The Winter Ball was held at the Parker Estate, a sprawling 19th-century house that loomed over the lake, its facade draped in white lights and massive garlands of pine and red velvet. Valets in wool coats whisked away cars and opened doors with the practiced flourish of minor royalty. The steps to the entrance were lined with pillar candles and crystal lanterns, their light dancing on the snow.
Inside, the front hall exploded with light and noise. The floors were marble, the ceilings arched and frescoed with winter scenes. There were at least three Christmas trees, each taller and more elaborately decorated than the last. Everywhere Grace looked there were clusters of people. Town officials, business owners, tourists in their most expensive evening wear. Waiters in crisp black carried trays of champagne and tiny appetizers, their movements precise and almost balletic.
Grace saw Mayor Whitaker shaking hands near the main tree, Martha Lane, with her arm in a cast but a smile on her face, deep in conversation with a pair of local news anchors. Tessa Monroe, the blonde wolf of Channel 5, was already on her second drink and prowling the perimeter, scanning for someone worth interviewing or eviscerating.
Olivia found their table with ease, and the group claimed it, shrugging out of coats and staking out their spots for the evening. Bryant helped Grace with her wrap, then hovered just a moment too long before taking his own seat. Caroline immediately declared a toast: “To surviving another year of small-town drama and big-time holiday spirit!” The group clinked glasses, and Grace felt a bubble of laughter rise in her chest. She’d never expected to feel so at home in a place so alien.
The first hour passed in a blur of introductions, dancing, and careful people-watching. Anna dragged Grace to the dance floorfor a waltz, which neither of them could remember how to do, but they managed a convincing shuffle and spent most of the time whispering critiques of the other couples’ outfits. Bryant declined to dance, but stood at the edge of the floor, watching Grace with an expression that was half-admiration, half-silent dread. Grace didn’t mind, she liked the way his eyes followed her, how he looked at her as though she’d grown wings.
As the evening stretched on, she glanced up the grand staircase, lit by a procession of hurricane lamps, and saw the landing where she’d envisioned Tessa Monroe falling. Grace suddenly found herself caught between two realities, the familiar world of small talk and beautiful people, and the darker current of anxiety that ran just beneath the surface.
The memory jolted her, so vivid it felt like a movie projected onto her eyelids: Tessa, tumbling from the banister, her arms windmilling, the scream swallowed by the music, the crash as her body hit the marble below.
Grace blinked, the vision fading, but the anxiety lingered. She scanned the room for Tessa and saw her at the far end of the hall, deep in conversation with an unremarkable man in a gray suit. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but the sense of impending disaster nagged at her.
She drifted back to the table, where Caroline and Clive were plotting a raid on the dessert buffet. Bryant, seeing her face, rose to meet her.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low.
She nodded, but it wasn’t convincing. “I saw the staircase from the vision I had. I think, the same exact one. I just… it feels like something’s going to happen.”
Bryant glanced over his shoulder, taking in the staircase, the way it rose in a perfect arc above the crowd. “You want me to check it out?”
Grace laughed, but it was shaky. “I think I’m supposed to. That’s how this works, right?”
He offered his hand. “Lead the way, then.”
They made their way through the throng, past couples in formalwear and groups of teenagers in rented tuxes. At the base of the stairs, Grace hesitated, suddenly self-conscious about mounting a grand staircase in full view of half the town. But Bryant squeezed her hand reassuringly, and she started up, her other hand trailing along the polished banister.
At the landing, everything was suddenly quieter. The music from below became a distant hum, the conversations reduced to soft echoes. The view was dizzying. The dance floor, the glittering lights, the sea of people, but up here it was just her, Bryant, and the stretch of carpeted hallway.
She closed her eyes and let her fingers rest on the banister, searching for the thread of the vision. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, all at once, the world tilted: the carpet gone, replaced by bare marble, the air tinged with the smell of panic. Tessa Monroe stood at the railing, looking down, her phone in hand. A shadow loomed behind her…not a person, but a shiver in the air, a pressure that made Grace’s skin crawl.
She saw the moment Tessa tensed, the way her body stiffened as the pressure built. Then, impossibly, the shadow pressed forward. There was no hand, no shove, but Tessa flew over the railing, her phone spinning in an arc of horror.
Grace gasped, the vision slamming her back into the present. She staggered, caught herself on the railing.
“Grace?” Bryant was there, his hands on her arms, concern etched deep into his face.
“I saw it,” she whispered. “Someone’s going to push her, but it’s not—” She groped for the right word. “It’s not physical. It’s like… magic, I think.”
Bryant frowned, scanning the hallway for threats. “Do you want to talk to her?”
Grace shook her head. “The other night, she was angry I ruined the tree lighting. She’ll just be angry again.” She steadied herself, looked down at the dance floor. “But if I’m up here, maybe I can stop it.”
Bryant nodded, the lines in his face deepening. “I’ll be right here.”
They waited. It didn’t take long. A few minutes later, Tessa Monroe appeared at the far end of the hall, phone pressed to her ear, striding with the confidence of someone used to being the center of every room. She walked straight toward the landing, oblivious to the empty air behind her.
Grace tensed, every nerve vibrating. The shadow was there again, just out of sight, a ripple in the light. A dark kind of magic that Grace was becoming more and more experienced with. She watched as Tessa reached the railing, leaned over, gesturing at something below. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the air thickened, the lights above the staircase dimmed, then began flickering, and Tessa’s body jerked forward, as if pulled by an invisible cord.
Grace didn’t think, just moved. She lunged forward, grabbing Tessa’s arm a split second before she went over. The momentum nearly dragged them both down, but Bryant was there, catching them, anchoring all three to the banister.
Tessa shrieked, twisting around in shock. “What the heck?—?”
Grace gripped her tighter. “Don’t move,” she said, teeth gritted. “Someone’s trying to hurt you.”
Tessa glared, but the color had drained from her face. She looked down at the crowd, then at Bryant, then back at Grace. “What are you talking about?”
