Spark of Sorcery (The Firestone Academy Book 2), page 9
“Yep,” he calls. “The shadow weavers are back.”
“Oh yay,” I say flatly.
“You’re not fooling anyone, girlie,” he calls back, still staring out the window, “we haven’t forgotten that flush yesterday.”
“I bet they’ll be seriously disappointed with their audience today.” Surely, no one’s stupid enough to hang around outside just to ogle some stupid vehicles when it’s this frigging cold.
“There’s still quite a crowd out there.” He swings back around. “Right, if the shadow weavers are back then that definitely means it’s time to put those books away and start getting ready. You girls go get showered. I’m nearly done with this stitching.”
I shiver at the thought. “There’s no way I’m showering today,” I say. “I don’t want to catch pneumonia.”
“You won’t and if you did, I’m sure Beaufort would cure you.”
“Still, I’d rather not freeze my tits off.”
“Briony,” Fly says, striding towards me and taking ahold of both my shoulders. “I love you. You’re a truly wonderful human being. But you stink and your hair needs washing.”
“I do not stink,” I say, lowering my chin and attempting to sniff myself. “I took a shower yesterday.”
“Cupcake,” he says gently, “in Slate Quarter it may be acceptable to bathe once a fortnight but everywhere else we wash daily.”
“Asshole,” I tell him.
“Who only has your best interests at heart. All our interests at heart. I’m determined we’re all going to get laid tonight.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s likely,” Clare says, fiddling with her glasses.
“With the adjustments I’ve made to this dress, it’s highly likely. Now get moving both of you.” We stand there staring at him. “Go!”
The shower is far colder than I dreaded. Around me I can hear others squealing, gasping and even screaming in agony.
I wash as quickly as is humanly possible, scrubbing my hair with some shampoo Fly has lent me, and then go stand in front of my pathetic fire, hoping to warm up.
I think of the raging fires in the Princes’ tower. How warm and toasty it is even in the bathrooms. I think of that deep hot bath.
Maybe being their thrall wouldn’t be all bad. Well, clearly it wouldn’t. Beaufort has the ability to turn my body to fire. He drags orgasms from me that must be magical.
I sigh, thinking about that and then I snap the hell out of it and concentrate on rubbing my body dry with the flimsy towel.
Twenty minutes later, my body may be dry (although still freaking freezing) but my hair is damp. Fly knocks on the door and enters.
“I’ve come to do your makeup.”
“Makeup?” I say, peering at him from a funny angle as I dangle my hair in front of the fire.
He points a finger at me as if it were a dagger. “Don’t even think about arguing. Everyone needs makeup. Even the most stunningly beautiful of human beings.”
“Are you going to wear some then?” I ask.
He steps in closer and flutters his eyelashes at me. Over his eyelids he’s dusted something sparkly and his eyelashes are coated in a dark paint that make them look thicker and longer than usual. “Already am, Cupcake.”
“You can do that to me too?” I ask.
“We’re going to do a little more than this to you, Cupcake.” He takes my face in his hands and angles it upright. “You don’t have naturally defined cheekbones like I do and your lips are a tad on the thin side.”
“Jeez, thanks,” I say.
“No worries. This is what makeup was invented for. Now where is your makeup bag?”
I stare at him with an amused look.
“You really think we have luxuries like makeup back in Slate Quarter?” I say, a little annoyed at my friend. “You know once we went without bread for two whole days.”
He cringes. “Shit, Cupcake. You’re so … stoic about this bullshit, I sometimes just forget. Let me go get mine.”
He halts by the door. “Do you think Clare has no makeup too?”
I shrug and continue to rub at my hair.
Another five minutes later, he has me sitting on the bed, bottles and tubes and little cases spread across the mattress.
“It’s not the best stuff,” Fly mutters, smudging something pink over my cheeks. “It’s all the bits and pieces my sister-in-law didn’t want anymore. Smuggled of course, because …” He shrugs. “Tip your head back and don’t blink.” I tip my chin up, but as soon as he comes towards me with a short black stick, I flinch. “It’s mascara,” he explains. “Hold still or I’ll poke your eye out.”
“Gosh, that sounds reassuring! Do I want to lose an eye in the pursuit of beauty?”
“Yes,” he says, “the dress is stunning. You can’t let it down with drab hair and makeup.”
“Will you do my hair in braids again for me?” I ask, trying my best not to tear up as he combs black liquid across my eyelashes with a tiny comb.
“Uh uh, we’re going to do something more elegant this time.”
I sit quietly, attempting to imagine what on earth that can mean as he brushes colored powder across my eyelids and paints my lips a pinky-red color.
“There,” he says. “Not bad. Go take a look.”
I walk to the mirror and peer at the reflection.
“Wow,” I say, tipping my face one way and then another. “I look like a shadow weaver.”
“They just look better than us because they can afford better cosmetics and face creams,” he says.
“And can probably use their magic to remove pimples,” I point out.
“That too.” He bends down and rummages in the bag he brought with him. “Now, for your hair.”
He pulls out another implement – something that again looks suspiciously like an instrument of torture.
“What the hell is that?” I yelp.
“Curling irons.” He walks over to the fire and places them carefully alongside.
“Are you going to brand me on the ass?”
“No, I’m going to curl your hair.”
“With something you’re heating in the fire?!” He nods. “No way. I’ve already lost parts of my hair.”
“You won’t lose any more. I will be careful.”
I shake my head.
He nods his.
We glare at each other.
The fire crackles. I can smell the irons warming.
We stare some more.
