Chapter 11
When I walk into the hallway, I’m startled to find Cary waiting. He leans against a wall. Quiet as midnight.
“Wear this.”
A rose gold masquerade mask dangles from his fingers. The cool metal is lightweight in my palm. Elegant flowers decorate most of it. I recognize them—more daffodils. Etched along the mask’s edges are musical notes.
I hold it up for Cary. “Really?”
His shoulder rises for a half-hearted shrug. “I told you. My brother loves drama.”
Cautiously, I slip the mask on, tying the silky ribbon behind my curls.
Cary eyes me. His jaw moves like he wants to say something else. He doesn’t.
We follow floating globes of light through the serpentine hall. This place is a maze. Locked doors and shadowed corners. I want to ask Cary about all of it. Except, he’s back to being a silent, broody dick.
I should be used to it by now. I shouldn’t be so frustrated. So…confused by him.
One moment, he’s straightening my suit, strong hands resting gently on my chest. Turning me in slow circles as he teaches me to dance. Ink black eyes never leaving my face. Confidently drawing me closer to him. Warm breaths near my cheek.
Then he’s like ice again. A lake frozen by winter’s touch.
Inside the elevator, Cary’s fingers flex at his sides. Those fingers were on me. Gripping my hand. Teasing along the dip in my spine. I shut my eyes, grimacing.
Cary’s an unwanted distraction. I have no time for him.
Another minute passes before the doors yawn open. I gasp, my eyes unable to pick one place to look.
The grand ballroom is massive. Guests are everywhere. In gowns and suits or a combination of both. Extravagant masks on their faces. Laughter sails above bouncing symphonic music.
I step inside. White marble floors gleam like pearls. The brocade wallpaper is stamped with silver filigree designs: keys and flowers and crescent moons.
To my left, a grand piano plays on its own.
The keys depress, untouched. My own fingers wiggle as I try to follow every note and chord.
On my right, crimson petals drift down from the air, evaporating before ever contacting the ground.
Servers in burgundy clothes move around me with glasses on gold trays.
I inhale a mix of fresh fruit and earthy dark chocolate. Flutes of red liquid are handed out. Tiny seeds sit at the bottom like glimmering rubies.
The entire scene is stitched from magic found in storybooks. Sewn together by the promises of dreams. A tapestry of myths and lore.
And I’m standing here in the middle of it.
“August!”
The cry comes behind me. I turn, searching. It’s not Cary. He’s disappeared in the sway of bodies. Instead, I find Henri.
Matching dimples outline his grin. He saunters up in a suit so colorful and bright, I’m forced to blink.
He tugs me into a hug. “Finally! This soiree was so boring without you.”
I laugh. “I doubt that.”
Behind his feathered gold mask, his eyes roll. “Fine. But I was bored and lonely. A devastatingly handsome messenger among unworthy conversation partners.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say dryly, smiling.
He steps back to inspect me. “Impressive!” A blush flows from my temples down to my neck. “Someone obviously thinks highly of you.”
My eyes flit around. I don’t see Milos anywhere. Absently, I thumb the daffodils on my jacket. I remember Cary’s hands there. The petals quiver like they remember too.
“Come, come,” Henri cheers. He hooks an arm with mine.
I falter. “Where are we going?”
“You said you wanted to know more about the Deathless.”
I did. But everyone in the room is overwhelming. Power radiates off them in effortless waves. My natural urge to be invisible, to be a shadow among them, leaves my skin damp with sweat. Henri clucks his tongue.
“No time to be shy. They won’t bite.” He pauses. “Well, some of them won’t.”
I groan as he tugs on me.
Henri spins us around a girl dressed in nothing but plump jewels and a mask of diamonds. Next to her, someone with copper skin is covered in tattoos that move.
Meli waves at me. Her two-tone dress is a collision of long silk and wild shreds. I smile her way.
“Careful,” Henri singsongs. “She’ll give you nightmares.”
He never gives me a moment to ask questions. We keep moving. Gasps break out as Poppy struts across the floor. Her black gown is threaded with crystals, a collection of changing constellations. Woven through her lace mask are red flowers.
Poppies.
Near the piano, a raven-haired woman wears a chic black suit and a starburst crown. Her pale skin silver like a full moon. “Cate,” Henri says offhandedly, “Deathless of the crossroads.”
My nose wrinkles. “And her name’s Cate?”
Holding a finger to his lips, he whispers, “Don’t call her that to her faces.”
When I look again, there’s three heads instead of one. Like Cerby. I blink and she’s normal again.
“Shit,” I hiss.
“Mmhmm.” Henri points to three people standing not far away. “Deathless of vengeance. Triplets.”
