“Beautiful.” Sterling voiced what Elise was too shy to say about herself.
Her father was long gone, already having left for the gala, while her mother had gone to the theater. Elise had to act like she was perfectly fine staying home alone, insisting that Sterling was out working all night. Now she stood in front of the massive mirror in her bedroom and gaped at the dress crushing her body. It was a beautiful gown, she did love it. It was just so much. At first glance, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable dress; it was a pearlescent white with a skirt that hung down to her ankles. Layers of silk and split lace made up the skirt, weighing it down with each step she took. The sleeves were sheer with tiny rhinestone details, making her arms look shimmery under the light.
She glanced at Sterling in the mirror. “Dashing.” Her eyes roamed over the fitted black suit he wore. His hair was styled closely to his head, brown curls popping in all the right places. One curl hung over his forehead and when he smiled, a dimple creased in his cheek, making him the perfect poster of a charming, clean-cut gentleman.
Sterling knew he was a looker, but he never let it lead him astray. No matter how many beautiful girls told him how attractive he was, he remained focused on what was right in front of him, working on having the best footing in his job. For as long as Elise had known him, she had not known him to date. He took girls out here and there, but they never stuck around for more than a few nights. Thalia was the only person Elise had seen him so close to. And now she was gone.
“I always imagined you would take Thalia to a ball like this,” Elise said quietly.
Sterling’s smile waned and for a moment, Elise thought he would change the subject. But he shrugged and spoke up, “I always wanted to. But she was busy with her research. I miss her. So much.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead, groaning.
Part of Elise wanted to unpack those residual feelings. But he was already moving away from her. “Promise me you will come to me when you need to talk,” she said.
“If you think I’ll disappear again and wind up in some alley, you are mistaken. I am completely healed now,” Sterling said in a tightly amused voice.
Elise laughed. “Right.”
Sterling grinned, but she saw the inescapable sadness in his eyes, and she knew it would consume him if she continued to bring up the past. “Tonight, we don’t have to be ourselves. We can be the most outrageous socialites New York has ever seen,” Elise said.
The light sprung back into his eyes. Elise hoped it would stay for a while.
Sterling handed her the masquerade mask they had bought earlier that week. Elise’s was ornate, made of a gold so pale, it looked white in the dark, but the instant the light hit it, the gold came out in brilliant hues. Long, crystal designs spiraled from the edges of the mask. They weighed it down a bit, but it was something Elise was willing to deal with as long as it kept her identity secret.
“I can be the angel.” The mask completely covered Elise’s face; she looked like a stunning socialite, ready to mingle and perhaps donate a few hundred dollars to a less-than-stellar cause. She pulled a pair of satin gloves onto her hands, then pushed a large pearl ring onto her ring finger. “And you can be the devil.” Elise tapped her fingers together as Sterling pulled his mask on.
His was silver with sequined accents and black feathers on the edges. He looked different with his curls defined and done loosely rather than flattened completely down like he usually wore them. Even without the mask, Elise hardly recognized him. But with it on, she thought she would need to keep her arm on him the entire time to not lose him that night at the party.
Sterling watched them in the mirror. “The perfect unholy pair.”
The plain black dress from before was “not acceptable for a high-society party,” according to Mei. The dress ended up wrinkled on her bedroom floor, anyway. All Layla had needed help with was styling the dress. The next thing she knew, she was writhing beneath Mei in the bed, her dress discarded.
Layla had sat up later, hair messy and lips swollen, then her eyes widened on the dress. “Mei…”
“You should really throw that rag away,” Mei had muttered sleepily into her pillow.
“No, this is an emergency—I’m supposed to be somewhere in an hour!” Layla nearly shouted.
Mei finally sat up, yawning. “Borrow one of my dresses. I stole most from Valeriya, so they will probably fit your needs.”
Layla crossed her arms. “We aren’t even close to the same size, or style.”
“I thought this was an emergency?” Mei asked, brows raised. She glared at Layla’s sparse drawers. “You certainly cannot wear any of that.”
