by Riley Archer
“I need,” I breathed. Maybe I was a sitting duck, and this was my shallow, cramped pond. “My pillow back.”
I scrounged for and found it, practically knocking Ash off the bed in the process. I wasn’t the least bit sorry until she used the need to re-settle as an opportunity to spoon me.
Ash and Jose roamed beside me in their caterer outfits, seemingly without a care in the world. Ash slung a garment bag over her shoulder, which carried the dress and mask they’d picked for me for the masquerade. Apparently, getting ready in my room was a no-go.
I was taking them to the underground lounge space that led to the tunnels, so they could at least pretend to blend in with the catering company they’d infiltrated by being in the right castle, but we bumped into Eliza on the way.
Well, it was Ash who literally bumped into her, and I doubted it was by accident.
Eliza wore only a light jacket and a single soft blush-colored scarf. So, she’d either dressed down once she’d entered the Special Projects campus, or she’d changed her mind about the proper attire for cold weather. Based on the frost fogging the corners of the windows, it was a frigid journey over.
“Excuse me,” Ash muttered with manufactured manners and reached out a hand. “I’m Lee, decorative associate with Slate & Fiddle Events. Miss Kennicot here was so nice to show us around this campus, really give us an idea of the feel we might be looking for.”
“Oh, it’s no problem,” Eliza’s smile was bright and confused as she shook Ash’s hand, her freckled cheeks on full display. Her gaze focused on me. “Ellis, how are you? Spunky, I presume?”
“I’m doing all right, enjoying the extended holiday,” I forced a smile not nearly as robust as hers. “Although I’ve been assigned as a temporary tour guide. Took this one off your hands.” I tilted my head at the duplicitous duo, who were now knee-deep in a fake conversation about color schemes and party streamers.
“Trying to steal my unwanted thunder?” She winked. “Apologies for the abrupt introduction, but I have a meeting. See you at the masquerade Ellis. And thank you and your company for all the hard work, Lee and friend!” Eliza waved an ungloved hand before continuing her way into the castle.
When we reached the underground lounge space, I fielded the puzzled expressions of the Illusionists hanging around. I was prepared to explain the presence of my tagalongs, but soon, we were herded into a tight circle as everyone crowded in.
I’d misinterpreted; they didn’t have puzzled expressions; they had expressions of wonderment.
What the hell?
“Yes, we’re legends, we know,” Jose said as if he was being dismissive of the attention. He absolutely wasn’t. He turned his nose to the air as someone kissed the top of his hand.
It was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever seen.
“What’s going on?” I said loud enough so anyone would feel free to answer.
Nobody did.
“All right, back up, back up, stay away from the garment bag.” Ash shooed, and the crowd obeyed.
“Ash? What are you doing here?” I recognized Aiden’s voice. The top of his head peeked above the crowd; he hadn’t joined in on the cult-like worship, but he seemed to know at least one of these two.
“Hey, cuzzo!” Ash stood on her tippy toes and waved. “You know we don’t share those kinds of details. Not anymore.”
“We really must be off. Chao!” Jose waved, and I was more than happy to abandon the overpopulated space for some shoe-soaking tunnels. At least there, I could figure out why these two were celebrities amongst the society that tattooed my ass.
Every time I started to grasp the concept of who these two were, what they were truly up to, and what they were capable of, something else happened that reeled me back to square one.
Once we were surrounded by dank underground walls and away from prying eyes and ears, I prepared my onslaught of questions.
“Okay, now—”
“Did you know your little tour guide is a werewolf?”
I took a few sloshy steps in silence, resetting my brain. “What?”
“The freckled cutie, Eliza.” Ash jumped to avoid a large crevice in the stone walkway. A bit of water splattered when she landed. “RC thinks having other types of creatures as staff members here will ease tensions about what they teach.”
This piqued my interest, but I wasn’t going to forget about the bizarre reaction the Illusionists just had toward them. “She’s a werewolf? What makes you say that?”
