by Tiegan Clyne
That doesn’t make any sense to me. “Like, rub it on our clothes sort of thing…?”
Sirena snorts. “No, silly. I’m using mine to make my hair float like I’m underwater. It’s the next best thing here to Gus’ portal.” She brings out three small pearls that look like candy. “Now, before you swallow this, say exactly what you want the pearlbomb to do. Oh, but be careful once you put it on your tongue. It fizzes up like crazy after you swallow it.”
I choose the black pearl for obvious reasons. “Are there any side effects?” I ask sceptically.
“Other than the fizzing? Nope. Hagera took one for her debut ball. She was perfectly fine afterward.”
I bring the strange little ball to my lips, sniff it, and wiggle my nose. “It smells like soap. Does it taste like soap, too?”
“If it’ll make you feel any better,” Alice says, taking the white pearl, “I’ll swallow mine first.”
I do trust my friends, but I also don’t want to eat something that tastes like I’ve just scrubbed my body with it in the shower.
“Down the hatch,” Alice says, not the slightest bit of hesitation. “Bunny ears and tail!”
She gulps down the pearlbomb and squeezes her eyes shut. Her ears turn into rabbit ears and grow until they extend far above her head. Just like Jasper’s, one of them flops over. She hops up and tries to look at her ass, and when she turns around, I can see the cotton tail she’s grown. The magic makes it visible without needing an opening in her skirt, which is good, because otherwise she’d be mooning us all.
All right, then. I prepare myself to take the black pearl. “Black wings.”
“Wings. Nice,” Sirena praises, watching as I slip the ball onto my tongue. “Now swallow it quickly.”
I do as she says, and sweet Lilith, she’s right about the fizzing, and about swallowing it quickly. The bubbles that explode fill my throat, and it’s all I can do to get them down before they surge out of my mouth and make me look rabid.
“You know, Grandma used to threaten to rinse my mouth out with soap,” I wince, swallowing as much saliva as possible.
And then a burst of warmth spreads over my back.
I should feel the weight of the wings but I don’t feel anything.
Unconvinced, I look back in the mirror. My mouth snaps open again.
I, Ravyn Hemlock, have wings at long last. I’ve often watched Broin fly and wished I could join him. Although these wings are just an illusion, it makes me feel a little closer to him.
“This is incredible. Will everyone else see them?”
“Uh-huh.” Sirena nods. She states her wish and swallows her pearlbomb. She scrunches her face up and closes one eye. “And yes, you can really touch them too. The magic should last until midnight.”
I roll my eyes. “Midnight. Of course.”
“Well, that’s the way the Storyteller makes things. Not my fault,” Sirena shrugs. Her long purple hair is now floating around her in soft, slow waves. “I don’t make the rules.”
I reach out to stroke my wings. The feathers slide through my fingers like silk.
“Try and move them,” Alice suggests.
I think about beating my wings, and it feels bizarre, but they do move. I’m certain I’d never be able to actually fly, both because they wouldn’t bear my weight and I’d have no clue how to do it, but they move back and forth ever so slightly.
“Come on, Ally. It’s time for us to put on our glad rags.”
Sirena steers Alice back to their wardrobes. They each pull out similar garment bags. While they take turns dressing in the bathroom, I focus on my face and hair. My make-up skills are weak in comparison to Sirena’s. I just know how to apply some red lipstick and pinch my cheeks. I’m going to have to do something with my eyes, because otherwise they’ll look strange with the elaborate mask around them.
When she’s done getting her own dress and face on, Sirena takes pity on me and offers to do my make-up. She gives my eyes a smoky, seductive look that complements the mask and the gown. She then helps with my hair, using her wand to curl my locks into extremely soft waves that she pins back with diamantes.
“You should be a cosmetologist,” Alice tells her, pulling on a pair of black and white striped tights.
Sirena laughs. “You learn things when you grow up with several sisters.” She steps back and admires her handiwork. “There. Very nice.”
