Three Kinds of Damned

by May Dawson

  “Whatever is bothering you,” he whispers, “I want to know all about it. Later. But tonight, we focus. All right?”

  I look up at him from under my eyelashes, trying to give him the same coquettish look I’ll use tonight at the ball as I try to act like Tera Donovan, potential leader of True.

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  He tilts my chin up, studying my face. “Make me a promise, Tera, and I’ll make one to you.”

  “What’s the promise?”

  “You don’t lie to me, and I won’t lie to you.” He caresses my cheek, one finger still confidently tilting my chin. His blue eyes are deep and sincere.

  “I trust you with my life,” I say, because it’s true.

  “I want you to trust me with a lot more than that.” He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips. It’s quick and chaste. My hands slide down the fine fabric of his jacket, feeling the hardness of his biceps As he pulls away from me, there’s still tenderness in his eyes.

  My heart races, but for once, it’s not with panic—either from danger now or remembered miseries.

  I promised myself I’d leave my walls up around Airren.

  I’m going to need a lot more bricks.

  I smile at him over my shoulder as I sashay away. The three men fall in step behind me.

  They’re either going to destroy me or save me, and I don’t know if I’d gamble on which.

  7

  As we head down the path, there are more and more lights; by the time we turn the corner and Legacy House stands in front of us at the top of the hill, it feels bright as day under the canopy of flickering white lights hovering above our heads. The night is deep, black and starless beyond the artificial lanterns, but I could lose myself in this magic for a little while. Night-blooming flowers surround the House, filling the air with a luscious scent of honey mixed with heavy, heated florals. The names I learned in elementary school, on late-night walks with our science teacher, unfurl in my mind: the night-blooming roses and the flox and evening primroses.

  “Masks on.” Mycroft says.

  “This would be my department.” Cax touches the small of my back. “Thank you for humoring my sister’s whims. I made this for you.”

  He holds up an elaborate gold mask, with fine silver etching and rubies set in the cheeks. My breath catches in my chest at the thought of having something cover my face, suffocatingly close, and I glance past Cax to Mycroft and Airren, who are slipping on their own masks. Mycroft’s simple gold mask hides his eyes from me, making him look even more the part of the frightening warrior. Airren’s mask is smaller, more like a silver band covering his eyes and nose, but even so, when I can’t see their faces, my chest tightens.

  Cax leans close to me. “With the mask, you’ll never really be alone. Don’t be afraid of it.”

  “It’s beautiful.” I’m a beat too late. I touch the rubies clustered across the cheeks of the mask; now I know why Stelly insisted on painting my lips the same bright ruby shade.

  “The mask is only as lovely as the girl wearing it.” He slides it onto my face. It fits better than I imagined, resting so lightly I could almost forget I was wearing it. He leans even closer to me, his lips brushing my ear. “And you make it extraordinary.”

  My lips quirk up ruefully. “You’re contractually obligated to say that.”

  “Oh? Were you contractually obligated to kiss Airren?” His lips tilt up to match mine.

  “Are you jealous?”

  He slides his mask on, but I would know the mischievous cast to his lips anywhere. “Maybe with the mask, I’ll be able to trick you into kissing me.”

  “Maybe you don’t need a trick.” I shoot back.

  Airren offers me his arm. I loop one arm through his and one arm through Cax’s. Mycroft bounds up the stairs ahead of us. Two valets open the doors for us.

  Music spills out of the hall. Mycroft enters first, his posture protective even from here. He’s searching for any potential danger.

  Mycroft, Cax and Airren are going to allow those other dangers to try to meet me, to persuade me to their side. But with the three of them surrounding me, the only real danger in the night is to my heart.

  The three of us sweep up the stairs.

  I haven’t been inside Legacy Hall before. We enter a massive space that transforms into a theater when it isn’t being used as a dance hall. There are boxes to the sides, rising up in rows, with ornately worked wooden decorations. The ceiling of the hall soars many stories above us, a crystal dome open to the sky. A band plays on the stage, and couples in beautiful clothes spin around the room. The place is a blur of beauty.

