Chapter 46

46

Farryn

Mouth hanging open, I stared at the costume Anya had picked out for me in the tall mirror. The neckline of the ice blue, tulle dress plunged down to my stomach, revealing an obscene amount of cleavage. Silver details on the bodice matched the delicate silver metallic choker at my throat. The skirt of it, cinched at my waist, showed off the slits where my thighs peeked through, all the way up to the ice blue panties that happened to be in the same color as the dress. Turning around showed silvery gossamer wings embellished with gems, which stretched a good half-foot above my head.

Surreal.

One of the maids had added long and lazy, delicate curls to my hair, clipped back into a jeweled, silver barrette. Long tresses cascaded over my shoulders, drawing focus to whatever glittery substance another maid had rubbed into my skin.

I hardly recognized myself.

A gentle prod beneath my chin snapped my attention to Anya, who stood beside me pressing my jaw together. “Forgive me, the dazed look isn’t really fitting for something so enchanting.”

“A blue fairy?” was all I could muster, still in a state of shock.

“I believe the seamstress called that particular shade celestial, dear. Never heard of fairies in Heaven, but no matter. Brings out those flecks of color in your eyes.”

Tendrils of panic snaked over me at the thought of the costume drawing attention to me. “I can’t wear this. I look … well, I look …”

“Stunning, is the word I believe you’re looking for.”

“Yes. No. I look too loud. The point was to go unnoticed.”

“Oh, well, little chance of that now.”

“You think?”

Hands crossed over her apron, Anya huffed. “You asked me to find you something fitting, and I did. And as it is an autumn costume ball, after all, the pickings were slim this late in the game.”

“Believe me, I appreciate your efforts. I do. In another world, under different circumstances, you’d have won an award for this truly miraculous transformation. I was just hoping for ... subtle?”

“Well, I’m sorry, miss. You’re about thirty minutes from showtime. This paltry thing will have to do, I suppose.”

I nabbed her arm. “Wait. Please don’t think I’m ungrateful. I’m …”

“Nervous. As you should be. From what I’ve heard, these sordid soirees are not for the young and innocent.” She handed me an antique-looking, metallic-silver purse with intricate carvings. “Just in case, I’ve packed some homemade deterrent spray for you.”

“Homemade?”

“Yes. Causes momentary blindness, nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. Nasty stuff.”

“Well, hopefully I don’t accidentally inhale it.”

“Yes. Be sure to spray and run. Particularly around the Dark Ones.”

“Dark Ones?” It wasn’t until then that I considered the possibility that Anya might know of their existence, after all, in spite of the fact that she’d teased me the first night when I’d asked about men with wings.

Maybe they didn’t have wings in Nightshade.

“Shady types. You’ll know them by the way they give off a rather sticky aura.” Wearing a grimace, she rubbed her arm. “Feels a bit unnatural on the skin.”

“I see. Like the jerks who try to cop a feel as you pass by. That kind of shady?”

With a smile, she shrugged. “Cop a feel. Drag you away to a dark cellar somewhere and chain you to a wall. Same thing.” Her gaze dropped to my exposed birthmark, and instinct told me to pull my arm away. “Oh, that is quite an unusual mark.”

Wriggling my arm in her clutch set me free of her studying it. “Yes, it is. Another reason this dress is a bad idea.”

“Fret not, my dear. I thought of everything.” From the chaise beside us, Anya lifted what looked to be a matching tulle shawl and wrapped it around my shoulders, covering the mark entirely. “There. You’ll also have a cloak to shield you against the snowfall expected this evening. Now, Master Van Croix is still in his chambers, last I checked. Not one to arrive too early. Therefore, you might want to get on with hiding yourself.”

The thought of defying him sent a wave of butterflies through my stomach, for some strange reason.

As I made my way toward the staircase, wings fluttering at my back, I kept my eyes peeled for Van Croix. The brisk, evening air blanketed me the moment I stepped out the front door, to find the carriage, gleaming clean, and standing unmanned. The plan was for Anya to stall him a bit, while I hustled to tuck myself inside that trunk. Hopefully, Garic wouldn’t catch me in the act, because I was pretty certain the guy would tattle.

