by ERIN BEDFORD
Malcolm made a sound which could have been a laugh but I couldn’t be sure. “Oh, you are going to be a fun one, I can already tell.” Then his sparkling smile came back into place and he gave me a little shove. “Now, go get ready and remember what I said, or you’ll be sorry.”
I turned to glare at him for pushing me but he was already gone. My eyes searched down the hallway we had come down but couldn’t find any clue as to where he could have gone. Shrugging, I spun back around to the room waiting for me.
Twice the size of the room I had back at my stepmother’s home, it could hold my entire house in the Glade inside it. The bed was far bigger than I could ever need and the wardrobe probably held clothes I would never imagine wearing. I walked across the room and picked up a strange cylinder-shaped brush. Just as I wondered what it was for a chorus of squeals erupted from behind me.
Spinning around, my eyes grew larger at the three women coming toward me. Dressed in black from head to toe, from sexy barely there slip-of-a-dress to prim-and-proper, they each had their own style. They crowded around me all talking at once as they rattled off the different attributes of my appearance they adored. From my long untouched hair to my perfectly sized breasts, there was nothing about me too private to discuss.
My head was spinning as they turned me this way and that until a series of snaps filled the air. The women withdrew from me and, like moths to a flame, floated across the room to where a man stood.
Also, cased in black, his pale skin stood out against the collar of his shirt. His eyes were a strange orange shade, which seemed to call me to them. Lips quirked up into a smirk, he reached for the women as they seemed to drape themselves over him.
“You must be Clarabelle.” His voice—like soft silk against my skin—touched my ears. The women sighed in unison as if hearing him speak were a gift of itself.
I’d never been one for pretty men, or ones who had such a pull on those around them. I didn’t have time for them—or rather, most of them didn’t have time for me. Back in the Glade most of us were too worried about surviving to think about finding love. Though of course, eventually we found it one way or another, or we’d have died out. Nevertheless, now was not the time to be thinking of pretty men; not with what’s at stake.
“Yes.” I nodded but then added for good measure, “but it’s Clara actually.”
His eyes widened slightly but his smirk never wavered as he shook his adorers off and strode toward me. “So, Clara,” he started circling me like a vulture, “you are a lot prettier than I thought you would be.”
“Uh, thanks,” I answered, not sure where his thoughts were going. Compared to my stepsisters, I wasn’t that much more than plain but I supposed I did have a sort of prettiness to me. My father often said I look like my mother when she had been my age. I'd always thought my mother was beautiful, but I’d never thought of myself in that way.
“But I do have to say I am disappointed in your choice in wardrobe.” He plucked at the sleeves of my shirt, making the women giggle.
“I wasn’t told there was a dress code.” I shrugged as watched him out of the corner of my eye.
“Oh, there’s not,” he reassured me. “But most of the guests tend to arrive in more...” he waved his hand in the air around my outfit and then sighed, “...just more.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I growled, tired of being surveyed like a cow for breeding. “I’m sorry but you haven’t told me who you are? Any of you.” I glanced around him to the trio waiting by the door.
The man seemed positively embarrassed at my question. Something I doubt he felt often.
“I apologize for not introducing myself sooner.” He bowed slightly with a long flourish of his arms. “My name is Asher and I will be your guide—so to speak—for the duration of your stay.”
“Guide?” My brows furrowed. “What do I need a guide for? It’s just a party.” Except it wasn’t just a party. Zara had told me as much but I still couldn’t get it out of my head that I’d just go to this thing and be home by the time my father returned. A foolish notion for sure.
“Oh no,” one of the women—the one in the slinky dress—came forward with a shake of her head, “It’s not just a party. First, there’s the first impression, then-”
“Then there’s the interview.” Another one of the women, who wore a daring pantsuit with a low neck, stepped in.
“And then finally, the party itself where you will be selected for your position,” the last women with a high collared dress added.
“And I will be there to help you every step of the way,” Asher finished with a wink.
“As well as your,” I gestured my head toward the women, “Groupies?”
That had been the wrong thing to say. The three women’s face contorted in anger and they started toward me before Asher held a hand up, stopping them in their tracks.
“Now, you are new here, so I will give you the benefit of the doubt, but these women are not groupies. They are my companions and closest confidants and I won’t have you offending them again, are we clear?” Asher asked a bit of a bite to his tone.
“Of course,” I nodded and then looked at the women. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
They seemed to simmer down at my apology and then Asher came up to me, taking me by the shoulders. “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get you ready to be presented.”
The way he said it—with a gleam in his eye—made me wish I was back home, cleaning the stables. Anywhere but here with this madman and his wild ideas of fashion.
Chapter 6
Plucked, scrubbed, and waxed in every possible way—Asher never thought I was clean enough—I long got over my nudity in front of the male after he showed no more than a clinical interest in my body. In any case, his companions, as he’d called them, spent more time touching me than he ever did.