He nods at each one: Alek with cropped blond hair against bronze skin, frosted eyes behind a wolf mask, and a fiery suit; Megan, blood dripping from the eyeholes of her mask, sharp talon rings gripping the flowy fabric of her lilac dress; Tish, the tallest, has a horned mask, their indigo tux studded in opals to form a winged beast.
“Never play poker with any of them,” Henri warns. “They’re mean and they cheat.”
As we walk, I feel their stony gazes follow me.
Henri names more guests. So many, I lose count. Some are Deathless. Others, he doesn’t give a title.
From corner to corner, curious eyes are drawn to a beautiful girl with ivory hair and fair green skin. A collection of white leaves makes up her mask. Her iridescent dress shimmers.
“Leu,” Henri says, awed.
“Is she a Deathless?”
“No. But Milos is fond of her.” He grimaces. “Never tell Aminta I said that.”
I nod, reminding myself to find her.
“Though Milos might have a new favorite.” Henri’s wicked smirk is pointed at me. I duck my head. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
He laughs. “Do you like him?”
I don’t know him, I want to say. That would shatter the illusion of why I’m here. I trust Henri. More than anyone else in this room. But is that enough to share my secret with him?
A server pauses in front of us. Henri grins, swiping two flutes from his tray. When I look closer, I recognize the boy. From outside the elevator my first time here. That same white shimmer surrounds him, but it’s not the lighting this time.
It’s him. He’s glowing.
With a bow, the server scurries away.
“He’s a—” I start.
“Soul,” Henri fills in. He gestures around. “They all are.”
My eyes dart around. Despite their burgundy uniforms, every server illuminates like the sun reflecting off Santa Ynez’s snowcapped peaks. There’s at least two dozen of them.
Henri reads the confusion on my face. After a sip, he says, “Souls arrive here constantly. Sometimes hundreds in a blink of the eye. It’s a chore to keep track of them. Milos does his best. And Aminta helps.”
The tablet, my brain screams.
I grip the drink Henri hands me, mouth dry.
Frowning, he notes, “Not every soul likes their next destination.”
I think back to Leila, the woman in the throne room. Clothes stained in blood. Her cries, begging.
My gaze follows a server carrying a tray of glazed tarts. “So how do they end up here? Like this?”
“Occasionally,” Henri says in a lowered voice, “Milos bargains with them. They work in Aides. Help maintain everything. It’s like a fresh start.”
In a shadowed corner, a soul cleans up a mess made by rowdy guests. Light brown hair falls over his shimmery face. My pulse spikes. For a brief second, I think it’s London. When his chin lifts, I see that it’s not.
I bite the inside of my cheek and push the disappointment away.
Henri sips from his flute. “Eventually, they’re brought before Milos again. For a reevaluation. He sends them to the Meadows. Or Elysium. Or they stay here—”
His eyes stray to another corner, where Aminta watches the room closely.
“—and become part of us,” he finishes.
“You mean, Leu? And Aminta? They were…”
He nods slowly. “More than just them.”
I almost choke on my next breath. Aminta was a soul. She was mortal once, like me.
Henri clinks his glass to mine. “Anyway. Back to Milos—smash or pass?”
I take a small sip from my flute to avoid answering him. The heady scent hits my nose immediately. It’s almost recognizable. “What is this?”
“No worries! It’s not alcohol.”
He remembered what I said at that party. I smile around another sip. It’s equal parts sugary and tart. The seeds tingle against my lips.
“Pomegranate,” Henri offers. “Now, about Milos…”
I keep drinking.
Over the lip of my glass, I search frantically around the ballroom. My eyes track every soul. Their glowing faces. A wild hope starts beating in my chest again. One of them could be him.
Another burst of awed voices breaks my concentration. The crowd parts. Milos slinks through the open space.
His cypress crown catches the light. Instead of a mask, sparkling gold paint streaks around his eyes. His formfitting suit is currant red. The jacket’s hem flows out into a floor-length cape. It’s as if he’s being followed by a river of blood.
Wide-eyed guests gape at his beauty.
I do too.
He ignores the calls from the people he passes. Drifts by an earnest Aminta. He doesn’t stop until he reaches me, smiling smoothly.
“You came.”
“You invited me,” I say hoarsely.
His eyes gleam. “I do not expect everyone to accept my invitations.”
Behind me, Henri coughs. A wrinkle forms between Milos’s neatly manicured eyebrows. Henri whispers, “Sorry.”
I chew on my grin. “Does that mean I’m not the only one you asked to show up for this?”
Milos steps closer to touch the back of my empty hand. His fingers are gentle but assured. “No one else matters.”
Over his shoulder, I watch Aminta stomp away.
“Would you like to dance?”
Before I have time to consider, Henri plucks the glass from me. With very little subtlety, he nudges me forward. But I didn’t need him to.
There’s no way I’m missing this opportunity.
“Absolutely,” I say brightly.