Chapter Three
I hail a cab one street over from the library and head back to my home on Saber Lane.
Once there, I race past the gray lampposts that stand at the entrance and up the front steps of the brownstone that sits on the corner. I inherited my home from my grandmother, who raised me after my mother died.
The street itself consists of a wide walkway that ends in a dead end farther along. It’s a tourist destination, the buildings here hailing from every point in time from a 1950s bakery to a 1980s grocery store. Farther along is an apothecary’s shop that looks like it was dropped directly out of the late 1800s, and beyond it is an innocent-looking bookshop that is home to one of the deadliest assassins in Boston. I used to call the assassins my enemies, afraid of the violence they brought with them, but now we protect this street and all of the magical beings who live here.
Still, I told no one about my plans today, fearing the explanations I would have to give if I failed. I grimace as I push open my front door. I have many flaws—not being able to share my inner thoughts is one of them. But life taught me that to love means inviting pain into my life.
I closed my heart to love a long time ago, and when I finally took a chance and opened it…
Stormy gray eyes rise in my memory, the elusive scent of sandalwood aftershave, and arms that swept me off my feet and held me for mere seconds before the truth in his eyes shattered my hope.
With gritted teeth, I push away the memory of the only time that Alexei Mason nearly kissed me. Nearly. Until he realized that my power allowed me to see into his heart—to see that he could never love me.
That was when he let me go.
I shake off the memory. I have work to do.
If there’s a chance I’m going to The Monster Ball, I’ll need a dress. I can’t go out and buy one because the assassins will notice and ask questions. They see everything and have spies everywhere in Boston—even in a dress shop. I race upstairs and rummage through my closet to find a simple black dress. It’s nearly impossible to conjure something out of nothing, but I’m certain I can make a more elaborate dress out of this one.
Carrying it back downstairs to the parlor, I lay it over one of the chairs before I open the spellbook that sits on a pedestal in the center of the room.
“Pictures, not words,” I murmur to myself as I flip through the book. It’s my mantra, the trick that Alexei taught me to try to remember spells. I wasn’t going to take any chances with the angel in the library, but I’m willing to take leaps of faith within the safety of my own home.
I scan the beautification spell, taking in the words and picturing what I want inside my mind before I close the book, holding firmly to the image of the dress I want to create…
Power rises inside me, and it’s like a dewdrop sliding from my shoulders to my outstretched hands. The dress rises into the air in front of me, slowly turning.
Pictures… pictures…
As my power wraps around it, the entire dress morphs from opaque to diaphanous, layers of tulle taking shape into a sleeveless, plunging V-neck, tight waistline wrapped in a wide black ribbon, and gauzy folds falling to the floor. The skirt splits from the hem to the waist to form a high slit on the left side. There are enough layers that it will conceal my lady parts, but my silhouette will be clearly visible. Just to be sure nobody dares try anything, I conjure fine black vines, as thin as threads, to twine across the front and back of the bodice. Delicate vines also form inside the inner layer of the dress from the waist down. Those will wrap around my upper thighs when I put the dress on. A flower in the shape of a single black sunflower forms, petal by petal on the dress’s right shoulder, finishing off the neckline.
I approach the dress and run my fingertips along the vines, golden threads of power shimmering into it at my touch. Then I step back with a wicked smile. The dress now has an inbuilt system of protection. If anyone tries to grab me, thorns will form along the vines and give them a nasty surprise. If the stories are true, I won’t be allowed to take weapons into the Ball, but the vines count as decoration, so I’m hoping The Proprietor will allow me to wear them.
I’m not done yet. I spend the next few hours carefully copying out the spells I might need onto slips of paper that I turn into black flower petals. The handwriting on them disappears but will reappear at my touch in the shape of golden threads if I need it.
It’s unlike me to dress so provocatively, but The Monster Ball is not a place for the faint of heart.
So many monsters in one place.
I have no doubt I belong among them.
That night, my sleep is fitful. Alexei’s voice is a deep rumble in my memory, a sound like growling thunder.
