Chapter 50
“We are going to have so much fun.” Last spun in a circle and clumsily pirouetted on the sidewalk, laughing as a pigeon flapped away. She wobbled, spun again, and then, pointing at me, she asked, “Won’t we?”
It was half-question, half-demand.
The city was awake. Sunlight peeked through the stone buildings and pooled in puddles of light on the sidewalks. I splashed through one and then stopped in the shade to peer in the shop windows.
“Tell me again why there’s such a rush?” I asked.
There was a mannequin in the window wearing a wedding gown, with enough lace to wrap around the spire of the Empire State Building. Twice.
When I left the asylum, I had no idea what Last had in store for us. But I would never have guessed this. We were in Soho, near the Bard’s temporary apartment, at a luxury bridal salon.
“The city is in chaos. Besides Rockefeller falling, there was another earthquake last night. All our homes are destroyed. The Smith killed another three of your cousins this morning—”
Last scoffed and then nodded to the window. “What do you think about this dress?”
“Your principal wants to free a monster. Your brother wants to kill the Smith and claim the crown. And you want—”
“Too much lace, right?”
“—to spend the day shopping for a wedding dress?”
“White isn’t my color either. I prefer black. Or onyx.”
“Onyx is black.”
“Or jet.”
“Jet is black.”
“See! You’re perfect for this. I knew it was the right choice to bring you along. If my mother were alive . . .” Last’s lips wobbled, and then she shrugged. “She’d help me. But you’re here, Mari. You’re here.”
She reached over and gripped my hand. Her fingers were ice-cold and frail. She gave me a joyous, bride-like smile, but her mood was brittle and sharp-edged. It felt like if I poked hard enough, she’d shatter.
“A friend is almost as good as a mother . . .”
She stared at me, her dark eyes entreating. Her grip reminded me of when we were lying in the rowboat together in the lake in Central Park, sharing secrets and friendship. Except that moment had never actually happened.
All the same, the faded memory of being friends still remained. The echo of emotions remained.
I squeezed her hand back. The heat in my blood had transferred to her, warming her cold grip.
“You don’t have to marry him, you know.”
Last laughed, and the noise was as jarring as discordant wedding bells. “You’re the perfect maid of honor. Are you going to tell me he isn’t good enough for me?”
“No. He isn’t right for you.”
Last yanked her hand free from mine. “Don’t be stupid.”
She twisted her fingers and threw a line of darts at me. Their tips glistened with poison. I unraveled the knots, and they vanished. She conjured a knife and thrust it toward my ribs. I untied the illusion and smoothly blocked her fist. I stepped to the side and pulled open the shop door.
A blast of air-conditioning hit me.
“Thanks.” Last smirked and then whispered, “I like that you aren’t breakable.”
I let out a long breath. “Marrying him won’t make you happy.”
“I don’t expect it to. Come on. Let’s find the perfect dress. I want to look terrifying and beautiful.” Last swept through the front door.
Cold, chest-freezer air hit us as we entered the bridal salon. The door shut and closed out the rush-hour traffic, the clouds of exhaust, the construction noise, and the sweltering summer scramble.
It took a second to adjust to the vacuum-like seal that closed out the bustle. My ears popped at the sudden shift from city-loud noise to dampened silence. I blinked.
I was used to illusion. I’d recognized it for what it was my entire life.
But there were lots of types of illusion. Conjurers wove illusion and made it real. But humans could make illusion too. They used lies, misdirection, visual tricks, optical illusions.
The bridal salon was a type of illusion. Not the knots and ropes of conjurers, but a different kind.
It was the illusion that if you bought one of the beautiful, luxurious, stunning dresses in this shop, then you would be admired, loved, envied. Your wedding would be perfect. Your marriage would be perfect. Your life would be perfect. And it all began here. With the perfect dress. In this shop.
I could almost hear the promise whispered as I stepped into the bridal salon.
The space was luxurious. The ceiling was tall and the room expansive—it was a wide-open future full of possibilities.
The crystal chandeliers gave off a soft, romantic glow—the future was a lovely, romance-laden pink.
There were tasteful settees with plush pillows—the future always had safe, comfortable places to rest. And there was plenty of gold, marble, and . . . champagne.
A woman in a black sheath dress held a golden tray with two tall glasses full of bubbling golden liquid. Behind her, there was a table spread with pastries, chocolate-dipped strawberries, waffles, tiny crepes, and a plate of chocolate truffles.
“Welcome, Ms. Clark,” the woman said.
I checked her quickly, searching for illusion. I wouldn’t be surprised if Last had cooked her brains. But no. The smile was real. The champagne was real. The coffee was real.
