by Emma Holly
“You’re not my date,” she said, reminding him of their agreement. “You’re walking me in so I don’t look lame at my own party. Then you’re going to mingle and have fun.”
“I heard you the first six times. I still think you should promise me a dance.”
“Dancing is lame.”
“Says the girl who never tries it. Open the other box,” he added, his eyes twinkling. “Maybe it includes your membership to the Too Bad I’m Not A Lesbian Club.”
“Lesbians dance,” Georgie said. “Where do you get the stupid stuff you say anyway?”
“I’d watch you dance with a lesbian,” Tom volunteered as she pried up the second lid.
Something twinkly lay inside. Georgie pulled it out carefully. A moment later she held up a halter-topped, mid-thigh-length, silver dress. Tiny gunmetal sequins supplied the sparkle, meandering over the material in modern-art-like patterns. Though the dress was cool, Georgie couldn’t picture herself in it.
“Well, it’s really not a choice,” she said.
“No,” Tom agreed, sounding as sure as her. “You have to wear the dress.”
Georgie’s head jerked back in surprise. “I’m not wearing that. It’s completely—”
“—not what you choose all the time? Georgie, you only turn eighteen once. Do you want to remember you were a fashion fraidy-cat?”
“That’s cheap.” Still holding the dress, she turned her head toward the red open-sided pants. They were so cute. And badass. And she could tell they’d hang from the perfect spot on her hips. She knew she’d look great in them.
Herself would like you to wear the dress, she thought.
Except . . . she never called Alma that. Ishmael did now and then, but it seemed disrespectful. Was the library imp rubbing off on her?
Just more proof you’re nuts, she thought.
She began to lay the dress back into its tissue. Not the pants, not the pants, she heard more strongly, as if someone were trying to play second-rate hypnotist. Pretty please, leave the shiny pants for me.
Georgie looked at Tom. He appeared to hear nothing.
“Wear the dress,” he insisted. “Unless you want me to bawk at you like a chicken for the next month.”
“Fine.” She grabbed the dress and headed for her closet. “Stay out here while I change and—” she hesitated “—set the box with the pants outside in the hall.”
“You don’t want to keep that outfit for later?”
“Maybe it’ll fit someone in the house. If they were in the mood to party, they might want something fun to wear.”
Georgie could swear she heard an excited squeak. Looking mystified but not like he’d heard it too, Tom did what she’d requested.
When she came out again, feeling awkward in the sexy dress, Tom did the double take guys always did in movies.
“Okay?” she asked, though the answer was on his face.
“Uh, yeah.” He broke into a naughty grin. “Can I ask you to twirl for me?”
“Don’t push it, or I really will never dance with you.”
Her heels were high but not too high to handle. She started for the door then remembered one last thing. She dug the little cross her mother gave her from the vintage tackle box that held her jewelry. She hadn’t worn the necklace in years. She’d given it up along with churchgoing. Tonight, wearing it seemed right. Though Tom could have fastened it, with her hair pinned up she had no problem doing it herself.
When cross was on, she stroked it lightly.
“That’s from your mom,” Tom guessed. “So she’s kind of here for your big birthday.”
His words choked her up. “Damn it,” she said, wiping her eyes before she ruined her mascara.
Tom gave her a quick hug. Just this once she let him.
“Come on,” he said. “I hear music. Let’s check out your partay.”
The noise increased as they left her rooms. She noticed the gift box Tom had set out was empty. Titus noticed too. He pounced on it, excited by the prospect of shredding the tissue.
“You stay inside,” Georgie said, sliding him and the box back into the room with her toe. “I wouldn’t want some drunken twit accidentally dancing on your tail.”
Tom shook his head as she secured the door. “You could pretend to be excited.”
“I can’t help it. I know Alma is being nice, but I was relieved to have graduated so I wouldn’t see these idiots every day.” She rubbed her ear as they walked. Alma had rented a party tent for outside, plus turned the dining room into a dance floor. The DJ wasn’t the only noise she heard. People were here. Lots of them. She glanced sideways at her friend. “From the sound of it, you invited everyone you know.”
