No one says anything, and I can feel the whispers inside of their heads, wondering why I should go first when, well, you know—I don’t want to beat a dead horse—but the whole magic thing.
That’s okay. I have a plan.
Ovie snaps and French doors open. For the ball, my family opened up the house, making it longer and taller. Oak floorboards unfurl outside the solid wooden doors, leading to a narrow hallway lined with sconces filled with witch lights. Another set of doors opens at the end of the hallway, and from here I can see a gigantic crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling.
Talk about pulling out all the stops.
My aunt smiles. “You have fifteen minutes, girls, and then I’ll announce you. Get into places before then, outside the hall where you won’t be seen.” Her gaze flashes to me in warning, and I drop my head, not wanting to be on the receiving end ofanger flames darting from her eyes. “Your mama will be in attendance.”
My stomach drops. She hadn’t shown herself all day, which makes sense given that she has her own rites and rituals to undergo in order to lay claim as the new matriarch.
But even so, she couldn’t appear once to say hello?
Ovie leaves and my sisters follow. Blair starts to go, but I grab her elbow, stopping her.
“Wait.”
Her eyes narrow. “What is it? Ovie’ll have our hides if we’re late.”
I softly close the doors and press my back to them. “You’re taking this dress.”
Blair’s eyes flare in surprise. “I’m not.”
“You are. You and I both know that you’re the most suitable for marriage. Any wizard with eyes would be an idiot not to fall in love with you, and that ballroom is about to be filled with dozens, if not a hundred eligible bachelors. So take the dress. I demand it as your older sister.”
Blair drops her head into her hands. “Addie, I can’t.”
“You can and you will. Now. Help me get this thing off.”
I approach and she backs away, worry bright in her eyes. “But they’ll look for you. Ovie’ll lose it when she sees me in this gown. She’ll hunt you down.”
A smile twinges my lips. “Don’t worry. I already have a plan for that.”
Cool air slipsacross my shoulders as I make my way outside. Amber light glows from inside the leaded glass windows that are already steaming up from the hot bodies attending the ball.
Blair’s about to enter, and I want to get one good look ather before I slink away, hiding someplace where Ovie won’t be able to find me. If I’m gone all night and Blair meets the love of her life, then my aunt can’t be angry, nor can she drag me back inside where I’ll surely be faced with my future. Or as I like to think of it, the destiny of doom.
Even through the steamy glass and the flock of men pushed against the room’s walls, I’m still able to make out my sisters as they enter. They look lovely, all of them. Blair’s the last one to appear and I gasp. She looks gorgeous with her dark hair pinned up and the purple dress complimenting her olive skin. No one, not even my aunt, can argue that. Yes, I’ve forced Ovie to announce Blair as the witch to wed, but so what? She’ll find a match, which will give me time to mend my shattered heart.
Relieved that my plan’s worked, I sneak past a row of hedges, making my way deep into the garden that’s surrounded by a tall hedge wall. If I can climb that sucker, I’ll be safe for the night.
Unfortunately there’s no way to leave through the front of the house. Witches and wizards crawl everywhere—they’re greeters for the event. They’ll easily spot me and tell my aunt that I’ve gone AWOL.
So the back it is.
Fast as lightning (or, not really), I take off, darting down the path on my way to the very back of the garden.
With freedom nearly in sight, I round a corner at full speed and crash into a brick wall. Right as I’m cursing whoever decided it’d be fun to add a new wall, my feet fly up and I plummet toward the ground.
Quick as a thunderbolt, a hand shoots out and grabs my arm, catching me before my back collides with the earth. My breath leaves in awhooshas I gaze up into glittering sapphire eyes.
That face…I recognize it immediately. And just as immediately, anger hardens my heart.
Perfectly arrogant lips tip into an expression that’s short of a smile, and when he speaks, it’s a sexy growl that sends a shudder ripping down my spine. “Ah, if it isn’t the puker.”
“If it isn’t Mr. Arrogant,” I snap back.
His expression becomes stony, cold and humorless. In contrast, his hand is warm. No not warm,hot. His fiery fingers hold me gently as he stares down at me. And keeps staring as he takes me in—the pulse quivering at my throat, my bare shoulders, the low neckline of my dress.
