Coriolanus's breath caught in his chest and his stomach seemed to have disappeared. It can't be, he assured himself, and blinked several times in attempt to clear his vision, but still, she was there. A decade gone—more than that, if he were to be precise—without word and without sound, and here she was, in the middle of his drawing room?
No, he didn't believe it. He refused to believe it. She was dead. She was supposed to be dead. She should be dead. She needed to be dead. Was she dead?
More people had arrived by now, and he could only snatch glimpses of her as she wove amongst his guests like she was made of nothing. She didn't turn his way, not directly, but her profile gave away pulled up dark hair and wildflowers. Although it was now swallowed up by a human sea, the orange he'd witnessed around her neck had been unmistakable. And then the dress—her dress. He would have to be blind not to recognize it; maybe not even then.
A million questions ricocheted around his brain: What was she doing here? How did she get in? Why now? The all-important one—Was she dead?—popped up again. Or was he going mad?
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
Startled, Coriolanus jerked his head towards the voice and was greeted by Tigris. The manner in which he stared at her would be more appropriately termed goggling, and would have warranted the Grandma'am's reprimand, so unbecoming of someone with his upbringing was it, but he had to make sure her flowing orange number wasn't another hallucination.
Well, he couldn't quite decide if it was orange.
It seemed to be semi-transparent (sheer, in the fashion world) because he could make out the outline of her body underneath. The fabric unknown to him—mesh, maybe?—clung to her like a glove from mid-thigh up to her shoulders, where a voluminous cape-sleeve thing began, out of which her arms poked and ending in a pool on the floor behind her. Sparkling black stripes ran across the whole outfit, haphazardly for the most part, but also strategically covering all the sensitive regions. Her sandy pixie hair was dyed with similar dark streaks that scintillated with glitter. Only face paint and whiskers—fine, pointed ears and a tail, why not?—were likely to augment her semblance to a tiger.
His conclusion, as he noted her affronted gaze, was that it was more flesh-toned. Regaining control of his face, Coriolanus cleared his throat.
"I think I might have," he confessed.
Tigris, who was swigging her champagne, side-eyed him. By the time she'd lowered her glass, her frown had softened into one of concern.
"What do you mean?"
Surreptitiously, he scanned the saloon once more, hoping against hope that he wouldn't find her. As if on cue, she emerged from behind a group of besuited men on the far side of the hall and glided her way—still never facing him—towards a nearby cluster of youngsters. The latter neglected to react to her presence. Although Coriolanus was the host, the star of the night was Dr. Gaul, and most of the spotlight was on her. Double checking that no one was paying him and Tigris any attention, he inclined his head towards the bunch of youths.
"There," whispered Coriolanus, "in the rainbow dress. Do you see her?"
He kept an eye trained on the multicolored figure partially screened by fineries and bodies, as if for fear that she might suddenly vanish, which was odd, considering he wasn't at all keen to see her in the first place. He wasn't. Keen. At all. ...
Right?
"Oh my—"
Her gasp, the astonishment lacing her voice, the cupping of her mouth in his peripheral vision had all guaranteed Coriolanus that Tigris, too, had spotted Lucy Gray—her apparition or whatever. That was, until he peered over and discovered a grin so wide it peeked from behind her palm as her eyes glinted in what could only be delight.
"That's mine!" squealed Tigris, slapping his arm and bouncing on her heels enthusiastically. "I'm going to say hi."
She hadn't completed a step forward when Coriolanus seized her wrist.
"What do you mean that's yours?" he growled.
Had Tigris known all along? Had she met up with Lucy Gray—made her a dress to boot!—and kept him in the dark? How could Lucy Gray even afford it? TGRS might be a newcomer in the market, but it was nonetheless high-end. It didn't come cheap in the Capitol and was positively exorbitant by district standards. The Covey could have sung their throats raw, strummed their fingers to the bone, and would still have fallen short. Then Coriolanus recalled Dean Highbottom's payout. It was possible, he allowed, if, by some miracle, she hadn't squandered it all away. Or, more likely, Tigris never charged her.
"That's my dress! Well, not mine, per se, but I made it. It's Lilith's design." Gazing back towards the garment and its model, Tigris sagged in a dreamy sigh. "She looks wonderful in it, don't you think?"
"Lilith?" repeated Coriolanus, bewildered, as the name was dredged up from the depths of his memories. "As in, Summer Intern Lilith?"
"Do you know another Lilith?"
He thought he might, but demanded, "What's your intern doing here?"
If he hadn't already been piqued, he certainly was now: These parties he threw—and attended, for that matter—were nothing if not exclusive. If every Titus, Dion, and Hermes could just waltz in uninvited, what was the point?
"She's studying at the University. Probably she's one of the students from the class."
"Your intern studies at the University?"
With every passing minute, he felt more and more like a parrot, and a stupid one at that. An image of Jubilee, Lucky Flickerman's dreadful excuse for a pet, who'd withered to its demise several Games ago, rose unbidden inside his head. Coriolanus defied being associated with that shriveled, featherless, deceased creature. Still, he judged his shock to be due.