Layla pursed her lips. “Fine. But I won’t wear something shiny, or sparkly—”
“That’s half of my closet, Quinn.” Mei smirked, pushing past her. “I’ll bring you something I’ve been dying to see on you.”
The dress that Mei had been dying to see on Layla was something Layla would have preferred to die before rather than wear. But no matter how uncomfortable Layla felt in such a flashy dress, she could not deny that it looked stunning.
As if the bright red fabric wasn’t enough, Mei insisted that Layla wear satin gloves that matched and a silver hair comb that nestled in her curls. She felt ridiculous in the red skirt and corset bodice. But it fit her body so well, Layla couldn’t stop smoothing her hands over her hips and enjoying the way they curved beneath her palms. She wondered if this was the delight Mei felt when she touched her. Layla’s face heated at the thought, but another part of her fluttered with delicate joy.
It had been so long since Layla let herself take pleasure in the small things that brought a smile to her face. This time, she allowed herself the happiness. Maybe this time she was doing well. Maybe this time the happiness was deserved.
Mei’s hands trailed over Layla’s waist and across her hip bone while she leaned in to whisper. “Don’t ruin my dress.”
Layla rolled her eyes. She pulled away and reached for the red mask on her nightstand. “Help me with this?” Layla asked.
Mei tied the red mask into place on Layla’s head, and when Layla finally got a good look in the mirror, her stomach clenched. She looked like a completely different person. Of course there were holes for her eyes, but the mask mostly hid the reaper sheen that covered her eyes. Layla would have to be careful to not smile too wide in order to keep her reaper teeth hidden, but other than that, she looked positively human.
She wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t look like herself, but Layla felt as if she was stepping into a new part of her life. Her curls fell past her ribs, the silver comb keeping them out of her face while she moved.
“You look like you’ll need a chaperone tonight,” Mei murmured. She stared hard at Layla’s reflection in the mirror.
Layla snorted and turned to face her friend. “I have a chaperone. He has killed just as many people as you, if not more. I think I’ll be fine.”
Mei stopped short. “Layla, I swear to God if it’s—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Layla blew a mocking kiss to Mei as she left the room.
Elise’s mouth went dry when she saw Layla. The noise of the party in the ivy-ridden mansion just a few yards away died down and her mind filled with one thing: Layla. Her lips parted to say something, but no words came out. She was completely wrapped up in Layla’s presence and she wasn’t even close enough to hear whatever words Layla was muttering to her partner.
The red dress was one thing and the glittering mask was a complete other thing, but the energy that radiated from Layla was everything. Elise could not even properly see her face, but she would have recognized that sharp stance and threatening aura from a mile away. Having lived in New York and France all of her life, Elise had beheld many exquisite things in her life and been witness to incredibly beautiful experiences. But Layla Quinn in a dress that served her devotion for subtle violence topped every last one.
“Ah, we meet again.”
It wasn’t until he spoke that Elise recognized the tall man dressed in a nice suit who stood beside Layla. Even in the low light illuminating the gravel driveway they stood in, she could see the glimmer of defiance in his blue eyes.
The realization knocked every ounce of heated affection she had just felt toward Layla out of her system. “You cannot be serious,” Elise hissed.
Layla and Jamie Kelly stood before her with devious smiles on their faces. They looked like an odd match. Jamie was well over six feet, his posture relaxed with his hands in his pockets, while Layla’s height barely passed five feet and her shoulders were as rigid as her jaw was sharp.
“Is there a problem?” Layla asked.
Elise tried to step toward her, but Sterling gripped her arm, holding her in place. “You brought a gangster to a political fundraiser?” she hissed.
Layla glanced up at Jamie, whose grin widened. She looked back at Elise. “Sure. What are they going to do? Kill me?” Layla flashed her fangs, and something hot buzzed up Elise’s spine at the sight.
For a moment, Elise went completely speechless. Her eyes lingered on Layla, trying to dissect the pretty package this devil had come in. The red dress no longer held a powerful spark over her; the moment Layla opened her mouth, her damn attitude ruined any impassioned feelings.