I smiled at Last.
She grinned back.
Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes almost sparkled under the crystal lights. She grabbed the champagne glasses and handed one to me.
She clinked our glasses together. “To finding the perfect dress.”
She shot back the entire glass of champagne in one gulp. I followed suit. Then she topped up our glasses, and we had another. No breakfast meant the champagne sparkled through my bloodstream and made my smile wobbly and off-center.
But as Last’s hopeful, hungry gaze focused on the display of wedding dresses, I realized one true thing. Even though she hated Luvic. Even though she didn’t expect her marriage to make her happy. Even though she claimed she was going to kill him after she had his heir. Even though . . .
She still wanted to feel beautiful—and terrifying—on her wedding day.
Today, she was just a bride-to-be like any other, and I was her maid of honor.
* * *
“No. Nope. No. No. No.” I waved my hands, pushing the wedding dress out of the changing room. “No mermaid-style. No.”
Last giggled, and I tilted, stumbled, then slid onto the plush velvet ottoman. It was closer to the floor than I realized, and I nearly fell off.
Last hiccupped.
“We’re drunk,” I said, closing one eye and peering at Last. The changing room—as big as my bedroom at Hell Gate—spun like a carousel. “Why are we drunk?”
Last snorted. “Cause. We had three”—she held up four fingers—“bottles of champagne.”
I shook my head. “We had one.”
She laughed and then flicked a finger against my forehead. I jerked toward the mirror, and the room spun. There was a knot on my forehead. It was small, barely noticeable, and it hovered below my right temple.
“You didn’t!”
Last snorted again. Then she grabbed another wedding dress and tugged it over her head.
We’d been here for hours. She’d tried on at least sixty dresses, a dozen veils, gloves, garters, shoes.
Six different people had been bringing her dresses to try on, champagne to drink, and food to eat.
She’d booked the shop for the entire day.
I wasn’t sure what she’d told them or how much she’d promised to spend, but she was being treated like visiting royalty.
I’d never been dress-shopping before. At Hell Gate, we were given clothing to wear—black. At the Night Den, Luvic had conjured all my disguises. There had never been any need to shop. This was a new, strange experience.
And the whole day was all a blur, as if I were looking at it through a golden glass of bubbling champagne.
Drunk.
I yanked at the knot on my head and winced as the knowledge of guzzling three bottles of champagne came tumbling back. Last was lucky I was a mine. Jagger’s blood swallowed liquor and lessened its effects. If I’d been what I appeared—a petite human woman—I would’ve been unconscious on the floor.
Last was tricky. Apparently, I’d been distracted by yards of lace and tulle.
“Don’t do that again.” My words came out slurred.
There was a loud rustle, the whoosh of falling fabric, and then Last turned toward me, a smile on her face. “What do you think?”
She’d always been skinny to the point of gaunt. Her features were hard and tended toward vicious. Her black hair and her black eyes made her pale skin seem almost lifeless. But the dress she was wearing had transformed her.
Instead of gaunt, she looked ethereal. Instead of hard, she was strong. Instead of pale and lifeless, she was made of ice, and if you touched her, you would freeze to death. But the dress made you want to touch her. To freeze and die.
“It makes you look like a monster,” I said.
Her smile widened into a grin. “Doesn’t it?”
She spun in a surprisingly graceful circle, and the swaths of satin and tulle flared around her in a snowy arc.
The dress was so wide it spanned as far as her arms could stretch.
There were layers upon layers of satin and tulle.
The bodice was see-through netting and delicate, hand-stitched lace.
The back was almost entirely see-through, and there was a line of seed pearl buttons rising up her spine.
The dress fell around her, and she smoothed her hands over the satin skirt.
“You like it?”
The room spun again, and I gripped the ottoman, picturing Last walking down the aisle toward Luvic.
“It’s terrifying,” I said.
“Isn’t it?” She twisted her hand, and the snow and ice dress bled to black. The color swirled through the fabric, soaking up the darkness, until it looked like clouds of smoke snaking into the night sky.
If there was ever a painting of a black widow on the way to her wedding, this would be it.
“It’s hard to believe I’ll be married in two days.”
I blinked, not sure I’d heard her right. I knew the wedding was next week, but two days?
Luvic.
What are you going to do?
Last laughed. “Don’t look so upset. We’ll find you a dress too. But first . . .”
She scrambled out of her wedding dress and then twisted her hand. She covered both of us in illusion: tiny black dresses, high heels, perfect hair, smoky makeup.
I stood and pressed a hand to my bloodred lips.
Last smiled like a snake about to devour a mouse.
“Come on, Mari . . . let’s go break some hearts.”