What in the Mary Poppins is this fuckery?
I gaze at the gargantuan canvas that the girls just leaped out of. It’s a dark oil painting of a room with a single rocking chair. I touch the painting, and my fingers come away slick with black.
“I wouldn’t go in that one if I were you,” says Rafi. “It’s nightmare oil.”
Nightmare oil?
“A Musemage and Dreamchaser collaborated to infuse the oil paint with nightmares. When you enter the painting, you see your worst nightmare.”
“Those Witches were giggling.” I point accusingly at the now empty hall.
Rafi shrugs. “Some people’s nightmares are not that scary. But I have a feeling that is not the case for you.”
Yeah, he’s not wrong there. I take a cautionary step back from the painting, then follow Rafi through the rest of the gallery.
At the end of the hall, we encounter an installation. Three ballerinas melt from pose to pose, nearly human children except for the coppery sheen of their skin. The molten metal moves across their flesh, ebbing and flowing and filling their eyeballs. It’s some magical perversion of Degas. My skin pinpricks in answer to their dance. The girls are too real. Too eerie.
I focus on the silver square next to it.
“That one’s Luisa’s,” Rafi says.
It looks like a simple antique mirror, blackened and cracked, smeared with splashes of bright blue and orange paint. I stare at my own paint-stained reflection.
“I don’t get it.”
As if in answer, the paint starts shifting. It forms the shape of a man, then a woman, and a bed.
“It shows the viewer the best sex of their lives,” Rafi explains.
I look closer. The paint forms into a champagne bottle in the man’s hand, the woman spreading her legs invitingly. Oh no…
It’s Lukka and I. Memories of an opulent bedroom, of ice cubes and candle wax, fill my head just as they materialize across the mirrored glass.
Rafi snickers behind me. I spin and throw my hands up, obscuring his view.
“Enough, perv. Keep walking.”
“I like a girl who appreciates fine champagne.”
He grins as I shove him further away from the painted porn behind me.
Luisa must have merged her Musemage and Touchmage powers together, infusing the mirror and the paint.
An installation that can sense your best sex and mirror it back to you? Dios mio.
Was Lukka really my best sex ever? A fleshy highlight reel flickers through my mind. Yup, I guess he was. So far.
As I look over my shoulder, I see an old Mage couple staring into the mirror, perplexed. I smile, pushing a still-laughing Rafi forward.
“Luisa’s got balls,” I say. “I’ll give her that.”
The crowd at the entrance to the ballroom has thickened, classical music drifting towards us. I spot Luisa and Beatriz by the tables of champagne and food. Although, surprise, surprise, it’s not ordinary food.
An array of tapas crowds the tables, but the platters remain full no matter how many delicacies are eaten. A giant champagne fountain crowns the table, sending jets of frothy liquid over the guests’ heads from one champagne fountain to the other.
“Don’t even think about it,” I hiss at Rafi, who’s already giving me a cheeky grin and threatening to wave his hands over the water.
“These parties need livening up,” Rafi says, pointing at the crowd. “Same faces, year after year. Always a shortage of hot Warlocks at the MA.”
I laugh, but he’s right.
I spot Señora Estrella talking to a group of older women, all with elaborate hair held up by golden knitting needles. She acknowledges me with a nod, and I smile. I wonder how many of the people here she’s dressed. Rafi eyes up a Warlock nearing us. He’s wearing a suit that looks like it’s made of water, and as he walks, his pants ripple and liquid drips off his suit sleeves, disappearing just as they hit the floor.
“Old and married,” Rafi mumbles.
Another dress I spy has a trailing skirt of charcoal grey, but it’s not until the woman picks it up to walk that I realize it’s made of a thousand moths. They flutter around her, gnawing through layers, perforating the silk as if it were a honeycomb. Powder from the swarm of moths drifts into the air.
Yet the gown that stands out to me the most is the one that’s not special at all. My mother is in the corner of the room speaking to a group of important-looking officials. Among them is a tall blonde male dressed in what looks like some sort of old-school military uniform. He’s surrounded by similar-looking people, all willowy with long limbs and glowing flaxen hair. My breath catches in my throat when I notice the shape of their ears. Fae.