With a deep breath, I opened the trunk, and found it fairly spacious within. Hiking one leg over the edge of it, I stepped down into the moderately-sized box. It was as I attempted to lie down that I realized my wings were a bit too big, stubbornly refusing to be stuffed inside.

Yet another reason why the costume Anya had picked was a horrible idea!

Awkwardly squashing them down, I swallowed back the panic of time ticking away. I managed to stuff them into the wooden container, but as I attempted to close it, one of the wings popped out.

On a groan, I tugged at the wing, holding it down against the floor of the trunk, and slammed the lid shut.

The darkness swallowed me as I lay huffing, trying to catch my breath after wrangling the damn things.

Good grief.

Only minutes later, I heard the crunch of boots across the gravel, followed by the hushed voices of both Garic and Van Croix. I felt the carriage shift and bounce as its passengers climbed aboard. One hard slap, and it set into motion, jerking me inside the box.

Hopefully, the ride wouldn’t be too long, because the lack of air in this box would’ve surely suffocated me after a while.

* * *

Air.

I needed air.

Desperately.

The ride lasted far longer than I’d imagined. Or perhaps it felt longer with every breath I’d been forced to count. Even though the carriage continued to bounce along, I needed to crack the wooden chest for one sip of air. Otherwise, Garic would’ve been cleaning out a dead fairy from the trunk the next time he scrubbed the wheels. I pushed against the lid. It didn’t open. Panic tickled the back of my neck, as I pushed harder, exerting far too much energy for the dangerously low oxygen at my disposal.

It still wouldn’t give.

Fear gripped my chest, and I slammed my palm against the lid, horrified when it didn’t so much as budge! I must’ve tripped the lock, somehow.

I lifted my knee and slammed it against the unyielding lid, and flinched at the painful crack against my bone. “Ouch!”

Full on alarm blared inside of me, and with both hands I pounded against the lid. “Let me out of here! Let me out! Please!”

I didn’t even notice the carriage had stopped, until the lid flew open and my next punch to the lid was captured mid-swing.

Cool, crisp air filled my lungs, as I sucked in a deep breath, staring up at one really angry, unpatched eye.

I panted and gasped, stealing a moment to catch my breath, then finally let out a long exhale.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The tone of his voice matched the furious scowl on his face.

“Surprise?”

With a harsh tug, he urged me out of the trunk, my wrist still captured in his strong grip. “I specifically told you that I--”

As I stepped down from the back of the carriage, my wings popped back in place, and his jaw went slack. The expression on his face--a cross between surprise and what I’d describe as awe--left me wishing I could crawl into a hole somewhere. I may as well have been completely nude for how exposed I felt, caught in his stare. That one good eye of his tracked me from the tips of my wings to the silver, strappy sandals that Anya insisted I wear in place of the boots I longed for instead.

In no more than a minute, his gaze had practically devoured me.

Every muscle in my body twitched, while I stood fidgeting with the purse that suddenly felt heavy in my clutch. As if my nervous tics weren’t enough distraction, the man looked lethally appetizing in a black leather, hooded swallowtail jacket over a black, high-collar, lace-up shirt. Black leather captain boots rose to about his mid-calf, and something silver flashed beneath his coat.

I dared not to think, let alone admit, that the costume was both fitting and stunning on the man. Though, trying to figure out what exactly he’d intended with the look remained a mystery. Certainly wasn’t woodland. Along with his black eyepatch, he reminded me of something dangerous, like some kind of stealth assassin.

The complete opposite to my costume.

“I specifically ...” He frowned, as if losing his train of thought for a second time--a rarity, I’d come to learn. His gaze trailed over me again. “You are not going into that ball wearing this,” he hissed, his grip tightening over my wrist.

“Look, this wasn’t my first choice, either, but you’re wrong. I’m getting inside that ball, one way, or another. With, or without, you.”

“You will return back to the cathedral with Garic.”

