Twenty

Quell

Mynick’s hand shakes as it moves down the slope of my nose. Every muscle in my face squeezes, then tingles, as my mouth shrinks and my lips plump. New hairs sprout, thickening my brows and changing my hairline. My eyes are suddenly heavy in their sockets, and I can feel them widening. The slopes of my cheeks fill in, and my long hair darkens to the color of night, shortening into very tight coils that hang above my shoulders.

“Someone’s coming.” Abby ducks her head into the bathroom we’re using inside the lavish hotel.

“Almost,” he says. His magic trickles down my back like a rush of warm water; my body widens in some places and narrows in others. My skin tone warms, deepening from golden brown to a bronze hue.

“How long will this last?”

“It will wear off gradually over time. An hour, maybe two. But sometimes personas can dissolve spontaneously. “

“So I am walking in here and my disguise could wear off any second, without notice?”

“You’ll feel some tingling. Just try to keep calm.”

Talking with lips that don’t feel like mine makes each word out of my mouth sound a little funny. Then I realize…

“My voice!” My heart knocks into my ribs as the pieces of the plan feel like they’re coming undone.

“I can’t help you with your voice in a time crunch, I’m sorry.”

“This is a terrible plan. Maybe you and Abby should just go and I stay in here.”

Mynick smooths his hands over the dress Abby put together for me, and my body fills it like it was made for me. “You can’t back out now. You’re almost there.”

He’s right: finding my mom will be much easier for me, if I can just keep calm. He surveys his work before stepping out of the way so I can see myself in a mirror. A lackluster diadem sits on my head. I glare at it before moving my arms and rotating my head. Sure enough, the stranger staring back at me does the same.

“What was she like? In case I’m seen by someone who knows her.”

“She’s been dead a long time. So you’re all good.”

My breath hitches. A dead girl. How fitting. I get a closer look. “You didn’t change my eyes.”

“Those have always given me trouble.” He smooths a thumb over my eyelid once more, then tsks when I reopen them. “I’m sorry. But maybe that’ll help your mother know it’s you.”

This will have to do.

“Are you guys done yet?” Abby says, ducking her head inside the bathroom again. “I’m not sure how much longer I can keep telling people it’s broken before one of them insists on fixing it with magic.” Abby sees me and gasps. “Oh, Mynick, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Are you sure it’s good enough?” I stare right at her, wondering if my eyes give me away.

She spins me twice. “If I passed you, I wouldn’t have a clue who you are.”

Mynick checks his watch. Then he holds out an arm to Abby. She ropes around it. “We’ll see you inside.”

I hide my bag, with everything that means anything to me, behind the commode in the biggest stall and lock the stall door. Then I pull the icy chill to my fingers and smooth it on the top door hinge. It corrodes on contact. The door dislodges, and the whole thing juts forward, dangling from its one working hinge. At least the stall appears out of service.

This will work.

The ballroom’s doors are wide open, and sweet, cheerful music welcomes me inside as I approach. An attendant waits at the door, greeting and announcing guests.

“Unescorted, madam?”

My heart thumps. “Yes, sir.” I curtsy. A name. I hadn’t thought of a name. “Miss Lark Marie Doumont. House of Perl.” I dip again in a perfect curtsy, the red taffeta of my gown brushing the floor.

He announces my arrival, and I blow out a tight breath, stepping inside.

The ballroom is a palace of mums bursting in full bloom, in every autumn hue. A swath of finely dressed guests move around decadent tables overflowing with rich fall-colored fabrics, shiny plates, gold flatware, and dainty glasses. The walls are plastered with scenic wallpapers of moody landscapes between tall, slender windows. There’s a crowded dance floor large enough to be a room of its own. I gather the skirt of my dress in my fists. Every House is here celebrating the year-end off-Season fall ball.

The music reminds me of the Tidwell, a ball I attended with the boy I’d like to forget. Still, the glamour of this event unfurls something warm in my chest. This whole place dazzles. I hold my shawl tighter around my shoulders, remembering the way it felt to move to music, to be held close to him. Back when I believed his touch meant something and hoped there could be a life for me that sparkles like this.

It hurt to love him. And yet it hurts to miss him.

I’m not sure which is worse.

I move through the clusters of people immersed in chatter, their fine clothes showcasing a tapestry of House colors, with one person on my mind—my mother. I slip past, mostly unnoticed. Occasionally someone looks my way, but I offer a polite smile and keep moving, searching for some glimpse of anyone who looks like my mom. She would blend in with the backdrop, determined to not be seen. I scan the room. Waiters pass trays between the tables, and I study each of their faces for any hint of familiarity. Where are you, Mom?

The music changes and a rush of bodies brush past me, swarming the dance floor.

“Madam, might I have this—” someone says.

I walk away from the dance floor even faster, going to mingle with the servers. But as I approach, they scatter. It’s poor etiquette for servers to crowd the guests. I sigh, exasperated, when I spot someone removing appetizer plates.

“Excuse me!” I flag them as they try to scamper off.

“Madam?”

“I have a question about…about a server who…”

His brow knits in confusion.

“Who left their, um, glasses at my table.”

“Eyeglasses? They took them off and left them?”

“Yes. And so I just wondered if you might point me in her direction. She’s about my height, deep brown skin, and dark eyes. She has long hair, but it’s mostly gray. She sometimes walks with a limp because her feet hurt. And—”

“Your server spoke to you about her feet?”

I tug my ear. “I could tell by how she walked. I tend to notice small details.”

“I sincerely apologize that you were troubled from your evening with such carelessness.”

“No, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s no problem, madam. If you’ll hand them to me, I’ll find who they belong to.” He holds out his gloved hand.

“But my description, it matches one of your servers?”

