Chapter 43
THE INVESTORS’ BALL
A private dressing room is a luxury I never thought I would be afforded. The break from all the hustle and noise of the training wing is welcome.
At least it would be if there wasn’t a girl in the next room over sobbing her eyes out. Not exactly a comforting indication of what tonight might bring.
The attendants fuss around me, fumbling with hairpins, expensive perfumes, and enough glittery eye makeup to cover this place top to bottom.
The skittish attendant on my right extends a pair of long black lace gloves to me, which I slide on with ease.
The contrast is brilliant against my pale skin and the sapphire of my dress.
They help me change into a lovely pair of open-toe black heels.
I take a moment to admire them before realizing how pointless they are when they’re immediately tucked beneath the floor-length gown.
The skirt itself is light, swishing around my ankles.
“I trust you practiced?” V slips through the doorway, light as the air itself.
He’s fiddling with the cufflinks of yet another perfect suit.
It’s the deepest shade of charcoal, with a deep blue tie that matches my dress too well to be unplanned.
I want to scoff at his indifference after all he’s put me through today.
Practice doesn’t even do it justice. I rehearsed that piece until I could play it inside and out, facing forwards or backwards.
I bet I could play that stupid waltz better than the composer himself.
Snapping at him for never coming back to pick me up feels appropriate, but a taste of his own medicine sounds far better.
“I practiced until it was perfect, sir.” The smirk that plays on my lips is sickly sweet. “Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity, Mister V, I hope I can bring great pride to the advancement program tonight.”
His brow twitches. He presses his lips together, matching my energy with an over-enthused: “Excellent.” I roll my eyes at how absurd it sounds coming from him.
V gives me a once-over, admiring what I know were his choices.
Mister M would rather die than dress me in anything nicer than a potato sack.
A regulation white one, of course. The chime signals our departure, and I drift to his side, the satisfying swoosh of my dress echoing in the small room.
Before I can step past him, he catches my arm, pulling me in close enough to whisper.
“You better muster up a better act than that. For both our sakes.”
The wide hallway that leads to the presentation hall is downright stunning.
Soaring ceilings, marble floors. Decorated immaculately in warm blues and pale yellows.
The organization’s silver sigil adorns everything.
To the untrained eye, this place seems like a palace.
The epitome of grace and dignity. It makes me feel important, in a way. Until I spot a pair a few paces ahead.
The girl my eyes catch on is hauntingly beautiful.
She’s walking a step behind her mentor, spine straight, expression vague.
The gown she’s wrapped in is cream, making her look like an angel…
or a ghost. Her amber eyes are eerily blank, mouth curled in the faintest of artificial smiles.
She doesn’t see me, or anyone for that matter. She simply moves forward on cue.
I falter a fraction, fighting not to gag on the bile of dread clinging to my throat. V tightens his grip on my arm.
“Smile,” he whispers through his teeth. I offer a fake one that’s hopefully convincing.
We reach the ballroom doors, impossibly tall and sickeningly grand. A pair of enforcers open them with a nod, ushering us in like royalty. The sight laid before me is nothing short of nauseating.
It’s huge, easily triple the size of the practice hall we use for ballroom basics.
The space swells with music and applause and conversation.
I recognize none of the faces, all masked, all wealthy.
Investors. Board members. Even some instructors.
They look like cold, calculating predators cloaked in their finery.
My eyes are everywhere in seconds, but there’s too much to take in.
“Keep your chin up,” V murmurs. “Remember what you are.”
I glance sideways at him. “And what’s that?”
His smile stops short of his eyes, glinting with an ounce of honesty. “Something they think they own.”
My heart flutters. I don’t have a chance to respond—not that I need to. We’re immediately swept up into the crowd. It’s obvious V has been to these gatherings more than a few times.
To my surprise, he’s quite popular. By the time we’ve reached a refreshment table, I’ve recited enough practiced responses to make my head spin.
“You’re doing well,” V says, pressing a tall glass into my hand.
He hesitates, then swaps it for a different one.
“Don’t drink that.” He grabs one from a different row for himself.
I don’t even get a chance to ask why before another couple approaches.
A tall, burly man with a peppered beard offers me a kind smile, and the woman I presume is his wife does the same, struggling through a half-bow in her structured red gown.
She pulls V into a tight embrace. He remains charismatic, but something about the subtle clench of his fist tells me he’s not enjoying the contact.
“So lovely to see you again!” she chirps, pulling back to look him over. “You really must attend more often, darling. It’s always such a pleasure.”
"The pleasure’s all mine,” he returns with a soft sort of undeniable charm. Her attention shifts to me.
“And look at you! I haven’t seen you out in forever.
” She takes one of my hands in hers, squeezing it tightly.
“You’re looking positively radiant. Blue has always been your color, you know!
” The strange woman gushes at me. My brows rise in confusion.
I chance a sideways glance at V, which goes unreturned.
He clears his throat, a painfully fake smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Actually, Mrs. Devon, this is Maysie. A new advancement.” He sounds rehearsed. “Her mentor was preoccupied, but I couldn’t let her miss a night as important as this.”
