THE DARKENING (The Divided Realms: Book 2)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Willow and Brand clutched hands as Dacia led them through the fantastical crowds. The air, sweet and thick, throbbed with unearthly rhythms. Willow couldn't take her eyes off the costumes. Some of them were like hers, pure faerie, but others mixed time periods in bizarre, unexpected ways. One faerie in an over-large turban, wearing what looked like a medieval jester's outfit, lurched past her, while another in a jean jacket and long-flowing Indian sari made loud tsking sounds. Feathers, furs, and loads of sparkling jewelry accented the getups, and everyone wore masks – some beautiful and ornate like Willow's, some horned and hook-nosed.

Willow touched the detailed edging of her own mask, adjusting it so she could see better. Having half her face hidden made her feel strangely bold and anonymous – just another guest at the party.

"Dace! Over here."

Narrow, red-tinted windows washed red moonlight over a milling group of male faeries. If not for the silver hair and kid-like grin, Willow wouldn't have recognized Theon. He bounded toward them, wearing a black mask, black leather pants and jacket, and criss-crossing silver chains in lieu of a shirt. His friends followed, all in black leather too, like a goth gang but without the piercings.

Her time in the Menagerie had shown Willow that faeries were a lot looser at night than during the day. Seemed, in fact, quite human in their partying. Theon and his friends were no exception. Staggering a little, eyes over-bright, they appeared to be drunk.

"By the Trees," whistled Theon. "The clother dressed her like a fey princess!" He sputtered with laughter. "Oh, this will be rich sport. You must allow us, sister dear, to accompany you to Father's throne."

The other leather-clad faeries sobered up quickly at this suggestion. "Ah, listen, Theon, I promised my lady Cynara a dance. I shall meet with you later." One by one Theon's friends made similar excuses and slipped off into the crowds.

"Perhaps they are wise, Theon. Father, I am sure, won't be pleased."

Theon smirked. "Trying to keep all the fun to yourself, Dace?"

Dacia's eyes rolled behind her mask. "Fine. Accompany us if you must. But don't goad Father with your trifling jests." She turned from her brother and began to make her way through the crowd again. Willow followed, this time with both Brand and Theon pressed close to her sides. A whisper-touch of skin brushed her cheek. Theon's head bent low to her ear. "Princess of Mistolear," he said huskily, "I fear you are a flame this night and I a moth."

Willow jerked away from him, sure her face was the only thing flaming. Theon smiled. The black mask he wore emphasized his lips, the top one slightly larger than the bottom, giving him a perpetual pout. Very cute in a boy model kind of way. Willow surprised herself by smiling back.

Brand squeezed her hand, restoring reality. Flirting with faeries, particularly the son of the one who wanted to destroy you, was probably not a good idea.

The pulsing music grew louder, weaving itself snake-like through the room. Willow's toes wanted to point, to leap and twirl and spin her red dress around until it fluttered and waved. Musicians sat on a curved stage that jutted like a tongue from the wall. Beneath them and their long, bulbous instruments danced a frenzied group of faeries. Willow wanted – no, needed to join them. Brand seemed anxious to go as well. Theon grabbed both their arms. "Hum," he said. "A song, a march, it matters not. The humming will break the spell."

Willow hummed tunelessly, the vibration in the back of her throat filling her head and lessening the pull of the faerie music. Once past the musicians, the spell seemed to lose its strength. Willow stopped humming and took in deep breaths of sultry air. She realized with a start that Theon, not Brand, was holding her hand. When she tried to pluck it away, he held tight, his eyes glinting amusement at her from behind the mask.