Free Covenant by Sabrina Benulis Page A

incredulously. “Your feet will freeze—”
    â€œWatch me.” Angela said, taking off the heels and strolling over to a blonde with black slippers, another straggler entering the Ball late. “Fifty florins to trade shoes,” she said.
    In minutes the transaction was done and Angela was a little poorer but a lot more comfortable.
    Sophia shot her a rude look. “You know—I happened to like those shoes. I’ve had them for at least fifty years. A year for every florin, I guess.”
    â€œSorry,” Angela muttered sheepishly, aware of Sophia’s glare as they entered the Grand Mansion’s large marble and stone foyer. Angela shivered and rubbed her arms, trying to look more interested in her surroundings.
    The Grand Mansion was the special building reserved by the Vatican for Academy dinners, dances, and special holiday festivals. Most students lucky enough to even consider attending the fancier parties had a wealthy background, parents with connections to priests or novices in Luz, and at least a good measure of popularity. Angela was wealthy, having inherited much of her late parents’ fortune at her brother’s death. She had a connection to one or two priests, and the distinguishing fact that she had managed to survive Stephanie Walsh’s insanity counted for something. But she was still a blood head, and Camdon was right—attitudes had started to change.
    She and Sophia were an hour late, and the entry hall seemed oddly empty once they stepped into it, yet there were still enough people passing by to make travel slow. A few individuals smiled at Angela, but others steered noticeably clear. Sophia stayed by her side, refusing to shrink under the scrutiny.
    â€œCan I help you?” a man standing at the entrance to the grand ballroom said, glancing at Angela with open curiosity that evolved almost instantly into hostility. He wore a crisp tuxedo, his darting eyes almost the same shade of black. He held a paper in his hand, seeming to scan it already for whatever he thought her name might be. “Which party?”
    There was a nasty clip to his voice.
    Music poured from behind the enormous curtain, elegant melodies overloaded with the song of violins and the occasional tinkling of piano keys.
    â€œWhich party?” Angela repeated.
    She had no clue. In a second, she was a naïve new student all over again.
    â€œThe one for university sophomores?” she said, already angry at herself for sounding so dumb, and worst of all, for arriving without a plan to meet anyone at the entrance. “I was invited by another student. Camdon Willis.”
    Sophia made a slightly irritated sound under her breath.
    A brief sense of urgency shot through Angela, and she gritted her teeth. “Listen, I have to get in there. I look the part, don’t I? Isn’t that enough—”
    â€œYou most certainly do not look the part, ” he echoed her snappishly. He leveled his pen at her. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was a prank. Who do you think you’re kidding, walking in here with those hideous marks on your arms? What do you think this is—some hellish little blood head Halloween party?”
    â€œWhat?” Angela knew her eyes were narrowing. “You think these are fake scars—”
    â€œYes,” he whispered. “I do think they’re fake. I think you’re fake. And I’m rather sick of you blood heads marching into everywhere like you own the place, like you’ve always deserved special treatment for your . . . handicap.”
    He was almost hissing at her. The faint scent of alcohol clung to him. The room darkened around them, though Angela couldn’t tell if it was the slightly drunken anger in his words, the anger growing in her, or the sad flicker of the wall sconces that caused it. Through the marble and stone, an unhealthy cold continued to seep inside and pick at