Wrenching my arm was futile in his grasp. “I will not. I’ll make a huge scene, if necessary. I need inside of that ball. You need a companion. We’re practically a match made in Heaven.”

“That ball is crawling with men who would …” His jaw clenched, eye burning with fury as if he were imagining what they’d do right then. “You’re going back to the cathedral.”

“Jericho, listen to me. Please.” Perhaps it was the pleading in my voice, or the sound of his name that had his eye softening, his grip loosening. “I won’t make any trouble. I just want to talk to this woman, is all. I’ll leave and wait in the carriage after. I promise. Please don’t make me go back. I’m begging you.”

He made a snarling sound and threw my hand away from him, as he set to pacing in front of me. His steps came to a halt, and he rolled his shoulders back. “I am weary of--” His jaw ticced, and he growled. Clearly frustrated. “Fine.” Stroking a hand over his jaw, he raked his gaze over me once more. “But know this, little fairy. If someone is foolish enough to lay so much as a finger on you, their blood is on your hands.”

“Blood? You’d kill someone for touching me?” It was then that the something shiny fully caught my eye, and I glanced at a long, silver sword cloaked beneath his coat. “Is that a real sword?”

“Yes. Do not proceed to test the validity of my words, Miss Ravenshaw. I can assure you, my threats are never idle.”

* * *

Brisk, autumn air seemed to dance around me, as I stood staring up at the enchanting entrance to the ball. The silvery blue cloak draped beneath my wings and snapped at each shoulder offered only a small bit of warmth against the frigid temps, but as we neared the entrance, the crackle of flames held inside what looked like giant glass hurricanes radiated enough heat that I no longer felt the sting of cold.

An archway weaved out of gnarled branches and twigs held tiny glass ornaments suspended by red ribbons, which contained thoroughly melted wax candles inside. Hundreds more red candles in glass jars lit a path through the woods and to an enormous dome of trees, through which I could only see small patches of the night sky.

While I certainly didn’t look out of place in my costume, I still felt compelled to cover myself and all the exposed skin the skimpy fairy dress didn’t quite conceal. While I awkwardly tugged and shifted the fabric, I mentally cursed Anya.

Dozens of guests had arrived in elaborate woodland-themed costumes of gold and silver, some masked, some not. A woman who passed me wore a white winter stag headdress, with silver horns and a long silver gown. Her date wore a much more prominent headdress in black.

In awe, I took in the enchanting wonder of the place, momentarily forgetting the dark undercurrent about which Anya had warned me. The danger that lurked in the shadowy corners.

As if reading my mind, Van Croix reached back for my hand, and the moment I gripped his, something fluttered in my stomach. The sound of laughter echoed from some distant memory in my head, and I recoiled my hand, taken aback by the unbidden visual.

Swinging his dark gaze back toward me, he reached for my hand again, as if he thought I’d meant to escape him. His face remained concealed behind some kind of mask, or scarf, that he wore beneath his hood, the sight of which left me feeling uneasy. And yet, his palm was warm, and something fuzzy and nostalgic filled my chest, like he’d held my hand a thousand times before.

He led me to two men, also dressed in winter stag costumes, who stood at a podium. “Havenash,” Van Croix said, and I felt a tight squeeze of my hand, signaling me to remain quiet.

I didn’t utter so much as a single word, while one of the men drew his finger down a list and tapped on the name. His gaze fell on me next. “Your plus one?”

“Yes.”

With a wave of his hand, Stagboy then gestured for the two of us to enter.

Stepping just inside the dome, I trailed my gaze over the splendorous decor. The sylvan ceiling was lit with even more suspended, baseball-sized candle baubles, above tables scattered throughout the dome upon which food overflowed from gourds. Embellished garlands hung from the trees and decorated the tables and chairs, while the sound of music drew my gaze toward a woman, painted head to toe in silver, who wore a white chiffon dress and sat playing a harp.

Once clear of the gatekeepers, I leaned into my escort. “The costume makes sense now. My hope is that the sword is still only a prop.”

He leaned into me. “Did you honestly think I came here to dance and drink?”