She’s in a white gown that’s cut, naturally enough, in the mermaid style. The bodice is embroidered with gold thread to look like it’s covered in scales, and there are sequins adorning the tulle skirt that catch the light when she moves, almost as if the bottom of the dress was made out of sea spray. Her feet are in golden pumps with sky-high heels.
“What do you think?” she asks, twirling around. “It’s my ‘fuck you’ to Prince Erik.”
I grin at her. “I think it’s the mightiest fuck you in existence.”
Alice steps into her dress. It’s black and corseted, with a skirt that’s short in front but has a long lace train that falls from her waist to the floor and drags a good two feet behind her. She adds gloves, one white and one black, then puts sparkling cuff bracelets on. She adds black boots like mine, but with black laces.
Jasper hops around in his cage. He must approve.
“All right, girls,” Sirena says, smiling. “Let’s go slay. To the monster ball!”
“I see now that was a poor choice of words.”
Sirena winces, looking around the room. For once she’s not actually referring to the Nevermore students. The whole auditorium has been transformed into a spooky but elegant ballroom. Wait staff circulate through the crowd of students, offering canapes and fresh glasses of alcohol. But they’re not the usual servants at Everafter.
They’re gargoyles.
The feast was about Everafter and its light. The Samhain Masque is clearly all about Nevermore and the darkness.
Fair is fair, I suppose.
The lanterns my group failed to assemble some days ago have been restored, but they now look like pumpkins with ghoulish faces that shoot glimmers of reddish light across the room. I expected insufferable floral arrangements as the centerpieces, but instead the tables are crowned with what look like piles of skulls.
This is more my style, for sure.
There are strings of white fairy lights criss-crossing the ceiling around the hovering jack o’lanterns, and they’re arranged to look like a massive spider web. There are enchanted shadows on the walls that move and change shape, sometimes looking like spiders, sometimes looking like people. It’s bizarre and a little creepy to see people’s shadows dancing together when there are no bodies to cast them.
I can see through the windows that the courtyard has also been decorated for the evening. The trees are alight with kaleidoscopic crystals. The balusters and fluted columns are wrapped in golden leaf accents. The stone gargoyles that usually perch on corners of the castle are gathered there, some of them resting, others watching over the students. I guess the gargoyles that are serving drinks are here from Nevermore.
There are two long buffet tables set up with every kind of finger food you can imagine, from vegetable trays to brownies. Huge punch bowls offer disturbingly scarlet liquid, and I’m not sure what to think about that, considering my covenmaster’s predilections. I don’t want to drink blood tonight, and I wouldn’t put it past him to try to sneak some in.
Over the live band playing on the stage, I can hear all kinds of species dancing and having fun. The atmosphere is a lot less hostile, either because the feast helped remind everyone that we’re all part of the same story, or everyone’s just too hungover to care. I quite like it.
I look around to see if there are any pleasant familiar faces, which is sort of a fool’s errand, because everybody is wearing masks. I might be able to recognize body shapes and sizes, I suppose, but faces? No chance.
That being said, there’s no way I wouldn’t recognize Lockwood when he comes into the room. Nobody is
as tall and broad as he is, and anyway, by now I’d know that body anywhere. I scan the crowd for him, and my eyes seem to find him as if by sheer instinct. He’s not wearing his usual all black. Instead, he’s in a navy military uniform with a gold sash and epaulets also rimmed in gold. His mask is like an armored visor, with the crest of Everafter rising from the piece that covers his forehead. It’s almost like a crown, and it makes him look very regal.
Very fuckable.
There are two doors that people can use to come into the ball, and Lockwood is standing by one of them. Through the other, a sinister form who could only be Cassim walks in. He’s in a red velvet frock coat, black waistcoat and trousers, and a black shirt with a lace cravat. The dead giveaway, though, is the mask. It’s only over the top of his face, but it’s a devil’s head complete with twisting ram’s horns. It’s like he thinks he’s Lucifer himself.
He’s not. Believe me, I know the difference.
