Darkness Becomes Her (16 page)

My fingertips braced on the floor as I drew my leg back under me, ready to pounce, but his body twisted in midair so that he faced the floor. His fingertips and the tips of his shoes hit the floor lightly like a ball, pushing him up and back to a standing position.

Completely unnatural. I wasn’t dealing with a human here.

I leaped to my feet and swung, but his hand was already out to catch my forearm. The next hand came up. He caught that, too. His hard, angular face lit with arrogant victory.
Dumbass.
They always fell for that move. Now he didn’t have anything protecting his groin area, his kneecaps, or his shins from my kick.

And then it clicked into place. “Daniel?” My knee froze half-bent, remembering the face and the name in the same instant.
Josephine’s secretary. “What the hell are you doing here?”

There was no mistaking the fact that he’d rather be anywhere but here. With an annoyed frown, he ignored my question and released my wrists to pull out a white envelope from inside his formal black jacket. Well, no wonder he was irritated; he was here instead of at whatever ball or Mardi Gras party he’d dressed for.

He waved the envelope in front of my face. I snatched it, pulled out the card, and read over an invitation to a ball, my heart still pounding. My brow twisted in confusion until I saw the small, neatly written note at the bottom.

The Arnaud family requests your presence tonight, 12 a.m. at 716 Dauphine to join your friends Sebastian, Jenna, Dub, and Henri.

“She has them,” I whispered. My hand closed tightly around the invitation as Daniel straightened his jacket, nodded once, and then marched out the front door.
Asshole.

Josephine Arnaud had the others. No need for the Novem to scour the city for me. All they had to do was take my friends and I would come. I wondered who else in the council knew that Josephine was holding them to get to me, if they’d made the decision unanimously.

“What does it say?” Violet asked, standing on the last stair
step with Pascal. I was too angry to say, so I handed over the crumpled wad of thick paper. Violet stared at it like I’d just handed her a tennis ball. She gave it back. “I can’t read.”

I froze for a second, startled. Violet couldn’t read? Pity stirred in my stomach. The kid had never had the chance to learn. Dub had found her living alone in a trapper’s houseboat, and there weren’t exactly schools and teachers living out in the swamps.

I told Violet what had been written inside the invitation, careful to keep my voice from betraying my reaction.

“What should we do?”

“I guess,” I said, “we’re going to a masquerade ball.”

A slow, feline grin spread across Violet’s face, flashing the tips of her fangs and giving me the willies. “Excellent.” She dashed up the stairs and stopped halfway to turn back. “Come. Pick a costume and mask. I have lots.”

I jogged up the steps and followed Violet to a room at the end of the hallway, opposite Sebastian’s door. She produced a key from a black shoestring around her neck and unlocked the door. A small lamp covered in a red scarf burned near the twin bed, its four posts hung with beads and scarves and masks. It was like stepping into Mardi Gras World. Every spare inch of wall space was covered with masks. Piles of gowns and costumes had been laid flat, stacked against the walls.

The light reflected off the sequins and beads and crystals,
casting a rainbow of color on the ceiling. The effect was magical. “These are all yours?”

Violet set Pascal on the bed. “They are now. I collect these things.”

“Why?”

She stared at me as though she couldn’t understand the question, as though the answer was obvious. Then she began digging through piles of gorgeous creations and costumes. “The Arnaud ball is very formal. Each family has their own, and then on the last night of Mardi Gras, they have a council ball. You’ll need something to blend in … no, not this one … Ah. This is the one.”

Violet stood amid the pile, like a tiny dark fairy in a ring of jewels, and held a black satin gown trimmed in white. The bodice was strapless and contained hundreds of pearls and rhinestones, like stars in an inky sky. “It matches your tattoo and will look good with your hair. Like a domino. Black and white.”

She stomped over the discarded gowns, handed me her selection, and then stood in front of the wall, searching for just the right mask. I really didn’t care what she picked. I only wanted to get into Josephine’s house and get my friends to safety. But my hands stroked the smooth fabric and my heart leaped with … anticipation. I suppose there was some girl in me after all, because I thought the gown was incredible.