“You’re telling me you intend to use that sword? Like, on someone?”

“Yes.”

A cold sensation spread beneath my skin as I waited for the punchline. The laughter that would dismiss his response as a joke.

He deadpanned, and the unsettling caress of shock that creeped over me sent a rush of nausea straight to my gut. “I think I’m going to be sick.” I looked around at the masked and painted faces, wondering which one would be his target. Which one would have arrived that night unknowing they’d end up dead. By a sword. A freaking sword.

“You’re to stay where I can see you at all times.”

“Who is it? The one you intend to kill.”

“None of your concern.”

“It’s true, then. Your reputation. Death. The Reaper of Nightshade.”

“Heed my words, Miss Ravenshaw,” he said, ignoring my accusation. “Or you will know first-hand how merciless I can be when I have you strung up.”

My throat bobbed with a swallow, as his unpatched eye cruised over me once more, before I watched him disappear into the crowd. Warning bells fired off inside my head, telling me to leave. What better chance for escape, after all?

Except, where would I go? We’d traveled too far for me to walk back to Blackwater, and I’d need to stay ahead of him, if I were to attempt escape again.

I could, though. Leave right then, while he was occupied.

A quick scan of the crowd showed so many opportunities to run into the woods. He’d notice me gone, of course, but perhaps not right away. Perhaps I could make it back to the cathedral, so long as I kept to the woods, staying parallel to the road. The path en route to the ball had seemed simple enough. I could gather the nightshade, consume it first, then jump.

Van Croix’s words from earlier had me thinking, though.

What if it was true? What if I really had died, and returning would mean being trapped in a never-ending void?

I stood pondering that possibility, however miniscule it might’ve been. How could I possibly put any trust in Death’s words, though? What if his scheme was to keep me trapped in Nightshade?

I glanced around, looking for Van Croix, but found him nowhere. My head urged me to run. Forget about Alicia and steal the opportunity for escape.

And I would have. I would’ve abandoned the rare opportunity to speak with a murder victim in the afterlife. Which, as Van Croix pointed out, may have been futile, anyway.

Except that I caught sight of her.?Standing off by herself.

She wore a purple, off-the-shoulder, taffeta dress, with a ruched bustle, the matching masquerade mask dangling from her fingertips as she looked over the partygoers. Bright flowers had been weaved into the waves of her white-blonde hair.

And I couldn’t rightly walk away at that point.

Eyes on Alicia, who had moved toward a shadowed stretch of trees beyond the candlelight, I made my way through the crowd, keeping my head low as I passed leering stares. A hand brushed my arm, and I hastened my pace, desperate to clear the throng of what could’ve been all variety of shady types. The Dark Ones, as Anya had warned me about, though just about everyone looked strange, including me.

As I neared, my pulse hastened at the thought of how I’d broach the topic. Flashbacks in my head showed images of her face, mangled and lifeless, twisting the nerves in my gut. “Excuse me,” I said, approaching cautiously. “Alicia?”

“Yes?”

“Hi. Um. I’m Farryn. Farryn Ravenshaw.”

“What can I do for you, Farryn?”

“You’re … singing tonight?”

“Yes.”

“That’s … fantastic. Really cool.” Rubbing my hands together failed to relieve the nervous energy pulsing through me. “So, have you lived here very long?”

Sipping her drink, she didn’t bother to look at me, keeping her eyes on the crowd, as if keeping watch for someone. “Long as I can remember.”

Shit.

“What town is this?”

“Keselshire.”

“You’re from Chicago, though. Originally, right?”

Gaze swinging to mine, she frowned. “Where?”

“Does the Shining Star Motel ring any bells?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

I could’ve really used a drink right then.? “No reason, really. Question …. Do you … ever have any strange dreams?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Ravenshaw, was it? I’m up soon, and I’m just trying to calm my nerves a little bit.”

“I understand.” I lifted my shawl from over the marking on my arm, drawing her attention toward it, and a flicker of panic flashed in her eyes. “Do you recognize this?”

