Lowe and Gray: The Atavistic Box

Chapter Eleven - The Lair of a Maniac

THE ROOM WAS all gold and white, with high walls that gleamed like magic, and a curved roof, high above, clear glass, glittering like diamonds. Aurora wore a muted gold dress and carried a clutch bag in her hand. Her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, and tickled her bare back.

"I've never seen anything like this place," she murmured to herself. "Where am I?" She turned and her eyes rested on a champagne fountain: an enormous gold dish. People were filling their glasses, laughing and talking.

"Welcome to Almara," said a voice. Aurora turned and saw Jace, who was wearing white, the material of his shirt a flimsy cotton. The first few buttons of the shirt were open, revealing his collarbone and the top of his chest. There was a bronze chain around his neck, dangling down his bare chest, and the gold in his eyes shined more than ever; she thought about how she would like to paint his portrait.

He took her hands and suddenly they were dancing, twirling through the midst of the crowd. Aurora became aware of his touch - warm hands on her waist but they jolted her with an energy as though they were ice cold. They spun around the room with a grace Aurora didn't think she had. Aurora looked around as they turned, her eyes resting on different people and Jace laughed.

"You see someone more interesting than me?"

She shook her head. "I don't think that's possible."

He leaned in close and his breath tickled her skin. "Correct answer."

Aurora bolted upright in bed, with a loud gasp. Her wrists were held in a hard grip; she tried to pull away, groaning when her shoulder strained, then realized who was holding her. "Jace?"

"Just me." He was sitting on the edge of the couch, looking tousled and half-awake with sleepy, but alert eyes. She half-expected his dark curls to be matted down, but they were defined as ever.

"Let go of me," she snapped.

"Sorry." His fingers slipped from her wrists and she tried to sit up. She winced and his hands went immediately to her shoulder, supporting her as she sat up. "You tried to hit me the second I said your name."

"I'm a little jumpy, I guess. After yesterday."

He shrugged. "Understandable."

"What time is it?"

"A little after five."

She glared. "In the morning? You better have a good reason for waking me up."

"Why? Good dream?" He said with a sly smirk.

Aurora felt herself blush, hoping she hadn't said anything in her sleep. She could still hear the music from the ball. "I don't really remember."

He paused. "Zarina's back. If it's a good enough reason to wake you." Aurora stared as she realised Jace held her sketchbook. "Where have you seen this?" He asked her, showing the drawing from the previous night. There were vines of roses twisting to create an emblem shape, a dove in the centre.

"I don't know," she said quietly. "I see it in my dreams, in my head. Like a memory I can't remember."

"It's a crest," Jace said finally, trailing his fingers over her illustration. "The family crest of the Gladchilds; an old sorcerer family in the Sacred Twenty. They ended with Thomas Gladchild, when he went to live in the mortal world. He died, and apparently, none of his successors have sorcery."

"Why am I drawing it then?" Aurora frowned.

He shrugged. "Maybe you have seen it before. You have a faerie name, maybe you're the long-lost descendant of Thomas Gladchild."