Chapter 10 #2
The gargoyle sniffs, then nods us through.
I'm still watching the butterfly flutter up to join dozens of others when Vale gives my elbow a tug. "Are you still with me?"
"Yeah, that was just way cooler than anything I remember the witches doing."
He chuckles. "Even growing up an Emberwood Elite, you can still consider yourself new to this world, Poppy. There are a great many wonders of the empowered world you have yet to discover."
Vale dips his chin as we navigate the outer edge of the attending crowd, acknowledging the curious gazes of a few of the lookie-loos who seem to be checking me out.
The aesthetic of the dress code makes it seem as though these people raided a Victorian gentleman's club and a circus simultaneously.
A woman in a Mediterranean-blue tailcoat and top hat glides past, her dress beneath ebbing with the rush of waves and the spread of white froth as the waves crash.
A man nearby sports a burgundy velvet jacket with tails that trail the floor, his cravat held in place by a pin shaped like a tiny dragon that actually breathes smoke.
Another guy—a seven-foot-tall hulk of a man with moss-green skin—wears head-to-toe emerald brocade with so many buttons and chains I'm dizzy just looking at him.
Everyone's dressed to the nines in ways that make my celestial corset look downright conservative.
Magic thrums through the air like bass notes I feel in my bones.
Witch magic smells like petrichor. Warlock magic crackles warmly against my skin.
Shifter magic flows cool and predatory. But there are others here too—powers I don't recognize, some that shimmer like starlight, others that taste of wild honey and ancient forests.
But I don't recognize a single face.
"Canapé, Lady Hallowind?"
I turn to meet the gaze of a wood elf carrying a silver tray that smells faintly floral and warm—almost like summer air after a light rain.
I cast an inquisitive glance at Vale, and he gives me a reassuring nod. “If something is to your liking, feel free.”
"Okay… sure. What are these?"
"Moonblossom honey & charred fig crostinis,” the server replies.
"They smell amazing." I take one of the little bruschetta-adjacent appies and examine it more closely. The moment I'm focused on what it is, an information box pops open and text shimmers in the air over the server's tray.
Toasted black-sesame baguette rounds topped with whipped chèvre, flame-kissed figs, and a slow drizzle of moonblossom honey. Finished with a single shard of candied rosemary for crunch.
Holyschmoly… cool trick.
I take a bite and magic tingles across my tongue. "Oh, wow."
Vale chuckles. "Moonbeam honey is harvested during a lunar eclipse and is known to sharpen magical focus."
I take another bite and chew. "And they're yummy, too."
"Also true." Vale helps himself to one, and the server continues on his rounds. "Come, let's get you a drink."
As we navigate toward the open bar, I intercept a djinn server carrying what looks like pastry puffs. The scent is warm, buttery, and maybe a little dangerous. "Mmm, what are these?"
The server smiles, and a voice speaks gently into my mind. "Firebrand Pepper Puffs with Whipped Dragon Butter, Lady Hallowind. Please help yourself."
It's a little unnerving how easily he accesses my mind, but I decide to leave that as a concern for another time. I've got enough to worry about tonight, after all. Focusing on the tray, I try the Identify trick again.
Sure enough, as soon as I focus on the yummy-looking puffs, a text box opens above the tray and gives me the deets.
Savory choux puffs dusted in smoked paprika and filled with whipped dragon butter, blended with roasted firebrand peppers grown in volcanic soil where ley lines intersect beneath dormant mountains.
Once again, I check with Vale.
He nods. "It'll warm you from the inside out. Nothing here will do you any harm, Poppy. The Order prides itself on being impeccable hosts."
Does that mean they didn't bring me here to pin all things wicked on me?
If Laurel has any influence with the Order, I'm sure she's made it clear that I'm the plague attempting to take down the empowered world.
With that in mind, I take another look at the attendees and notice something odd. "Why isn't anyone from the Emberwood Coven council here?"
Vale accepts a glass of something sparkling and violet from a passing server.
"Because no one from the Emberwood Coven was extended an invitation.
I haven't been told as much, but I believe Laurel and the coven will comprise a significant portion of tonight's subject matter.
Perhaps the Order felt you should be able to speak freely without concern for intimidation or retaliation. "
My stomach drops. "Speak freely about what, exactly?"
"I honestly couldn't say."
The rush of ick that hits me has me locking my knees to keep from faceplanting on the edge of the dance floor.
"Do you think they want me to testify against her or something?" My voice pitches higher than intended. "Vale, she might know where my sisters are. If I expose her in front of a room full of magical dandies, she could hide them deeper… or worse."
Vale's mauve-gray eyes fix on mine, and I see something gentle beneath the professional facade. "The Order does not summon empowered community members lightly. Trust that they have considered all contingencies."
Before I can argue, he steers me toward a pair of warlocks deep in conversation.
One has midnight skin covered in glowing runic tattoos, wearing a jacket made entirely of watch parts that tick in harmony.
The other looks like someone poured moonlight into human form, his white hair braided with silver bells.
"Theron, Cassian, may I present Miss Poppy Hallowind-Forrester."
The two turn, and the weight of their combined magical attention nearly knocks me backward.
"Ah, the Spirit Witch causing such a stir." The moonlight warlock—Cassian—offers a slight bow. "We've heard much about you."
"All terrible, I'm sure.”
Theron's laugh sounds like thunder rolling. "On the contrary, Miss Hallowind-Forrester."
"Hallowind is fine," I assure him. "My full name is quite a mouthful—"
"The session will now commence." The voice echoes from everywhere and nowhere, cutting through conversation like scissors through silk.
Vale touches my elbow. "This way."
He guides me toward the northern point of the pentacle space where a single chair sits bathed in a spotlight.
No, not a chair. It looks like an ancient throne with ruby-red velvet cushions and a padded back. The wood is weathered, but what worries me most are the thorny spikes peeking up at the end of each arm.
What the hell are those spikes for?
Theron gestures a hand toward the throne. "Miss Hallowind, if you will take your seat."
I'm going to be sick.