by Bella Klaus
“Why did you pull me away?” I tugged at my arm, but her grip was like a flytrap. “Let go.”
She stared up at me through frightened green eyes. “We should leave. Now.”
I glanced over my shoulder and down the side of the mansion, part of me hoping that the man would give chase. “What if Mother needs help?”
“Then the butler can fight her battle.” Dami sprinted across the lawn, pulling me with the strength of a person four times her size. “Let’s get out of here before everyone starts hurling hexes.”
When we returned to the greenhouse, Dami reverted to her toyger form and wouldn’t explain why she’d been so spooked at Mother’s violent display. I sat on a bench by the banana plants, with her curled into a little ball.
“Were you scared of the man?” I ran my fingers over her soft fur.
Dami shook her head.
“Mother?”
The cat nodded.
“She isn’t so bad when you get to know her,” I said.
Dami’s lack of reply told me she wasn’t convinced. My shoulders sagged. We’d only known each other since Autumn, when she had appeared at my window on a rainy Samhain night and tapped on the glass with her claws. At the time, I thought she was one of the demons Mother had said would want to drag me to Hell, but her wet fur and her huge eyes had melted my heart.
I didn’t know anything about cat shifters until the next morning when I found a naked girl sleeping at the foot of my bed. It was a shock, but I was happy to finally have a friend.
Her head snapped up, and one of her ears twisted in the direction of the door.
“Is she coming?” I asked.
Dami scrambled off my lap and bolted beneath a patch of blueberry shrubs. I rose from the bench, picked up a pair of shears, and inspected the kiwi vines for dead foliage. One of their tendrils wrapped around my little finger as though to wish me good luck.
“Thanks,” I whispered under my breath.
“Kora.” Mother’s sharp voice sliced through my pretense of innocence.
I tried not to flinch. “Mother?”
“Why?” she snarled.
My heart pulsed with a painful palpitation. She knew. Knew that I had escaped her wards, knew I’d snuck a cat into the greenhouse, knew I’d gazed upon that man. I swallowed hard and tried to keep my breathing even.
“What are you talking about?”
She clamped a large hand on my shoulder and spun me around to meet her eyes. By anyone’s standards, Mother was beautiful, with hair the exact shade of ripe wheat, perfect features, and petal-smooth skin. But her eyes…
They weren’t just blue.
When Mother was calm, they looked like the world’s atlas with their flecks of green and gold and white. Right now, they blazed like lightning bolts descending from an indigo sky.
“You tried to leave the greenhouse,” she said, her words landing like a ritual blade across my jugular. “Even after I told you to hide whenever someone appeared at the door.”
I swallowed hard. “No, I didn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me,” she snarled.
My mouth clicked shut, and realization slotted into place.
Mother was talking about my failed attempt to push through the wards. All the tension around my body loosened, but I shoved away my relief. I was still in trouble, even if it was for a lesser offense. Acting relaxed would only arouse her suspicions.
“Who was at the door?” I asked.
Her lips tightened. “A light mage, hawking his wares.”
My eyes narrowed. “What kind of wares?”
Mother scowled. “What?”
“What was the light mage selling?” I asked.
“Worthless trinkets.” She shooed away my question with a dismissive wave.
I clenched my teeth. Even someone as sheltered as me knew that door-to-door salespeople didn’t travel in limousines. They also didn’t employ drivers who wielded flaming swords. Mother didn’t even respect me enough to make her lies sound convincing.
An urge to challenge her rose to the back of my throat, but I pushed it down. I wasn’t masochistic enough to admit that I’d escaped the greenhouse. And I also feared for Dami’s life.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re changing the subject.”
I shook my head from side to side.
She stepped close enough to block out the light. “Do you know what happens to girls who tell lies?”
“No,” I whispered.
“You’re lying to me again.”
My throat spasmed. This was an example of Mother’s exaggerations. I lied to Mother day and night, and no demons came to cut my tongue. And the devil didn’t make my nose grow six inches. In fact, none of the things she ever threatened came true.
She glowered down at me with an intensity that made my stomach churn. If I didn’t answer her, the consequences would be dire.
“The women get taken,” I whispered.
Her brows rose. “By?”
“D-demons.”
Mother’s features relaxed. “Do you remember what I told you demons do to innocent young girls? Girls like you who fall from grace?”
Images of red rooms filled my mind’s eye, along with medieval torture devices operated by imps turning oversized hand cranks. The imaginary demon, a winged creature with horns and a serpentine tail, cracked a whip of barbed wire.
“Kora,” she snapped.
“They curse them with eternal lust,” I said through clenched teeth.
Mother nodded. “What else?”
I was sick to buggery of her tales of demon debauchery. Placing a hand on my brow, I swayed on my feet and let my eyes roll to the back of my head.
Mother caught me with one arm and scooped me up with the other. I let my head loll to the side.
“Kora.” Her voice broke. “You mustn’t strain yourself.”
Punica’s leaves rustled with disapproval. She and all the other trees knew I was faking. I rested my head on Mother’s shoulder, feeling like the biggest asshole for manipulating her.
