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“Heeeey, there ya are, Goldfishie!”
He towered over Riddle, who was standing off to the side to rest his feet for a bit. He’d danced with all the other housewardens (Kalim wouldn’t have taken no for an answer even if Riddle had declined his invitation), and everyone in his dorm, and a few others, like Silver and Sebek.
While he’d proudly demonstrated to Vil his ability to dance in heels, that didn’t mean he had the energy to do so all night—especially after they’d been sent on a merry chase through several realms just to get here.
Riddle’s eyes immediately fell to the plate Floyd was carrying, and the towering mille-feuille that was listing to one side. It was almost impressive that Floyd had managed to get it this far without the entire thing tipping over, thanks to the raspberries and crème pâtissière sandwiched between each layer.
Raspberries, crème pâtissière, and peaches.
Despite the lateness of the hour, Riddle’s mouth began to water.
“Why do you insist on bringing me dessert when I have clearly stated I had no interest in sweets? Especially at this hour!”
Floyd leaned against the wall next to him and cut through the layered puff pastry with a fork.
“Cuz you don’t mean it.”
The galling part was that he was right.
“C’mon,” Floyd said, lifting Riddle’s veil. He picked up the fork and extended it toward Riddle’s face, the ribbons on his sleeve fluttering with the motion. “Just one bite.”
Riddle knew he should say no. He should refuse, should remind Floyd that this was not a suitable time for dessert. The peach slices were so very thin, glistening in the lighting of the room, and Riddle found himself leaning forward, just a little. He realized what he was doing, but before he could reverse course, Floyd took that option away by shoving the pastry in Riddle’s mouth.
(It wasn’t really shoved into his mouth; Floyd had actually been surprisingly gentle when he’d touched the pastry to Riddle’s lips, but it was easier to excuse his lack of restraint by blaming Floyd.)
The second time Floyd offered him a bite of mille-feuille, Riddle accepted it without argument. And the third time Floyd used the fork to cut through the pastry—that bite was one that Floyd took himself, using the very same fork that Riddle had his mouth on just moments before.
Floyd wasn’t in the least bit bothered. He even licked a bit of peach juice from his lips—lips that curved up slightly when he noticed the direction of Riddle’s gaze.
He cut into the pastry again, causing flakes to fall onto the plate, and extended the fork.
“No, thank you,” Riddle said, even as he accepted the bite.
He held up his hand when Floyd offered him a fourth bite. “No,” he said firmly.
“All right,” Floyd said. He finished the dessert, placed the fork on the empty plate, and set both down on a nearby table.
(His arms were really unfairly long.)
Floyd wrapped his finger around a lock of Riddle’s hair. “Dance with me, Goldfishie.”
“The night is nearly over,” Riddle pointed out.
“Not over yet.”
“It’s nearly sunrise.”
“Not here, it isn’t.”
“No, of course not,” Riddle allowed. “But it will be when we return to our world.”
“So? Is there some rule about not dancing after sunrise or somethin’?”
Riddle’s eyebrows furrowed. “No. Why would there be?”
Floyd grinned. “Why is there a rule saying you have to run around under the ocean if you get soaking wet?”
“It is not our place to question the wisdom of the Queen of Hearts!”
Floyd gave the lock of hair a little tug. “I dunno. Asking questions is how you learn. Can’t be so bad, can it?”
“That was…surprisingly astute. But I should expect no less from someone from Octavinelle. And, as I’m sure Jade told you, I have taken measures to ensure that I am no longer in a predicament where I need to borrow Octavinelle’s lounge to adhere to Rule—”
“124,” Floyd said. “That’s Rule 124. And Jade didn’t tell me shit.”
Riddle would normally reprimand a student for using foul language, but this was Floyd. And he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Jade hadn’t said anything about Riddle’s chagrin. It would have been low on his list of priorities, once the party had started in earnest. The whole adventure was exactly the sort of chaos that appealed to Jade.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t say something later.
What he was most surprised at, though, was that Floyd had remembered which rule number it was. Jade had—Riddle had learned that, much to his chagrin—but then, Jade had a knack for remembering every student’s most embarrassing moments.
Floyd released Riddle’s hair, watching as it slowly unfurled from where it had been wound, and then looked into Riddle’s eyes again.
“We have a lot in common, ya know.”
“Excuse me?”