“High Fae prince,” Rafi whispers. “First time I’ve seen him at an equinox event. Very cute.”
The prince catches my eye – his own unnaturally blue, piercing, and icy.
“Who are the others?” I stutter, unable to tear my gaze away from them.
“His delegation. They’ve traveled here from the Netherlands. Have you ever seen what the High Fae can do?”
I shake my head.
“Put it this way, my Elemental magic is a joke compared to theirs. They can bring about entire weather shifts and cause giant storms, that’s how powerful they are.”
My mother is the only woman among them, I realize, as I survey the group in their identical uniforms, sparkling with medals and pins. Clearly, being seen in uniform is more important to them than the MA’s themed pageantry.
The prince is still looking at me, his gaze stealthy and slightly amused. Is my mother talking about me? I study his uniform in more detail and realize he’s sporting gilded epaulets made of ice. I don’t know all that much about the Fae; working for The Blood Web Chronicle hasn’t taken me to any of their Courts, but judging by his clothes and eyes, he’s clearly from the Winter Court.
I’ve never given the Fae much thought, but now that I’ve seen one of their royalty in the flesh, I’m more than intrigued.
“How about a dance?” Rafi asks, ripping my attention away from the beguiling prince.
“I’d love that.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the floor.
“Thank you,” I say, placing one hand in his and the other on his shoulder. “For making sure I’m not on my own. I’m sure you’d prefer to be hanging out with Beatriz and Luisa.”
He chuckles softly. “They’ve already heard all my jokes. It’s nice to have a new audience.”
He pulls me closer, and we start to sway to the music, his calloused hand warm in mine as we begin to dance.
“Doesn’t all this magic ever get overwhelming for you?” I ask.
He laughs at my shoulder, knowing that I’m talking about the quartet. I call it a quartet, but the truth is that although there are only four musicians on stage, they are still managing to play over twenty instruments.
It’s a lot. Too much.
“At first, yeah. Where I come from, there’s no magic. But I’ve grown used to it.”
Rafi gently spins me around the dancefloor. Tiny glowing orbs float above our heads, casting everyone’s faces in pools of light.
Time to get to work. “How well did you know Maribel?”
“Not well. Maribel doesn’t think a young Elemental male is worth her time. Not even a pretty one,” he adds, wiggling his thick brows at me.
“Do you hate her?”
He ponders on this as he dips me.
“I feel bad for her. She hates so many people – lower-ranking factions, men, foreigners. I just happen to be all three. A heart full of hate is heavy.”
“So, you don’t hate her then?”
If ever I’m going to have the chance to ask the questions my mother needs answers to, it’s now. I like Rafi, but there’s been plenty of people I’ve liked that have ended up doing bad things. He does have the perfect motive.
“No,” he answers simply. I wait for the ping. It doesn’t come. “Are you using your powers on m
e, Saskia?”
His tone is light, but there’s an edge to his voice. “Isn’t that the very thing you fear in Luisa, that she will use her powers on you without permission?”
He releases me from his warm grasp, and just like that, the dance is over. Shadow flowers bloom across his hands like the first show of spring as he bows low, finishing the waltz with a cheeky wink.
Ugh, he’s right about Luisa. I’m being a hypocrite.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“It’s OK.” But Rafi’s not looking at me.
I turn and watch as a beautiful woman takes the stage. Her glittering red gown shines against her dark skin, adorned in white lace and... movement? As I peer along with the crowd, I see that enchanted spiders are webbing her lace further, extending it, skittering in feverish patterns across her full hips.
Well, any arachnophobes in the room tonight are fucked.
She opens her mouth and begins to sing, an operatic melody floating over the crowd. But the sweet, delicate sound isn’t the only magical thing about her singing. With each note, wisps of red smoke rise from her lips.
Rafi’s mouth is close to my ear. “Watch. The blood smoke is telling the story of the opera.”
