Illuminate: A Gilded Wings Novel, Book One

by Aimee Agresti

  And so we sat, planning as the early morning hours wore on, creating an interlocking harmony out of our three trajectories. It struck me that, subject matter aside, this is what it might have been like these past several months if this internship had turned out to be the experience we had expected: Dante, Lance, and me sitting around on a Friday night, sharing some snacks and talking. That would have been really nice.

  When we finally felt as prepared as any of us could, we adjourned our meeting. It was after five in the morning and we all knew that we had to sleep. But none of us quite welcomed the thought of having to close our eyes and potentially invite in the demons that had attacked me the night before. So we took turns. Two of us at a time drifted off while one stayed up on guard. We stayed in Lance and Dante’s room, as I had no interest in being alone in mine. The hours passed without interruption.

  Saturday was eerily quiet in that calm-before-the-storm sort of way. We saw no traces of Aurelia or Lucian but spotted some familiar faces from school checking into the hotel in the afternoon. Lance’s mom swung by dropping off his rental tux, and Dante’s tux too, all crammed in the same garment bag (we didn’t want Ruthie stopping by the hotel, just in case anyone happened to be watching). I wished I had had a legitimate reason to see Joan. I called her but feared I couldn’t stay on very long without her wondering what was with me. I stood outside on the sidewalk with my cell phone pressed to my ear. I remembered the day she dropped me off at this very spot. I had had no idea what I was in for back then and yet I had still been nervous. I could laugh at that now.

  “Are you getting excited? You’ll be beautiful in that dress. Take pictures!” Joan urged.

  “Thanks, yeah, I will.”

  “Just a few weeks and you’ll be back here for the summer, can you believe it?”

  “I know.” But I couldn’t believe it. I could hope, but I couldn’t quite believe.

  “The girls at the hospital are so excited. It’s just not the same without you. We need you there to keep us young!”

  “I try.”

  “Well, honey, have a wonderful time tonight and I want to hear all about it tomorrow, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Say hi to Dante. I’m so glad he’s better, and that Lance.”

  “I will . . . I love you, Joan. Thank you for, you know, for everything, all the time.” It sounded so feeble, but what more could I say without getting her nervous? I could feel the beads of sweat springing up along my forehead. It had to be in the eighties.

  “Haven, honey, don’t be worried about this silly dance. I know it’s not your thing, but you’re going to have fun. Maybe it’ll surprise you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I love you, dear.”

  “Love you too.”

  “Talk tomorrow.”

  I hoped so.

  Lance and Dante were picking me up at seven. Two pseudo-semi dates to the prom? Add that to the ever-expanding list of things I never would have thought might have happened back when I moved into this hotel. At five minutes to seven, I sat on my bed in that dress, my heels on, my new hair and makeup—minimal, but still—done, and I stared down that book. I had managed to put off looking at it all day, as though remaining in a state of blissful ignorance could save my life. But I had a responsibility to myself to read it now. I had reached the end, just a page or two left to be written upon. It couldn’t have much still to tell me. Sure enough, today’s date was marked, and this:

  Forget about dates and times and whatever you have been told may happen today and begin acting in a manner commensurate with who you are and who you want to be. You have all the tools to make it through today. Just be smart, be strong, and don‘t lose faith in yourself.

  You are more equal in strength to these creatures than you have realized. Own that feeling. Command it. Command them. You will need every ounce of your power to attempt to defeat them. Regardless of the final outcome, I can guarantee that the bloodshed and destruction will be far greater if you don‘t fight to your full capacity. Rise up, winged one—it‘s time.

  It continued to give me mixed messages, this thing. It must just be a nice way of not wanting to tell me I’m definitely going to die today. Or else it was a not-so-nice way of telling me I have nothing to lose, so live the day with that in mind.

  Three quick knocks rattled the door, just in time to save me from thinking too much.

  I opened up and Dante stood there, a black fedora atop his freshly shorn head.