“Who are you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me, if I told you. Your memories have begun to fade, but I suspect if you recognize this symbol, there might be a small bit that you can recall from your old life.”

“Old life? What are you talking about?”

I glanced around, noting that no one was within earshot. “You weren’t born in Keselshire. You’re not from here. No one is originally from here. Because everyone in this town, aside from only a few, are ... ” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Well, they’re …”

“They’re what?”

“Dead.”

“Come again?”

“The symbol on my arm … it was left behind. At your crime scene.”

“Okay, I’m gonna ask you nicely to just step away.”

I scoured my brain for the measly details I’d picked up from the picture Hines had shown me. Unfortunately, there was only the mutilation itself that I could remember most vividly. “They cut your face. I don’t know why, but they did. They also cut your fingers to the knuckles.”

Brows knitting together, she stared off for a moment and lifted her gaze to mine again. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want to know who hurt you.”

A short and portly man, dressed in a long, white, pointed hat, like some kind of winter gnome, hobbled toward us, holding drinks contained in horned-shaped cups. He offered Alicia one, and she took two, handing one off to me. I could only see his lips stretch to a smile beneath the brim of his hat, before he hobbled off again.

I stared down at the fluid, swirling the icy-colored liquid around inside, and gave it a sniff. The scent of it was inviting enough, a sort of fruity aroma that had my mouth watering, but I didn’t trust it. I handed it back to her. “You can have mine.”

Swiping it out of my hand, she gave me a strange look. A furtive glance around, and she leaned into me. “You asked about dreams,” she said in a hushed voice. “I do have one. My face sliced.” She motioned there with a trembling hand, in spite of her face appearing completely intact. “My fingers cut to the knuckles. I want to know …” Her fidgeting heightened, and she paused, tipping back the drink in her hand. “I want to know why you know this. Why I felt like I was there. Why I could feel the burn on my face. I could hear screams. My screams. Over and over. Me screaming for help, and nobody coming to help me. They feel real. So real, I still smell the musty odor of that motel room. I can still feel the cut of the blade on my cheek.”

I had no words. Nothing to comfort her. What she’d dreamed had actually come to pass, given the report Hines had supplied, and there was no shielding the truth from her.

“Why do these dreams feel real? Like that stuff really happened to me.”

“Because it did.” With some hesitation stirring in my gut, I glanced around at the nearby guests, who seemed far more interested in their drinks. “This isn’t your home, Alicia. It’s called Nightshade.”

“What the hell is Nightshade?” The loud pitch of her voice sent a jolt through my muscles, and I raised a finger to my lips to quiet her.

“It’s where nonbelievers go.”

“What does that mean? Where nonbelievers go.” Though she’d quieted her voice that time, her irritation bled through loud and clear.

“It means …. It means those nightmares you had … they’re real. They really happened.”

“How?” She held up her fingers, wriggling them around. “Still got my fingers. My face isn’t all hacked up.”

“This isn’t your physical body.”

Frowning, she shook her head. “Not my physical body?” She pressed her finger against my arm, knocking me back a step. “How can I touch you, move you, if this isn’t my physical body?”

“I’ll admit, it’s otherworldly to me, too, so it doesn’t make much sense. The best I can explain it is that our laws of reality don’t apply here. You have a physical presence, but your … your body is still in the earthly realm.”

“You’re talking about a corpse. Buried. In the ground?”

“Yes.”

Hand rubbing down her face, she snorted a laugh into her palm and shook her head. “That makes no sense. I need to stop drinking, because … this … this is messed up. I’ve been around some messed up people, but you take the cake, lady.”

I couldn’t blame her. The possibility that Van Croix had been right about me had left me in a state of denial, too. The only difference between Alicia and me was that I saw what had happened to her. I knew there was nothing for her on the other side. Van Croix had only speculated, in my case.

“What is happening?” Rubbing her forehead, she looked down at her drink, then set it aside on a nearby table.

“I’m not trying to upset you.”

“Well, you’re not trying hard enough, because I am surely upset.” Looking away, she seemed to bite her lip, the telling signs of denial etched in her expression. “So, I ended up here because I don’t believe in God, right?”