Floyd laughed. “You practically raced me into the mirror yesterday, all ready to retrieve your guppies on account of Rule 53.”
“I had to retrieve my card soldiers, who had been stolen from Heartslabyul!”
He wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that this was yet another rule that Floyd had remembered.
It was annoying, but Floyd was right. Riddle had charged into the mirror, with Floyd hot on his heels. They’d also been forcibly ejected, spat back out as if they were no more of an annoyance to the mirror than apple seeds.
And Riddle supposed that neither of them had noticed the fine print on the invitations, either.
And last night, before they’d all gone to bed, before half the student population had been kidnapped, Floyd had dragged Riddle over to the dessert table, determined to get Riddle to indulge himself a little.
He’d been unable to enjoy more than a couple of bites of that cake Silver had mentioned, but it was still more than he’d planned on allowing himself.
Which was none.
“C’mon, Goldfishie,” Floyd said. “Dance with me.”
Just then, the music stopped.
“All good things must come to an end,” one of the ghosts said.
“Yeah,” Floyd said, looking at Riddle. “I guess they do. Plus, was gettin’ kinda Halloweened out.”
Riddle nodded, and then, Malleus started sending them back to the Hall of Mirrors.
It was no surprise that the faculty was there waiting, but they were able to postpone a full recounting until the following day. Each housewarden—even Malleus, who was responsible for the entire thing in the first place—ushered their students to the mirrors for their respective dorms. Riddle watched as each of his card soldiers stepped through the Heartslabyul mirror, until Trey was the last one left.
“Hey, Riddle,” Trey said. He looked as if he wanted to say something but was afraid to.
“Yes? Is something wrong?”
It looked like Trey was looking at something behind Riddle, but before Riddle could turn around, Trey brushed a few bits of flaked pastry from the white ribbon that ran from Riddle’s throat to his arm.
“Mille-feuille,” he said.
Riddle’s cheeks heated. “Yes,” he said. “There is no rule against eating mille-feuille at a party.”
“Of course not,” Trey said. He smiled at Riddle—a rather cheeky smile, at that—and then he tipped his hat.
“See you back at the dorm,” he said before stepping through the mirror.
“Finally,” Floyd said, making Riddle jump. “I thought he’d never leave.”
“Where did you come from?” Riddle asked.
“The spectral realm, duh, same as you.”
“That’s not what I meant! And why aren’t you back at Octavinelle?”
“Wasn’t ready to go yet. You never answered my question.”
“What question?” Riddle asked, even though he knew full well what Floyd was referring to.
Floyd took several steps back and gave a mocking little bow before extending his hand.
“Dance with me, Goldfishie,” he said, lifting his eyes to meet Riddle’s.
“There’s no music.”
“There some rule against dancin’ with no music?”
“No, of course not.”
“So you’ll dance with me?”
“If I do, do you promise to go straight to Octavinelle afterwards?”
Floyd straightened, his arm still extended. “Sure. I’m kinda tired after all that running around last night.”
But not too tired to dance, Riddle wanted to point out, but he accepted Floyd’s hand. “Fine,” he said. “Just one dance, though.”
Between the lack of music and their exhaustion, what they did was less dancing and more just sagging against each other, swaying back and forth without moving their feet very much. It could hardly be called dancing at all, but Riddle wasn’t going to say anything lest Floyd take it as a challenge.
Without any music, Riddle wasn’t even sure how he would know when the dance was over, but then Floyd stopped moving and stood up straight.
“Thanks for the dance, Goldfishie,” he said with a tired little smile.
“You’re welcome,” Riddle said. “I suppose I should thank you for your assistance this evening.”
“And the mille-feuille,” Floyd added.
Riddle gave him a hint of a smile. “And the mille-feuille,” he agreed.
“And the kiss.”
“And the-wait, wha—”
His question was cut off by a light press of Floyd’s lips against his own, and then, Floyd bounded toward the Octavinelle mirror, his energy fully restored.
“Floyd!”
“What?” Floyd asked, his hands on the frame of the mirror. “There some rule against kissin’ after midnight?”
“No, but—”
Floyd pushed away from the mirror and kissed him again, a little harder this time, and then he cackled as he practically jumped headfirst into the mirror.
Riddle pressed his fingers against his lips. He really should have pulled that veil back down after he’d finished eating.
He could feel his lips curve beneath his fingertips.
He should have, but he was glad he hadn’t.