Tanzanina Gray, you are nothing more to me than a chess piece…
A chess piece…
Nothing more…
I wake with a scream on my lips. “Damn you, Alexei Mason!”
Damn the look in his eyes when he told me that his feelings for me were not formed from love but from logic.
Damn the look in his eyes when he told me he would rather never see me again than treat me like a chess piece.
Damn him for being a Master Assassin, for knowing how to slay my heart as easily as he breaks necks with hands that make me shiver…
I draw my knees to my chest as the cruel light of the moon taunts me.
Alexei Mason, one of the three Master Assassins, had stayed in my home for weeks without ever crossing any lines. He never kissed me or touched me, but he was there for me, protected me, and at the end of that time, I was sure he loved me.
Then he told me the truth: that he was cursed a long time ago so he could never feel emotions. Not heartache. Not love. Not loss. Logic and reason dictate his actions.
He told me that he was drawn to me because logic told him my power would be an asset to him. He told me I deserved more. Then, he pushed me away.
I tried to lift his curse—tried to revive his emotions—and failed. Now, the revival spell is my last hope.
The moonlight flickers, making me squint. At first I think it’s my tears—the tears I refuse to show anyone—but the beam of light shining through my window flashes brightly.
Magic washes over me, making me flinch and my heart leap. At its bright center, a silvery slip of parchment takes shape.
I jolt upright into the glare, shielding my eyes as I snatch the parchment into my hand.
The light fades, allowing me to read aloud the script on the front: “The Monster Ball.”
On the other side, the invitation states:
Just as the moon has brought me to you,
So shall the moon bring you to the Ball.
All Hallows’ Eve.
The Witching Hour.
My first emotion is relief. My second is fear, but there was a time when I let fear rule my life. I’m done with that.
When midnight comes on All Hallows’ Eve, I’ll be ready.
Chapter Four
The enchanted vines twine around my upper arms as I slip on the black dress. The lower vines slip around my thighs to hug them. I test my ability to move, pleased to find that the vines are flexible and move with me. My makeup is already done. I don’t normally wear much of it, but tonight I need a face. Blood-red lips and dark eyelashes highlight the gold in my hair, some of which I have twirled up into a loose bun while the rest hangs free. I spin a spell to create another black sunflower, the stem of which pins my hair in place.
I give myself a final cursory glance in the mirror. Many supernaturals meet their match at The Monster Ball—many go to find love—but I am intent on going into battle.
At five minutes to midnight, I open my curtains and wait in the moonlight streaming through the window, the silver invitation clutched in my fist. I count the spells attached to my dress. I hope they’ll be enough.
The moonlight flashes, suddenly glinting off the window pane. My breath stops as I flinch away from the harsh glare.
Dirty pavers suddenly fill my
field of view, and the sounds of a city alive with nightlife bursts into my hearing. I draw upright, assessing my surroundings: a grimy sidewalk, trash cans, and an alley at the side.
Where am I?
I shiver, suddenly wishing I was wearing more than a few pieces of tulle and some flower petals. The alleyway beckons on my left, its darkness appealing. There must be an opening to a venue somewhere nearby. At least I can hide in the alleyway and figure out what to do next.
As I hurry into the shadows, a bright red door at the end of the alley catches my eye. I begin to relax since this has to be the place. Two stone gargoyles perch on either side of the door, level with its topmost edge. Their identical frozen forms don’t fool me for a second. I wonder for a moment if I’m in Chicago since that city has a gargoyle problem, but something tells me these guys are here for pleasure, not war.
As soon as I step within knocking distance of the door, the gargoyles transform into human form, their massive wings unfolding around them as they fly to the ground. Both are muscular and well-dressed in slacks and button-up shirts, dreadlocks falling about their shoulders. They have nearly identical features although one wears his dreads a little longer than the other.
I clear my throat and stand tall, meeting the first one’s gaze with a frosty glare. He wears shiny, red shoes and an all-white jacket with embossed damask print. At six feet tall, I’m accustomed to being eye-height, if not taller than most men. Alexei was the first man I’d met to tower over me.