Scene after operatic scene comes to life around us, swirls of scarlet coiling through the air. We make room on the dancefloor as images of horse-drawn carriages, ballrooms, dancing couples, duals, and heartbreak, form and disassemble one after the other like a play made from red clouds.
The song concludes, and I join the room in thunderous applause.
“Is your dance card full, or are there still slots to be taken?” I hear a velvety Dutch accent behind me. I turn and come face to face with the Winter Court prince.
“My slot is wide open.”
His lack of a smile makes me immediately regret my lack of decorum.
Rafi gallantly steps aside, and the prince takes my hand. At the touch of his skin against mine, I feel a chill rise up my exposed arms. My nipples perk against my dress, but not in a pleasant way.
The prince’s eyes flash a glacial blue as he leads me across the ballroom. His gaze doesn’t leave mine, yet he somehow manages to avoid the other couples on the dance floor. Either he’s a trained dancer, or he’s used to people moving the fuck out of his way. I try to hide my panic and make my feet match his as he leads me into a waltz. His pearly hair is tucked behind his elongated ears, staying perfectly in place as if by frost — or a bucket of hairspray. His sharp cheekbones are framed by an even sharper jawline, and he has bow-shaped lips, which are slightly purple from the invisible cold pulsing through his veins. I’ve never seen the High Fae up close, and I’m scrambling for something clever to say.
He beats me to it.
“So, you’re the daughter of the famous Solina de la Cruz.”
The way he says it makes me uncomfortable. It’s not a question; it’s a statement bordering on a compliment. He already knows who I am, which means he invited me to dance for a reason, and not just because he likes my curves. Though I still catch his icy glare slip down to my décolleté.
“You’re thinking of Mikayla,” I correct him. “I’m Saskia. The daughter Solina doesn’t tell anyone about. The inconsequential one.”
The prince frowns slightly. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
You know nothing about me.
I bite back my reply. What, exactly, shouldn’t I be sure of? That Solina doesn’t talk about me? Or that I’m not inconsequential? I curse myself for showing my vulnerability. Knowledge is power, and I don’t need to tell some High Fae about my mommy issues.
He spins me around, and I stumble sideways. I guess this is what happens when you drink three glasses of magical champagne and don’t follow them with food.
“Sorry,” I say, righting my gown. “I think I’ve had too much to drink.”
He takes my hand again, and I feel a cold pool form in my belly, his eyes boring into mine anew. What is it with Fae and prolonged eye contact? The cold spreading through my veins seems infinite, a chasm, and yet I can’t look away.
His hold on me is strong, and he doesn’t let me stumble a second time. If his army garbs aren’t enough of a giveaway, then his rough, strong hands prove he’s a warrior and not just a delegate. A warrior who practices a lot. I’m guessing his blows are about as precise as his dancing.
“Liquor weakens the knees,” he says. “But pain slips freely from the tongue.”
He’s still weirdly staring at me. His eyes are snow globes, splintering with frost. I want to look away, but I’m frozen into place.
“Do all the Fae talk like ancient Greek gatekeepers? Or do you just have a flair for the dramatic?”
The prince smiles, and cocks his head appraisingly.
“You have a truthful tongue… and a wicked one.”
We sidestep three more couples. His riddled old-timey way of speaking is starting to get on my nerves.
“I assure you, I have a normal human tongue,” I say.
“Yet you’re far from human.” His expression is impossible to read. “I can feel your power. It has a remarkable scent.”
Well, you smell like freshly fallen snow. Thankfully, I hold that comment back. Whatever he is doing to me reeks of magic, and I’m not about to embarrass myself by sprouting thirst poetry.
“Yeah, I’m a Witch, but I have very little power.” My voice is shaky, my knees starting to weaken. I’m also unbearably cold. Salvador mentioned to my mother yesterday that the Fae haven’t been at an MA event in years. Why? That’s what I should be asking him about, not debating my self-worth.
“I believe you have more power than you think.”
