His chin tilts, eyebrows pressed together. His lips begin to form a “no.”
“Excuse me,” says a sweet-spoken gentleman dressed flagrantly like a black and gold speckled dragon. He extends a hand to me, but his eyes are on Adom. “I should like to dance with the swan if her snake guardian would unravel himself from around her neck.”
I stare at his extended hand with dismay. Who is this strange person and why is he asking Adom’s permission to dance with me? I give Adom a horrified look, hoping he correctly interprets my stony silence. I’m not dancing with Adom or this prancing dragon-fellow who won’t even look me in the eye. I didn’t come here to dance. I came to do what I do best, to blend in, gather secrets, and make my exit as uneventful and anonymous as humanly possible. I take a hard loo
