Chapter Seventy-Five
MERISSA
Merissa had never seen anything like the sight that greeted her as they delved into the depths of Phantome.
Carved pumpkins lit with candles lined a path that teemed with people, casting the evening in an orange glow as the group marched on.
‘Well, shadow madness or not, it doesn’t seem like it stopped the Asterians throwing a party,’ Isra murmured.
‘And it doesn’t appear that we’re just in the company of Asterians,’ Enzo remarked.
True enough, people of all different kingdoms could be seen socializing and chattering, glimpses of varying skin, hair and eye colour among their costumes.
It often struck Merissa just how discerning the king was. He’d already noticed that something didn’t seem quite right.
‘Why?’ Leo asked, assessing a pair of women dressed as sirens of Altalune, giggling as they staggered, bottles in hand.
‘Piscea,’ Elara said grimly. ‘It has to be the work of her and the other Stars. To get people together for a grand spectacle, for something terrible.’
As they neared the main square, the path diverging into twelve twisting alleys—each dedicated to a different god, by the looks of it—the music grew louder, and they began to see other citizens dressed for the night.
To Merissa’s right, two men dressed as demons of Perses, red horns and all, laughed as another walked right into a lamppost.
She turned a corner to see an angel of Sveta swimming in a fountain, drinking wine straight from the spout and laughing.
Masks and costumes surrounded her in the darkness, pure chaos beginning to filter towards them.
And, more importantly, everyone was blind drunk.
People were dancing and singing raucously, numerous bodies passed out on the street, others nursing bottles of wine or rum.
Merissa squinted at the grapes twisting up pillars and forming a kind of canopy around the city, glitterbugs flitting between them as people clawed their way up to eat the fruit. This was madness, absolute madness.
‘Oh, Sagitton is here, all right,’ Isra said.
Merissa could feel Sagitton’s charm coating her, trying to tease her into submission. She gritted her teeth against it as she looked past the sea of All Hallows’ masks, all of different mythas, dancing and drinking and screaming and—
She blinked hard, dizziness taking hold of her. She looked at Elara and Enzo beside her, who appeared to be fine.
Merissa stumbled a little, scanning the crowd. She saw Leo a few paces ahead and went to catch up with him, when two hands clamped over her eyes as a voice whispered in her ear, Trick or treat.
Merissa screamed, struggling as she turned around and…found herself in a deserted alley, no one to be seen.
She whimpered as she whirled, checking to see where the person who had accosted her was. But she was utterly alone.
‘Elara?’ she whispered, her voice trembling as she peered into the gloom. ‘Enzo?’
Nothing, only the howl of the wind and the sounds of the party continuing behind her.
She hurried towards the light as panic took hold, unsure of where she was, unsure of how she had landed here.
To the side of the small alley was a table made of stone.
It held what looked like a selection of cakes, as well as a small carafe of ruby wine, the usual libations to both gods and the dead.
Candles flickered, and there were paintings—oil, by the looks of it—of various people.
Small bones and…blood littered the little altar.
Merissa made to ignore it and carry on but felt a deep and insistent tug when she tried to skirt around it.
Trick or treat.
She whirled again, heart hammering, but no one was there.
She shook her head before the whisper came again.
Pick the treat.
She paused.
Taste me, the whisper chanted. Tastemetastemetastemetasteme.
Merissa’s eyes narrowed as they focused on the table.
Something important pressed against her skull.
She was supposed to be doing something; she was supposed to be somewhere.
But as the voice kept whispering, she found herself forgetting exactly what and where that was.
She reached a tentative, trembling hand out.
Yes. Yesyesyesyesyesyes, the voice keened.
She picked up one of the cakes, sticky in her hand as the scent of plum and cinnamon wafted off it. Her mouth watered.
Don’t you want a taste? the voice murmured in her mind again, velvet soft.
Her eyes fluttered shut as she brought the cake to her lips.
Don’t you deserve it?
Merissa’s hand trembled. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
She saw purple swirling beneath her lids, heard a giggle as she opened her mouth.
Let go of your burdens, love, the charm whispered. The dead have.
She shook her head, a last attempt at resisting, but the charm tried again.
You’ve always been a saint. A soft chuckle swam in her veins. How would it feel, for once, on a day when no one would notice…to sin?
Merissa’s breathing hitched as her teeth sank into the sponge.
That’s it. Give in. Give in to me.