The gargoyle wearing the red shoes arches an eyebrow at me, the hint of a smile playing around his lips.
Yeah, my tough act isn’t fooling him at all.
He shivers in an exaggerated manner and addresses his twin. “Lex, did the air just get a little too cold?”
Lex gives me a wink, stroking his goatee. “It shouldn’t have, Bronx. Something tells me the lady is in for a warm evening.”
Lex gives me a silent onceover with an amused expression before holding out his hand for my ticket. I hand it to him, conscious of other figures approaching behind me, and wait for the door to open.
I hurry inside, ignoring the click as the door closes behind me.
A long, decrepit hallway greets me, the peeling paint across its walls catching the distant light. It’s not exactly what I was expecting. So far, the path to the Ball has been grimy and dark. Maybe it’s all a lie and The Proprietor lures supernaturals here to steal their power just like my aunt tried to steal mine. My own aunt… and when my mother tried to defend me…
I shake off the memories, burying them again, but it’s nearly impossible to bury my instinctive magic, which is rising with my unease.
Without realizing, I break into a run, racing toward the rainbow lights filling the end of the hallway and the deep, throbbing music, needing to prove my own conspiracy theories wrong.
I burst into a large room and pull up sharply when a perfectly normal dance floor presents itself. My magic washes ahead of me and I try desperately to rein it in, taking deep breaths and attempting to suck the magic back to myself.
I don’t succeed before it zaps a male reclining on a furry white beanbag situated against the wall to my left. He’s lying on his side, facing me. His head jolts up, and his red lips part with surprise at the bite of magic. His female companion pulls him back to her neck, and he barely gives me another glance, fixating on her veins again.
Ugh. Lips red with blood. He’s dressed in an obnoxiously loud golden jacket with a gold bowtie that washes out his already pale skin and accentuates the dark rings under his eyes.
Farther along the wall, I make out the figure of another vampire with a gorgeous woman on his arm. Unlike the bloodsucker nearest to me, this vampire is smartly dressed in an expensive-looking black suit and has glittering red eyes. His date is slender with striking red hair. They have an air of danger about them and I turn away quickly, glad that I didn’t accidentally zap them. I don’t need to make enemies before I’ve even stepped into the room.
Although there are beanbags and couches lining this side of the room, the majority of the floor space is taken up by the large dance floor, where couples already groove to the thumping beat, their feet kicking up the misty haze of smoke that floats across the ground. A thundercloud of neon lights fills the ceiling, obscuring everything farther up. I make out an overhanging loft that lines the perimeter on the second level and looks down on the dance floor where I stand.
My heart thumps in time to the music. I fight my fear of new places, of being in an environment that I don’t control. After Mom’s death, I rarely left Saber Lane. Even going to the library was a trip I planned well ahead of time.
Now I’m in a completely uncontrolled, unfamiliar environment.
The last thing I need is for my instinctive magic to rear its head in an ugly way. The first time it burst out of me, I created a storm that blew a small army aside. I don’t think the partygoers in this room would take kindly to that sort of treatment. Not least because they’re all magical, all monsters like me.
I situate myself against the nearest wall, away from the vampires, to get a sense of my surroundings. I was hoping I’d be able to identify Mother Kadris right away, but the lighting makes it nearly impossible to recognize auras in this place. I’ll have to search each level. Starting with the dance floor.
An ironic smile spreads across my lips. Here I am, pressed up against the wall in a dress covered in nature.
I always was a wallflower.
Well, no more. Get on with it, Tansy.
Skirting the room, I head to the bar on the right-hand side at the front. I could use something to steady my nerves and moving through the room allows me to surveil it.
I take my time, assessing everyone I pass. Mother Kadris’s power will be immense. Her presence should hit me like a sledgehammer, but so far… nothing.