“As I understand it.”

“Well, why would I? What’s God ever done for me?”

“Alicia, I need to know if you remember who hurt you that night.”

“There is no God. There is no Heaven.”

“If you tell me who hurt you, I can help.”

“How? You’re not dead, too? Like everyone here, as you said?”

“No.”

Confused eyes raked over me, as if searching for the differences between us. “How are you here, then?”

“I’m only here temporarily.”

“How? You can go back?”

I hated the way she looked at me with a glimmer of hope in her eyes, as if I could’ve possibly saved her from this place. “Yes, but … what you’re thinking … it’s not possible.”

“You’re telling me you can’t go back, either?”

“I can. Because I’m not dead.”

At the tight grip of my arm, I glanced down to where her fingers curled like a vice around my flesh. “You can take me with you. You can take me with you, and I can come back. I can go home.”

A bitter ache stabbed my heart with her pleading. “You can’t come back with me.”

“Why? Why can you go back, but I can’t?”

“Because if you do, you’ll spend an eternity in a buried corpse.”

Her brow flickered, as if she’d just been slapped by realization, and she seemed to chew on the thought for a moment. A series of emotions took over her expression, all stages of grief in the span of no more than a minute, until her shoulders sagged in defeat. She glanced around the room, to what would be the souls she’d spend up to an eternity with. Eyes that just moments ago held a spark of hope seemed wearier.

“I need you to tell me who hurt you.”

“So you can go back. And I can stay here.” She swayed on her feet, her eyes becoming spacy and unfocused. Pupils dilated.

The drink.

“So I can make sure he’s captured and never kills again.”

Snorting a humorless laugh, she hardened her jaw and shook her head. “What do I care now? Look around, Miss Ravenshaw. I ain’t going nowhere.”

As she stared somewhere beyond me, her eyes widened, and she lowered her gaze. “Virgil.”

With a frown, I glanced back to see a man in a satyr costume approaching us, a slight limp in his gait. As he sidled up next to me, an oily sensation practically left a thin layer on my skin, and I recalled what Anya had told me earlier in the evening.

“Almost showtime.” His breath smelled of sulphur, his long body reminding me of a starving dog, the way his back curved slightly and long sinews of muscle stretched beneath his skin. “Who is your friend?”

“She was only complimenting my dress.”

Lifting his nose into the air, he breathed in, closing his eyes. “What a delicious scent. So clean and pure.” When he leaned toward me, sniffing in my direction, I stepped back. Hooded amber eyes, looking slightly intoxicated, roved over me appraisingly, and he licked his lips. “That costume is quite stunning.” His gaze finally lifted to mine, and a gleam of intrigue flickered in his eyes. Lips stretched to a smile, he tilted his head, seemingly riveted. “Strange. I feel like we’ve met before.”

“I don’t think so.”

His lips stretched wider. “Oh, I think we have. You have an unusual name … it starts with a … with an F. Fanny? No, that isn’t right. Fairy? No. Fa-fa-something.” There was something creepy about the guy that turned an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

“Farryn,” Alicia said, much to my dismay, and I couldn’t help but shoot her a frustrated glare for offering it up. “Her name is Farryn.”

“Farryn! Of course, that’s it.”

“How exactly do you know me?” A thought struck me. With urgency, I opened my locket to the picture of my father. “Do you know him, as well? Have you seen him?”

The smile on his face faded, his eyes flitting from the image to me, and unless I imagined it, they seemed to hold a glint of recognition. “Of course not.”

“You’ve never seen him?”

“I never have.” Yet, the way he couldn’t tear his gaze away from it told me otherwise. He was lying.

“Then, how do you know me?”

Smiling again, he ignored the question and turned his attention back to Alicia. “Mister Barchiel intends to make an announcement, and then you’ll head up to the stage after. In the meantime, I would encourage you to mingle with his very kind guests.”

“Sure.”

When he reached out toward her, I caught the flinch of her eyes, before he rested a hand at the back of her neck. “I’m sorry, what was that, dear?”

