by Kami Garcia
Was it? Spun by silver spiders?
Who knows? It could’ve been. It was a gift from Uncle Macon.
She laughed and pulled me into the house. Even Ravenwood seemed to reflect the wintry theme of the formal. Tonight, the entry hall looked like old Hollywood; tiles of black and white checkered the floor, and silver snowflakes sparkled, floating in the air above us. A black lacquered antique table stood in front of iridescent silver curtains, and beyond them, I could see something that glinted like the ocean, though I knew it couldn’t be. Flickering candles hovered over the furniture, tossing little pools of moonlight everywhere I looked.
“Really? Spiders?”
I could see the candlelight reflecting off her shining lips. I tried not to think about it. I tried not to want to kiss the little moon-shaped crescent on her cheekbone. The most subtle dusting of silver shone on her shoulders, her face, her hair. Even her birthmark seemed to be silver tonight.
“Just kidding. It was probably just something he found in some little shop in Paris or Rome or New York City. Uncle Macon likes beautiful things.” She touched the silver crescent moon at her neckline, dangling just above her chain of memories. Another gift from Macon, I guessed.
The familiar drawl came out of the dark hallway, accompanied by a single silver candlestick. “Budapest, not Paris. Other than that, guilty as charged.” Macon emerged in a smoking jacket over neat black pants and a white dress shirt. The silver studs in his shirt caught the glint of the candlelight.
“Ethan, I would appreciate it greatly if you could take every precaution with my niece tonight. As you know, I prefer her home in the evenings.” He handed me a corsage for Lena, a small wreath of Confederate jasmine. “Every possible precaution.”
“Uncle M!” Lena sounded annoyed.
I looked at the corsage more closely. A silver ring dangled from the pin that held the flowers. It had an inscription in a language I didn’t understand, but recognized from The Book of Moons. I didn’t have to look too closely to see it was the ring he had worn night and day, until now. I pulled out Amma’s nearly identical corsage. Between the hundred Casters probably Bound to the ring, and all of Amma’s extended Greats, there wasn’t a spirit in town that would mess with us. I hoped.
“I think, between you and Amma, sir, Lena will survive the Jackson High winter formal all right.” I smiled.
Macon didn’t. “It’s not the formal I worry about, but I’m grateful to Amarie just the same.”
Lena frowned, looking from her uncle to me. Maybe we didn’t look like the two happiest guys in town. “Your turn.” She picked up a boutonniere from the hall table, a plain white rose with a tiny sprig of jasmine, and pinned it on my jacket. “I wish you would all stop worrying for one minute. This is getting embarrassing. I can take care of myself.”
Macon looked unconvinced. “In any event, I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
I didn’t know if he was referring to the witches of Jackson High, or the powerful Dark Caster, Sarafine. Either way, I’d seen enough in the last few months to take a warning like that seriously.
“And have her back by midnight.”
“Is that some powerful Caster hour?”
“No. It’s her curfew.”
I stifled a smile.
Lena seemed anxious on the way to school. She sat stiffly in the front seat, fiddling with the radio, her dress, her seatbelt.
“Relax.”
“Is it crazy that we’re going tonight?” Lena looked at me expectantly.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean everyone hates me.” She looked down at her hands.
“You mean everyone hates us.”
“Okay, everyone hates us.”
“We don’t have to go.”
“No, I want to go. That’s the thing…” She twisted the corsage around her wrist a few times “Last year, Ridley and I had planned to go together. But then…”
I couldn’t hear her answer, not even in my head.
“Things had already gone wrong by then. Ridley turned sixteen. Then she was gone, and I had to leave school.”
“Well, this isn’t last year. It’s just a dance. Nothing’s gone wrong.”
She frowned and shut the mirror.
Not yet.
When we walked into the gym, even I was impressed by how hard Student Council must have worked all weekend. Jackson had gone all the way with the whole Midwinter Night’s Dream concept. Hundreds of tiny paper snowflakes—some white, some shimmering with tinfoil, glitter, sequins, and anything else that could be made to sparkle—hung on fishing wire from the ceiling of the gym. Powdery soap flake “snow” drifted into the corners of the gym, and twinkling white lights fell in strands from the risers.