“My shift just started, so I’m not sure who is all here, but I can find out.”

I grimace. “Thanks. I’ll get them from my purse and find you.”

He departs, and I snatch a glass of champagne from a passing tray. Mynick patrols the perimeter of the dance floor. I look for Abby but don’t see her. I wonder if she’s having more luck. I toss the flute back and tug on my gloves. Think.

“Your dress is just exquisite,” a woman in a simple gray gown with a well-pushed-up bust says, blocking my way. If I appear approachable, I’ve been standing in one place too long. I start toward the dance floor to get a better look at some of the couples. I can’t imagine my mom blending in as a guest. Still, I cannot afford to leave any rock unturned. Dancers spin past me, and not even one looks a thing like Mom. If she had friends in the Houses, maybe she could be disguised, as I am?

Mynick loiters near the entrance to the ballroom before slipping out the door. I spot Abby, roped into a waltz with someone. A sweet, high thrum of a fiddle skips through the air, followed by the patter of a drum and the ting of a triangle. The crowd roars, and the few filled seats that had remained now empty.

A pair rushes past me, practically knocking me over.

“Watch where you’re go—”

Three Draguns enter the ballroom.

My pulse picks up.

They go in opposite directions, surveying the crowd, occasionally stopping a person to ask questions. I have a fistful of my skirts when I notice my hands. They aren’t mine. I blow out a slow breath.

Draguns…

Could Jordan be here?

As if the thought has a magic of its own, my gaze snaps to him as he enters the ballroom with a hardened, scanning glare. An usher lets him through without a word, and suddenly I can’t move. Jordan adjusts his coat, his jaw clenched tight. He is taller than I remember. His top lip curls in disgust as he scans the room. His usual suave swagger is stilted, his steps heavy. Angry or frustrated or something. My gut swims. He’s here, right in front of me. I stumble backward into a chair.

I’m frozen, remembering the last time I saw him with my own eyes. The night I fled Chateau Soleil. “I need you,” he’d cried, begging me to stay in this caged world with him. He gave up on us. On me. It tore me to pieces to hear words I’d longed for him to admit, only for them to not matter anymore.

And there he is. Standing across the room.

My magic startles awake, icing my bones.

My knees are weak, but I move through the crowded room, watching him, careful to keep the commotion of the dancing between us. There’s no warmth in his expression, no mask of politeness that people usually hide behind in public. Instead, hard lines chisel his face in places where they hadn’t before. As if he’s aged years in a matter of months. I dig for anger, but my throat thickens. Looking at him feels like a knife cutting into a nearly healed wound. He said he loved me. What kind of love was it if it could be so easily broken? What did those moments mean between us if he could so easily throw them away? Everything in me wants to march up to him and throw one of these abandoned drinks in his face.

My eyes prick with tears, and I clench my fists, my pain churning into anger. I hate him.

Someone’s hip bumps into me and I move aside, unable to take my eyes off Jordan as he makes his way around the room.

“Are you alright?” the person says, lingering. But I can’t manage a sensible word.

He holds out his hand. “Might I have this dance?” He takes me before I can come to my senses. And before I know it, I’m whirling around with some tuxedoed fellow on the dance floor. The room spins, but with every turn, I keep my gaze fixed on Jordan Wexton.

“How did you spend your summer?” my dancing partner asks. He is quite handsome, with golden eyes, a low-shaved beard, and a teal bow tie. House Oralia. He touches me gently at the waist and ushers me into a spin underneath his arm, and I lose sight of Jordan.

“You look quite lovely tonight.”

I manage to smile and realize he’s not wearing a ring. He isn’t just being polite. He’s flirting. His voice drones on in a fuzzy lump of nothingness, saying something I don’t hear.

When the music shifts, his hand at my waist pulls me closer, and we sway side to side for the next eight counts. He stares at me expectantly.

“What did you say? I missed it.”

“I gathered you didn’t want to talk about summer. So I asked if you had any plans for the holidays.”

“The holidays,” I repeat, scanning to find Jordan again. The number of Draguns in the room has doubled. And Jordan is not near the bar or at any of the tables. “Look, I don’t want to date you.”

“Ow.” My partner winces, and I realize my nails are dug into his arm. “My family and I like to spend ours in Aspen,” he goes on.

“Please, shut up.”

To my relief, the tempo of the chorus picks up, and he lets go of me. I turn twice and lock hands with a new partner. This one wears a red vest and wedding ring. Still no sight of Jordan. I blink hard. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe he’s not actually here. With my free hand, I run my fingers across the features of my face and force out a breath.

“Is everything okay?” my new partner asks.

“We’re not talking. Just dance.”

We promenade, moving in step with each other, side by side, our hands linked, when I spot Abby. She and a partner dance toward us as all the dancing couples split into two lines.

“No luck on my end so far. How about you?” I say as she comes close enough to hear me.

“Unless she’s wearing a different face, she isn’t on this dance floor,” she says, stepping backward, the distance between our lines growing. The dance switches; we circle and my partner turns me.

“What about Mynick?” I ask, but she’s already too far to hear me without shouting.

My hand slips from my partner’s, and I search for an opening in the crowd to escape this prison. But I spin and end up back-to-back with my next partner. The music takes on a peppier lilt as it ushers in the final stanza, thank goodness.

Our hands lock behind our backs with an ease that feels familiar. I kick, tapping my feet, left first then right, executing the dance perfectly but still keeping an eye on every server that passes through. Back-to-back, we sidestep, when I spot Mynick returning with another pair of Draguns. My grip tightens on my partner. They’re looking for me. They have to be. That snake! The cry of a violin signals the next move. My partner spins me around to face him. I gaze up into green eyes.

Jordan pulls me tight to his chest.