Page 10 of Summoned
I hide my surprise behind a tight smile. My father has been “courting” the new Senior Inspector since his appointment three months ago. He must have finally found a way into his heart. That means smooth execution for his upcoming construction projects. Making him a partner in one, though? That’s a big move. But then again, my father always knows what he’s doing when it comes to business.
I scan the stranger. He’s in his forties, dressed in a tailored suit despite the oppressive heat, and when he takes off his sunglasses, his eyes shine in a familiar way. It’s the same expression my father wears—a quick, calculating flash that gauges your worth in seconds.
“Director of Urban Design? Quite ambitious. You’re studying at the architecture university in Sofia, I assume?” he asks, though the spark has already faded.
I nod once and face my father again. “May I have my car?”
He doesn’t bother replying. Instead, he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet, and slides a black credit card across the table. “Take a taxi.”
I hate taxis.
I hate the stench of stale leather baking in the summer heat, the seats clinging to my skin.
I hate how my father believes he owns everything including my time, my things, me.
I hate the way he tosses that card at me, like I couldn’t pay for my own damn ride if I wanted to.
But most of all, I hate the casual finality in his demeanor.Like he’s brushing off an irritating fly.
I snatch the card off the table and stride away.
“Kids, eh?” the Baron chuckles behind me.
* * *
In the evening, the taxi pulls up outside a house in Dragalevtsi. Marble columns flank the driveway, each one crowned with winged lions. In the center of the courtyard stands a three-tiered fountain, topped with a gilded Cupid taking aim.
Boyana presses her forehead against the window, scanning the estate.
“The house belongs to Vanessa’s boyfriend,” she explains. “Some mafia guy.”
“Ah. That explains the mobster-baroque!” I pay with my father’s credit card. The driver chuckles.
Boyana shoots a confused glance between us, and for a moment, with her fake fangs, fire-engine lipstick, and cut-out leather dress, she really is a lost little vampire. “Mobster what?” And there’s another word about to join her big dictionary.
I shake my head and lean forward, ducking under the doorframe to avoid squishing my bunny ears.
Hopping from taxi to taxi in the July heat didn’t suit me, no matter how tempting it was to go wild with Dad’s credit card. So I made my maid stitch the fluffy white tail onto a sleek black cocktail dress. Even though her hands trembled because she couldn’t tell me who had emptied the contents of my trash can, the end result was satisfactory. I slid the velvety ears over my loose hair, added a bit of evening makeup, and the end result hits just the right note—elegant,with a bit of edge. And, yes, technically in costume.
The path to the front entrance is lined with luxury cars—limousines, sports cars, and shiny SUVs. Around them, a burst of costumes: feathered gowns, animal prints, sparkling fabrics, all vying to outshine the house itself. Waiters weave through the guests with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Photographers snap photos under the flash of strobes.
“Girls!” The twins cry in unison, tottering our way in heels, champagne glasses raised. Their colorful, airy gowns trail behind them, drowning in feathers and excess.
“Check herout! Total rock star!” Marie grabs my hand and spins me around. I give a small shake of my hips, just enough to show the silhouette. She grins. “Valentino, right? But babe, what’s with that tail?”
“An experiment.” I snatch a glass from a passing waiter. “Itisa costume party, isn’t it?”
“Trust Nicole to ruin a five-grand dress with a tail from AliExpress!” Misha squeals. There’s a sugary smile on her face, but the acid underneath is unmistakable. Yet, she wouldn’t dare go further.
I toss my hair over one shoulder with a smirk. “And still, I look better than everyone else here.”
Boyana snorts behind her hand and points her index finger at the twins. “And what exactly areyoudressed as? Wait, wait, I know! It’s that trend from the influencer, right? The girl who shows up at clubs dressed as a parrot…”
“We’re peacocks.” Marie sighs, exchanging a loaded look with her sister. “And we don’t follow trends, baby. We make them.”
Boyana shrugs. “I thought you were parrots. Must’ve misunderstood…”
“Shocker!” Misha twirls her skirt, lips pursed.