  “Happy Prom,” he said, pretending to be excited.

  “Here’s hoping it is,” I said kissing him on the cheek.

  He held out a piece of hotel stationery he had origami’d into a flower. “And you don’t even have to water it,” he added with a smirk. I had to chuckle.

  “Thank you, you’re too kind.” I set it down on the night table, in the spot once occupied by Lucian’s flower that had refused to die. “This reminds me. I have something for you too.”

  “You do? Aw shucks.” Dante tossed himself onto the bed.

  I dug into my dresser and took out the small plastic bag from the vintage store in Belmont. “Is Lance standing us up?”

  “That guy is still getting ready.”

  “Really?”

  “In his defense, I kind of hogged the mirror.”

  “Not surprised. Well, in the meantime.” I handed the bag to him. “This is the finishing touch for your ensemble.”

  He pulled out the belt with the flames. He laughed.

  “I love it! I’m putting it on right now!” He stood up.

  “Just a little something to remember our time here. We’ll always have Metamorfosi.”

  “You said it, sister.” He unlooped his belt, the one with his name in sparkles that I wore our first night there. “By the way, um, hello, you look totally gorgeous, Hav. Spin around or something.” I did, very embarrassed. His got serious for a moment. “A daring choice,” he said, noting the significance of my wearing this particular style. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks. If ever there was a time to be daring, this is it, right?”

  He smiled and finished looping his belt. Another knock came at the door.

  “Come in,” Dante said in a high-pitched voice.

  Lance peeked in: “Hi.” He stood in the open doorway. He simultaneously looked perfect and yet bewildered that he was in a tuxedo.

  “You look . . . really pretty,” he said to me, stumbling. “You too, Dante,” he added.

  “Thanks, you too—handsome, I mean,” I said, just as smoothly.

  “Thanks. Check this out.” Dante held his jacket open to show off the belt.

  “Very nice,” Lance said.

  “So, whaddya say? Should we get this party started?” Dante asked, a touch of nervousness slipping out through his pep.

  I grabbed my purse from the bed and its lightness reminded me of the weightiness of tonight.

  All I had in there was a Swiss army knife. Of all things. Dante was already out the door.

  “Hey, just one thing before we go.” They both turned around to face me. “I, um, I don’t really know how this is all going to go tonight. And I just wanted to thank you both for everything and tell you that—”

  “Nope,” Dante blurted out. We looked at him. “Save it. Tell us tomorrow,” he said.

  “But—”

  “Tell us tomorrow,” he said again, annunciating each word so I understood perfectly. “Okay?”

  “Okay.” I nodded with as much confidence as I could muster.

  “You know what?” Lance stepped forward, pushing up his sleeve and unsnapping his cuff. “I think you should have this tonight.” He took my hand and fastened the cuff on my wrist, a corsage.

  “But . . .”

  “No. Please. There are no clipped wings tonight,” he said, holding my newly cuffed wrist.

  “Well, if you’re sure—”

  “I am.”

  “Thank you.” I touched the delicate golden wing embedded in it, a m
irror image of the pendant I had had. “Well, I promise to give it back as soon as I retrieve mine.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” he said.

  As soon as we reached the lobby, we had to slow our pace to begin processing it all. Limos pulled up outside, and classmates of ours, whom we hadn’t seen in so long, milled around, greeting each other and climbing the grand staircase in packs. To see them rush in, all bubbly excitement and wide eyes, was to see ourselves on that first day in the hotel. Girls hugged, boys gave each other fist bumps, and all—even the ones who considered themselves too cool to care—took in the hotel’s grandeur. They gazed up at the chandelier, sparkling more than ever, a few of them even pointing. They craned their necks to see what lay around every corner and motioned back to the elevator that could take them down to the Vault—a place that, judging from the snippets of conversation we caught passing by, everyone seemed curious to check out. And their dreams would be coming true; tonight the under-twenty-one crowd was allowed in, provided they wore the fluorescent bracelets that would be slapped on their wrists at the door. It was a funny feeling, being reminded that these places that we had had the run of for several months held such intense allure for others.