“Don’t be silly. I email blasted the entire school. Seeing as no one but me has set foot in Ravenwings, I predict they all came.”
“Christ,” she said without thinking.
Tom grinned and hooked her elbow with his.
When they reached the entry hall, it was packed with chattering bodies. Did they have crashers? Georgie didn’t recognize half the faces. Correction. She recognized one group. The Society for Excellent Young Scholars was clustered against the wall, sucking down free champagne while mocking their fellow guests.
“Oh hey, Georgie!” their perpetual leader Kim Colbert cooed. “Thanks for the invite. I guess your richy-rich guardian finally found a way to get folks to hang out with you.”
“Ignore her,” Tom instructed when Georgie began to growl. “She’s just jealous you always look hotter than she does.”
“Oh right,” Kim said because Tom hadn’t used an undertone. “Like I’d want to be a tattooed freak. Where’s your stinky hell-spawn familiar, witch?”
That was enough for Georgie. No one got to call Titus that. Maybe he had cat-breath now and then, but he wasn’t stinky or evil. She turned and stalked back to her old tormentor. The killer dress and the four-inch heels made the action more satisfying than she expected. Also satisfying was the fact that she was taller.
“What?” Kim demanded as Georgie simply stood in front of her and stared.
“I think she’s putting the evil eye on you,” one of the male scholars teased.
Georgie didn’t say a word, just stared at Kim unblinkingly until tiny beads of sweat broke out on the blonde girl’s brow.
“What?” Kim repeated, trying to seem forceful but clearly flustered now.
Georgie grinned. “I’ll pray for you,” she said.
Then she turned and walked away.
Kids broke out laughing. They knew this was Kim’s favorite burn.
“I’ll pray for you,” Kim tried to shout at her back, which made everyone laugh harder.
“Boom!” Tom chuckled beside her. “You got her good. She’ll never say that again without people tittering.”
“That was fun,” Georgie admitted. “Maybe this party won’t be all bad.”
Since they were headed that way already, they squeezed through the crowd to the dining room. Without the mahogany table, the long space was big enough for dancing. Quite a few guests were doing that. Georgie smiled at the sight of a short girl with bright pink hair bouncing in the middle, like a happy maniac. Thankfully, there was a breeze. The doors to the conservatory were propped open, allowing overflow to spill out onto the grass and the catering tent. Georgie couldn’t help gaping at the decor. Alma had spared no expense. Heaps of fragrant white flowers massed everywhere: camellias and lilies and garlands of fat roses interspersed with twinkly lights. Guests sipped from cut glass champagne flutes—no plastic anywhere.
“This looks like a freaking Vogue wedding,” Georgie murmured in amazement.
Literally, it did. She’d flipped through an issue a few months back with exactly these arrangements.
“There’s a photographer,” Tom said, pointing toward someone she couldn’t see. “Let’s get immortalized.”
NO MATTER IF MOST OF the guests were human teenagers, the empress had no intention of arriving on time to the part
y. Roger was perfectly capable of opening the door for their visitors. She’d prepare at her leisure and make a suitably grand entrance. The only hitch came when Taytoch zipped up her striking blue velvet Valentino. The gown fit closely. Luna couldn’t miss the small but unaesthetic bulge around her middle.
“Damn it,” she said, gesturing impatiently at the freestanding mirror. “I thought your man Fariel never gets sizes wrong.”
“He doesn’t,” Taytoch said, “or not generally.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should cut back on the toast? You know what humans say about carbs . . .”
“This body is impossible,” Luna huffed. “It needs so much maintenance!”
“You could do another slimming spell.”
“Slimming spells take time.” Though tempted, Luna was aware she’d been a little reckless on that score. The last thing she wanted was to lose the advantages that came with her human shell—not that she’d explain that to Taytoch.
“You could enlarge the waist,” the ifrit suggested.
