Chapter 45
Chapter forty-five
The end of the underground corridor revealed a steep climb that spat them out behind Mothlock’s grand staircase. Lux didn’t push the hidden door fully open, but remained stuck partway between, assessing.
The foyer had filled with people.
The guests of the Hallowed Banquet were not dressed in bright colors as Bartleby Tamish’s partygoers had been but in a sea of darkness and riches—deep jewel tones and silvers.
Many were in black. The grim architecture surrounding them, coupled with flickering blue flames and lashing rain, had Lux thinking she shouldn’t be surprised of any evil committed here tonight.
She could see the front doors.
She did not see anyone in collector’s robes. Maybe they congregated elsewhere. Or maybe…they’d changed. Lux’s eyes burrowed into the back of a thin man suited in black. She chewed at her lip. Her glance flicked to Cecily.
“Pull up your hood,” she whispered.
A small alcove containing an urn wasn’t far from them. Overfull with plum-colored dahlias, it would mark the safest hiding place. Lux shifted toward it slowly, and with a quick scan of the room, wedged her pack behind it.
“You’re sure you can’t come with me?” asked Cecily.
Lux shook her head. “I can’t leave this unfinished.” The doors opened beneath Manphry’s hands. “Go. You will get through this time.”
Lux strode with purpose toward the doors, her shoulders thrown back—a mask of indifference secured upon her face. Her hair was not done up as she’d planned, but perhaps that was for the better. She needed at least one thing to feel like herself.
“Manphry,” she said. “Which way to the Hallowed Banquet?”
Eyes the shade of decayed wood met hers. Manphry focused only on her—not on the short collector rushing out into the rain. “You’re not meant to be here, Ms. Thorn. Up the stairs.”
“Why am I not meant to be here?” Her quick glance revealed a carriage slowing to a stop before the steps. An open gate beyond, another coming through.
The rain poured steadily. The clouds were low and grey.
Twilight.
Everything changes at twilight.
“You’re not meant to be here,” he said again.
So they hadn’t told him. Thus this husk of a man was forced to repeat his instruction without any other thought. Lux glanced again to the courtyard—to a hooded figure darting beyond the gate.
Her entire body exhaled.
“Up the stairs, you said?” She turned away from the door. “Then I will just—”
A boy leaned casually against the banister on the second-floor landing.
A goblet hung from his hand. He didn’t smile or nod when their gazes collided but, instead, sipped from his cup.
His eyes, however, could not be missed. A far cry from his current, confident slouch, they drank her in like they couldn’t get enough.
Lux sucked in a breath. Her body felt as though it’d caught fire. Manphry had shut the doors to the elements but now she begged for the breeze. Shaw lowered the goblet when another addressed him. Achingly slow, his stare broke with hers.
Lux looked across the landing. Toward the person who’d come down the staircase and now spoke to Shaw so intently.
A person she felt most sick to meet again.
Corvin’s icy coloring complemented the darkly intense feel of the manor.
He spoke fast, his arm gesturing back the way he’d come, and it was as Lux contemplated ducking away, that his glance strayed far enough—and ensnared her own.
Goosebumps lifted all along her bare arms.
Corvin stilled, almost startled, and then his lips lifted—a hard, slow grin. He crooked his finger at her.
Lux imagined herself snapping it.
Instead, she gave in to the gesture.
She wasn’t alone on the stairs leading up toward the unfamiliar ballroom. But it felt as if she were. Two sets of eyes—one warm, one cold—watched her intently. Lux found she couldn’t look at either of them, though for entirely different reasons. She stared instead just above them. Behind them.
At Alixsander’s portrait.
Did Corvin really murder you because you were good?
Someone stepped to Corvin’s shoulder—a woman in a black gown.
It drew Lux’s attention to his own attire.
The fact it wasn’t his customary color. Corvin wore a pin-striped suit of silver with a blood-red bow pinned to his lapel.
Lux’s mouth opened and closed, glancing down at once to her front.
Had he taken a strip of her gown’s fabric?
Her stomach twisted when he offered a charming grin to the guest.
It remained so when he returned his focus to her.
Do not look at Shaw. Do not. You don’t know him. He’s no one—
Her gaze slipped.
She couldn’t stop herself from raking her eyes down his form.
Shaw had combed his hair—though it was still unruly—and he’d shaved his chin smooth.
He wore a black jacket with copper stitching and a deep-green waistcoat which brought out his eyes in a way that made her ache.
His trousers were new and pressed, and his shoes were polished.
He’d a gold watch in his pocket. He could have been a member of the Light.
He could have been a man of industry. But he was none of those things, and all she thought was that if he could be anything, she wanted him to be hers.