Ash paused until our feet aligned, and then she looped an arm through mine. Jose followed suit.
“I guess it’s time we spill. Me and Jose are Advanced Collectors.” She used air quotes around Advanced Collectors. “The most talented students in the course you’re in will be selected for additional training. Really, identifying ideal candidates is the whole point of the Advanced Collections curriculum. I mean, think about it—supernatural souls don’t need our help passing on.”
I remembered my vague conversation with Damian about why Advanced Collectors needed extra training on weapons. “Okay. What do they need help with?”
“Um,” Ash and Jose shared a secret glance as if I wasn’t wedged between them. “Getting locked up in an Abyss-like prison?”
My saliva almost choked me. Once I coughed it down, I said, “And what’s Abyss-like?”
Jose chimed in this time. “The actual Abyss. Ash is being coy.”
“That’s it.” I stopped in my tracks. “I’m gonna need a lot more explanation out of the two of you. Like what’s up with you guys and Tanaka, with you and the Illusionists, and … the Abyss is a prison? What?”
If my head was an egg, it was close to being cracked.
Ash and Jose both leaned forward so they could talk without my Humpty Dumpty noggin in the way.
“Long story short?” Ash asked.
“Short is sweet,” Jose agreed, and they both straightened their posture.
They forced me to keep walking.
“We trained Tanaka,” Ash said steadily. “And he saved us from ourselves more than a few times. It was kinda like when children parent their parents. We owed him. And, one day, he called in a favor. That favor was keeping an eye on you.”
She booped my nose. Before I had a chance to respond, Jose started in.
“Ash Mash and I met after we were recruited into the Illusionists. Basically, we were the coolest.”
“Most reckless,” Ash either added or corrected; I couldn’t tell which. “I’m guessing you haven’t seen our particular shrine yet. It’s in one of the Illusionists’ many secret rooms in these tunnels. Once they fully trust you, they’ll invite you in there.”
“I feel like I should tell you that little fae realm trip of yours was a concoction of our making.” Jose gave me puppy dog eyes. “We were just children back then, don’t be mad. Glad you survived it though.”
“And P.S., Aiden is my cousin. We’re not super close or anything. I was actually against RC recruiting the nerd.”
“Anddd we send supernatural baddies to a dimension in the Abyss that serves as a prison. The hit—weird term, we don’t kill them—is usually ordered by RC or another partner agency. Because sometimes death just ain’t punishment enough. Or the target has some super secret so they’re too valuable to let die.” Jose spoke like he was either an auctioneer or reading off the side effects on a pharmaceutical commercial.
I gave what he said a second to sink in. “But if it’s the Abyss, aren’t they dead?”
“Sometimes, mostly not though.” Jose yawned. “Not a lot of leverage when you’re trying to convince a ghost to tell you something.”
I still wasn’t quite getting it. “And they can survive in the Abyss?”
Ash hummed. “Only a certain realm of the Abyss, like the faerie dimension side-by-side with the human one. But that realm won’t open unless a warrant is placed on the captured soul—alive or dead—and we have tablets and watches that alert us of new warrants and where we can search for
outstanding ones if we’re bored. It’s a very intricate system. As a true Advanced Collector, you’ll eventually become hyper-aware of the energy of supernatural species. Not quite Erik-level, but he has an unfair advantage, that adorable incubus. That’s how I knew Eliza was a werewolf.”
“So … you guys are super-trained supernatural bounty hunters?”
“Yes,” Ash squealed before hugging me. “You get us, Kennicot.”
Something dawned on me—just a flicker of possibility. But I had to ask.
“What’s the Abyss prison like?”
Ash made a blech sound. “Not much better than where we are now. I mean, there’s a small window for the sky in the cells, but it’s not really a sky. Just shadows, total purple and murk.”
I swallowed my next breath of air slowly.