  “Does anyone else feel as weirdly nervous about seeing all these people as they do about facing mortal danger tonight?” Dante asked, as the three of us ascended the staircase amid the masses flowing in.

  “I’m glad it’s not just me,” I admitted. It was a little overwhelming, a shock to the system to suddenly be surrounded by people our age, these people who never paid us much attention but who, at least to their credit, weren’t devils meaning us harm. They had no idea how very different the three of us were from them. It was like observing another species, to see them entirely consumed by things like getting the perfect group shot in front of the spotted cow, where a group of girls, all cheerleaders in well-coifed updos with not a hair out of place, struck a pose as one of their dates snapped away.

  The party was in full swing: music blaring; lights blinking; our fellow classmates squealing gleefully, sipping their flaming, supposedly virgin drinks and chomping on precious canapés served by the Outfit’s most elite members. We stood in a corner, surveying the scene within earshot of a posse of seniors—the most well-known clique in the school. The boys tossed back their drinks, slouching coolly with hands in their pockets. The girls hung all over them; they all looked like naturals at this place. But a pair of blondes nearest us, both in sequined gowns and precisely stenciled makeup, had their eyes set on the drink station across the room, where two magazine-ad-perfect Outfit men doled out glass after glass to smiling girls and their intimidated dates.

  “We’ve totally gotta just camp out over there, he’s so hot. And the other one too. I could go for either one,” one of them said.

  “I bet they’re models,” said the other.

  “Like, underwear models.”

  “They must go on break sometime.”

  “But, oh my god, they’re probably hooking up with, like, ALL these totally hot bitches. I hate them.” Both scanned the room, letting their ire skip from Outfit girl to Outfit girl. I had to smile at this. I followed their line of vision, out of the corner of my eye, and saw them watching Mirabelle. A glance at Lance and Dante, and an exchange of smirks and shakes of the head, told me they had been listening in too. Like me, they were probably thinking, Oh, what those girls don’t know.

  “So I hear everyone’s hitting the club later,” one of the girls’ dates, whom I recognized as the football team’s quarterback, announced to their little group. “You guys in?”

  “Totally!” said the first blonde.

  “Dying to see that place!” said the other. “But we need more drinks, right back. C’mon Stace.” Arm in arm, the girls beelined for the bar across the room. I had never spoken to any of them in my life, but I knew who they all were and, for the first time ever, found it oddly comforting being near them: they were a brief escape. They had no idea what was going on tonight. If only I could have come here tonight feeling that same way.

  I was used to feeling removed from these people, feeling like I hovered on their periphery, but now, I felt that way for an entirely new reason. I knew things that they didn’t—I knew they were at risk here and I knew that Lance, Dante, and I, of all people, were the ones expected to keep them safe. This knowledge pushed down into my skin; it made my now-so-exposed scars flare in protest and fear. How was I supposed to not fear failure? That didn’t make any sense at all. I wondered if Dante and Lance felt this now too.

  Dante’s eyes followed each server, just as they seemed to take note of his presence. He whipped his head around keeping them in his sights. I could feel his anxiety radiating from him.

  “I’m gonna start my laps. That okay?” he asked Lance.

  Lance was in charge of our schedule. He had said to us last night, “If you’ll be the talent, I’d like to be the ‘architect’ of the plan.” He had even made little quote marks around architect with his fingers. “What’s with the quotes?” I had asked. He looked embarrassed. “That’s what the postcard said—I’m the ‘Architect.’” To which Dante had declared: “Well, then build it, baby!” So we were in agreement, and Dante and I were plenty relieved since neither of us knew where to begin coordinating everything.