Mother carried me across the greenhouse, breathing hard to stop herself from sobbing.
My throat thickened. This was so wrong, but if I’d let her continue, she would have dragged me up the stairs to peruse her collection of satanic art. Seeing pictures of demons four times was bad enough. I couldn’t stand a fifth.
“Forgive me, Kora.” She stepped out into the spring morning. “I just can’t stand to see you die.”
I let her words wash over me, having heard them a hundred times before. Dying without having once experienced the love of a man was more frightening than death.
The chances of ever seeing that beautiful light mage again were infinitesimal, but at least I had an idea of when I would break the monotony of my life. In the four or five weeks that it took the fig tree to expand its roots to accommodate my size, I would work out where I wanted to visit.
Chapter Two
Mother had forced a cup of sleepy tea down my throat, and the result was waking fully clothed in bed with a head that wouldn’t stop pounding. Even the gentle light of the setting sun streaming in through the windows made me wince.
A groan slipped from my lips. It had been worth it. In a few weeks, the roots of the fig tree would become wide enough to help me escape. I would do anything to protect that secret.
I dug my elbows into the soft mattress, pushed myself up, and glanced around the room for signs of whatever she might have confiscated for my little act of defiance.
A domed tray sat atop the table by the window. The television was still on the wall opposite the bed. The fact that the Netflix logo still appeared on its screen meant that Mother had considered my latest offense minor.
I swung my legs out of bed, padded across the room and tried the door.
Locked.
My jaw tightened. It looked like my fake fainting fit had only saved me from part of my punishment. I pounded on the door.
“Hello?”
No answer.
Irritation spread across my skin, and my nostrils flared. “Really?” I yelled. “That wasn’t even an escape attempt.”
A knock sounded on the door. “Miss Kora,” said the crisp tones of Pirithous the butler. “Mistress Ceres wishes to confine you in your suite until further notice.”
Mistress Ceres could keep me here forever, and it wouldn’t change the fact that I was going to die. There was no cure for corporality sickness. None, according to Matura’s Compendium of Magick.
I didn’t say that out loud. Talking back to Mother—even through a proxy like the butler—resulted in consequences. Consequences like extra days in my room, no TV, a restricted diet, and endless lectures.
“Understood,” I said through clenched teeth. “May I at least use the television?”
“Children’s programs only,” he replied.
My lips formed a tight line. I walked back to the bed, grabbed a pillow, and was about to toss it at the door, when the light caught something beneath the mattress. It was a glint of metal, and had to be the present Dami said she’d left for me in my room.
“Miss Kora?” asked Pirithous. “Is there a message you wish to pass on to Mistress Ceres?”
“No.” I tiptoed to the door, dropped to my knees and peered out through the keyhole.
Pirithous stood in the hallway, clad in his double-breasted black tailcoat and pencil-thin breeches. A bunch of glowing keys hung from his gloved fingers—keys that activated all seven seals that secured my prison, regulated whether or not I watched TV, opened the windows, and even restricted access to my bathroom.
I held my breath, waiting for him to retreat down the hallway, so I could examine what Dami had left me without the threat of being interrupted.
The butler stood for what felt like an eternity, and I let my mind drift to Mother’s visitor. I doubted that Mother would have allowed his limousine through the gate, so he either used trickery or overrode her security with his magic.
Mother was a powerful witch, capable of performing any feat of magic. On the few occasions that Mother allowed me to sit in the parlor with her visitors, they all deferred to her—even the Witch Queen. This man hadn’t been fazed by Mother’s aggression, so was he a wizard of equal power, or a light mage?
Pirithous sighed and walked away. I rose to my feet, scrambled back across the room, and lifted the mattress to find a smartphone.
“No way,” I whispered, my voice breathy. I’d seen people use these devices on human TV shows but never dared to think I could possess one for myself.
With trembling hands, I picked up the device, pressed its power button, and brought up a blue screen filled with icons.
A message awaited from Dami. I hope you didn’t get into trouble.
It took a few moments of fumbling about to work out how to activate an onscreen keyboard. Not really. I can’t thank you enough for the phone!
Now we can talk to each other even when we’re apart, she messaged back.
I swallowed hard, trying to contain my excitement. Meeting Dami had truly been a blessing.
Guess what I found on your doorstep? she texted.
Before I could tap out an answer, she sent me a picture of an unrolled scroll. Its contents read:
King Valentinus Sargon de Akkadian with Queen Hemera Griffin cordially invite:
Lady Ceres of Olympia and guest
to a Ball at Kensington Palace, Logris, on Beltane at 10:30 P.M.
Dress for Ladies and Gentlemen: Masquerade
The reply should be addressed to the Master of the Royal Household, Kensington Palace
My mouth dropped open. I had to read the invitation three more times before I could message back, Do you think that man left it for Mother?
Dami’s message appeared seconds later. Or it was left by a courier. But it’s our invitation now.
Euphoria filled my chest. I placed a hand over my breastbone, squeezed my eyes shut, and tried not to hyperventilate. Every version of Cinderella available on Netflix replayed through my mind at once. Balls were the perfect opportunity to find love… even if it was just for the night.