While they followed Asher’s every instruction to get me ready, I managed to learn that the giggling women had names. The woman with the opinion of the-more-skin-revealed-the-better called herself Neeka. Streaks of blue colored her blonde hair and she wore a dark shade of lipstick which didn’t wash out her skin the way I would have thought it might.
The one who favored suits liked to wear her hair slicked back so that she almost looked more masculine than female. Willow, she told me, was her name. She didn’t talk as much as the other two but she did say was insightful, making me instantly like her.
The last of the women, Rosel, named for her naturally red lips, favored more of a prudish look. It caused her and the others to argue as they tried to figure out what I should wear. Eventually, though, Asher stepped in.
“I think, this one would do nicely,” he said as he withdrew a long black dress which sparkled in the light.
“It’s beautiful,” I commented fingering the sequined material. I only even knew what it was made of from being in my stepmother’s shop. Back in the Glade, cotton was about all we had to work with.
“Good.” Asher handed the gown to Rosel who held it open for me to step into. Asher took my hand and helped me slid the gown up and over my bare skin. It fit like a glove and as they zipped me into it, I found it harder to breathe.
“It is supposed to be so tight?” I asked, taking small breaths.
“Beauty is pain,” he snickered and led me carefully over to the mirror. “See what a little bit of care will do for such a rare flower as you?”
I stepped in front of the three-way mirror and was stunned. They had painted my face with makeup—something I had never used in my life—and now my eyes looked large and sultry. My lips were liquid red but when I pressed my fingers to my mouth it didn’t rub away. The dress itself hugged my body in all the right places, pushing my chest up and giving the illusion, I had more hips than I really did. Overall, I didn’t look like myself at all. I looked like one of them.
“It’s great,” I answered, not wanting to hurt their feelings. What I really wanted to say was I hated it. I wanted to pu
t my own clothes back on and wash my face off, become the girl I had been before I had stepped through those doors. But I couldn’t. They expected me to play their little game, which included a uniform. This was all it was, another part of the game.
The trio nodded in agreement as they patted themselves on the back for their work. Asher watched my face as if he didn’t quite believe me, but after a moment he let it go and ushered me toward the bedroom door.
“Now, this first part is really simple. You follow the person in front of you and then leave when told. This is just so they can get a look at you, nothing more.” His words were meant to be reassuring, I was sure, but they only made me more confused. I still didn’t know exactly what I was doing here. What I was being paraded around for.
“Have you thought about what position you want?” Asher asked as he walked me down the hall while his companions remained behind in the room. I was thankful for that; I couldn’t handle any more of their giggling or dreamy eyes. They might be Asher’s companions but they sure seemed more like girlfriends than anything to me.
When I realized Asher was still waiting for me to answer, I chewed on my cheek until I winced. “I don’t know really. What are they again?” I hoped he couldn’t tell how lost I was. Zara seemed to know all the answers, but Marsha had been like me, not knowing much of anything.
Or maybe that was what he wanted you to think. He could be playing it close to the chest because he saw me as competition and didn’t want me to beat him. The thought swirled in my head, making me doubt even myself.
“There are only three positions you can be chosen for. If you don’t get picked for any of them you’ll be sent home,” Asher explained.
“Like Tillie.”
Asher frowned at her name and then nodded. “Yes, like Tillie. That poor girl. They should have just left her alone after the first two times but those bastards can be sadistic when they want to be.”
The way he talked about them made me mad. If their own people thought they were messed up, then what hope did I have? There had to be some way to appeal to their humanity. Some way to help the Glade and to get back home in one piece.
“Tillie said it’s ‘cause she’s pretty,” I said, suddenly needing to know as much as possible about what was happening. “Is that what it takes? Is that all they care about? What this is all about?” I held my arms out to the side, twirling slightly making the skirt at my ankles swirl.
Stopping in the middle of the hallway, Asher took me by the elbow making me stumble over the three-inch heels they had made me wear. “Listen Clarabelle-”
“Clara.”
Asher pressed his lips together and gave me a look. “Look, the girls and I think you are a blast. A regular breath of fresh air compared to a lot of the guests who come through here, but you’re going to have a hard time if you don’t stop asking so many questions.”
I clenched my jaw in frustration. “But if I don’t ask questions how am I supposed to know what’s going on? You guys don’t exactly give a manual for Election etiquette.”
My sponsor sighed and then glanced up and down the hallway. There weren’t many people—most of them were servants in the dark gray outfits and they didn’t give us much of a passing glance. When he seemed to think it was safe, he lowered his voice as he said, “I’m going to do you a favor. Something I never do for any other guest.”
“Alright?” I lifted a now perfectly sculpted brow.
“There are three positions available to you. You can be a servant,” he pointed to a passing gray-clad man, “or a companion, like my girls, or...”
“Or?”
“A convert.” His voice went very low on the last one, and his eyes became serious.
“What’s a convert? Like a religion?” I shook my head trying to take in everything he was telling me.
“No, not a religion.” He waved his hands between us. “A convert will be someone who will be inducted into the fold.”
“What?” I gasped loudly, causing a few people to glance our way. I quickly lowered my voice, ducking my head down. “I didn’t know that was possible. Aren’t they like all-powerful?”
