“No.”
“Oh.” She dropped her gaze. “That does complicate things, I suppose.”
Was she crazy to think there would be any way out of this unscathed? “I have a plan.”
“Oh?” Maggie’s big, brown eyes lifted. “What is it?”
Daisy shrugged. “Evade. Stay hidden.”
“Oh.” Her tone dropped, laden with doubt. “I was thinking the same. We just need to make it to mornin’ in one piece. Then the money’s ours. Can you imagine? I wouldn’t even know what to do with that much.”
Daisy smiled just as Aunt V’s voice rang out across the room. “Attention, my little does. The Becoming will commence in five minutes. Please finish up and join me at the double doors.”
From the ballroom, they were led through another labyrinth of white corridors to a spa that occupied an entire floor. The air smelled of eucalyptus and beauty products. Attendants waited, positioned at stations, each one consisting of a sophisticated white leather chair, a vanity, a tall, gold-framed mirror, and tools Daisy had no idea how to use.
Maggie stayed by her side, but they were eventually sorted by their numbers, identifiable by the gold stitching embroidered into the plush white robes they were ordered to change into. Luckily, they had deep pockets and she was able to sneak her locket into one before they took their clothes away.
“Will we get our clothes back?” one woman asked.
“You’ll have everything you need,” Aunt V explained, not quite answering the question.
Once the tributes were assigned a station, the attendants cycled in a sort of dance, each one boasting a title Daisy hadn’t realized existed as a job. Nail techs, lash techs, color specialists, estheticians. They even had someone who specialized in color analysis.
“You’re a light summer,” the color specialist declared, draping a smock sewn in a rainbow pinwheel across her chest. She examined the thin blue veins in Daisy’s wrist. “I see champagne and ash rather than honey. Low-to-medium contrast. You’d sit naturally in pearls, icy pinks, and misty greys. Maybe a seafoam mint or a light teal, but anything more severe would wash you out.”
Another man circled nearby, slowly, lifting strands of her limp hair. He was beautiful in an almost aggressive way, with sharp cheekbones, perfect skin, and eyebrows groomed to mathematical precision.
“When did you last have a proper cut?”
“I...” She recalled the last time she held those kitchen scissors, thinking back to when her mother had the job. “Never.”
He released her hair. “That explains the damage and split ends.” His fingers combed through her dull, wheat waves. “We’ll need to take at least three inches. Possibly four. For the color—” He held a strand up to the light. “I see icy beige and opal with fine baby-lights in pearl—not platinum.”
“Perfect.” The stylists exchanged glances as the female made a note in Daisy’s chart. “I’ll put in the order for after her visit to the spa.”
The next few hours passed in a blur of sensation and movement. Once Daisy met with several specialists, she was shuffled off to a small, clinical room and told to wait.
The clinical lights and furniture reminded her of a doctor’s office. “Excuse me?” She opened the door, looking into the empty hall. The soft scent of lemon and eucalyptus tickled her nose.
“Hello?” A woman in a white lab coat appeared, cheerfully following her back into the room. “Did you need something?”
“I…” Daisy looked back at the table covered in paper. “I’ve already done the physical.”
“Mm-hm.” She pointed to the table. “You can have a seat.”
Daisy reluctantly scooted onto the table as the woman gathered supplies at the counter, her back turned.
“So, what are we thinking?” She turned and cocked her head. “First time?”
Daisy blinked. “What are we doing?”
The woman smiled. “Your wax. I typically start with your legs.”
Only then did she register the pots warming on the counter and the wooden sticks in various thicknesses. A stack of fabric strips waited on a tray.
“You start with the legs? What else do you do?”
“Oh, we do all of it.” She laughed. “If it grows, it goes. Unless you prefer the hair, that is.” She lifted Daisy’s arm and drew back her sleeve. “You’re fair, so…”