  No, this isn’t like the standard frat party I imagined.

  “I definitely need that champagne,” I say.

  This time, Airren grins in response, his lips widening under the mask, emphasizing the hard cast to his jaw. When he’s pretending to be under my spell, he even laughs at my jokes.

  “Your wish is my command.” Cax raises my hand to his lips to kiss my palm once again before squeezing my hand as he lets go. He heads toward one of the waiters who circle with trays of canapes and champagne flutes. Tables scattered around the room hold towering displays of canapes, flowers and deserts. Multi-tiered trays hold little cakes and chocolate-dipped strawberries and elaborately decorated chocolates.

  If I didn’t have a mission, I’d kiss my boys goodbye for a while and just hover by the desserts table.

  Cax returns with a glass of champagne, but Mycroft steps in front of him, holding his hand out to me. “We should dance,” he says brusquely.

  I raise an eyebrow reaching past him to take the glass of champagne Cax offers. “We should work on our manners.”

  Cax’s mouth twist in amusement he tries to control. His lips part, but before he can ask, I say, “You’re all handsome and adorable, and I’m not here to meet you.”

  I rest my hand on Cax’s chest, feeling his heart beat against my palm—his heart beats quicker than I’d expect—before I gently push him away.

  As I sashay along the edge of the dance floor, I stand straight and tall, my shoulders squared. I don’t want to leave them, and I don’t want to be approached by the True, but I need to be.

  I’m Tera fucking Donovan. I don’t need to stay close to the men I came with, because they’ll be waiting for me where I left them. I’m in complete control.

  Or at least, I need to hold myself like I am.

  I stop at the edge of the dance floor, my gold-rimmed champagne flute in my hand, and take a long, slow sip as I stare out at the dancers. People glance at me and then glance away, whispering. But now at least I know I’ve given them reason to whisper; these whispers aren’t just for my father. These whispers are for the girl who stormed out of Radner’s class, for the girl with the dragon’s egg, for the girl who leaped out of an eighth story window.

  My lips arch up, and I can’t resist their pull. No one knows if I’m a hero or a villain yet, and I don’t know either. But the music is a long, slow draw, making me want to sway and raise my arms and dance, and the night is beautiful, and I’m alive. Neither Avalon nor Earth has beaten me down yet.

  A man stops in front of me. His mask covers almost all his face; it’s an oval except for rectangular slits for his mouth and eyes. The mask is pitted with gems that look like an expensive pox.

  “May I have this dance?” he asks me, holding his hand out.

  A shiver runs down my arms.

  But I’m looking for a bad man. I rest my fingertips in his and let him guide me wordlessly onto the dance floor.

  A waiter hovers at the edge of the floor. “Pause, please,” I say sweetly to my new friend. I down the rest of the champagne in one gulp, then set the glass on the waiter’s tray.

  “Are you enjoying the party?” the man asks me as he draws me into his arms. His fingers knit around mine, his hand settling intimately close at the small of my back. My spine straightens stiffly, holding a gap between us.

  I follow his ste
ps, but I should have asked for a refresher on how the hell to dance in Avalon. My Physical Education dance classes in private school—where I danced with another girl, taking turns leading—are lost to me now, along with how to diagram sentences, conjugate Latin, and multiply fractions. I’m sure I could learn any of it again. But that doesn’t help me while I try not to step on the toes of a man who might be True.

  “Very much,” I say. “The champagne dirt-side was awful.”

  “I’m sorry you had to spend any time there.” His lips are so close to my ear that his hot breath tickles my ear canal.

  Revulsion creeps up my spine. There’s no reason for me to feel this way. I can’t see his face, but he has a perfectly nice body and he smells nice. Something makes my skin crawl, though, and I’m not sure it’s only his potential affiliation with True. Something else bothers me.

  If there’s one thing I’ve learned from having people try to murder me, it’s to trust my instincts.

  “Me too,” I say lightly. “But I’m home now. That’s all that matters.”

