Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DIORA
This isn’t remotely what I thought I was getting into when Elliot asked me to the The Morrígan Society Annual Ball. The Society truly doesn’t hold back. When they say they are putting on a ball, they truly mean a ball.
The natural history museum is drop dead gorgeous.
We walk up the black carpet to the double doors, welcoming us to the event.
I walk behind Mrs. Jay and Elliot as we grace the entryway.
This ball’s theme is black, so we dressed strictly following the theme color.
My dress swings at my ankles as I move, like a princess’s would.
I feel beautiful. My pointed heels click along the walkway, like my mom’s did when I was a kid and she’d just come home from work.
I smile as I follow the two. Elliot slows his pace, sliding his hand in mine as we walk the black carpet. We flash our membership rings, mine still dangling off my pearl necklace, as we walk pass the security at the door.
“Remember, we’re being watched at all times, so act accordingly,” Mrs. Jay snips. I’ve never seen Mrs. Jay nervous. Not like this. She has a chilling excitement in her posture and the expression on her face. A forced smile with bright eyes. It’s the strangest combination.
“Today is the dinner and dance, tomorrow starts the workshops and event, alongside another optional dinner, and Sunday has one last workshop with a brunch, closing the ball weekend. How exciting is this?” Mrs. Jay gushes over the itinerary as we glide through the doors.
Sales booths line the hallways of the museum as we make our way to the ballroom, where this grand ball is held.
Stepping into the ballroom is like stepping into an enchanted world. My breath is stolen as my eyes gaze around the room.
The room is lit by candles absolutely everywhere.
The antler chandeliers have candles on them.
Black heavy tablecloths dress each table and centerpieces with matte black candlesticks and rust red and purple roses decorate the tables.
It’s a stunning sight and quite fitting for the kind of attendees this ball has tonight.
Everyone is dressed in black tie attire, and it makes me more thankful for the dress Elliot bought me. I wouldn’t have been able to afford something of this caliber. Everyone has matching masks to their outfits that hide their faces.
So, even if I saw someone I knew, I wouldn’t know that I knew them.
It’s odd to look around the room and know that everyone here has killed someone.
Even more so to know it wasn’t accidentally, or because it was self defense, no, everyone here kills for the…
thrill, maybe the joy, of killing and to see so many people here it makes my heart feel a little less, a little less lonely.
Elliot doesn’t let go of my hand as he leads our little group to our assigned table.
Old tan cobblestone walls and archways that a fair maiden would like to be kissed under make up the structure of this room.
There are long tables in front of a stage, which our table is close to.
I look over to Elliot, tonight’s host, who pulls out my chair and pushes me in before doing the same for Mrs. Jay.
He stands between our chairs, leaning against mine, and I can feel my flush.
I hope my skin hides the coloring I feel taking over.
This is the first event I don’t have Juliet to help me get ready, or be my social shield, taking over conversations and social normalities for me. Straightening my shoulders, the curls I left out of my updo fall over my shoulders.
But I have Elliot, who smiles and shakes hands with the members who come up to greet him. He laughs when he is supposed to, nods his head, interacts. He appears normal. It comes naturally to him.
I should feel the need to stand by his side, at least do the smiling and nodding with him, but he stops me with a glance and slight shake of his head that I barely notice.
Keeping a hand on my shoulder to keep me sitting, he lightly traces the outline of something, animals, maybe birds.
The touch is soothing, relaxing for me, and I am internally warm at the gesture.
He doesn’t look at me, though, almost like he’s mindlessly doing it. It’s cute.
As the guests flood in and take their seats, Elliot leans down and whispers, “It’s time for my speech. Kiss my cheek for good luck.”
“Mrs. Jay is right there,” I whisper. She is sitting on the left side of Elliot. She’s engrossed in a conversation with one of our tablemates.
“Quick, before she notices,” he whispers. His eyes tell me he’s not going to let me out of this one, even if Mrs. Jay was looking directly at us. I’m confused. Did he forget the precautions we have to take, or does he simply not care anymore? Is Paris a safe zone of some sort.