“The funny thing is your father invited me, Saint. I supplied for most of this party. He might be more crooked than you realize,” Jamie said in a humor-filled voice. He draped an arm across Layla’s shoulders and even with the mask covering most of her face, Elise saw irritation pass over her expression. But she didn’t shake Jamie off.
A bitter taste filled Elise’s mouth just watching them. She turned in to Sterling’s arms and ground out, “Let’s go inside.”
The inside of the mansion was just as bright and festive as Layla imagined it would be. The ballroom held most of the party, where people danced and mingled, but Layla saw guests hanging on the nearby spiral staircase and sneaking through the various doors around the massive house. It was rumored to be owned by a millionaire who didn’t even live there, only used it for galas and lent it out to members of high society. The room opened up into a kaleidoscope of color and chaos. Brilliant lanterns hung down from the tall ceilings or were strung along the railing of the grand staircase that led to the main party floor. Tinsel and festoons streamed from everywhere. Layla had only been inside for a few minutes, but already, a piece of shiny foil from the decor clung to her jaw. The entire atmosphere was a warm, golden glow of excitement that had people downing drinks until their eyes shone with the light of the stars, but the most alluring part of the party was the music.
Some danced, drinks in hand; socialites gossiped behind feathered fans, eyes alight with the thrill of exchanging expensive secrets. Heiresses shrugged in lengthy fur coats while they waved diamond-clad hands in each other’s faces and compared the sizes of the fortunes they were destined to inherit. Governors stood by gangsters, ashes from their cigars dusting into their liquor. Smiles were shared and euphoria spread like smoke through the crowd. A proud trumpeter stood on the stage in the center of the room. His vocalists moved around him, skirts glimmering under the lights, voices booming and glorious while they led the band in summertime music.
Layla almost forgot she was there to do a job when the band began to play. So badly, she wanted to lift her skirt and spin around and around until the room became a wild blur of dazzling colors. It had been ages since she was surrounded by such soulful music.
Jamie put his hand on her back. “I’m getting us drinks. So we blend in,” he said loudly over the music and winked.
“I’ll come.” Anything to put distance between her and the Saint heiress.
Out in the courtyard, Layla had done her best to hide her visceral reaction to seeing Elise done up and dressed to rival the exquisiteness of the moon. There were a thousand lights taking up the sky tonight, and Layla was convinced they all shined for Elise. She couldn’t believe how instantly her senses had picked up on Elise’s presence. Even before turning the corner, she’d smelled her blood. Layla had made sure to feed so as not to have any mishaps tonight, but Elise was overpowering, like a deafening roar that buzzed all the way through her body.
Layla’s teeth sank into her cheeks. Her fangs pierced the soft flesh until blood spilled into her mouth. The calming effect was immediate, but not nearly enough to subdue the tension that Elise roused in Layla.
While waiting for Jamie to pour their drinks, Layla found herself watching Elise on the dance floor. Her arms were around Sterling’s shoulders, his hands on her hips, and they swayed to the patient beats of the music. Each time Sterling said something that made Elise smile, a bitterness rose in her throat. That used to be Layla, sharing jokes and being spoken to in hushed voices and teasing tones. That used to be Layla, who had a pretty girl smiling at her jokes and telling her that she loved her more than the moon loved the stars.
That used to be Layla, who was Elise’s best friend. The hollow pang of loss rang through her again. Layla was beginning to think it would never go away.
How long could she live with pain chasing her everywhere she went? How long could she outrun it for?
“A drink for my lady.” Jamie pressed a cool glass filled with a clear liquid into her hand.
Layla took one sip and sighed. The liquor went down roughly, but she welcomed the burn. Any distraction to keep her from circling the same Elise-shaped thoughts. “Not a single bit of irony has escaped me at the fact that we are at a political fundraiser to which gangsters were invited and alcohol is being served. There is truly no grace in this world.”