When he learnt that Tigris had decided to take on someone, particularly the amount—or lack thereof—she was prepared to compensate, he'd advised her to bump up the figure to something more enticing. Determined not to compromise her budget, however, she'd dismissed his suggestion.
"It's fine. It's better this way, in fact. Anyone who applies won't be doing it for the money. I'll get someone who's serious; someone who's really passionate about clothes."
Or someone who's totally useless, he would have loved to retort. Someone who's so hard up for cash they'd sell their souls for peanuts. Someone who possessed no proper qualifications to attain an actual job.
Seriously, her posting expressly stated "no experience or certification necessary," amongst other ridiculous, unquantifiable requirements like curious, fond of fashion, good eye for detail, able to commit flexible hours... She wouldn't have specified a minimum age—sixteen—except she had been legally obliged to (her insurance didn't extend to young persons).
Surprisingly, it took only a week for the first response to come. Unsurprisingly, another ten passed before anyone accepted her idea of a salary. Naturally, Tigris hired the first one who did. The girl lasted all of a fortnight before jumping ship to another label where she had been offered a better position—and plausibly, Coriolanus suspected, better wages. Tigris had been right about the "passionate about clothes" part, at least, because this happened several more times.
Then a boy—Titus—came along and distinguished himself not just with his gender but by staying in her service for a whopping eleven months. Coriolanus had reckoned he would finally meet TGRS's Most Loyal Employee at the boutique's grand opening, but Tigris said he'd gone, had to leave, had to move on. She'd sounded exceptionally calm and distant, when he knew she would have grown attached to any colleague, let alone one she'd worked alongside for so long, but there had been a finality to her tone that informed him not to pry.
A finality and a sadness.
Despite business picking up with the launch of her physical store, Tigris didn't put up another recruitment listing, as if intent on burying herself in the very textiles she was sewing, figuratively if not literally. It was amazing the Grandma'am even managed to see her to deliver her threat of having her landlord rescind the lease. Immediately, Tigris capitulated and advertised for an assistant, whose hourly rate could only be decent if a maximum of ten hours a week was clocked—the equivalent of a day in the shop.
What Tigris had regarded as frugal and streamline Coriolanus deemed unrealistic and reckless: how her finances accommodated only one member of staff at a time. By now, she'd had the liquidity for more, but she preferred doing everything herself—enjoyed it, even. It had taken a hard lesson for her to realise that, as much as she was capable, she wasn't indestructible. Since her internship vacancy had been republished in the spring, she'd had a couple more ephemeral aides. And then came summer, and Summer Intern Lilith.
Before this, the comings and goings of Tigris's little elves at random junctures of the year had implied that they weren't otherwise enrolled in school, enhancing Coriolanus's impression that they were desperate, penniless dropouts. It didn't matter that Tigris never complained about any of them; she scarcely complained about anything. Conversely, she was ever ready to sing their praises. If they had demonstrated any remote competence, however, the purple rings beneath her eyes wouldn't have become permanent features she pretended was the latest cosmetic trend.
Even though Summer Intern Lilith had been the first one who'd forthrightly declared her availability as limited only to the holidays, the first to remain true to her word, the first Coriolanus had seen and not just heard about, no less, she had not altered the opinion he'd formed: that they were all poor fools. If anything, her outlook and behavior had solidified his perception. To think that such an individual could have coughed up the tuition for university—could have entered university at all—astounded him.
"Of course," said Tigris, like he was being absurd. "What did you expect of a Gold?"
The Grandma'am would surely hit him with a stick now for gawking at his cousin. So, as it transpired, he did know another Lilith. Well, "another" was a stretch—another version of Lilith would be more accurate. As Coriolanus pieced two and two together, disbelief overwhelmed him.
"Your intern is Lilith Gold?"
"Yes..." Tigris's reply was dragged out, and she watched him suspiciously.
"As in Midas Gold's girl?"
"Why are you acting like I've never told you this before?"
Impatience had caused Tigris's volume to rise, and Coriolanus glanced around again. Whatever disagreement lay between them, deep-seated or otherwise, the Snows would not be seen bickering in public. Nobody seemed to have heard her, though.
"Because you haven't," he hissed back.
"Of course I have!"
"You told me her name was Lilith." Then his every syllable was emphatic. "You didn't say Gold."
Drawing back, Tigris furrowed her brows, and he knew she was struggling to summon up the very incident he'd already replayed in his head several times over. Slowly, but surely, however, her expression morphed, dawning with comprehension, then chagrin.
"Well," said Tigris, squaring her shoulders to disguise her discomfort, "given that she was right in front of your face when I did, I'd assumed it was obvious."
"You know what they say about assumptions," quipped Coriolanus. Tigris downed the remainder of her champagne in a huff.
"Fine. If it's so important to you, I'll introduce you right now."