I wonder what our Dark Lord would think of such an impersonation?
At any rate, I’m hoping beyond hope that Cassim doesn’t recognize me. He’s probably still pissed that I blew him off after the feast, and I don’t want to risk a sudden disappearance. I embarrassed him in public; Lilith only knows what he’ll do now.
Since I know Cassim isn’t the type to eat this particular style of food, and in fact is repelled by it, I suggest to the girls that we get something to eat. The bagel I had earlier, while delicious, didn’t really fill me up. As we head over to the buffet table, I notice that everyone’s eyes are on us. I don’t mind the attention. Far from it. But it’s a little unnerving when you can’t see your spectators’ faces. I like to know who’s sizing me up, and whether they’re looking at me as a possible threat or someone they want to fuck. You never know when that information may come in handy. It’s how I knew from the get-go that Gideon wanted me, and I plan on using that to my advantage.
We reach the table and each of us picks up a little plate, which we fill with hors d'oeuvres. One of the gargoyles offers us champagne from his tray, and I wave it away but Alice and Sirena both accept a glass. Even the smell of alcohol almost makes me lose my appetite.
I catch the gargoyle flying by me. “Is there any coffee?”
Sirena sniffles. “They grow up so fast, Ally.”
I toss a cocktail sausage at her. She ducks and it skates over her head, landing in the hood of a girl’s gown. Oops. I hope she enjoys that snack later.
Another party goer comes in through the door Cassim used and he stops to look around the room. I would know that physique anywhere, any time.
It’s Broin.
He’s in a black leather tunic, trousers and boots, and even his raven-shaped mask is black leather, tied tightly over his rugged face. His long hair has been left to cascade over his shoulders in curls, something Broin always has pulled back when he’s in human form. He knows I love his hair, though, and I’m always begging him to leave it down.
I guess tonight is the night he decided to listen.
I put my food aside and walk across the room to where he’s standing. He watches me approach, and when I reach him, he offers me his hand. I put my fingers in his grip, and he gently brings them up to his lips. He kisses my hand and I smile. He can be a real gentleman when he wants to be.
“You know I’m a sucker for a man in leather.”
Broin smirks at the comment. “And you know how I feel about feathers.”
Alice pops up between us, coming out of nowhere like a jack-in-the-box, and she peers into Broin’s face. “You smell oddly familiar.”
I give a nervous laugh, none too subtly stepping in front of her. “You were saying, Mr. Blackstone?”
He holds my hand more firmly. “I was just asking you to dance.”
“I would be delighted.”
Broin is a skilled dancer. He’s the one who taught me how to dance. Before he came to live with my family, he’d spent some time in royal courts—doing what, I don’t know—where he learned all the social graces. He sweeps me into his arms and whirls me gently out onto the floor. The music is lilting, and it feels just like a dream.
“You look so beautiful,” he tells me.
I want to kiss him. “Thank you,” I say, uncharacteristically blushing. This night, this place—it’s turning me into a princess character out of a fairy tale. Two weeks ago, that thought would have turned my stomach. Now I can hardly breathe properly as Broin leads me across the parquet floor.
Others have joined us. I’m surprised, and admittedly a little impressed, to see a few Nevermore students dancing with students from Everafter. I might not be able to see people’s faces, but skin colors such as the sluag’s are useful in this case. And I know exactly who she’s dancing with.
Christopher.
His long blond hair is the first clue. It’s gathered at the nape of his neck and tied with a black ribbon. His suit is the next hint. It’s light blue and closely tailored, with a wing-tip collar and a white lacy shirt underneath. A gold cravat and puffy sleeve cuffs show around the tight jacket. His mask is simple and black, just over his eyes. What he’s wearing is the height of fashion in Fantasia and I’m a little ashamed of myself for knowing that.
Broin spins me around, and I look back into his eyes. He’s smiling, really smiling, and it’s been so long since I’ve been with him in public in his human form. It makes me so happy.
“Are you surprised, Little Red?” he whispers, bringing his lips close to my ear.