  Dante would be stationed in the ballroom, on the front lines of the battleground for the buying and selling of souls. He would monitor the party guests, look for signs that any of the poisons had managed to seep into the food and drink and if so, he would administer the necessary antidotes, spiking drinks with any of the loads of potions and spices he had tucked into every pocket of his tux. Unfortunately for him, he was also a target—Etan could easily hunt him down any minute and decide to try to take his soul on the spot. There was no way around it.

  I had to destroy the photo of Aurelia, which meant destroying her in the process. While I snuck off to Aurelia’s office, Lance would keep an eye on Lucian to check that he didn’t follow me. Then he would make his way downstairs where all the other Outfit photos were stashed, including the ones snapped with Lance’s cell phone. They were ready to go. We’d even removed the glass from the framed ones (all but Aurelia’s in her lair) for easy access. He would guard them until I came and then I’d slash them all, since only I could do this, and we’d all, presumably, be safe and they would return to hell. When I thought about all that needed to happen tonight, I had to actively work to fend off my nausea.

  Lance nodded at Dante, giving him the go-ahead.

  “And then there were two,” I said to Lance.

  “Yep.” He looked nervous. I wished he didn’t look exactly how I felt. He seemed to know this and his face firmed up. “Do you see how many of the Outfit are here? Heavy hitters. So we’ll hang out a few minutes and then do some recon.”

  I nodded. “I feel like we should be holding drinks.”

  “Good idea: a prop. Don’t go anywhere.” He went off in search of our props. People were dancing; I was counting the minutes until I would have to go. The next part of the schedule would be far more terrifying than this. An Outfit girl buzzed by with a tray, and a whole swarm of guys stopped her, swooping in to grab what looked like pigs in a blanket. One, with shaggy hair and a crooked smile, attempted to chat her up: “So, do you, like, work here? Or are you in school?” I tried to shuffle out of the way. I was so engrossed in this mating dance, I almost didn’t realize another one of the guys in the group was actually speaking to me.

  “Hey! Hey,” he said again, getting my attention. “Do you go here? Evanston?” It was a kid on the basketball team.

  “Yeah,” I said coolly.

  “I told you,” another voice said, moving forward from behind the pack. He licked his fingers, speaking with his mouth full. Jason Abington.

  “Hi. I was in your English class,” I said to him, simply. “You have, like, twenty-five of my pens. The blue ones . . . they’re translucent?”

  “Ohhhh . . . yeah, you
.” He snapped his fingers, suddenly placing me. “You look different.”

  “I cut my hair.”

  He sized me up. “Cool. Looks good.”

  Courtney swooped in, looping her arms around Jason’s shoulders and neck, attaching herself in barnacle fashion and recapturing his gaze for the moment, though he looked a little bored by it all, if you asked me. The shaggy-haired guy and the basketball star each got claimed by Courtney’s fellow prom committee members. Everyone pairing off so predictably, so easily. How nice for them.

  “Come, Jas, you’ve got to see the cow I picked out, he’s the cutest!” Courtney cooed at him, shooting me a look.

  “Enjoy,” I said to Jason, not feeling that pang I might’ve once felt. I wasn’t interested. After all I’d seen and the people I’d met, this crowd just seemed so lightweight. Even their romances, which had been so fascinating at school, looked dull up close now. “Go have fun. She really knows her bovines.”

  Lance appeared with our drinks. “Let me guess, they were trying to draft you for mathletes.”

  “How’d you know?” I took the flaming glass. “Thanks. Yikes, this thing again.” Despite Dante’s precautions, I wasn’t going to drink it. It was a prop only.

  “I know.” He shook his head. He moved in front of me. “So I know it’s earlier than we planned, but Lucian is over there, over my left shoulder, straight back.” He said it calmly but with an edge that implied the Grim Reaper had arrived and it was showtime. I looked quickly and then back into Lance’s eyes.

  “So I should go now, shouldn’t I?”