Nether

9. Withdrawals

Torches illuminate the cobblestone walkway to Convent. The outlines of fiery dancers materialize within the flames, enticing us to go inside with blazing, beckoning arms. Magic is never to be used for personal gain, but this evening is an exception and Convent doesn't hold back. 

Crossing Masquerade is a night of extravagance, a time to celebrate our magic freely. Magicians from covens around the world descend on Convent once a year for this celebration, which makes it easier to blend in. Behind our ornate masks, Roane and I are unrecognizable and blend in with the crowds approaching the formidable iron gates surrounding Convent.

I keep my eyes fixed ahead, wanting to appear like I'm supposed to be here, but it's impossible with Roane at my side. The other men walk like they belong here. With Roane, it's like he owns the place. The suit Caleb brought him is all black, and it accentuates his pale skin. The black mask, embroidered in gold, heightens the intensity of his deep brown eyes. Superiority saturates his aura, though I know this isn't a conscious thing. He's a warrior, and everything about him screams strength and protection. He demands attention simply by breathing, and at his side, I want to disappear. Thankfully his austereness keeps everyone at bay. Though they stare at us as we stand in line before the guards, no one makes an effort to speak to us. I curl closer to his side, accepting this. If not able to disappear, I'd rather be unapproachable.

The couple before us is called forward, asked to show their invitations to the guards flanking the doorway. I grip Roane's arm tighter, my knees watery beneath me. With each thump of my pulse, a new question burst into my mind. Will we get caught? Will this be where we fail the Great Mistress? I dart a glance around. Caleb isn't here. Is he held up somewhere? Did he remember to put our names on the list?

Invitation in hand, the guard match their names against the guest list. Every second drags on and a cool sweat prickles down my back. Finally, finally they hand the couple their invitations and allow them entrance. 

My heart pounds. 

We're next. 

The guard on the left motions us forward. I dig my nails deeper into Roane's arm and force myself to move. He's about a foot shorter than Roane and has to tip his head to address him.

"Good evening. Invitations, please."

Roane exhales as if bothered by the question and reaches into his jacket breast pocket. He holds it out for the guard's taking. The guard inspects the invitation, holding it beside his guest list. His brow furrows and my stomach knots. He flips back to the first page, and then flicks through the rest of it.

"I'm afraid I can't..." He looks up to Roane and swallows deeply. I don't blame him. I'd be frightened too. "I'm afraid I can't find your name on the list, sir."

"Check again," Roane rumbles lowly.

"I—I looked sir, but—"

"Check again."

The guard instantly lowers his eyes and thumbs through the list again. My heart drums.

"Is there a problem here?"

Hearing Caleb's voice, I let out a breath. I turn to him and can't take another. Dressed in black and maroon, he reminds me of every childhood dream I ever had of finding my own prince charming. He smiles and inclines his head to me, and I know I've found mine.

"I'm afraid these guests aren't on the list, Mr. Talcott," the guard says, hesitantly. I feel sorry for him. Between Roane's intensity and Caleb's power, he looks feeble. If I could disappear, I would give him my ability to do so.