Tainted Blood: A Generation V Novel by M.L. Brennan Page B

he was remembering wiping my nose or confiscating my crayons. “A few of the boys and I are valeting the cars, so we’ll tuck yours away where it won’t be a bother.”
    “A bother or an eyesore?” I asked, shifting the car into neutral and getting out.
    James smiled widely, showing teeth browned by a lifetime of black coffee and lack of fluoride treatments. “Now, now. I have a snug little spot where it’ll be nice and safe. You have to be careful with a car like this—one tap and the bumper will probably come right off.”
    He wasn’t wrong. Last year I’d spent a month and a half with the Fiesta’s bumper attached by wire ties following a low-speed bumper collision. I’d been short on money at the time, and it had taken a while to saveenough to get my mechanic to spot-weld the bumper back where it belonged. I’d left the wire ties on, figuring that it could use the help.
    Inside, the house was bustling with women in a mixture of sleek evening wear and professional business dress. Madeline’s staff cruised among them in black-tie tuxedos, male and female, holding trays full of wineglasses or hors d’oeuvres.
    Prudence appeared at my elbow, looking smug. Her crutches were gone, replaced by a rather dapper ivory cane that she leaned on heavily. Her matching dress was long, and the fabric was stiff enough that I couldn’t be sure of what kind of bandaging was currently on her leg. “Why, hello, Fortitude. I see you’ve come to admire my ladies’ networking party.”
    “Is that what you’re calling it?”
    “Yes, it seems to be quite popular.” She linked her free arm with mine and tugged me toward a quieter part of the room. As we crossed, I noticed Chivalry standing in a knot of women, listening politely as one of them was saying something about how the artwork on the stairway reminded her of some fancy house she’d seen in France. The interest in her eyes as she flirted at my brother was clear, and at a casual glance, Chivalry seemed to be responding. But his eyes were just a little too bright under the light from the chandelier, and there was a keen, assessing look on Chivalry’s face that flicked from the woman speaking to the others surrounding him. The situation should’ve been annoyingly reminiscent of a sultan checking out new applicants for the harem, but instead it reminded me very uncomfortably of Discovery Channel footage of a wolf inspecting a deer herd.
    Prudence followed my gaze and gave a very satisfied smile. “This has been quite a successful evening. I’m thinking of throwing a few more of these this week—of course it’s so short notice, but I’ve gotten compliments from the ladies all night, saying what a lovely idea it is tobring together so many clever and successful women to network.” To my relief, she slipped her arm out of mine, snagged a wineglass from a passing tray, and took a sip. Then she shot me a calculating look. “Do you remember any lady professors from Brown who would be suitable? Very few women in this day and age seem capable of turning down a couriered invitation.”
    “Um, one, we just call them professors now. Two, I’m not getting involved, and neither should you.”
    Prudence rolled her eyes, though whether it was over my correction of
lady professors
or my very deep discomfort over the thought of having any part in Chivalry’s dating process was unclear. “Don’t be such a child. Whoever Chivalry selects and weds will be in our lives and home for years, and I
refuse
to suffer through the fiasco of Sybil again.”
    “Sybil?”
    My sister took a longer drink of her wine and her face darkened. Apparently this memory still had the ability to nettle her. “1909. She was an anarchist, a follower of Emma Goldman. Constant rallies and arrests. We couldn’t get through a single meal without being lectured about the ravages of capitalism. I thought the woman would never die.” Prudence shuddered. “She actually lasted for fourteen years, wretched