“That one,” Violet said, pointing.

I followed the direction of Violet’s tiny finger to a shimmering white satin mask that tilted up at the corners and was trimmed with fuzzy little black feathers and rhinestones. It would just cover my eyes, brows, and the bridge of my nose.

I was tall enough to reach, so I lifted it down as Violet went to find her own costume. I thought about telling her to stay behind, but who was I to say that? I had no claim on Violet. The kid was her own person; she’d lived out in the swamp on her own for God knew how long. She’d do what she wanted, and it would probably offend her if I said anything to the contrary.

“Violet?” I said, removing my shirt and jeans to get into the gown.

“Hmm?”

“Are there schools in New 2?”

Her tiny shoulders shrugged, her back to me as she searched the pile. “The Novem has a school, but it’s only for their kids and kids with a lot of money. Not for us. There’s a woman who comes to the GD once a week to teach whoever wants to listen.”

Violet emerged from the clothes in a purple dress that came to midcalf, revealing her overly large black shoes and black-and-white-striped socks. She removed the mask on her head and picked one off a dresser topped with masks. It was purple and white to match the dress, and with her black bob, the outfit actually came together in a sort of punkified way. Fairy punk, I decided.

Seeing me struggle to zip the back of the ball gown, Violet spun me around to assist. It was snug, and it shoved my breasts up, creating cleavage where I usually didn’t have any. My bare shoulders and neck left me feeling a little vulnerable, but I could deal with it. The gown’s hem just covered the tips of my black boots, so I left them on and then pulled the mask over my face.

I immediately liked the feeling of being hidden. Of no one knowing who I was or what was wrong with me, though the hair would give me away. I wound it into a tight bun at the nape of my neck. Violet handed over a pair of clip-on chandelier earrings made of black stones and cubic zirconia. My neck was left bare; the earrings and the mask were decoration enough.

After locating a leather belt, I strapped the τερας blade to the outside of my upper thigh. It would smack against my leg, but the skirt was loose and flowing, so I had plenty of room to move.

“Perfect.”

As we hurried down the steps, I suddenly felt as though I was living in a dream. A dream where I floated down the steps of a grand old house, a dream where I was the beauty of the ball, and the night was mine to own.

The cold air outside only added to my exhilaration as we spilled onto the empty street in a wash of color and sound. The
swish of our skirts. Violet’s delighted giggle. The sounds echoed all around us.

I shouldn’t enjoy the swirling material around my legs so much, or the breathless excitement that came from racing down an eerie, darkened road with old, decaying mansions all around me. Peering through the mask made me a different person, a confident version of myself. It made me beautiful, mysterious, and powerful, as though I belonged to the night and to the magic that existed here like no other place on earth. And it belonged to me.

I was winded by the time we reached St. Charles Avenue, just catching the trolley full of costumed tourists. Violet paid our fare; I hadn’t even thought beyond playing dress-up and rescuing our friends. At least one of us was prepared.

Talk was loud and cheerful as the car rolled toward the French Quarter, where we exited and fell into a quick stride, passing throngs of costumed people and regular folks as they made their way toward Royal Street for one of the nightly parades. Music wafted through the Quarter, mingling with revelry and clashing with the occasional tunes from clubs and bars.

The Arnaud house commanded the corner of Dauphine and Orleans Streets. It was three stories, with two balconies and lacy ironwork for railings. Ferns hung from the scrollwork and the tall windows were lit up from the inside, shadows passing by and classical music drifting from the house.

Violet and I stopped on the sidewalk opposite the house and watched as a group of masked women and men entered. Two butlers in formal attire stood sentry at the door. My hand gripped and fidgeted with the bent invitation. We’d arrived early, and in costume. And it looked like those were the only two things to our advantage. The real challenge waited inside.

“You ready?”

Violet slipped her tiny hand into mine and squeezed. She tipped her head up, her large eyes luminous even through the holes of the mask. “Yessss.”

