Free Time After Time (Cora's Bond) by V. M. Black Page A

toilet—what had caused him to look so pale and drawn and move so slowly even now.
    Instead, I was at the last place I wanted to be. It reminded me of my Gramma’s funeral, plus I missed Hattie too much to want to bid her farewell, which was a stupid thought because it was the exact opposite of what I should be feeling. And realizing that just made me angry at myself.
    Then there were my fears about the other guests that I didn’t want to admit that I still harbored. The only social gatherings I’d been to since the nightmare of my Introduction had been small and carefully orchestrated by Dorian. And this was to be neither. Though it was an Adelphoi-only gathering, it would be open to all Adelphoi, and from my point of view, plenty of Dorian’s allies were almost as bad as his enemies.
    The elevator stopped, but the doors didn’t open. Instead, there was a chiming sound from somewhere far away. I looked at Dorian.
    “Is the elevator supposed to be doing that?”
    As if in answer, the doors slid open all at once, revealing a living room with a sweeping view across the Potomac River.
    I stepped inside reflexively as Dorian moved forward, into the party that was in full swing. The room was crowded with men in tuxedoes and women in black cocktail dresses. Servers bearing trays of canapés circulated among them while a bartender mixed cocktails at the near end of the room.
    All the women wore some kind of sartorial nod toward a hat, veil, or both, and I supposed that I owed Jane an apology for doubting, however privately, the appropriateness of her selections. She’d probably rather commit hara-kiri than sent me to a public event in the wrong clothes.
    “Penthouse suite,” Dorian explained. “Can’t just let anyone stroll in.”
    “I suppose not,” I said, slightly stunned.
    Incongruously, a small choir stood at the far end of the room, dressed in robes as if for church, and in front of the singers were two closed coffins, one a shiny piano black, the other white in a matching finish, attended by a priest and a pair of assistants. The clergymen were silent as the choir sang softly, hauntingly—no, not sang but rather intoned or chanted, the call and response of the lead singer not resembling that of a modern melody.
    To make the entire event even more surreal, there were about a half dozen women in the crowd who were dressed in clothing unmistakably from another time, from hoopskirts to flapper dresses.
    Two servants who looked vaguely familiar to me came up to take our coats. I surrendered mine and my small purse as well. I wasn’t going to try to juggle a drink, a plate, and my clutch all together.
    Looking resplendent in his tuxedo despite his pallor, Dorian offered me his arm again. I took it, resting my fingertips along the fine fabric of his tuxedo jacket. I was all too aware that I was garnering more attention than a cognate on the end of her agnate’s arm ought to. But that was to be expected. I was the symbol of the research that Jean had been killed to obtain.
    “There aren’t as many...interesting outfits here,” I said as softly as I could physically manage while still getting the words out. The agnates’ hearing was unnaturally sharp, and I didn’t want to offend anyone. “Is that because those people were all Kyrioi?”
    Several heads turned sharply toward me at the mention of that name. Clearly, I hadn’t spoken softly enough.
    “Shh,” Dorian said. “No, the ones who dress the strangest are usually fairly apolitical. Not exactly in step with current events, you see.”
    “Oh,” I said, filing that away.
    There were faces here that I recognized, nearly a dozen of them, cognates and agnates that Dorian had introduced to me on happier occasions. And there, near the buffet, standing next to Marie was—
    “Paquita!” In my surprise, I said her name aloud.
    “Yes, Raymond brought her back for the funeral after we understood the reason for Jean’s murder,” Dorian said.
    I looked up at