Chapter Thirteen
I hear a commotion in the front hallway as I’m retreating to my room. It’s nearly one a.m. and the music and dancing are still going on in the garden. But blaring in a crude counterpoint to that softer sound, I hear Tasia’s voice: the deep melody doesn’t blend with the more gentle sounds of merriment. I turn to watch the woman in full Gypsy regalia, stones and scarves and her dark hair flying wildly behind her. At the door, she turns with a remarkable speed, giving Peach, who’s following her, a sumptuous kiss on the lips and then a delicate and condescending pat on the cheek.
“Tomorrow,” she says, as Peach nods. Tasia smiles darkly, I’m sure she’s concocting some weird something, but where? Gone for the night, how interesting. Where does a woman like Tasia go? She seems