“Hi, Ethan. Lena, you look lovely.” Coach Cross handed us both cups of Gatlin Peach Punch. She was in a black dress that showed just a little too much leg, I thought, for Link’s sake.
I looked at Lena, thinking of the silver snowflakes floating through the air at Ravenwood, without fishing wire or silver tinfoil. Still, her eyes were shining and she clung to my hand tightly, like she was a kid at her first birthday party. I had never believed Link when he claimed school dances had some sort of inexplicable effect on girls. But it was clear it was true of all girls, even Caster girls.
“It’s beautiful.” Honestly, it wasn’t. What it was, was a plain old Jackson High dance, but I guess to Lena, that was something beautiful. Maybe magic wasn’t the magic thing, when you grew up with it.
Then I heard a familiar voice. It couldn’t be.
“Let’s get this party started!”
Ethan, look—
I turned around and almost choked on my punch. Link grinned at me, wearing what looked like a silver sharkskin tuxedo. He had one of those black T-shirts with a picture of the front of a tuxedo shirt screened on it underneath, and his black high-tops. He looked like a Charleston street performer.
“Hey, Short Straw! Hey, Cuz!” I heard that unmistakable voice again, over the crowd, over the DJ, over the thumping of pounding bass, and the couples on the dance floor. Honey, sugar, molasses, and cherry lollipops, all rolled into one. It was the only time in my life I’d ever thought something was too sweet.
Lena’s hand tightened on mine. On Link’s arm, unbelievably, in the smallest splash of silver sequins ever worn to a Jackson High formal, maybe any formal, was Ridley. I didn’t even know where to look; she was all legs and curves and blond hair spilling everywhere. I could feel the temperature in the room rising just by looking at her. From the number of guys who had stopped dancing with their wedding cake–topper dates, who were fuming, it was obvious I wasn’t the only one. In a world where all the prom dresses came from one of two stores, Ridley had out–Little Missed even the Little Misses. She made Coach Cross look like the Reverend Mother. In other words, Link was doomed.
Lena looked from me to her cousin, ill. “Ridley, what are you doing here?”
“Cuz. We finally got to that dance after all. Aren’t you ecstatic? Isn’t it fantastic?”
I could see Lena’s hair starting to curl in the nonexistent wind. She blinked and half the string of twinkling white lights went dark. I had to act fast. I pulled Link over to the punch bowl. “What are you doing with her?”
“Dude, can you believe it? She’s the hottest chick in Gatlin, no offense. Third Degree Burns. And she was just hangin’ out at the Stop & Steal when I went in to buy Slim Jims on the way here. She even had a dress on.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little weird?”
“Do you think I care?”
“What if she’s some kind of psycho?”
“You think she’ll tie me up or somethin’?” He grinned, already picturing it.
“I’m not joking.”
“You’re always jokin’. What’s up? Oh, I get it, you’re jealous. ’Cause I seem to remember you gettin’ in her car pretty fast yourself. Don’t tell me you tried to get with her or somethin’—”
; “No way. She’s Lena’s cousin.”
“Whatever. All I know is, I’m here at the formal with the hottest hotness in three counties. It’s like, what are the odds of a meteor hittin’ this town? This’ll never happen again. Be cool, okay? Don’t ruin it for me.” He was under her spell already, not that she had needed much of one with Link. It didn’t matter what I said.
I gave it another half-hearted try. “She’s bad news, man. She’s messing with your head. She’ll suck you in and spit you out when she’s done.”
He grabbed my shoulders with both hands. “Suck away.”
Link put his arm around Ridley’s waist and went out onto the dance floor. He didn’t so much as look at Coach Cross as they walked by.
I pulled Lena away in the other direction, toward the corner where the photographer was taking pictures of the couples in front of a fake snowdrift with a fake snowman, while members of Student Council took turns shaking fake snow down onto the scene. I bumped right into Emily.
She looked at Lena. “Lena. You look… shiny.”