“Politicians claim to hate us because we break their laws, but they hire us to break their laws. They are so dumb.” He chuckled. “We’re just doing our jobs. And we have them wrapped around our fingers. Alcohol is a powerful drug, and everyone here is crooked because of it.” Jamie raised his glass.
Layla lifted a brow, thinking of just how cruel white people could be to Black people just existing. “Among other things.”
“Everyone here is crooked. No matter how rich and powerful,” Jamie said.
“The more money, the less morals,” Layla muttered.
“Imagine the number of writers who came just to spin a story out of the corruption they find here,” Jamie said. His eyes flitted around the room and Layla followed him, spotting a young Black woman with a dark hat and full lips wearing a smile by the bar. Her silver pen hovered over a blank page. “There’s one,” Jamie muttered. He sipped slowly on what Layla assumed was a whiskey, by the way the dark liquid sloshed around in his glass. “I thought you were supposed to be here for a purpose. Why is the Saint girl canoodling and dancing?”
Layla resisted the urge to look back at Elise. She continued to stare hard at Jamie while she spoke. “It’s not so simple. How normal would it look if we were just marching between a crowd of dancing people while we searched high and low for anything suspicious?” Layla asked.
It wasn’t a question that warranted an actual answer, but Jamie, being the insufferable man he was, answered it anyway. “I have been to parties where it is completely normal for couples to end up on the floor.” He looked around, face alight with wonder. “Clearly, this party is not one of those.”
“I don’t know, Jamie. Maybe you should get on the floor and find out,” Layla teased.
Jamie leaned down so he was eye to eye with her. “Only if you do it with me—”
“No. None of that.” Elise Saint suddenly emerged to interrupt them. She fanned herself with her gloved hands, though her cheeks only shined with her perfectly applied makeup. Layla’s eyes roamed over the Saint heiress. Even her sweat made her look luminous, like a heavenly body. She was a true Saint, through and through. “You two need to be listening in to as many conversations as possible,” Elise said. She gave a quick wave to the bartender and he brought out two vodka shots. “Sterling.” Elise handed one to her friend. They tipped their glasses together, then swallowed the shots at once. Sterling did not flinch, but Elise began fanning herself again while her eyes watered after she swallowed the vodka. “Okay. That should be good.” She tried to smile, but Layla saw her lips tremble.
She held her hand out, intending to touch Elise, as if she could absorb her anxiety for her. But right before they made contact, Layla dropped her hand. Instead, her fingers trailed over the thick fabric of Elise’s dress. And as if she could feel the heat of the Saint heiress through the silk, she clenched her hand into a fist, locking the dress in her grasp. Layla let out a breathy sigh. Elise was so focused on Sterling, she did not notice, but Layla’s head felt light, her mind dizzy with exhilaration from being so close to her. The sweet scent of her warm blood and gentle perfume only intoxicated her further. Layla inhaled, the fabric slipping through her fingers as Elise moved back onto the dance floor with Sterling.
Jamie sneered after them. “I have never in my life seen a more miserable person,” he said.
Something about his mocking tone being directed at a wounded Elise made irritation flare in Layla. “Shut up,” she snapped.
The look in Elise’s eyes while she swallowed the shot, the tremor in her hands while she fanned herself, made Layla’s chest ache. Those episodes of deep dread and panic had never fully left Elise as a child. She remembered Elise telling her about how being around a lot of people tended to stress her out. Layla would offer her her hand to squeeze whenever she got overwhelmed, and she never complained, even if it felt like there was a boulder crushing her fingers.
“You’re like my rock,” Elise had said one night after a huge party her dad had thrown to celebrate the city’s reduced reaper population.
Layla looked at the purple marks on her hand from Elise’s grip. She wanted to show Elise and laugh about it, maybe say something along the lines of “I’m almost positive you are the rock in this relationship, not me.” But the fresh apprehension in Elise’s eyes stopped her.
“I take that back. You’re more like my wrap, or my medicine. When I’m around too many people, or when the world gets to be too much, I feel like an open wound. But you…” Elise’s breath quivered. “You are like a bandage that holds me together.”