T
HE FIRST FLOOR OF THE MANSION WAS FILLED WITH MASKED
people, moving through rooms, distracting me in their colorful, sparkling gowns. Pockets of conversation and laughter were carried on the occasional breeze coming through the open windows and mingled with the soft string quartet that played in the ballroom on the second floor. I went up, following the music. The ball was breathtaking and surreal, as though I’d gone to another country hundreds of years in the past.

I wove through the throng of guests to the back of the house and the balcony that overlooked the vast courtyard set with round tables, freshly cut flowers, and candle centerpieces. Waiters moved beneath glowing strands of lights hung from the tree limbs.

I gripped the wrought-iron railing and scanned the crowd
below, looking for Josephine or Michel. But it was hard to distinguish anyone in their masks. I went to relay my disappointment to Violet, but she was gone. “Violet!” I whispered, turning swiftly and going back through the house, but there was no trace of her.

The butlers had closed the entry doors and took up residence on either side. Violet was here somewhere. And so were the others.
Focus.
Josephine wouldn’t hurt them, would she? Sebastian was her grandson, after all, and the others were his friends. But she herself had said she didn’t have a heart.

After a complete but very discreet check of the first floor, I lifted my skirts and hurried back to the second level, intending to look there.

Dancing had begun in the ballroom. A crowd gathered to watch the spectacle of dancers whirl by in a blur of glittering colors. Slowly I made my way through to skirt the edge of the dance floor.

“Ah, a beauty among beauties,” a French-accented voice said as a hand fell lightly on my arm, directing me through the onlookers. “Care to waltz?”

I opened my mouth as I was pushed gently backward. We’d broken through the crowd and were on the dance floor. His warm hand slid from my arm to my waist, guiding me toward him and spinning me around.

My body stiffened. I pulled away, his hand at the small of my
back giving slightly. But he didn’t release me. “I’m not the best dancer,” I muttered, overcome by a deep sense of embarrassment. I didn’t know how to do this. I didn’t belong here. With these people. “I should really—”

“One dance. Please.” He increased his steps to keep pace with the others on the floor as we whirled in one direction, in a fast and breathless oval. Sweat broke out along my back. My eyes scanned the crowd for a place to break, and— “Relax,
ma chère
. Just let me lead.” My mind tried to play catch-up as he whisked me along, twirling and carrying me with the flow. “Breathe. It helps if you breathe,” he said, laughter in his voice.

My exhale came immediately; I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath. My fingers flexed on his shoulder as my feet began to pick up the simple steps. We swept past a staircase, my gaze going up until the mask cut off my vision, and I was forced to pay attention to my partner. I wanted to get away, but something inside me wanted to stay, too.

His eyes, cheeks, and nose were shrouded in a simple gold mask, but he was tall and young. His lips curved in a half grin, and his eyes sparkled like two emeralds held to the light. His hair was light brown and wavy, touched by the sun, and long enough to curl over his ears and the collar of his white dress shirt. Subtle notes of cologne made me inhale deeply.
Nice.

There was something about being behind the mask that
allowed me to relax for this one dance, to be someone else, a young woman who loved to have fun, to dance with a man, to flirt and feel special.

I whirled and whirled, losing all sense of time.

I changed partners many times, and it seemed as though each masked guy who held me grew more mysterious and handsome than the next. The music warbled. I grew drunk on it, on the beauty and the laughter and the warmness in my body.

I was let go suddenly by my partner, laughing and spinning until another caught me around the waist, my momentum slamming my front up against his chest. “Oh, sorry!” I paused, breath coming fast. “It’s you again.”

My first partner had returned, and he held me close, his hand warm against my back. He bent down and brushed my ear with his lips. A whoosh of light air breezed through my stomach. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not.” He kissed my ear and then whisked me into another dance.

“What’s your name?” he asked. “Nymph? Siren? Fairy princess?”

There was something joyful in flirting, in the sense of power it gave me. “I am none of those things,” I said, smiling.

“Ah, you are more, much more.” He pulled me closer, our chests touching as the side of his cheek came to rest against my temple. “I shall call you the Moon Queen.”

I laughed. “So what does that make you?”