Lena just looked at her. “Emily. You look… puffy.”
It was true. Ethan-Hating Southern Belle Emily looked like a silver and peach-filled cream puff, plucked and primped and puckered into taffeta. Her hair, in scary little piggy ringlets, looked like it was made out of yellow curling ribbon. Her face looked like it had been stretched a little too tightly while she was getting her hair done at the Snip ’n’ Curl, stabbed in the head one too many times with a bobby pin.
What had I ever seen in any of them?
“I didn’t know your kind danced.”
“We do.” Lena stared at her.
“Around a bonfire?” Emily’s face twisted into a nasty smile.
Lena’s hair began to curl again. “Why? Looking for a bonfire so you can burn that dress?” The other half of the twinkle lights shorted out. I could see Student Council scrambling to check the cord connections.
Don’t let her win. She’s the only witch here.
She’s not the only one, Ethan.
Savannah appeared next to Emily, dragging Earl behind her. She looked exactly like Emily, only she was silver and pink, rather than silver and peach. Her skirt was just as fluffy. If you squinted, you could visualize both of their weddings now. It was horrifying.
Earl looked at the ground, trying to avoid making eye contact with me.
“Come on, Em, they’re announcin’ the Royal Court.” Savannah looked at Emily meaningfully.
“Don’t let me hold ya up.” Savannah gestured to the line for pictures. “I mean, will you even show up on film, Lena?” She flounced off, massive cream puff dress and all.
“Next!”
Lena’s hair was still curling.
They’re idiots. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.
I heard the photographer’s voice again. “Next!”
I grabbed Lena’s hand and pulled her into the fake snowdrift. She looked up at me, her eyes clouded. And then, the clouds passed, and she was back. I could feel the storm settle.
“Cue the snow,” I heard in the background.
You’re right. It doesn’t matter.
I leaned in to kiss her.
You’re what matters.
We kissed, and the flash from the camera went off. For one second, one perfect second, it seemed like there was nobody else in the world, and nothing else mattered.
The blinding light of a flashbulb and then, sticky white goop was pouring everywhere, all over the two of us.
What the—?
Lena gasped. I tried to clear the glop out of my eyes, but it was everywhere. When I saw Lena, it was even worse, her hair, her face, her beautiful dress. Her first dance. Ruined.
It was foaming up, the consistency of pancake mix, dripping down from a bucket over our heads, the one that was supposed to release the flakes of fake snow so it could drift down gently for the photo. I looked up, only to get another face full of the stuff. The bucket rattled to the floor.
“Who put water in the snow?” The photographer was furious. No one said a word, and I was willing to bet the Jackson Angels hadn’t seen a thing.
“She’s melting!” someone shouted. We stood in a puddle of white soap or glue or whatever, wishing we could shrink until we disappeared; at least, that’s how it must have looked to the crowd standing around us laughing. Savannah and Emily were standing off to the side, enjoying every minute of what was maybe the most humiliating moment of Lena’s life.
A guy called out over the din. “You shoulda stayed home.”
I would’ve known that stupid voice anywhere. I’d heard it enough times on the court, about the only place he ever used it. Earl was whispering in Savannah’s ear, his arm slung around her shoulder.
I snapped. I was across the room so fast Earl didn’t even see me coming at him. I slammed my soap-covered fist into his jaw and he hit the ground, knocking Savannah on her hoop-skirted butt in the process.
“What the hell? Have you lost your mind, Wate?” Earl started to get up, but I pushed him back down with my foot.
“You better stay down.”
Earl sat up and pulled on the collar of his jacket to straighten it, as if he could still look cool sitting on the gym floor. “You better hope you know what you’re doin’.” But he didn’t get back up. He could say what he wanted, but we both knew if he got up, he was the one who would end up back on the ground.
“I do.” I pulled Lena out of the growing slush puddle of what used to be the fake snowdrift.
“Let’s go, Earl, they’re announcin’ the court,” Savannah said, annoyed. Earl got up and brushed himself off.