Layla had smiled back. The moonlight flickering in from the window illuminated Elise’s face at the perfect moment so her joy was on full display.
As much as she hated to admit it, it killed Layla that Elise had no way to grab for that relief tonight. Sterling might have been her friend, but Layla knew Elise was harder to crack open than a diamond. And she didn’t see him walking about with bruises on his hands from Elise’s anxious grip.
Layla didn’t even realize she was stepping toward Elise until Jamie grabbed her elbow. “This way,” he barked, pulling her into the throng of drunk, dancing people. “Careful of your mask. Make sure it doesn’t fall off.”
Into the crowd they went. People enveloped Layla from every angle and she immediately became overwhelmed with all the sweaty bodies and pitched singing pressing around her. If it was this crippling for Layla, she couldn’t begin to imagine how stressful it must have been for Elise. Layla rose onto her tiptoes, trying to see past the people around her to find Elise.
But to no avail.
She settled back on her heels and began turning back to Jamie when a strong hand clamped around her wrist. On instinct, her fangs sprang free and she snatched herself away.
Sterling stared down at her, his face stricken white with fear. “I can’t find Elise,” he stammered.
Jamie curled his lip. “Tough luck, buddy, you lost your date already—”
Layla did not stay to hear the rest of his snide comments. She closed her eyes and let the ambush of the ballroom’s overwhelming activity on her senses melt away. Unseeing and unfeeling, she focused on finding Elise. Her scent emerged, faint and frightened amid the roaring atmosphere. But it was enough for Layla.
“Stay here,” she gritted out before plunging into the crowd.
Elise felt like she was wrapped in thorns. The party had faded away for her and now she crouched in a wardrobe, darkness closing in around her from all sides, conjured up by her battered mind. No matter how hard she pressed her hands to her ears, her sister’s piercing screams tore through the wooden box she sat in. Her hands shook so hard, her vision blurred behind them. The sounds of tearing flesh and wet growls from the reapers beyond the wardrobe flooded the air. In the darkness, Elise’s imagination brought forth images of them ripping into Charlotte’s throat, greedily tugging her between them until her limbs tore from their sockets. Blood seeped into the wardrobe until Elise sat in a pool of it. The metallic scent clogged her throat and nose, twisting her stomach into painful knots. A scream burst into her chest, and Elise shoved her hand over her mouth to stifle it. She clamped down on her fingers until she drew blood, her breath coming out in rough pants, the scarlet rivulets bubbling around her lips.
“Saint—”
Something grabbed her ankle, and Elise kicked out on instinct.
Her foot narrowly missed the reaper’s face, but she struck again, aiming for the bright golden eyes that stared down at her.
“It’s me,” Layla’s voice cut right through her panic.
Elise pulled her hands from her face and stared at the reaper before her. Layla was on her knees, one hand wrapped around her ankle. Their dresses pooled around them; crimson met white in a striking display of defiance. For the first time in years, Layla held on to Elise, and Elise did not flinch away from her.
“I thought…I couldn’t…” Elise inhaled shakily, her hands trembling. Even reaching for her usual ritualistic counting didn’t help; her mind was too fractured to focus on anything but her misery. “The clothes and the loud voices, they were too much… I was back in the closet, and I heard my sister—” A sob cut her off and she dropped her face to her hands.
Layla’s fingers tightened around her ankle. It was nothing menacing, but rather a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Her voice was quiet as she spoke, “I know.”
An overwhelming sadness crushed Elise’s heart. A night of celebration with music and cheer had turned into one of terror because of her own somber past. What should have been happy memories had been forged into weapons that threatened her own mind at the slightest trigger.
Elise pressed her fingertips to her lips and looked up at Layla. “I’m sorry.” No matter how shaky her body, no matter how distressed her nerves, Elise was angered by her own fear. Years later, and still no rest came to her soul. She should have been better.