Mrs. Devon purses her lips in a tight frown, looking me up and down again. She lets out a small giggle. “Surely you’re joking with me. I’d never forget those eyes.”
“I assure you, I’m not.” He pats my shoulder. “You should hear her play piano, though. It’s truly remarkable.” V takes my arm in his again, guiding me away from the now-perplexed woman.
“I’ll be looking forward to it! Toodaloo!” she calls after us, giggling and grabbing another glass.
V leads me off to the side, not daring to say a word until we’re safely out of earshot.
“What was she—” I start, but he shakes his head dismissively.
“She’s drunk,” he states plainly. “Ignore—”
“But what was she talking about? With my eyes? And the dress and—”
“I promise to explain everything later, but right now we must get through this.”
I take a shaky breath. Nod. “Promise?”
“Promise.” It’s sincere. He turns his back on me, releasing my arm in a fluid motion. “I’m going to see if they’re ready for you. Stay out of trouble.” I flash him a shy half-grin and lean back against a marble pillar.
“Stand up straight,” he calls, half glancing over his shoulder.
V weaves through the crowd easily. I’ll bet it’s ten times easier when you aren’t having to guide someone in a floor-length gown.
Something rustles beside me. I snap my head up, gaze catching on a girl half-hidden behind a tall pillar. When she chances a step out of the shadow, I nearly leap out of my skin.
Avery.
Her once-bright blonde waves fall limp around her chin, stick straight and brittle.
Her eyes are shadowed, with irises that appear more gray than blue.
She’s dressed in white, giving her pale skin an almost translucent flush.
There’s a fresh scar at her temple, delicately stitched and mostly covered with makeup. A polite smile plays on her lips.
“You’re looking lovely, 214.” Her voice is faint. I reach for her hand, but she steps back.
“Avery,” I breathe, losing any semblance of words. I bite my lip, using the sharp sting as clarity. “Where have you been?”
She hums softly. “I needed some maintenance. I am grateful for the opportunity to be corrected.”
A shiver snakes down my spine, raking through me until I can’t feel my toes. “I’m glad you’re okay,” I manage, though I don’t believe it. It doesn’t take a doctor to see something’s amiss here. She smiles impossibly wider, blinking at me.
“I’m better than okay, Maysie,” Avery beams, pressing her gloved hands to her chest. “I’m perfect.” She steps forward, taking my free hand in hers. “You’ll understand soon.”
I don’t want to ask; something tells me I already know. Plus, anyone could be listening. There’s a presence at my back that I politely ignore. Twisted curiosity gets the better of me.
“What are you—”
“They’re ready for you,” V interrupts, threading his arm through mine and practically yanking me away from Avery.
I’m still trembling, squeezing the hilt of my glass.
Cracks spread up the delicate stem. My finger slips across the side, slicing a gash across the tip.
Panic creeps up my throat. The glass slips between my fingers, but V manages to snatch it from me, tossing it haphazardly in a nearby trash can.
“I’m sorry, I don’t…I—”
“It’s all right, you’re okay.” His tone is soft, sympathetic.
He grips my arm tightly, guiding me gently around the edges of the crowd.
V casts a nervous glance back at Avery, still dissociating in the corner, right where I left her.
He squeezes tighter when I try to shift out of his grip, using his free hand to blot the blood from my finger with his jacket sleeve.
“I don’t know what she said, but you need to snap out of this. Right now. You have a job to do, a performance to give.” Unease is etched into his features. He stops, turning me to face him. “Hold it together until you’re safe. Then you can fall apart.”
He’s right, and I hate him for it. Crying right now wouldn’t do me any good.
In fact, it could do me a whole lot of bad.
I exhale deeply, ready to play the part so I can get out of here.
As we approach the front of the seemingly endless ballroom, a raised stage comes into view.
About a hundred patrons mill around it, clinking glasses and laughing. V steps aside, motioning me forward.
“You can do this.”
“I know.” I flash him a hint of a smile, one I can’t be certain is real. That doesn’t mean much; I don’t really feel certain about anything anymore. I climb the short steps and find my way to the bench, ignoring the low whispers and eyes on me.
The keys are cool to the touch, centering. It lasts for all of two seconds as my eyes find the music stand.
Dismay claws at my ribs as I look over the sheet music. It’s not the waltz I spent all day honing.
No. Because why would it be?
Why would absolutely anything go as planned here?
For a place that thrives on structure, this is a gross oversight.
No, it’s not the piece I practiced. It’s the haunting ballad Mister M forced me to play yesterday. The one that echoes through my brain when a room grows too silent. The one that made V look like he’d seen a ghost.
I suck in a deep breath and do what I do best. I play.
Slowly, at first. One measure at a time, until the song consumes me, entrancing me into its story so tightly that I can hardly make out the pained expression on V’s face.
By the time the song reaches its climax, the music is flowing out of me like a storm, raining a perfect stillness over the room.
All eyes are on me now. Heat surges down my spine, but my heart rate holds steady.
Terror should be biting at my heels; instead, somehow, this may be the freest I’ve ever felt.
It’s exhilarating.
That is…until the lights go out.