She was about to lose control of the situation—she could feel it. Because how could anyone contain so much feeling without letting it be known? Corvin was going to see it in her eyes. How could he not?
With all her power, she turned away. She smiled. “You were right. It is as impressive as all that.”
Corvin huffed a laugh, though Lux noticed his eyes didn’t shift. “I love that you’re so pleased. But a few well-dressed guests does not make the event.”
She said nothing, and his gaze perused her slowly. “You are stunning in Lord Kent’s creation. I’d come to collect you, but you were gone.”
Collect. What a choice of word. Her mask nearly slipped. “The wait was too much. I was ready ages ago and wanted to miss nothing. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you.”
“No inconvenience,” he murmured, and his fingers dipped into his waistcoat. The gesture bothered her tremendously, and for a moment she could not figure out why. Until she realized—
He has no gloves.
Her mind bombarded her with the reincarnated image of her dream. Of his hand appearing just as it did now, slim and pale, but reaching for her. A dream version of her. And the death she’d felt immediately afterward.
Corvin removed a watch, silver to match everything else, and clicked his tongue at the time. His attention lifted to the man across from them—one Lux had decided once and for all she would dutifully ignore.
“We should make our way in, but I suppose it would be rude to withhold an introduction. Being as this is your savior, after all.” Again, his smile didn’t touch his eyes. “Mr. Roser, this is Lux Thorn. A necromancer from your own city and Mothlock Manor’s guest.”
“Necromancer?” he responded, his voice low and lightly tinged with disbelief. One that descended quickly into smoke. “I’ve heard tales of you. In Ghadra. I can’t deny I’ve always been eager to know more.”
Lux blinked a moment longer than necessary, his voice cloaking her and setting her heart wild. She looked at him finally—and his eyes were brilliant with mischief.
“Are you well?” he wondered. “The last I was aware, you were bleeding heavily. It was concerning. But you look very”—color rose to his cheekbones—“healthy.”
Lux wished she could know exactly what he thought of the dress Kent had created for her, but she could guess well enough.
Her arms were bare, her collarbones too. Shaw’s gaze continued to dance along them, causing his nostrils to flare, his breaths coming quicker than his norm. His eyes traced her skin: from beneath her ear, down her neck, and along the line of her naked shoulder.
Remember Corvin’s suspicions.
She mustn’t rouse them further.
“Well enough,” she said, her tone shifting to something formal and distant. “I didn’t mean to mar your arrival with my display.”
Shaw’s eyes darkened. “You didn’t.”
Lux startled at Corvin’s touch. His arm pressed against hers; his hand held flat to her low back. Cold seeped through the fabric of her gown. “Shaw Roser is an investor in Mothlock. New to the role, isn’t that correct?”
“It is correct,” said Shaw. “Though I’d venture to say I am your most anticipated?” Then he smiled at Corvin—and it was the most concerning smile she’d ever seen.
A flash of irritation swept Corvin’s features. Lux might have missed it if she’d blinked. But she hadn’t, and in the wake of the emotion, an artery pulsed blue in his pale temple.
If she were capable of discretion, she would have kicked Shaw in the ankle for his obvious baiting. She shifted instead. Until her skirt settled over the toe of his polished shoe. She poised her heel over it and stepped down. Hard.
His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing briefly, but he didn’t flinch or even pull his foot away.
Instead, Shaw turned the full force of that smile upon her.
At once, her insides heated, a flutter in her lower belly flaming to light.
The smile that had looked so menacing toward Corvin now looked intentional in a different way.
Shaw reached and she offered her hand. He bent over it, low enough she couldn’t see his face through the fall of his hair. But she could feel his lips brush across her knuckles. She exhaled sharply.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Ms. Thorn.”
Corvin’s fingers flexed against her back, and Lux stammered something unintelligible.
She could sense the energy shift around them and couldn’t say who was at fault.
Corvin’s shoulders were rigid, while Shaw’s appeared to relax, and Lux thought every muscle of her own would likely ache in the morning—if she made it that far.
This was precisely why she’d not ever minded spending her time with the dead.
“You as well,” she replied and made to tug her hand free.
But Shaw held tight. “I beg of you not to give me reason to hope.”
Lux choked at the same moment Corvin intervened.
His laugh cutting between them was not at all kind.
He made a show of drawing her nearer. “Death to the Devil, don’t you work quickly?
You’ll have to excuse us, Roser. It looks like the mingling portion of this night is ebbing.
Dinner is set to arrive. Enjoy the Hallowed Banquet and have a blessed Hallowed Eve. ”
Corvin turned them both, and she caught the return of Shaw’s terrifying grin. She scowled after it, but it was entirely too late. Lux was about to be transported into a sea of riches; she would be lucky just to stay afloat.