Today was March 20th, and Beltane was on the first of May. This gave the fig tree six weeks to expand its roots large enough to give me safe passage out of the mansion.
As soon as Mother released me from captivity, I would give Ficus the rest of Dami’s plant food. That beautiful, wonderful fig tree would be my ticket to a masquerade ball!
For the next month, I was on my best behavior. When Mother told me to study, I studied. When she told me to go upstairs while she entertained her visitors, I went without complaint. When she allowed me into the drawing room for her monthly tirade against men with her coven sisters, Juno, Vesta, Minerva, and Diana, I sat in the corner like the perfect puppet and sipped tea.
Dami and I communicated by text each evening via the clandestine phone I kept under the mattress. She stayed away from the mansion so as not to arouse suspicion. Everything had to be perfect for the ball.
On the first morning of May, I stepped outside onto the sun-drenched patio for breakfast. Mother sat at one end of the long table with Pirithous hovering over her with a silver coffeepot. The morning sun glinted against his black hair, coloring its ends a vibrant shade of indigo. He raised a brow in a gesture for me to sit.
Two slices of avocado toast awaited me at my place on the other end of the table, both topped with eggs sunny-side up and roasted cherry tomatoes. I was too jittery to enjoy the sight. Somehow, I needed to make an excuse to stay late in the greenhouse, so I could make my great escape.
As I slid into the seat, Mother graced me with a dazzling smile. “You’re looking particularly radiant this morning.”
“I’m grateful to have such a caring parent,” I replied in a voice as smooth as butter.
She tilted her head to the side, her eyes softening. “Taking care of you is the least I could do since your sperm donor abandoned us both.”
I leaned forward, my eyes wide. Mother hardly ever talked about my father, and when she did, it was always as part of a complaint about an aspect of my personality she found frustrating. There wasn’t a single image of the man. All the portraits around the mansion were of us at different stages of my life, beautiful paintings I’d never posed for.
“What was he like?” I asked.
Her lips tightened in a gesture that warned me not to press. “A womanizer. A sex maniac. A complete waste of space.”
“If he was that bad—”
“Why did I fall for him?” she asked.
I raised my shoulders. “Someone so terrible had to have shown you a few clues.”
Mother shook her head, her blonde curls like spun gold in the light of the morning sun. “My sweet child. I have sheltered you from the evils of this world. There are men out there who channel their magic to form a seductive magnetism no woman can resist. Men who prey on the innocent.”
She stared at me for such a long time that the contents of my stomach curdled. What did she want me to say next? Any more questions, and she might take me upstairs to her collection of demonic art.
I cleared my throat and murmured, “Thank you for your protection.”
Her lips curled into a tiny smile. “You’re just so fragile, and your life is fleeting. A man like your father would shatter your soul.” She held a napkin to her lips and rose to her feet. “Please excuse me.”
Mother ran to the patio doors with a choked sob. I stared after her broad back and sighed. Sometimes, it was hard to resent her for being so overbearing. Witches lived for centuries—longer when they were as powerful as her. After my death, Mother faced an eternity alone.
Pirithous appeared at my side and filled my glass with orange juice. “Try not to rouse the mistress’s grief.”
“I think I do that by existing.” I took a sip from my drink, letting the cool sweet liquid slide down my throat.
The butler harrumphed his disapproval.
Ignoring him, I reached for a handful of
fuchsia pea flowers and sprinkled them on my toast. No matter what happened, Pirithous was always on Mother’s side. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Filling in as the sacrificial man for this evening’s Beltane ritual with the mistress and her sisters,” he replied with an excited lilt.
A picture popped into my head of five demons flaying a man tied to a torture table. Suppressing a shudder, I shoved the image aside. “I want to have a ceremony of my own.”
The butler stilled. “Indeed?”
“Just sitting among the plants and soaking in their oxygen.” I peered at him out of the corner of my eye. “Do you think Mother will approve?”
“That sounds perfectly reasonable.” He strode to the other side of the table and picked up Mother’s plate, presumably to make sure she had her breakfast.
Triumph flared through my insides. I sliced through a roasted tomato, letting its seeds spill across my white plate. Dami had made all the arrangements. She’d ordered a vehicle to transport us to the palace and arranged my costume, which she said would be a surprise.
I paced up and down the greenhouse’s flagstone floors, my nerves as tight as gardening twine. It was ten o’clock—thirty minutes before the ball was due to start—and there was no sign of Dami.
Some of the plants I passed brushed their branches against my arms in an attempt to calm my nerves, but all the caresses in the world wouldn’t help my current state. We were supposed to meet at 9:30.
“Where is she?” I walked to the wooden bench, where the banana plants parted their leaves, urging me to sit.
Maybe I was expecting too much from my friend. From what little Dami told me about her life, she seemed to spend most of her time working in a London coffee shop that doubled as a hotel.
I flopped onto the bench and pinched the bridge of my nose. What if she’d gotten caught in the wards? I shook my head. Dami had traveled back and forth through the tunnels dozens of times. Tonight would be no different.