“The dress is perfect the way it is. I can’t deny your man has an eye.” Luna tapped her chin and frowned at her reflection. “Hand me that other thing he stole off the Internet: the waist trainer. I think I shoved it in the bottom drawer of that bureau.”
“Are you certain, Your Highness? I recall you saying it looked uncomfortable.”
“Beauty knows no pain,” she said darkly. “At least no pain that will let a bunch of eighteen year olds upstage her.”
“As you wish,” Taytoch said.
He found the corset and hooked her in, a feat that demanded his ifrit strength. The metal-boned, rubberized canvas garment was as uncomfortable as she’d feared. She had to suck in her stomach before he could close it. The end result was a cartoonish hourglass figure—not what she was hoping for.
“This can’t be right. I look like a Kardashian. I can hardly breathe. And something’s digging into my right kidney.”
“One of the bones?” Taytoch asked. He bent to search for the offender.
“It feels like stiff embroidery. Maybe on the corset’s inside layer.” She reached behind herself to locate the painful spot. For whatever reason, her movement tightened the already snug garment.
“Damn it,” she gasped. “This is a torture chamber. Get it off of me.”
Taytoch hissed when he tried. “Your Highness, I apologize profusely. I cannot undo the hooks.” He showed her seared blue fingers, the scaly skin of which was blistering. “I’m sure the stays aren’t iron. There must be a curse on the garment.”
“Well, uncurse it,” Luna panted. “I command you.”
Taytoch bent and muttered, but the vise didn’t release her. “I’m afraid the source of the curse is human, Luminous One. Only a human can undo it.”
His unreadable dark red eyes met hers in the mirror. He didn’t state the obvious, that her stolen body was too changed. She couldn’t reverse the hex herself.
“How the hell did a human curse get on this corset?”
“I cannot imagine . . . unless some ignorant person included a magic symbol in the design for the waist trainer. Some humans wouldn’t recognize a spell if it jumped up and bit them.”
Luna debated whether Taytoch could have arranged this accident on purpose. He’d sworn an oath not to act against her. Given how powerful she was, she didn’t believe he could break it.
“It couldn’t have been my ward,” she said.
“No, Your Highness. She seems genuinely fond of you. Besides which, I’m not aware of her practicing magic.”
She remembered the medallion Georgie made to affix to her furniture. That had been a protective symbol—not for cursing. And Georgie was fond of her, just not fond enough for Luna to rule her out instantly.
“Get her,” she said, making up her mind. “Say I need her assistance. And have her bring a pair of shears.”
“Your Highness, I—”
“You’re the best choice. Of all your crew, you can maintain a human illusion longest.”
“That isn’t what concerns me. In order to speak to Georgie, I have to leave the compass you’ve set for me.” They were in her black mink luxe sitting room, chosen so the ifrit could assist her without exiting the prison she’d made for him. Well, he’d just have to leave it now. Her breath was growing shorter by the second.
“For Iblis sake,” she snapped. “I grant you permission to go beyond my seal long enough to collect my ward.”
Taytoch’s eyes flared exultantly as he stepped free of her circle. Luna supposed she couldn’t blame him. He’d been her captive for some time now.
“You will return straightaway once you have her,” she specified.
Taytoch bowed and promised to obey.
GEORGIE WASN’T A GET-photographed kind of girl. She resisted as Tom tugged her through the crowd. Then she jolted to a halt.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She could see the man with the camera now. He was a tall athletic guy in a tie-less tuxedo, hunkering down to snap candid shots of couples on the dance floor. As he did, he grinned behind his equipment like nothing in the world could be more fun. His sheer happiness would have attracted anyone’s attention. The fact that Georgie recognized his profile attracted hers.
He was the hottie from Beautiful Male Nudes.
Never mind she’d only ogled him that one time. His face—and all the rest of him—was imprinted in her brain . . . maybe her hormones too. What the hell was he doing here? Could it be a coincidence? Or had Alma somehow found out about her fixation and tracked him down?