I wiped my eyes, shaking out my wet hair. Lena stood there shivering, dripping fake snow like whitewash. Even in the crowd, there was a little puddle of space around her. No one dared get too close, except me. I tried to wipe her face with my sleeve, but she backed away.
This is the way it always is.
“Lena.”
I should’ve known better.
Ridley appeared at her side, with Link right behind her. She was furious, I could see that much. “I don’t get it, Cuz. I don’t see why you want to hang out with their kind.” She spat the words out, sounding just like Emily. “No one treats us like this, Light or Dark—not one of them. Where’s your self-respect, Lena Beana?”
“It’s not worth it. Not tonight. I just want to go home.” Lena was too embarrassed to be as angry as Ridley. It was fight or flight, and right now, Lena was choosing flight. “Take me home, Ethan.”
Link took off his silver jacket and put it around her shoulders. “That was messed up.”
Ridley couldn’t calm down, or wouldn’t. “They’re bad news, Cuz, except Short Straw. And my new boyfriend, Shrinky Dink.”
“Link. I told you, it’s Link.”
“Shut up, Ridley. She’s had enough.” The Siren effect wasn’t working on me anymore.
Ridley looked over my shoulder, and smiled, a dark smile. “Come to think of it, I’ve had enough, too.”
I followed her gaze. The Ice Queen and her Court had made their way up to the stage, and were grinning from the catbird seat. Once again, Savannah was the Snow Queen. Nothing ever changed. She was beaming at Emily, once again her Ice Princess, just like last year.
Ridley took off her movie star sunglasses, just a little. Her eyes began to glow—you could almost feel the heat coming off her. A lollipop appeared in her hand, and I smelled the thick, sickly sweetness in the air.
Don’t, Ridley.
This isn’t about you, Cuz. It’s bigger than that. Things are about to change in this back-assward town.
I could hear Ridley’s voice in my head as clearly as Lena’s. I shook my head.
Leave it alone, Ridley. You’re only going to make things worse.
Open your eyes; they can’t get any worse. Or maybe they can.
She patted Lena on the shoulder.
Watch and learn.
She was staring at the Royal Court,
sucking on her cherry lollipop. I hoped it was too dark for them to see her creepy cat eyes.
No! They’ll just blame me, Ridley. Don’t.
Gat-dung needs to learn a lesson. And I’m just the one to teach it to them.
Ridley strode toward the stage, her glitter heels clicking against the floor.
“Hey, babe, where ya goin’?” Link was right behind her.
Charlotte was walking up the stairs, in yards of shiny lavender taffeta two sizes too small, toward her sparkly, plastic silver crown and her usual place in fourth position of the Royal Court, behind Eden—Ice Handmaiden, I guess. Just as she was taking the last step, her gigantic lavender sweatshop creation caught the edge of the riser, and when she stepped up onto the last stair, the back of her dress tore right off, right at the feebly sewn seam. It took Charlotte a couple of seconds to realize it and by then, half the school was staring at her hot pink panties, the size of the state of Texas. Charlotte screamed a bloodcurdling, now-everyone-knows-how-fat-I-really-am scream.
Ridley grinned.
Oopsies!
Ridley, stop!
I’m just getting started.
Charlotte was screaming, while Emily, Eden, and Savannah tried to shield her from view with their teen wedding dresses. The sound of a record scratching ripped across the speakers, as the record that was playing abruptly changed to the Stones.
“Sympathy for the Devil.” It could’ve been Ridley’s theme song. She was introducing herself, in a big way.
The people on the dance floor just assumed it was another one of Dickey Wix’s screw-ups, on his way to becoming the most famous thirty-five-year-old DJ on the prom circuit. But the joke was on them. Forget light strands shorting out; within seconds all the bulbs above the stage and the track lighting along the dance floor began to blow, one by one, like dominoes.
Ridley led Link onto the dance floor, and he twirled her around as Jackson students screamed, pushing their way off the floor, under the spray of sparks. I’m sure they all thought they were in the middle of some kind of electrical wiring disaster that Red Sweet, Gatlin’s only electrician, would get blamed for. Ridley threw her head back, laughing and undulating around Link in that loincloth of a dress.