My hunch was right, and I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing. My stomach practically flipped over in nausea, but I tried not to show it. I sort of trusted Ash and Jose, but they had too many secrets for me to spill this one. They put people in the place I believed my mother was. I needed to subtly milk them for info on this place before I told them about her.
I told myself again just to be sure I had it straight: My necromancer mother was in a bit more than a supernatural jail cell. She was in a place harder to reach than Guantanamo Bay. And probably held prisoners eons more dangerous.
“Hey, you okay?” Ash faced me, suddenly concerned.
My face must’ve betrayed me. “Why? Is yolk leaking out of my ears?”
Ash grimaced but genuinely checked my ears. “Uh, nope. But if you have an earwax problem, we can figure out a way to fix it.”
I chuckled; it came out breathy and strangled. “I think I’m good on earwax.”
“Too much info at once?” Jose shrugged. “I think she’s lost it.”
“Nope. Just hungry.”
I mean, I’d probably lost it. My egg was thoroughly cracked.
20
The Masquerade
I wondered if Slate & Fiddle Events had a high rate of turnover. Because not only did the other crew members not seem to notice the absence of whoever Ash and Jose stole their uniforms from, they also acted as if they’d been working with Ash and Jose forever.
Not one person batted an eyelash while Ash and Jose tore through inventory and stashed not-so-random gear—sneakers, coats, scarves—in a black duffel bag. And just like that, we had a go-bag of stolen goods for my midnight deadline to leave the castle. A go-bag was necessary because dressing up wasn’t optional. These two were going to get me in a ball gown and heels or die trying.
“Does anyone have highlighter?” Ash yelled to no one in particular in the crew’s staging area. We’d taken up residence on a set of boxes stuffed with god-knows-what. Ash held her palm open at her shoulder, expecting an immediate response. And voila, she got one.
A woman with a sleek black bob slapped a compact into Ash’s hand. “Here ya go, darling. It’s my personal one, so just remember to return it before we ditch this castle.”
“You’re the best,” Ash smiled at the woman’s back. The woman waved a noncommittal goodbye as she made her way out of the room, a set of empty trays propped on her hip.
I highly doubted the generous woman would get her makeup back.
Ash used her finger to smear the contents onto my right cheekbone. “Maybe they won’t see your face in all its glory, but this’ll get their attention.”
“They, as in the people trying to kill me?”
“Ugh! No. The perpetual they—like … the ones who stuck you here or even just annoyed you.” She dabbed her finger again and smeared the shiny stuff on my left side. “Okay, sure, and the ones trying to kill you too.”
“The haters,” Jose added, taking a small pause from the curling and fluffing of my hair.
“Exactly!” Ash snapped the compact closed. “Thank you.”
I opened my mouth to make a comment about how Travis would appreciate that they’d prettied me up for my casket, but Ash cut me off. “Just shut up and get pampered. We’re about done here. Next is the dress.” She made her eyebrows do a little dance.
I’d never been more scared to put on a gown.
I twinkled with each step, and most importantly, I survived the process of making it happen.
After being ushered behind a folding screen, having my clothes torn from my body, and being instructed like a toddler to step into the long, starry blue dress, I helped Ash and Jose don their lavish outfits for the night. All in all, it was a quick affair of zipping, skin pinching, a couple threats of violence—mostly by me, and a handful of sexual innuendos—entirely by them.
Based on how gorgeous they both looked, they were done pretending to be caterers. Not that they were ever convincingly invested in the ruse, anyway.
Ash wore a simple strapless black gown, the top of the torso dipped into a slight V-shape and was tight enough to be painted skin; at the waist, it opened into a poof that reached mid-calf—a spunky length perfect for showing off her lacy heels. Her mask was a lacy match to her stilettos, all black except with delicate embroidery the same lavender tint as her blonde hair.
Somewhere between zipping me up and curling Ash’s hair into tight spirals, Jose donned a gold-and-black ensemble with a long petticoat that had accentuated cuffs. He paired the whole thing with a pure gold mask that rose into two little horns at the tips. He looked like he’d walked straight out of a How to Seduce a Vampire catalog ad.