  “We’re all so very glad you’re home,” he says, which is a lie, of course. Most of Avalon is unimpressed by my return.

  “We?” I raise my eyebrows at him, my ruby lips curving up into a smile. “I have a fan club?”

  “Very much,” he says.

  I stroke my hand up his arm to his shoulder. If he were one of my boys, how would I touch him? I try to pretend it’s Airren’s hard shoulder under my fingertips, but I can’t. I grit my teeth and smile despite the slow flutter of panic in my stomach. “What’s your name?”

  “I don’t have a name.” His breath is another hot blast into my ear. I squirm inwardly, but make myself hold still, that blank smile frozen on my lips. “But my heart beats True.”

  “What a coincidence.” I say softly, but I say nothing else to give myself away.

  “A coincidence how?” he asks, a beat too late.

  As I smile at him, I take a step back. For me, the small space between us is filled with a flood of relief.

  “Come with me.” His eyes flicker up urgently, toward the boxes. “Let’s speak privately.”

  “I have many people to dance with tonight,” I tell him mischievously. “Why should I come with you?”

  “Because I need to talk to you.” He takes my elbow in his hand, his grip firm. “Because it’ll be for the best for you.”

  “That sounds like a threat.” My voice comes out low and cool, not giving away how my heart hammers in my chest. That’s a small victory. The terror I feel is an echo from other days, when I was alone in a dangerous world. It doesn’t belong to tonight.

  “It’s not a threat.” He sounds genuinely horrified. “We want to speak to you. Because we value you, Tera Donovan. Now please, come with me.”

  I stare back at him. Does he take me for an idiot? But I need to know what he has to say. My gaze rises to the boxes above, and I stare up at them, telegraphing to my guys where I’m headed. “Did you say you have a box? I’ll go there, but no further.”

  “That’s all I ask.” He bows from the waist.

  I follow him across the dance floor, but as I reach the edge of the dance floor, a new man in a mask steps in front of me. His tall, muscular frame in a perfectly fitted tuxedo blocks my nameless True friend from sight.

  As I try to look past this newcomer, he offers me a wide smile. “You don’t want to go with him. He’s quite ugly under the mask. The face of a dog.”

  His voice is low and warm and sexy.

  “I’ve always found dogs to be adorable.” I turn to slip past him.

  He reaches out and catches my wrist. “Dance with me instead. A lady like you shouldn’t be alone with a man like that.”

  “Probably true.” I lean in close to him, my voice a whisper, and he leans back into me too. “And a gentleman shouldn’t eavesdrop.”

  His eyes are very bright, a light silver-blue that seems almost supernatural. Even through the mask, I can see him wink.

  “I might be noble, but I’m not a gentleman.”

  “Are you noble?” I cock my head to one side. I desperately need to dispatch this handsome buffoon—at least, his jaw is beautifully chiseled, and his lips are narrow but nicely shaped, so I’m assuming he’s handsome—and move on with the True.

  “I might be.”

  I lean even closer to him, my breath a whisper. “I might be Earthside scum. You should go on, Your Majesty.”

  His eyes widen slightly, and he pulls back. “Your Majesty is the king. Not me.”

  “Sorry, I’m rusty on all that.” I wink back at him. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  The True crosses his arms impatiently, waiting for me to join him.

  I pat the cheek of the noble’s mask with my fingernails. It makes a ting-ting sound. The metal feels warm under my palm, reminding me of sunshine on a summer day, as if his own warmth has heated the mask. “Very pretty,” I tell him. “But I’m walking away now.”

  “You should see beneath the mask.” His voice is teasing, as if we know each other, as I turn away.

  Maybe I should find this exchange creepy, but I don’t. I might not have magic anymore, but I do have some finely tuned creep-radar. It’s going off like mad for the True waiting for me, his lips twisted with jealousy and his finely-made shoe tapping. But His Majesty in the mask doesn’t bother me one bit.

  Still, I tuck my arm through the arm of the True. “Lead on.”

