“Look at that.” Her voice was awed. “You have Rima’s jaw. And that same sternness of your eyes, too. And oh! Yes, that’s it exactly! I saw the very same look of aggravation on your mother’s face more times than I could count. Your hands look soft, though. More like your father’s. That pert little nose of yours is his, too. How marvelous!”
Signa had planned for an impossible number of scenarios as she’d stood outside the ballroom doors. Turning into butter at sweet words had not been one of them. “My father?” she managed to echo, her voice raw. As little as she’d managed to glean about her mother over the years, she’d learned even less about her father. The most obvious trait she’d gathered was that he hadn’t been nearly as social as Rima.
“Who are you?” Signa was annoyed with herself for how long it took to ask the question. All the fight she’d built up had vanished the moment she’d stepped into the ballroom.
“Your mother was my best friend, though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t know that. Who would have told you, Magda?” She tipped her head back with a laugh so gentle that Signa couldn’t believe she was talking to a spirit. “My name is Amity.”
Before she could ask anything more, Signa’s attention flashed to another spirit who’d drawn too close, lurking behind Amity. Her eyes were hollow and expressionless as she trailed from one table to the next, shuffling a dance card in and out of her pocket. Though the young woman’s face had perhaps once been sweet, the right side of her skull was cracked open, dried blood caked in her hair from when she must have fallen to her death. Signa wondered if she’d tried to run from the ballroom, only to fall over the banister. God, she couldn’t even imagine.
As Amity followed Signa’s curious eyes, her shoulders drooped. “That’s Briar. I’m sorry, I should have realized she’d be too much for you to see. I’ve grown so used to her appearance that I didn’t think—”
“It’s fine.” Signa barely recognized her own words, not knowing what had come over her. Consoling a spirit? What on earth was she thinking? “Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”
“Yes, I heard that you could see spirits! I suppose I’m glad that you can see me now, but how terrifying that must have been as a child to see things even worse than Briar. I wish I’d been there to help you.”
“You have no reason to be sorry,” Signa told her flatly. The words were strange in her mouth, like something she didn’t quite know how to shape. “It’s not as though you were responsible for me.”
“Perhaps not entirely,” Amity admitted. “Though I am your godmother. Or was, I suppose.” Signa’s mind went blank, and Amity gave her no reprieve to consider this news before she rambled on, her excitement bursting with each word. “We met at finishing school. Your mother hated the place. I was the perfect student until she arrived with her grand schemes. She always had us sneaking away in the middle of the night to visit whatever ballet or circus was performing in town. Or whoever she fancied at the time.” The spirit’s eyes sparkled at the memory. And then they faded as she peered back down at Signa with a small, tired smile.
“I saw your parents with the reaper that night. They couldn’t manage to stay in this world, but I could. I needed to make sure that someone found you, and that you’d be cared for. When I heard that Foxglove would be yours someday, I decided to stay so that I might see what kind of woman my friend’s daughter became. It’s lovely to be able to speak with you.”
How strange it felt to learn of this woman only now. Signa would have given everything to have met Amity years ago, when all she wanted was to know that there was somebody in this world who thought of her, and who wanted her safe and well.
And yet she had no business getting chummy with a spirit, especially when another had just assaulted her. And so Signa avoided Amity’s eyes as she tried to process the news that this woman was, allegedly, her godmother. She looked instead behind Amity, past a shuffling Briar, to where several spirits were dancing. There were two sets of both a man and woman spinning in an endless waltz, while three women sat gossiping at a table set with a cloth that had long aged to yellow.
Two more proud-looking young men—twins, by the look of them—argued in the corner. Every so often one would glance at a table of women. Each of the spirits was dressed in the most spectacular fashion. Though their attire was two decades outdated, the gowns billowed with the finest fabrics while fat jewels glittered from the ladies’ ears and necks. No others were obviously injured like Briar, and even with their bluish glow, they were all marvelous.