Perrin sat beside the still empty fifth chair and, as always, was a study in fashion. Her hair was golden rather than the dye jobs she used to sport. She wore a dress of jet black velvet. It had one sleeve that started as a fingerless glove. At her shoulder, it broke into two waves that draped and cascaded down her slender figure so dramatically it would have made her face hard to focus on—the eyes just wanted to travel right down to the short slit-reveal at her calves. Except, the other shoulder and arm were bare and relieved the eye of its downward journey. Rather than losing the pale-skinned woman in the dramatic dress, she shone.
Who belonged in that empty fifth chair still eluded her. And where would she sit when she crossed the room? There should be a sixth seat. Unless she were bei
