“Done!” Cecil declared.
I opened one eye. “What?”
“I’m finished.”
“Finished what? Finished applying my left eyeliner?”
“No, you silly cow,” he said, holding out a beautiful antique silver hand mirror.
I took it. “Are you allowed to call me a silly cow?”
“I can call you whatever I like. My sentence is in service, not in politeness. Now, gaze in wonder at the fruits of my labor.”
I looked. “Holy shit,” I whispered. In less than three seconds, Cecil had managed to apply the most exquisite natural-looking makeup. Smooth tan skin, slightly rosy cheeks, a hint of shimmer on my cheekbones. My lips were blood-red, perfectly moisturized and lined so they looked as full as they had twenty years ago. My eyelids were shadowed with dark gold, making my blue-green iris glow in an almost preternatural way. A thin, expertly applied simple black liner with a tiny wing gave my eyes a sultry look. My lashes were full and lush and one-hundred percent real. There was nothing fake, nothing contoured, nothing outrageously sculpted. Just skillfully chosen and applied colors to enhance my features perfectly.
I’d never looked better. “Wow.”
“The canvas is a little dated, but still good for painting on.” Cecil sighed dramatically. “It isn’t my best work, but it will do.”
“I’d love to see your best— Wait.” Something weird caught my eye. “What… What the hell is this?”
“What is what?” Cecil said, his tone innocent. He reached out with both hooves to take the mirror out of my hands.
I yanked it back. “Cecil.”
We tussled over the mirror for a minute. “Give that here, you uppity bitch.”
“No! Did you dye my hair, Cecil?”
“No.” He pouted.
“You did!”
“It’s not dyeing. It’s calledcoloring,” he said patronizingly. “And it’s just a few foils,” he sniffed. “Calm down.”
“I will not calm down!” I’d never colored my hair before. I wasn't necessarily against the idea; I’d always liked my natural color well enough. But Vincent had loved it—a deep and lush dark chocolate with vivid plum shades in the sunshine. Vincent begged me not to change it, and since I liked it, I never did. And when I started to find a few gray hairs sprinkled through my part line, I put a lot of emotional effort into being okay with it.
Vincent had loved my hair. He would spend Sunday mornings winding his fingers through it, stroking me like a cat. Grief stabbed me in the heart all over again.
I was too far gone to try and “process” this grief, so I squashed it down for once instead. This wasn’t Cecil’s fault. I was still pissed, though.
“How the hell did you dye my hair?” I glanced at my reflection in the mirror again.
Not only was my deep chocolate hair now artfully andsubtly streaked with caramel and cream highlights, camouflaging my gray hair completely, he’d somehow arranged it into perfect waves draped over one shoulder, with a deep side-part over my left eye.
“I put in a couple of highlights while you were freaking out about your brand-new siren powers.” He yanked the antique hand mirror out of my hand and tossed it carelessly behind him. The ottoman slid sideways by itself and caught it with a bounce.
“How did I not notice you puttingfoilin myhair?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’re just not very observant.” Cecil heaved another dramatic sigh. “You might as well get a proper look at yourself now that you’re all finished. Violet, can we get a full-length mirror over here?”
A gap appeared between the floorboards, and a gold-framed mirror slid out, propping itself up in front of me. I stared.
The red dress had caught my eye from the start—pure silk, the color of freshly spilled blood, with a long skirt that hugged my thighs to the knee and blossomed out like a tulip, giving me a sexy silhouette. The dress had a deep split to mid-thigh for ease of walking, and was cinched in at the waist, rising up into a structured corset top that shaped my breasts perfectly. Gathered and draped straps hung off my shoulder, making the sexy gown seem a touch more regal—the kind of thing a former princess might wear to a diplomatic function the week after her divorce. Considering this was the first event I’d been invited to since I’d been released from the hospital, it was stupidly appropriate. I was no longer the poor man’s Jessica Rabbit. I looked like Crown Princess Jessica Rabbit, Duchess of Sultryland.
The door opened, and Cress stalked in, her expression thunderous. Eryk and Nate stomped in behind her. They saw me and paused, eyes flaring wide for a brief moment.
The boys both bowed their heads deeply. Cress lifted her chin, studying me carefully. “Well. If I had known that Cecil could perform miracles, I would have stolen him for myself decades ago.”