After a few more agonizing moments of silence and deep breathing, Elise pulled herself to her feet. Layla finally released her, though her eyes remained pinned to Elise’s hands, where her fingertips continued to touch the face of her ring in counts of seven, over and over. Elise didn’t realize she was murmuring the numbers under her breath until Layla’s hand reached forward, as if to halt her movements. Concern brightened the reaper’s eyes and she shifted closer, hand outstretched. “We can wait—”
“We have to go,” Elise said sharply. She wiped the last of her tears away and, forcing a smile onto her face, left the alcove to rush back into the crowd.
As Layla stood near the dance floor with Jamie, her mind remained stuck on the Saint heiress. She had followed the scent of her blood to find the girl nearly drowning in her own panic. The sensation of her rushing pulse still fluttered beneath her fingers while she tried to focus on the party around her.
“Listen.” Jamie grabbed her by the hips and pulled her body flush against his. Her cheek pressed to his chest, and when he whispered, his breath brushed her hair. “The couple next to us is talking about Stephen Wayne.”
With the music and singing overpowering her senses, Layla only caught bits and pieces of the conversation.
“He’s unveiling something big…”
“There’s no such thing as a cure…”
“If anyone can do it, it’s Stephen…”
Layla’s blood went cold. If people were beginning to conspire about a cure, then maybe it did really exist. She had to tell Elise—
A sharp whistle suddenly cut through the air, bringing the rowdy room to a more tolerable hum of excited energy. Layla stopped dancing with Jamie and looked up to find the source of the whistle.
On a balcony above everyone else stood Tobias Saint and Stephen Wayne. They both had lifted their masks so their faces were visible to the entire room. Layla couldn’t resist the urge to look around for Elise again.
But still, no luck. She turned back to face the balcony, her breath heavy while she waited for their words.
“I have had many people ask me why I spend so much time with this fine gentleman,” Mr. Saint began. He clapped his hand over Stephen Wayne’s shoulder and beamed at him like he was seeing a lifelong friend for the first time in ages. “Besides the fact that he is a wonderful friend and person, he is also just brilliant. Stephen Wayne matches the intensity at which I aspire to eliminate reapers from our world. So many of us have been affected by their deadly touches and we are here to prevent that lethality from spreading any longer.”
Uneasy prickles traveled over Layla’s skin. From the constant horrors she saw most days, blood leaking from her fingers and flesh stuck beneath her nails and between her teeth, she understood people’s loathing toward reapers. Layla believed she had enough hate for herself to fill this entire room. But that didn’t make the sting of their anger hurt any less. They only deepened the wounds she already made herself, encouraging her to slice deeper and with more fervor the next time she engaged in penitence for her soul.
Stephen Wayne stepped forward. His blond hair shone under the bright lights, his eyes glimmering with an emotion that appeared a bit too sinister to be pure excitement. “It’s true. My donations have funded research toward a solution to this reaper problem. While Tobias has been brilliant in leading reaper executions, my dear friend Dr. Harding created a way to take fewer lives while simultaneously improving hundreds of lives.” He gestured to an older man with thin white hair and sunken black eyes who stood at the base of the staircase leading into the room. Instead of waving, the old man glowered, as if he was miserable to be there.
Stephen Wayne merely continued, his tone jovial as ever, “Reapers have existed for centuries, never able to be tamed. We can kill as many reapers as we want, but they will only keep coming. They have spread to other countries, and that has made our international relations unstable. Our country is not as great as it once was. I am of the belief that the only way to completely end something is to fix it. Or in this case, to cure it.”
Layla’s breath stilled in her chest. She gripped Jamie’s arm so hard, he snatched himself away from her. But she didn’t care; she could only focus on Stephen Wayne.
“With funding from my foundation and the Saints, as well as Dr. Harding’s research, we vow to cure reaperhood once and for all,” he exclaimed. The crowd burst into a troubled, but excited commotion.
Layla’s heart swelled, her eyes flashing like jewels in an accusing light. A smile broke across her face and for the first time since becoming a reaper, she felt pure, delicious hope.