Georgie’s cheeks were already hot when he straightened and turned to her.
Her pulse went crazy, her lungs refusing to function normally. People were between them, but he was staring straight at her. Wow, his eyes were pretty. Like the sky on a clear bright day. Why didn’t he look away? He didn’t know who she was. He smiled slightly, as if he knew what she was thinking.
Georgie’s pussy quivered and liquefied.
In that moment, she couldn’t have been less of a badass. She didn’t even feel like she was eighteen. She was in that library again, getting her first eyeful of a totally naked man who did It for her.
Crap, she thought, her cheeks truly flaming now. Crap, crap, crap. She couldn’t let Tom drag her over there to him.
She twisted the other way, desperate to think of a reason to escape.
“Oh come on,” Tom said but, as it happened, rescue stood in front of her.
“Miss Georgie?” inquired a black-haired man she’d never seen before. He was short for a guy, no more than five feet tall, and wore the same boiled white shirt and tails the servers were dressed in. “Forgive me for interrupting but Alma, your guardian, has need of you.”
Georgie knew she shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but something about him—maybe the not-quite blackness of his eyes—drew her brows together. “Do you work here?”
“I am a member of your guardian’s staff. Won’t you come with me? The matter is urgent.”
“Is Alma hurt?” Georgie asked.
“She may be,” the short man said, “if we don’t hasten. She instructs you to bring a strong pair of shears.”
The practical request snapped Georgie out of her suspicion. “Hold on. I’ll grab some from the sideboard.”
“What is it?” Tom asked, focused on her again.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “Go have fun. I’ll be back once I take care of this.”
With any luck, by the time she returned, the heart-pounding, no-longer-naked photographer would have found someone else to fixate on.
GEORGIE WAS KIND ENOUGH not to comment on Luna’s predicament. No longer sure she could speak, the empress turned her back and gestured for Georgie to cut her from her trap. Mercifully, breaking the curse didn’t require more than human hands operating the sharp scissors. Without a hitch, Georgie snipped through the corset from hem to top.
Luna’s ribs still hurt after she was free. Georgie helped her into her waitin
g robe.
“Thank you,” Luna said, doing her best to stand straight and breathe evenly.
“No problem,” Georgie said. She scratched her temple. Though she seemed bemused, she wasn’t laughing even a little bit.
“Alma,” she said after a small hesitation. “You know you always look amazing, right? You don’t need to wear those things. I mean, it’s not my business, but it’s not worth risking your ribcage.”
“You’re right, of course,” Luna said. “In the future, I shall curb my vanity.”
Georgie smiled faintly and looked down. Maybe she realized Luna was vainer than she wanted to let on.
“How’s the party going?” Luna asked, unexpectedly needing to fill the pause.
“Good,” Georgie said. “Everything is beautiful. I should maybe get back to it. Do you need anything else from me?”
Luna shook her head.
“Great. I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll see you when you come down.”
She left with a little wave. Luna immediately went to examine the cut corset, which had fallen onto the chaise she’d been braced over. She didn’t touch it for fear of lingering booby-traps, but the inner side lay exposed.
Her breath sucked in as she spotted a satin-stitched, interwoven six-pointed star. This was the simplest form of the dread Solomon seal. Was Taytoch correct? Had the designer included it out of ignorance, perhaps to make the corset seem like it had special powers?
An even more sobering question occurred to her. Since Georgie freed her, did Luna owe her three wishes? This was standard after being released from a lamp or other cursed vessel. The empress had never heard of a human liberating a djinniya from a garment. Also, Georgie hadn’t uttered a magic formula. She’d simply used the shears.
Under those circumstances, shouldn’t Luna’s thanks be sufficient?
A nearly invisible shimmer told her Taytoch had returned to his prison.
“Show yourself,” she ordered.
Taytoch appeared in his usual blue scaly form, wisely already on one knee.
“Your man let me down,” she said, uninterested in debating if it had been deliberate. “By rights, I could demand his head on a platter of his guts.”
