“Hello,” she says quietly, a quavering smile tugging her lips.
I open my mouth, but I don’t know what to say. For the love of the night, should I not have come? I glance down at the gilded black box in my hands, wondering if I’m making a huge mistake.
She follows my line of vision and takes a few steps closer. “What’s that?”
Before I can think better of it, I hand it to her. “It’s nothing. Just something I got you. But don’t feel obligated to wear it. You probably already have something planned for the ball. It’s just…well, I went to Madame Flora’s to get my own glamour and I saw this and thought you would like it. If not…”
What the iron-laced hell? Stop talking. Idiot. Stupid. Idiot.
Her brow furrows as she looks from me to the box. “Should I open it?”
I put my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels. “If you want.”
She goes over to her dressing table and sets the box upon it. Then, with slow, graceful moves, she lifts the cover and unfolds the tissue. I hold my breath as I watch her. Once all the layers of tissue are folded back, she pauses, staring down at the box’s contents.
My heart leaps into my throat. “I shouldn’t have selected something for you without knowing if you would even like it.”
“It’s beautiful,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She reaches into the box and takes out the necklace I picked out for her. It’s a dainty opal crescent moon flanked by thin cylinders of black tourmaline. They hang on a velvet ribbon with a silver clasp. Her eyes meet mine. “You got this for me?”
I shrug. “I noticed you sometimes touch the base of your throat, as if you used to have a necklace there. Maybe I’m completely wrong, but whatever the case, I thought you might want to wear it to the ball.”
“You noticed that about me?” Her hand comes to her collarbone, the same way I’ve seen her do time and time again.
Heat warms my cheeks as I nod. “Plus, it’s attached to a glamour. Madame Flora assured me it will work over the glamour you already have.”
“You didn’t tell Madame Flora about my glamour—”
“No, of course not. I simply asked a few leading questions and confirmed whether the glamour would work for its intended purposes. She knows not why I needed it, nor for whom.”
Her shoulders relax at that.
“Would you like to see it? The glamour? If you’ve already chosen a dress, it will work with it. It will simply change the color and pattern.”
“Yes, I would love to see it,” she says with a smile.
I extend my hand. “May I?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she hands me the necklace and faces her mirror. I stand behind her. My hands tremble slightly as I lay the front of the necklace over the base of her collarbone, then close the clasp behind her neck. With her hair in its perpetual glamoured updo, there’s no need to brush her hair out of the way, but I do it anyway. She shudders, making my hands go still. My eyes fall to the column of her slender neck and the skin that pebbles over it. Standing this close, it would take no effort at all for me to bend down and place my lips at the spot beneath her ear. What would she do if I did? Startle? Tilt her head? Bring her lips to mine? Heat dances in my core at the thought…
I clear my throat and my fingers begin to move again. Once the necklace is secure, my hands come to her shoulders, and I meet her eyes in the mirror. I can feel how deeply she’s breathing as her shoulders rise and fall, rise and fall. Desire pulses between us, but I can’t tell if it’s coming from me or her. It feels more like a never-ending circuit, with her desire feeding mine and mine feeding hers. Growing. Building.
Shaking my head, I remove my hands from her shoulders and take a step back to assess the effect of the glamour. She does the same, studying her reflection in the mirror. I force myself to ignore the pink that tints her cheeks and drag my gaze to her skirt and blouse. They’ve been turned a deep shade of indigo patterned with constellations and different phases of the moon. The bottom hem, however, is where its most impressive design lies.
She stares down at it, trying to get a closer look. “Is that…”
“Sheet music,” I say.
She lifts her skirt to bring the hem closer, not seeming to care that she’s revealing her petticoats. Running her fingers over the three separate staves of music, she says, “What do they play?”
I swallow hard as I prepare my explanation. Will she hate it? Think it’s stupid? “These are three songs from three dangerous fae.”
“What songs?”
I take a step closer and point to the first staff. “Everyone is familiar with a banshee’s haunting death wail, but hardly anyone talks about the melody they sing to welcome the births of their children. A song for new life.”
I run my finger over the second.
“A siren’s song is known to lure sea poachers to their deaths, but they also sing to guide wayward ships to safe harbors. A song for safety.”
