Page 8 of Savannah Royals
“Sorry.” Her cheeks turn pink. “What are you going to do this afternoon, Kat?”
I open the door and walk away as I answer. “First, I’m going to get out of this corset—”
“Swell idea. Me too.”
“Then I’ll likely swing by Raymond’s to do some work,” I conclude, as if she hadn’t interrupted. My fingers itch at the thought of my latest project, dreamed up by my own mind for a change, not Ray’s or Paul’s.
“You work too much,” Melinda mutters. “Seriously, Kat. We’ve got an afternoon off.Let’s do somethingfun.”
“Your job at the bakery isn’t fun?” I slip halfway out of my gown, reach behind my back, and with a flick of my wrist, I send the laces of my corsettumbling. It’s a trick I learned long before coming to the Academy from many a quick-change with the Royals.
It’s one Mellie, however, has yet to master. She’s got her hands behind her waist, contorting every which way to reach the laces. Her cheeks puff pink with exertion. I wait, somewhat impatiently, until she caves and exposes the bindings to me. I cross the room to undo them.
“Thanks,” she mumbles.
I return to my side and pull out a chemise and one of the Academy-sanctioned uniforms, a maroon sheath dress with a Peter Pan collar. I tug them over my head, one after the other, as my morning gown drops from my waist to the floor. Silk charmeuse pools around my feet. After a cursory glance in the mirror, I head for the door.
“Wait!”
I look back to see Mellie still working her way out of her corset. Her taffeta gown sits in a tangled heap around her ankles.
I stifle a laugh. “Goodbye, Mellie.”
As I close the door behind me, she shouts, “If you think I’m gonna hang up your morning gown, you got another think coming, sister.”
Going to, Mellie. Going.
I’d make excuses for her, but we’re fourth-years now, like I told her. I don’t care if she was raised on a plantation farm in the boondocks of Georgia—I was raised in the Catacombs, for Christ’s sake! Elocution and grammar lessons began on day one, and by now, it should really be second nature.
I step into the sunshine and make my habitual strides to the streetcar stop. My job at Raymond’s is less than a ten-minute ride to downtown Savannah.
Or a twenty-minute walk. I look up at the shining September sun, deliberating.
Most days, I’m rushing from class or lessons to my Academy-sponsored apprenticeship. I rarely have the luxury of walking. Today, the entire afternoon stretches out before me, and Ray isn’t expecting me. I redirect my legs, heading for the brick sidewalk.
I’m about halfway to Raymond’s when someone falls into step beside me. I don’t need to look to know who. Our strides naturally synchronize, coaxing a secret smile to my lips.
“Hey, Kitty-Kat.”
The timbre of his voice washes over me. I fight a shiver.
“Hey,” I whisper back.
“You’re walking today.”
“I am. Which, clearly, you anticipated.” I shouldn’t be surprised. Paul always knows exactly where to find me. He’s magic like that. Fairy-born, we call him. Appeared in the dark of the night as a baby on the orphanage’s steps and vanished just the same a few years later, straight into life as an urchin in the Catacombs. Where he met me.
Paul tips his head to the sky and smiles. Black, whiskered scruff dusts his upper neck and cheeks. I can just make out the edge of a tattoo, the barest hint peeking out from beneath the collar of his shirt.
“It’s a beautiful day,” he observes. “And what do beautiful girls do on beautiful days? Well, one particular beautiful girl, that is.”
“Slick. You woo all the ladies with that mouth?”
“Just one.” Quick as lightning, he grabs my hand and yanks, pulling me into an alley.
“Paul,” I whisper-hiss, “be careful. I’m in my Academy uniform.” I glance back to the street, checking for onlookers.
“I’m always careful, you know that.”
