inside. “It’s clear.”
    Emma nodded, her lips moving as she muttered the Fith-Fath glamour. Her antlers faded, as though they’d been painted over. The moths clung to nothing at all, defying most scientificlaws. Gretchen threw a leg over the windowsill and leaped out.