Alicia’s brow twitched, her body stiff, clearly uncomfortable. “I’d be happy to, sir.”

“Very good.” Those amber colored eyes swung back to me. “Nice seeing you, Farryn. Again.” With his parting words, he limped back through the crowd, the tick of his wooden staff fading into the noise.

“Who is he?”

“My manager. The man is shadier than a willow tree.”

“Thanks for offering up my name.”

“He knew it. He was just playing with you. Virgil knows more than he lets on.”

“He hurts you?”

“Only when he has to. Not the worst in this place.”

The guy sounded pretty bad to me. Certainly worse than Van Croix. “The one who murdered you … he’s killed others. The Sisters of Saint Felix? That’s where you went to Catholic school, right?”

Something cold shadowed Alicia’s eyes at the mention of her old private school. She stared off, as if in a state of horror. “Dominus vigilans.”

“Wait, what?”

“From my dream. That’s what the killer said to me in dreams.”

Someone bumped into me, and I turned toward a man dressed in some unidentifiable woodland creature costume, with horns and hooves. That oily feeling hit my skin again, just as it had when Virgil stood beside me. Swaying on his feet, undoubtedly drunk, he swiped up Alicia’s hand. She squirmed in his grasp, as he dragged her after him.

“Hey!” I lurched after them, hesitating at first on seeing the open woods beyond and the malevolent darkness within. Resigned, I followed anyway, and found myself standing in the thick of quiet woods, neither of the two in sight. “Alicia!”

I turned around, scanning my surroundings, horrified when not even the lights of the party were visible any longer. “Hello? Alicia?”

“You shouldn’t interfere,” a raspy voice answered, and I whorled back around, searching the darkness for it. “Our laws have purpose.”

“Who are you? Show yourself.”

“Who are you? You came with Mister Van Croix, I saw that much. Yet … I also saw you shiver at the door. Just as you shiver now.”

“And?”

“Only living things shiver.”

Living things. In spite of the creepy nature of his voice, the comment put me at ease. “You sense that I am living?”

“Of course. Intortui have a certain intuition. It’s why we are feared by so many. Your shivering is like a fly vibrating a spider’s web.”

“I would be inclined to shiver less, if I could see your face.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Why?” When he didn’t answer, I glanced around again, searching for the crowd, listening for them. “What is your name, at least?”

“Tartys.”

“Tartys,” I echoed. “Why can I no longer hear the crowd?”

“You are drugged.”

“Pardon?”

“The drink you were handed earlier.”

Frowning at that, I shook my head. “I never drank it.”

“You smelled it. That is how it gets into your system.”

No wonder it’d smelled delicious. “I don’t feel out of sorts.”

“No. That’s the unfortunate beauty of it. You wouldn’t even know you’d inhaled it.”

“The girl who was taken into the woods. Do you know where she is?”

“Performing her duties. It is what females here are required to do. I can offer you protection, though.”

“Protection?” I asked, trying to determine the direction of his voice.

“Hide you away, so you’re not picked up and claimed by another. It is a sad life for those who are taken here. But you would be free to come and go. Your own free will.”

“And how could you guarantee my protection?”

From somewhere above, out of the darkness, a thin gossamer of moonlight shone down, and a short man with a hunchback and deformities stepped into the light. “I am afflicted with bullio. No one comes near me.”

The painful looking contortion of his spine and neck left me inwardly cringing at the sight of the poor man. “I need to get my hands on a nightshade flower. Can you help me?”

“Of course,” he said, rubbing his crooked hands together. “I know precisely where to find them.”

“And what is it you’re asking in return?”

The man lowered his gaze in a way that seemed shameful. Embarrassed. “Only that I might touch your skin. It has been so long since I’ve touched anything living.”

“Your condition … forgive my asking, but is it contagious?”

“No. Yet, others fear it, just the same. Though, to be fair, it is my ability to see what others cannot which makes them most fearful.”

“I found it comforting.”

The corner of his lip kicked up to a smile, as if that pleased him.

I held out a hand toward him. “I agree to your terms, Tartys.”