I shrug, which looks totally awkward whilst waltzing.
“I can tell the truth from lies.”
“That’s useless to the Fae. We do not lie.”
True. I haven’t heard a single ping the entire dance. So why is he so obsessed with my powers? Is he just trying to compliment me so he can get into my pants?
“I’m talking of a different power,” he explains.
I’m about to tell him that he’s probably just sensing my raw sex appeal when we sidestep two more dancing couples, and with a jolt, I realize something. The waltzing pairs are stalling for a millisecond as we pass them, literally frozen for just enough time to let us pass freely. The prince is actually rooting them to the spot. Damn. I make a mental note to never give him sass again. The man in my arms is probably the most powerful Para I’ve ever encountered, and therefore the most dangerous. The last thing I want is to piss off Jack Frost’s hotter brother.
The music slows, our dance is coming to an end. Crap! I need to ask him more questions before he makes his excuses and goes.
“Why have the Fae delegation not visited the MA in years?” I blurt out.
The prince looks taken aback by my change of subject but recovers quickly. “We had a strenuous relationship with Maribel the First.”
“Strenuous how?”
“She did not wish to honor our treaties.”
I’m not aware of any Fae-Witch agreements, but I make a mental note to quiz my mom about it.
“So, did you come to Barcelona because Maribel disappeared? To make new treaties?”
Or did you make her disappear? I don’t voice my last question, but the Winter Court Prince has definitely shot up to the top of my suspect list.
“I’m happy to answer your questions,” he says. “But in return, you will owe me a favor.”
My mother told me the Fae like to collect favors. OK, fine. Whatever. How bad can that be?
“A favor, like picking up your dry cleaning?” I venture.
The prince nods. “Perhaps.”
I’m about to agree, but I’m interrupted.
“May I?” A delicate voice cuts through the frost. I blink. Luisa is standing by the prince, her palm tilted open to the ceiling in invitation. The cold fist around my heart eases, and I feel the prince’s hold on me retreat.
Annoyance flashe
s across his perfect features.
“Your Highness?” Luisa nudges.
People are watching us. He has no choice but to relent, though I don’t doubt he’d love to freeze more of me into submission. He lets go, and with a dazzling pearly smile, allows Luisa to take his place.
Before I have a chance to say anything, her hand is on my waist, and she’s leading me to the edge of the dancefloor. It’s strange to be led by her, as although she’s undoubtedly tougher than me, she’s also a lot smaller.
“You know you were being enchanted, right?” she says. Her words are clipped, her tone as cold as my body still is.
I look down at our heels flying across the parquet floor. “Thank you.”
My skin slowly starts to thaw, and I finally relax. But my limbs feel weak suddenly, drained, and my legs threaten to buckle beneath me. Luisa holds me up, her grip deceptively strong. The prince’s influence had been chipping away at me more than I realized.
“Steady now,” Luisa whispers. “This crowd loves to see weakness. They eat it up, second only to the canapés.”
I give her a weak smile. She doesn’t return it.
“Thanks for saving me from him,” I manage.
“I had to. The prince was about to seal the deal.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“‘Seal the deal’ is what they call tricking non-Fae into a bargain. Once you agree, then there’s no way back. Humans have adopted the saying; they just don’t know it comes from the Fae.”
So that’s what he was trying to do! Luisa has saved my ass twice in twenty-four hours.
“Why would he want a favor from me?”
“Maybe he thinks a favor from a de la Cruz could be worth a lot.”
Right. My gaze snags on where my mom is standing.
“I’m sorry about what I said last night.”
“It was bitchy and horrible and prejudiced.”
Wow, Luisa doesn’t spare any punches.
“OK, true,” I nod. “But you literally made that Vamp scream in agony.”
I mask our discord with a polite smile, aware people are watching us. Rafi, Beatriz, the prince, my mother…
I was rude to her last night, yes, but I still think I had a point.
Witches of Barcelona: A Dark, Funny & Sexy Urban Paranormal Romance Series (Blood Web Chronicles Book 2) Page 9