Page 48 of Switching Graves

“Of course, it’s not. The Falconry is the crème de la crème of Ravenshurst events,” Ava says, pursing her lips as if I should already know this.

Beatrix adds, “The school tries to throw a consolation dance on the off-years to make everyone feel a little better about not being invited to this one, but it pales in comparison. I think anonymity adds to the allure.”

“Yeah, that and the prospect of beinghunted downby some rich, hot guy. Or girl.” Ava holds her fingers up and purses her lips in a dramatic chef’s kiss.

“Who do you think invited you?” Beatrix asks, taking the invitation from Ava’s hands so she can pick up the mask I left sitting on the couch.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not going,” I dismiss, my voice cold as ice.

They may fall for the dramatics, but I see this for exactly what it is: Another way for the wealthy families to wave their money around in everyone else’s faces. Just like Devlin.

Aunt Divina would be so proud. I bet she’s somehow behind this.

Ava’s face drops into a pout, but it’s Beatrix who surprises me by insisting, “You have to go.”

Spinning to face her, my brows scrunch together in an irritated scowl. “Why would I do that? Have you read the rules?”

Beatrix rolls her eyes, holding the invitation between us. “The Falconry is the most exclusive event Ravenshurst throws. It’s sponsored by the board, and rumor has it, only their hand-picked legacies are allowed to extend invites. You’re one ofmaybeseventy students to receive one of these. Not accepting isn’t an option.”

“It says I have a choice . . . ”

“Yeah, but that’s just a formality. No one gets invited and declines,” Ava argues.

Huffing out a frustrated breath, I point to the mask and invitation. “So, some guy decided he wants me to come to this stupid dance with him and I have no say in it? That’s . . . insane. And archaic.” And infuriating.

Shaking her head in exasperation, Beatrix throws the invite back into the box and squares her shoulders. “You don’t understand how big of a deal it is. It’s not just a stupid dance. It’sthechance to mingle and rub elbows with some of the world’s highest elite. It’s a networking event that’s only available to afew chosen ones, every other year. You’d be throwing away an opportunity of a lifetime.”

“Let me go in your place. He’ll never know if I hide from him until the end of the night,” Ava jokes, slipping the mask over her face.

Dropping my gaze back down to the invitation, I consider what Beatrix said. That grimy, forced feeling I had when I first opened the package is still there, but is it worth pushing past for the opportunity to network with people who could help me later on? Something like this could change the trajectory of my entire future.

“Just think about it,” Beatrix encourages.

“Seriously, who do you think invited you?” Ava asks again, posing in front of my mirror with the mask on.

Shrugging, I close the box with the invitation inside. “I have no idea. Who do we know that has family on the board?”

Both of them shake their heads. Beatrix collapses onto the couch, stretching her arms across the back. “No one I can think of. I would say Hayes, since he’s been following you around like a lost dog, but I don’t think he has any connections to the board, does he?”

“Ooh, it’s even more mysterious now,” Ava giggles, rubbing her hands together mischievously. The golden hue of the mask makes the undertones of her tawny skin pop and with her hair tied up in that slick, elegant ponytail, she looks like a true goddess.

She should have gotten this invite. She would appreciate it so much more than me. Sheunderstandsit better than me.

“We have to find you a dress,” Beatrix points out, earning another excited squeal from Ava.

Clapping her hands together, she rushes toward us. “A shopping trip in town! We’ve only got two weeks to get everything together.”

“You have to go!” Poppy’s voice echoes off my walls when I talk to her that night. I called her the moment Beatrix and Ava left and we’ve been on speaker phone for an hour. I’ve allowed her to ramble about every menial detail of her trip before bringing it up, knowing this would be her reaction.

I shake my head, dipping the brush back into my nail polish bottle to blow on my freshly painted fingers. “Poppy, I don’t even know who invited me.”

“So? That makes it even better. Some mysterious rich guy is into you and you’re not interested in seeing who it might be?”

“Not really,” I deadpan.

“You used to be so fun,” she whines. “Who hurt you?”

“What about the fact that the invitation states he can do whatever he wants when he finds me? That sounds like a sexual assault waiting to happen. Especially when these people can work with more than just their hands.”

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