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Book Two in the Darien Grace Chronicles
"I couldn't hear the music. I knew that it was pulsing all around me, I could feel it vibrate through the air, but I couldn't hear it. I hadn't been able to hear it for a while now. I ju...
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Darien Grace
Fifteen minutes later, I was halfway across the Festival grounds. The wind kept blowing my hood off, and after the eighth time I gave up on fixing it. I was still wearing the mask that Jas had given me. I told myself that it was enough to ward off the people I wanted most to avoid. Of course, I knew that was a lie. A mask did nothing to disguise the color of my hair, but I wasn't exactly in the mood to deal with absolute truths at the moment. The morning had already burned through my patience for the day.
I wandered aimlessly, clutching the thick fabric of the cloak tight against my body, willing it to obstruct the worst of the biting wind. I'd just rounded the ferris wheel when there was a tug at my cloak followed by a giggle. I turned, looking for the source. Nettie beamed up at me from beneath a tiny black bowler hat adorned with fake white flowers. Her wild curling hair was pulled back into a bun at the base of her neck. A bright red bowtie and a white ruffled collar peeked out from beneath a thick black peacoat. Her long navy skirt stopped a few inches above her ankles, revealing black tights and shiny black shoes. She clutched at the far too large carpet bag on her shoulder, but her happy grin split her face.
I knelt down to her level, sitting on my heels. "Salut, petite—" (Hello, there little one—) I was cut off when she reached forward and lifted my mask. She pressed a quick kiss to my check, her giggling intensifying. I clutched the tiny girl to my chest.
"Tu es jolie," (You look pretty,) she whispered in my ear.
I pulled away to look at her. "Tu es bien plus belle, petite Mary Poppins." (You're far more beautiful, little Mary Poppins.) I brushed a gentle kiss against the tip of her nose. It sent her into another giggling fit. It was infectious. I hauled her up into my arms, balancing her weight on my hip, smiling the entire time. "Où est ton oncle?" (Where's your uncle?)
"Il arrive." (He's coming.) She gave a little shrug before leaning in to whisper once more in my ear, "On a fait la course, et j'ai gagné" (We raced and I won.)
"La course?" (Raced?")
"Jusqu'à toi, et j'ai gagné." (To you and I won.) She grinned triumphantly at me and I smiled back at her.
Just then Zayn rounded one of the booths, his eyes searching the crowd frantically before he saw us. He jogged over, relief coloring his features. "Je suis désolée, elle a dû te voir, elle a filé à toute vitesse." (I'm so sorry. She must have seen you. She just took off.)
"Bert! Te voilà. Mademoiselle Poppins et moi parlions justement de toi," (Bert! There you are. Miss Poppins and I were just talking about you,) I said, nodding toward the little girl in my arms. Zayn's face and clothes were covered in black smudges, a charcoal colored hat riding low over his brow. He'd strapped his chimney brush to his back, looping it through his suspenders. Looking between the two, I knew that it had to be the most adorable idea I'd ever seen.