Two bars line the front of the room, each with cement tops patterned with glowing crystals that pulse in time to the music. Behind the bars, glowing shelves makes bottles of liquid glitter—more liquids than I can identify, the most obvious ones being blood, soda, alcohol, and—to my surprise—simple water.
Squinting to identify the magical nature of each of the four bartenders, I quickly assess my options. One of the bartenders at the bar on the right is a witch—I can just make out her aura around her head of long, pink hair. It’s unlikely that Mother Kadris would work here, but I need to get closer to the pink-haired witch to be sure.
I take a seat in front of the other bartender at the same bar. He has piercing blue eyes, long dreads, and the aura of a shifter, but I’m not sure which kind. Freckles across the bridge of his nose dust his golden skin. He gives me a warm glance, leaning forward to speak above the thumping music.
“Alone tonight?” a deep African voice asks.
I don’t detect an insult in his words, but I bristle anyway. “I’m always alone.”
“Aren’t we all?” he muses, a philosophical light entering his eyes.
I only sat in front of him so I could check out the witch, but up close, I’m suddenly fascinated by the freckles on the shifter’s nose.
I squint. “Are you a… lion?”
I’ve never met a lion shifter before. Wolves, jaguars, and bears even, but lions are rare in my experience.
He gives me a nod and a smile that makes my heart skip a beat. A very good-looking lion. “What can I get you to drink?”
I falter. My reclusive life on Saber Lane involved hot chocolates from Dean’s Diner more frequently than alcohol. I may be twenty-three years old, but my knowledge of alcohol is sorely lacking. I don’t know the names of any of the drinks. I press my lips together before I make a fool of myself and ask for water.
I take a deep breath. “What do you recommend?”
“Well, that would be my specialty: a drink I like to call ‘Shifts and Giggles.’”
The witch bartender suddenly angles toward us, taking a moment between serving drinks. Her pink hair swishes around her shoulder
s, her brown eyes sparkling. “Oh, honey, don’t ask Barassa what you should drink. He’ll give you something boring.”
I flick a glance at the drink that continues to prepare itself at the bar where she was previously standing. I try to hide my smile when I realize that she’s using her magic to mix drinks while she talks to me. She’s powerful, but her power doesn’t bite me like Mother Kadris’s will. She’s not my target.
One witch down and however many more to go.
Barassa growls at her, but it’s a playful sound. There doesn’t seem to be a bad bone in his body, but I have no doubt that if push came to shove, this lion would be a formidable opponent. “Back off, Onyx. The lady can choose for herself. Don’t think I didn’t see you steal my luster dust just now.”
She huffs at him, rolls her eyes, and returns to her work.
Their playful encounter lightens my mood.
“Shifts and Giggles sounds good to me,” I declare, settling into the industrial metal stool.
I consider Barassa’s movements carefully as he mixes the drink from apple cider, spiced rum, and cranberry juice, pouring in a splash of grenadine and adding a pinch of what looks like fairy dust—which must be the luster dust he was talking about—before he shakes it over ice. Just like his freckles, I’m fascinated by the rhythm in his drink-making, my gaze shifting from his hands to his piercing eyes.
He’s gorgeous, and his growing smile makes my heart hammer, but my response is purely physical. My heart… has other ideas.
Barassa passes me the drink, and I gulp a mouthful before I lose my nerve and ask for water after all. The liquid is deliciously sweet, and I’m immediately filled with an odd sense of happiness and belonging.
Turning the drink around in my hands, I consider my next move. Rainbow staircases are situated on each side of the room, leading to the overhanging loft, but I need to finish checking the dance floor first.
A flash of purple catches my eye. In the colorful lighting, it takes me a moment to identify the female with lavender hair dancing nearby. Her black halter-neck dress sparkles as though stars are inlaid in the material and a silver nose ring catches the light as she grooves in time with the music. The powerful aura around her is controlled in a way that makes me frown. She’s a witch, but there’s something missing, something I can’t put my finger on. Her power is repressed somehow. She’s alone but obviously not afraid to dance by herself.
The Monster Ball Year 2 Page 59