“Very.”
Another spin.
“And are you happy?”
I nod and smile back. “Extremely.”
“Would you like to know what I found tonight?”
My breath hitches. “Absolutely.”
With the music and everyone dancing around us, Broin decides to divulge this through our bond. A stupid part of me is hoping I’m not in any trouble. Not that I don’t want to be punished by him—the unholy lord knows that I do—but I don’t want to disappoint him.
—The altar you were investigating with Lockwood,—he says, and I instinctively look around for the man in question. He’s talking with Professor Pholos by the open window. —I found an imp using it.—
—An imp?—I repeat the word incredulously as Broin spins me around again. —Why would an imp be using a Darkblood altar this close to Everafter?—
—That’s not all. I found wolf tracks at the western gate.—
I gasp. —Do you think it got into the school?—
—It’s possible. Who knows what secrets these supposed heroes are hiding here?—
It’s true, by all accounts. Satan knows this academy’s inhabitants are far from angelic.
—Was the imp one of our Dark Lord’s?—I ask.
Broin shakes his head. —No. It was one of Cassim’s.—
I let him steer me across the floor, hardly paying attention to my steps after hearing all this.
—How do you know that?—
—Because it was the same imp I followed back to Everafter. The same imp footman that was riding His Excellency’s carriage the day he arrived.—
This is news to me. —There was an imp on his carriage? I didn’t see one.—
Broin nods grimly. —Cassim must have used a glamor on the creature. But you know as well as I do that druids can see through glamors. Even us cursed ones.—
He watches me trying to suss out the meaning of all this. Cassim’s imp servant using the same altar that was created before the Nevermorians arrived?
Something doesn’t quite add up here.
—Someone else created that altar. The imp was obviously taking advantage of it.—
Another nod from Broin, this time with his eyes narrowed.
—How did you find this out?—I ask.
—I followed a red-winged blackbird. Don’t look so worried, babygirl. I’ll keep hunting until I find out exactly what Cassim and his precious imp are using that altar for.—
I nod, feeling more at ease. —Just be safe
out there, Daddy.—
The song ends all too quickly. I’m a little parched and go to the punch bowl. Broin follows me, his hand on my back right underneath the spot where the wings emerge. He strokes the feathers.
—These seem familiar,—he smiles.
—I didn’t think you’d be able to show tonight so I wanted to have a little bit of my Daddy with me.—
Broin leans in and kisses my temple. “You can be so adora—”
He’s cut off by Cassim. “Having a lovely evening, are we?”
We each turn away from the punch and glare at him. He smiles down at me, the gesture barely reaching his eyes.
“I do believe I’m rather thirsty myself.” Turning to Broin, he places a hand on his shoulder. “Be a good man and fetch me a drink, will you? You know the kind I prefer.”
—The kind still living,—I spit through our bond, knowing only Broin can hear me.
The muscles are hard at work around Broin’s face. His jaw is clenched and he’s balled his hands into fists. His fury ripples through our bond and into me. I can feel that he’s just seconds away from pouncing on top of Cassim and ripping his throat out. That would be a disaster.
—Broin, please just do it. Please?—
He hears my plea, though he doesn’t appear eager to oblige.
—Please, Daddy? He isn’t worth it.—
Cassim gives Broin an oily smile. “Take your time. In fact, take all night.”
Fuming from being dismissed, knowing he is powerless to do anything but obey our covenmaster, Broin leaves. I watch him go, my heart sinking into the pit of my stomach. If Cassim is going to have me disappear, this is his best opportunity.
Witches disappear in Draoich all the time.
Cassim lifts his mouth into a repugnant snarl. “Now, Miss Hemlock. Shall we dance?”
Dance. Die. It’s the same thing to him.
I look around, hoping, despite the odds stacked against me, for an escape.
Cassim’s eyes never leave my face. He knows I’m trying to think of a way out of this.
A smooth, deep voice speaks behind me. “Excuse me, Miss Hemlock. May I have this dance?”