After losing Mamá, Papá had turned to politics to fill the void, and I’d turned to Geneve, Mamá’s best friend. She taught me everything I knew about sewing and also about Mamá, since Papá refused to talk about her after the sickness stole her from us when I was ten. Geneve was one of the few people from the Middle Chimes in attendance tonight, since I’d insisted she be on the guest list.
A plump man with thinning white hair walked between us, cutting off my view of her. He gave me a wide smile, which I returned with a polite one.
“I don’t even think Papá likes half the people here,” I mumbled to Desmarc while keeping my smile in place.
“You know what they say: Keep your friends close and your voters closer.” Desmarc inclined his head to the man but didn’t stop walking until we reached the refreshment table. Unlike on the dance floor, the music here was only a soft background melody. Instead, laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the hum of conversation suffused the air.
Meridian Eliver—a political leader from the Revolutionist faction—edged in to engage Desmarc in conversation, and I smothered a sigh. His name was almost too easy to remember because it spelled revile backwards and perfectly described my feelings for his terrible mustache.
A server bot refilled a tray of biscuits.
“Thank you,” I murmured to it, snagging a green bolt-shaped biscuit that sat next to a blue one shaped like a nut as I absently scanned the room. My gaze caught on a woman with curly gray hair, a red shirt, and a pair of goggles resting on her top hat.
Professor Sophronia.
She linked arms with a portly man I didn’t recognize, and the two walked toward one of the many doors leading to the property’s expansive gardens, deep in conversation.
I freed my hand from Desmarc’s arm. “Excuse me, I think Papá is calling.”
“I’ll find you later.” Desmarc kissed my cheek and turned his attention back to his conversation, giving me the chance to escape.
A few women my age waved at me in an obvious attempt to invite me over, but I pretended not to see them. I was done playing the part of the socialite for the moment, especially considering those women only pretended at friendliness because their parents wanted to curry favor with Papá.
Unwilling to risk making eye contact with anyone else, I kept my head down and forged a path toward the garden. This was my chance to talk to Professor Sophronia about my enrollment options. I’d chosen her because, according to Geneve, she’d been one of Mamá’s favorite professors.
I ducked my head at the man who held the door for me as I followed Professor Sophronia and her companion into the brisk autumnal air, heavy with the smell of chrysanthemums. Hints of a quiet conversation enticed me down a mosaic path where shadows disguised statues as people. But the gurgling sounds of water grew louder and the voices softer until I arrived at a fountain where the path split off in three directions. Professor Sophronia was nowhere in sight.
I sighed and looked around. Instead of interrupting her conversation, I’d wait here for her. If she was coming back to the party, this was the main path that led back, and if she wasn’t, then I’d probably already lost her. Either way, I was in no hurry to return to the crush of people inside.
Plopping down on the fountain’s edge, I stared into the water mindlessly. My distorted reflection stared back, looking like Mamá had at my age, at least according to family portraits. I’d gained her sleek black hair, blue eyes, and pointed chin.
“I wish you were here,” I mumbled as my throat closed up. The older I got, the harder I had to fight to keep my memories of Mamá alive. Going to university was another chance to follow in her footsteps and be closer to her. Why couldn’t Papá see that?
Although my parents had met at AIR University as students, every time I approached the subject of my enrollment, Papá shut it down faster than a faulty factory. His immediate refusal the first time I’d asked had broken the fragile peace we’d lived with growing up while I strained against his restrictions and domineering nature. That day three years ago was when I started Slipping again. It was my personal rebellion so it wouldn’t feel like Papá controlled every aspect of my life.
Tears clouded my vision, and I swiped them away angrily. After losing Mamá, I’d tried to hold on to my relationship with Papá by being the perfect daughter, going through with his ridiculous knife training, comportment lessons, and endless political dinners. But the more I tried to be like Mamá, the stricter he became until he was nothing like the playful, caring person from my childhood.
I yanked off my right glove and reached into my pocket for the thimble once more. This time my bare finger rubbed against it, and even though I knew nothing would happen, disappointment coursed through me. It would’ve been nice to see a memory of Mamá, but I’d long since drained the emotion from the thimble after discovering it years ago, when it first pulled me into one of Mamá’s memories.
Cool water misted refreshingly against my skin as it poured from the mouths of the mechanical creatures in the fountain’s center—winged horses with exposed clockwork muscles and serpentine creatures with slitted vents resembling scales. Brass gears rotated under the water, creating mesmerizing ripples that reflected the play of light from the surrounding aether lamps.
Something glittered at the bottom of the fountain, its form distorted by the water. A bracelet?
I dropped the thimble back into my pocket and leaned over to see it better. My hand slid off the fountain’s ledge, and I tumbled in with an icy splash.
As I sat up in the foot-deep water and wiped my wet hair away from my face, my bare hand brushed against something smooth. A blue spark sprang from the bracelet to my finger, sending a jolt through me.
My spirit Slipped from my body.
I clutched the bracelet to my chest as time rushed by me in a barrage of sights and sounds like a carnival ride. I cursed myself for taking off my glove, my sole defense against being unwillingly pulled into the past by seemingly innocent objects. While I had no problem Slipping when I was safe at home and Papá was gone, doing it in public was asking to get caught.
The world jerked to a stop, leaving me standing in a sudden quiet. I held a hand to my forehead and took a few deep breaths to push off the residual dizziness.