Asher snorted. “They wish. And no, it’s not usual. It only happens once every few decades when those in the Fold wish for a...” he seemed to mull over his word choice before finally settling on, “...lover or spouse, you could say. That’s the only way anyone ever gets in.”
I groaned. “Why does everything have to do with marrying up? First my father and now this? Can’t I just get my memory wiped now and go home?”
Shaking his head, he grasped me by the shoulders with a smile. “Sorry Clara doll, but someone found you interesting enough to invite I think it will be a bit hard to get sent home now.”
“So,” I sighed crossing my arms over my chest, “What if I don’t want to be any of those things. Can I just make sure I don’t attract any of their attention? Would that make sure I go home?”
“You could try,” Asher mused, “but,” he brushed my hair away from my face, “With a face like that, the likelihood of going home free and clear is a fantasy.”
“Why? Tillie did. Four times, I might add.”
“That was different,” Asher said but didn’t elaborate. He took me by the arm and we headed down the hallway once more. “All I can tell you is decide for yourself what kind of person you want to be here. Do you want to serve, befriend, or rule? Either way, you are here to stay, I would bet my life on it.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek as we came upon a group of equally spiffed-up guests. I caught sight of Tillie and Marsha who smiled and came my way. Thankfully, Zara was nowhere in sight. I didn’t think I could deal with her attitude right now.
“Hey, Clara. You look great.” Marsha’s eyes roamed over my form, a blush filling his face. I didn’t know how I had thought he could lie to me; he couldn’t keep an emotion to himself if he wanted to.
I smiled and nodded toward his tailored suit. “Thanks, you do too.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, who knew there was a dashing gentleman underneath all that cow blood and sweat.”
Asher made a face and shuddered slightly.
“Marsha’s a butcher,” I explained with a small smile. “He handles all the meat for the Inner Circle.”
“And the Core,” Marsha added, looking proud of himself.
“That’s great,” Asher commented, though his voice said how unimpressed he was. His eyes turned from Marsha to land on Tillie. Taking her hand in his, Tillie’s eyes met his and a small smile graced her face. “Tillie, so good to see you again. I hope you are doing well?”
“I wish I could say the same. I’m sure we have met many times before, but sadly I can’t recall. But as far as how I’m doing,” her attention drifted away from us toward the double doors we were all waiting in front of, “I can hardly decide. They will open the doors soon, we should probably get ready.”
Not at all bothered by her strangeness, Asher nodded sternly. “Too true. You should all prepare yourselves. This is the most important part, and as Tillie can attest...” he shot her a dashing smile. “Looks are everything.”
Just then, a lady with a large head of curls decorated with roses, called out, “Ladies and gentlemen, the Crimson Fold will now see you. Please form a single file line.”
Tillie and Marsha moved away to get in line but before I could join them, Asher grabbed my arm. Stopping in place, I turned back to my sponsor with a questioning look.
“I’m going to give you a bit of advice and if I were you, I’d take it.” His eyes scanned the growing line with a sort of anxiety on his face. “There are four times as many guests this year, meaning thirty-five other guests you have to compete against for a spot. Now, if I were you, I’d be aiming for the convert position and not just any position, the convert position.”
“I don’t understand.” I glanced toward the growing line and then back to him. The large-haired lady hustled everyone into place and I was sure she’d be looking my way soon.<
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“There are two convert positions this year and one of those positions are for none other than Patrick Blordril.” I gasped and he hushed me but it was too late. Our hostess had heard me and started my way. “You want that position.” Asher’s grip dug into my arm, his eyes holding an intensity I’d only seen when he had been doing my nails. “No, Clarabelle Feldman, you need that position.”
“But what if I don’t want it?” I asked quickly, aware our time was running out.
“Oh, you are going to want it.” Asher smiled knowingly. “And so, will plenty of the others.”
“Come, come now.” The big-haired lady stopped in front of us and tried to usher me away. “Asher, shame on you holding up the line.” She wagged her finger playfully.
Asher placed a hand on his chest and half bowed with a look of contrition. “Daphne, you know I can’t help myself.”
Daphne waved him off with a flirtatious smile but kept pulling me the other direction. I glanced back over my shoulder toward Asher and he mouthed two words.
Be careful.
Chapter 7
Since I had spent most of my time talking with Asher I ended up near the end of the line, shoved between a small girl—who barely looked twelve let alone seventeen—and a long-legged red-hair boy. I didn’t have time to make their acquaintance before Daphne threw open the doors.
My heart beat in my ears as each person went into the room. I was far enough down the line that I couldn’t see much more than a bit of the deep burgundy wallpaper. But I could see the guests come out another set of doors further down the hallway. As they came out, someone directed them to another set of doors on the opposite side. Maybe awaiting room?
Zara was one of the first people to go through the line and come out the other side. The look of triumph lit her makeup-covered face and she flounced into the other room without prompting. A short while later, Tillie came floating out her usual dreamy expression still firmly in place.