“Little Crane.” He drags out the nickname, and I finally give in. I give him the fastest peck ever, my lips meeting the soft skin of his cheek and I catch the corner of his lips.
“Happy?” I ask, trying to calm my racing heartbeat.
“Very,” he says as he walks toward the stage. I watch his back and I wonder if my lip gloss stained his cheek.
I scoff to myself as he walks on stage, looking like the dangerous socialite of the evening.
His tight vest and button down add to his appeal, and gosh, it was a good call.
I’ve always been drawn to the attractiveness of Elliot Jay, but the man dressed up, I could stare for hours and not get my fill.
He nods under the stage lights and taps the mic three times before starting his speech. “Welcome to The Morrígan Society’s Annual Ball.”
The audience claps, and he waits to continue his speech. He keeps his gaze moving over the crowd, and it’s electric to watch him stand up there.
“Each of you has made six kills this year, which has earned you an invitation to this weekend’s festivities.
With over one hundred of us here, that’s at least eight hundred cold bodies, six feet underground, either literally or metaphorically.
That means nearly one thousand successful kills made this night possible. How fucking fantastic.”
That many people? I look around the room, at the various types of people here.
I’m only here as a date and didn’t complete my six kills, but most people here did.
Dead bodies made this night happen. Caving into our deepest darkest urges rewarded us with a beautiful weekend in Paris instead of a lifetime jail sentence. How ironic.
“While we may have killed for this night, keep in mind this isn’t a free-for-all. This ball is for us special folk to have a night where we can enjoy our true, authentic selves. It is a time for our darkest desires to be celebrated, not acted on. No killing tonight.
“The Society has rented out the Musee de la Chasse et de la Nature, a beautiful natural museum with plenty of historic exhibits that are irreplaceable. That said, don’t break jack shit. You will not be able to use your Society issued get-out-of-jail card this weekend, so, you break it, you buy it.
“Now, I wouldn’t be walking off this stage alive tonight without giving a huge thank you to our society leaders, the lifeblood of The Morrígan Society, for this annual tradition.
“We have many events and workshops taking place this weekend, so please take advantage of every opportunity here, all provided for us by the Society.
“Have fun, but more importantly, behave. The Society is watching.” Elliot smiles one last time as the audience claps before making his way off the stage and back to me. Waiters flood the room with trays of our appetizers, but my eyes are stuck on him.
His gaze darts to me. His sole focus is on me, and I almost crave the pressure. The attention is addicting. He aims straight for me before I watch hands of congratulations latch onto him. I smirk as his attention is drawn away and his smile drops. The ever-so-polite gentleman Elliot Jay can be.
I turn back to my chair as the waiter drops a plate of salad in front of me and I watch as Mrs. Jay picks up the tiniest fork for her salad. Mimicking her, I pick up the smallest fork I have laying in my place mat and take a slow bite of my salad.
“What a wonderful speech, dear,” Mrs. Jay says as Elliot sits in his chair between us. The table congratulates him and he nods in thanks.
He turns to me, his entire body facing me and his back to Mrs. Jay, whose face is all but happy about it.
“Elliot,” I mutter as he places a hand on my thigh.
“How’d I look?”
“I know nothing about speeches—”
“How did I look, Little Crane?” he asks again, leaning closer and taking up much of my personal space. It heightens my senses as he invades my space and I swallow down another bite.
He wants my approval. My approval. How adorable. I flush again under the attention he has put me at the table. Thankfully, no one is paying attention beside Mother, whose hard stare is pressing into his back.
“Incredibly… alluring, Mr. Jay,” I say. ‘Now, eat, please.”
“Anything you say, Little Crane,” he says. He quickly pecks my cheek before sitting correctly in his chair and digging into his salad.
I sigh in relief as Mrs. Jay wraps him up in a conversation about upcoming hits.
This was going to be a long weekend.