  I don’t look back at His Majesty, but I can feel his gaze on me. I glance to my left, where Mycroft moves deftly through the crowd. As tall as he is, he blends in seamlessly, stopping to take a glance of champagne, looking as if he is in no rush at all. But he matches our pace and then peels off to the side without looking back. He’s headed for a different staircase.

  I glance past the True’s back, but I don’t see the others. Then as we’re heading up the marble stairs, I belatedly cinch the tight skirt of my dress up in my hand so I won’t stumble on the shiny material, and I happen to glance at Airren. He stands with his elbows braced on a balcony in one of the boxes. There’s a girl next to him, and she leans over with her hand covering her smiling mouth, laughing as if Airren is hilarious. He smiles faintly, self-satisfied, and jealousy flares in my chest.

  Airren meets my eyes levelly and even from this distance, I see him wink. Then he turns his attention back to her, clinking his glass with hers, and I return my attention to the True.

  Warmth glows in my chest, easing some of the tightness there. I’m not alone.

  The True leads me up endless marble stairs, heading towards the top boxes.

  “So the True are in the cheap seats, hmm?” I ask lightly.

  “Only for a time,” he says.

  We reach one of the top floors, and a narrow wooden hallway is in front of us, with the entries to the boxes in a series of open arches to our left.

  His hand on my elbow is tighter than I much care for, even though he nods politely as he steers me down the row to one of the boxes.

  As soon as we’ve stepped into the box, I pull my elbow out of his grip as elegantly as one can yank away from an unwanted touch. When I turn on my heel and back into the box, keeping my eye on him, I bump into the back row of seats.

  “I’m afraid of heights,” I tell him to excuse myself for yanking away. “Especially lately.”

  “I’m here to be your friend, Tera Donovan.” His voice sounds earnest. And flat. There’s something off about him, almost something robotic.

  “You know my name.” I run my fingertips over the smooth, polished backs of the seats as I back away, putting more space between us. “It seems rude not to tell me yours.”

  A beat passes, and then he spreads his hands to either side. “It would be strange to tell you. You see, I’m piloting this body, so I can’t tell you his name. He might not even be True. And I can’t tell you my name.”

  A shiver runs down my spine. He’s using powerful magic. “Why’s that?”

  “Becau
se I don’t trust you yet. No one’s heard anything from you for five years, and then you come in here, strutting your stuff—“

  I’d really thought of it as more of a sashay. Strut doesn’t sound very dignified. Tonight, it makes me think of a chicken in a fancy gown.

  “—and you murder one of my favorite True.”

  My eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

  “Okay, okay. You made me murder him. But it’s the same principle.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with any murders.”

  He sneers. The slits in his mask, where his eyes should be, appear blank. It’s unnerving.

  “Lately?” he asks. “Do you want to clarify?”

  Lately. He’s talking about the murders when I was a kid, my father’s many victims. I flash back to a day when I was a girl. A hand grabbed at my school skirt, catching the hem. I looked down at a bloodied hand and was afraid to look any further along the arm, even though I could feel how the man’s eyes were desperate to meet mine. He was trying to make a human connection, trying to find some chance at mercy. “He doesn’t deserve any mercy,” my father promised me.

  But when it comes to True, my father’s attempts to involve me in his crimes are a strength. Like him, they’d probably prefer I wasn’t squeamish.

  I have to turn my back to him to move to one of the seats in the front row, taking a second to compose myself. I’m Tera Donovan. Possibly a villain. Certainly not flustered by this other villain piloting this poor tuxedoed lump.

  I take a seat and cross my legs nicely, the way that I was taught, folding my hands in my lap.

  “Lately,” I say. “But I don’t really consider them murders. We don’t talk about murdering cows, do we?”

  He sits next to me, his hands also folded in his lap. “I would like to meet you again. To teach you more about the new rising of the True.”

  “You’re going to have to tell me your name first, friend.”

  “How do you feel about the True?”

  “I feel that the war isn’t over.” That’s not a lie.

  My heart is pounding in my chest, and my nestled-together palms are sweating, but my erect spine and pretty hair and set red lips all feel like a shield between the world and me.