Or, especially with the faux horns, he looked like an incubus on the prowl. That thought made my skin itch. Genuinely.
I went to scratch my nose and Ash smacked my hand away. “Don’t you dare smudge my hard work, Criminella!”
Merely because she’d used the Catsassin’s nickname for me, and because I wanted to, I stuck my tongue out at her and itched my nose anyway. The sparkly mask strapped to my face had a short, bejeweled chain that dangled between my eyes ever so slightly. I matched the heat of Ash’s glare as I lined it back up just right.
She rolled her baby blues and set her gaze below us again.
I followed her lead and leaned against the second-floor railing, which was wrapped in translucent, glittery streamers, and scoured the downstairs for any sign of Travis.
I had four hours till the death note’s deadline. Travis had demanded I leave Driftwood Academy by midnight, and I doubted he simply wanted me struck from the class roster. Nope, I was convinced he wanted my head struck from my body.
Because an ego like that needed redemption. Since he threw a monstrous sword at me the last time I saw him, I was sure he had something just as lethal planned for tonight.
I’d find out soon enough. I had every intention of willfully leaving these castle walls before the clock struck twelve, and zero intention of being smashed like a pumpkin. I very much planned to be the one doing the smashing.
But I let thoughts of Travis and all the ways I was going to torture him fade to the back of my mind, because the party had officially started.
High turnover rate or not, Slate & Fiddle Events could decorate. The General Advancement Grounds had been completely transformed into the party venue of Sierra’s dreams. If she was compensating for a missed prom, she’d overachieved. I should’ve expected as much.
The first floor of the castle had its walls draped in curtains of gold and white and lace. The lighting was just dim enough to be clandestine, which was accentuated by the torches peppered throughout. Slate & Fiddle’s real staff meandered around in white collared shirts and top hats, circular trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres in hand. I spotted Sierra’s silver hair flowing down an equally silver dress.
Monochromatic didn’t work for everyone, but it worked on her. She observed, smiled, and waved—a blissful non-hosting hostess if there ever was one.
The music that poured from the corners of the high ceiling was darkly mystical and made the chandeliers rattle just a touch. A few talented pairs of people began to waltz across the open floor. Others
capitalized on the mysterious ambiance of it all, casting hungry glances or pouting perfectly painted lips. It was the kind of intrigue that you wanted to step into and see what made it have such a heavy influence—and see if it would influence you the same way.
Ash sighed, and then faced me. From the quirk of her metallic lavender lips, I knew mischief brewed behind that mask. “What do you say we get to the party?”
A top-hat-wearing caterer walked by and I nabbed two champagne flutes. I passed one to Jose as Ash grabbed her own. Ash curtsied to the employee, who gave her an extra-long stare—a shouldn’t you be working stare—before moving on.
We clinked glasses, causing a droplet of bubbly to dribble down the side of mine.
I always get kidnapped at parties or someone gets killed. Why not make the most of it before that happens?
“I say let’s go.”
I learned something valuable just now. Parties are kind of like traffic. One second they seem pretty chill, unthreatening to enter, and five seconds later, someone is rear-ending you.
Sure, I had fallen into a trance a bit, trying to put impending doom out of my mind for a second, but I wasn’t asking for a collision.
And whoever just bumped butts with me while I sipped from my second glass scuttled away before I could get a look at them.
Carbonation painted my chin and trickled down my throat. I heard laughter from inside the body huddle Ash and Jose had formed as they danced.
I wiped the spilled liquid with the back of my hand. “I can’t itch my nose, but this is funny?”
I was slightly amused, but the feeling of being watched settled over my flesh like needles.
Ash downed the rest of her fourth—fifth?—glass and handed it to a guy in a red mask who was caught off-guard enough to take it from her. “That was before the champagne. They are generous with it. Plus, you already made your entrance.”