The spiced sponge fizzed in her mouth, a thrill racing through her as the sweetness of it coated her tongue. She could taste light plum as it slid down her throat, decadent and mellow. It seemed to alchemize with her starlight, calling it forth, begging it to break free.
She wanted more.
Moremoremoremoremore, the voice begged.
‘The spirits are strong here tonight,’ a deep voice broke in. ‘You should be more careful.’
Her eyes flew open.
A demon towered before her, a red mask covering everything but his soft smirk.
A different version of Merissa, the one that had existed before she had eaten the cake, would have stumbled back, screamed, run.
But instead, with the exciting frisson of the charm within her, she took a step forwards, the world swaying.
‘Hello,’ she breathed.
The demon’s lips twitched. ‘Hello,’ he crooned back.
The sound of crazed laughter drifted to her, and she looked beyond him at the lights ahead—nearer than they had been earlier, for some reason.
She had a pressing sense that she should have been with someone else.
But she couldn’t for the life of her remember who.
She pushed the nagging to the back of her mind, blinking past it and towards the music and the pretty, swaying figures.
The demon followed her gaze before turning back to her.
‘Would you like to dance?’ he asked, extending his hand.
Merissa felt a thrill as she took it.
‘Yes,’ she murmured.
The demon looked around before pulling her out of the alley and into pandemonium.
The music was deafening, the crowd pressing into her from all sides. Mythas masks of all kinds surrounded her—wraiths, skulls, naiads and dryads, nightwolves, lions and angels. Merissa squinted, trying to make sense of her surroundings as her head swam, the stranger pulling her along.
The stars were stark in the sky against the indigo night. Weren’t they beautiful? Didn’t she feel beautiful to be half one?
To her left, she saw a man swallowing fire; to her right, a woman was talking to herself as she swam in a pool of wine.
The shadows leered upon the walls of the buildings around her, and they transformed angrily into wolves, their maws open as they snapped.
She heard a wailing and turned in alarm as a man dressed as a centaur of Kaos bled in front of her.
She gasped as she staggered back, seeing his own hand wielding a blade as he carved letters into his forearm.
‘HELP,’ it read.
Merissa went to scream, but when she blinked, the man had disappeared. Her heart pounded as she turned around, relieved to see the demon still holding her hand as he pulled her through the crowd.
Memories of the man soon fell from her mind as teasing and delicious ecstasy filled her veins once more. The demon halted in the throng, a wall of bodies surrounding them as he twirled her until her back was to his chest.
The music was within her. She could feel its bass pounding in her bloodstream, the energy frenzied and palpable.
Before Merissa could help it, a laugh erupted from her, one burbling from deep within.
She couldn’t help grinning. Why had she been so serious?
Why had it taken her this long to just give in?
She raised her hands to the sky in ecstasy, letting the music and charm invade her, moving not of her own accord. The demon-masked stranger ran a finger up her arm slowly.
The gesture was so simple. So much more demure than sexual. And yet it was as though a match was being struck against her skin. She felt the charm leap in her again and her own magick rise to meet it.
Merissa had lost control. And it felt so, so good.
She continued to dance against the stranger.
‘What’s your name, little nymph?’ he finally murmured, and she felt his hips press into her, moving as one with the rhythm. His voice was so nice, lilting and deep.
She paused. In this moment, she was not Merissa. That woman had left the moment she’d sunk her teeth into honeyed sponge.
‘Amara,’ she replied, the false name tumbling from her lips.
‘Ah-ma-raaaa,’ the stranger echoed, and the way he seemed to taste each syllable on his tongue had Merissa wishing it was her real name. ‘You’re a beautiful dancer, Amara,’ he added.
‘Us Aphrodeans have it in our blood.’ She sighed, closing her eyes as she swayed with him.
She felt his hands tighten on her hips, sinking into the flesh. He made a strained sound. Merissa didn’t care. She was having fun. For the first time, she wasn’t worried or burdened, just…free.
She twirled so she was facing the stranger.
‘Are you not going to show me your face? Or are you a monster?’
The stranger chuckled darkly. ‘Monster’s about right. I’m hideous underneath the mask.’ His words caressed her, rumbling over her skin. ‘Covered in boils and scars.’
His smile widened, hungry and lupine, the kind of arrogant smile that insinuated he knew exactly how good-looking he truly was.
‘Well,’ Merissa said, raising a finger. ‘If your lips are anything to go by, I’d hardly say you are hideous at all.’