I’m the first to blink.
“Fine. But if any more of my hair is burned off, this will be the end of our short but sweet friendship.”
“Understood,” he says, lifting the irons out of the fire with the rubber handle. He touches it lightly with his hand and then, instructing me to take my seat on the bed again, gets to work on my hair.
“I think,” he says with a grin on his face, as he arranges my hair in waves of curls, “even Cinderella’s fairy Godmother didn’t achieve such an amazing outcome.”
Chapter Fourteen
Briony
The tower clock chimes at seven o’clock and I am suddenly a bag of nerves, probably feeling a lot like Cinderella did herself.
I take one last glance at myself in the warped mirror. I have to admit, Fly has worked some kind of miracle. I don’t look like myself at all. It makes me uncomfortable – this isn’t me, is it? Some glamorous woman hanging on the arm of powerful men? For the last few years it’s been just me looking out for myself, scraping by to survive. Will others look at me and think I’m one big fat fraud? Will they resent me even more for it?
I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin.
Do I care what they think? No, no I don’t. After all the girl from Slate has a damn firestone hidden in her room!
With one last straighten of my skirt, I walk towards the door. Fly has returned to his own room, and I promised to go knock for him.
However, I get no further than my own doorway, because there, standing on the other side of the door when I draw it open, is Dray Eros, leaning against the wall and chewing gum.
A huge grin stretches across his face as his eyes meander down my form. Slowly. Very slowly.
“Fuck me, Kitten,” he says, removing the gum from his mouth and pressing it into the wall, “you look good enough to eat.”
“Jeez,” I say, nearly jumping right out of my skin. “You scared me.”
“What? Me?” He grins. “The big bad wolf?”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, closing the door behind me, before I realize this leaves the two of us trapped together on the narrow strip of landing.
“Come to collect you. That was the deal, right?”
“Were you going to knock, or were you just going to wait there all day?”
“Depends if I got impatient or not. Come on, the others are waiting.” He goes to take ahold of my elbow and I move it straight out of his reach.
“Erm, no. I’m going with my friends – not with you.”
He groans like I’ve just said something really dull. “Not this bullshit again. Can’t you and Beaufort just kiss and make up already? It’s getting boring.”
“We did … sort of …” I say, crinkling my brow and trying to decipher what exactly did happen yesterday.
“Sort of?” he says with a smirk.
“It’s complicated with him. Every time I think we can get along, he shows me who he really is.”
“You didn’t know already?”
“Oh, because he’s so popular and so wonderful, I’d have to know who he was.”
“No, because he’s an asshole and it’s clear all the way from outer space. Look,” he bends down low so our gazes are level, “he messed up. You never mess up before?”
“Did he tell you what he said to me?” I ask, scowling right into Dray Eros’s ridiculously mesmerizing eyes.
“Uh uh, but, come on, he can tell me now.” He grabs my hand and this time I don’t get the chance to dodge it, nor am I strong enough to pull my hand from his tight grip. Unless I want to scream and shout and make a scene, I’m left with no choice but to trot along after him as he pulls me along.
It’s as I do that I take in for the first time what he’s wearing. Not the academy uniform or his usual favored outfit – sweatpants and a T-shirt. Tonight he’s dressed in a well-fitted dark suit. Okay, so he isn’t wearing a tie and his shirt is undone all the way to his sternum, but he still looks the smartest I’ve ever seen him, especially with his long platinum hair combed loose.
I guess his nose really does have super powers or something because as I’m checking him out, he peers over his shoulder at me and grins. I don’t need superpowers myself to know what that look means.
My cheeks warm.
“Where exactly are we going?” I ask.
“There are drinks in the shadow weaver common room before the ball starts.”
“Uh uh,” I say, shaking my head wildly. “There is no way in hell I’m going to that.”
“Rather go back to my room and mess around instead?” he growls.
The way he looks tonight, I hate to admit, but that offer is tempting.
I bite on my lip. What the hell is wrong with me?
Okay, so protectors share their thralls and, though Thorne is clearly unhappy about that prospect, Beaufort and Dray have both made it very clear that they want me. That they both want me. But isn’t it still crazy that maybe, just maybe, I want them both as well? Because, aren’t I only meant to want one person at a time? Isn’t it a little bit greedy that I’d happily take both of them?
Dray chuckles and pulls me in close to his body, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist and peering down into my face.
“I can see you’re considering that offer, Kitten.” He leans down and whispers in my ear: “I can smell you are too.” He nips at my earlobe. “But good things come to little kittens who wait. I’m going to have you dripping wet by the time I take you home to bed tonight.”
I swallow. Dray Eros has a very dirty mouth and I wish it didn’t have such a potent effect on me. Unfortunately, with that damn nose of his, he knows exactly how potent he is.
He nibbles his teeth down my throat, then back up to my ear and whispers, “Come on. I want to show you off at this party. Every other dude – and every other girl – is going to be fucking sick with envy.”
He’s pulling me along again before I can voice any more objections. His pace is swift and excitable and I have to trot along to keep up, relieved the heels Fly found me were too big and I’m in flats instead.
We weave along the campus pathways, brimming with other students this evening – some already dressed up, others dashing from one tower to another with arms full of dress or bags of makeup. Everyone we pass stops and stares as Dray pulls me along. They’re not even subtle about it and as usual I can hear them whispering, wondering who the girl Dray is with is.
Do I really look that different or are the students here extremely unobservant?
Outside a tall glamorous-looking tower, my heart once again leaps into my throat.
“Do we have to go to this party?” I ask, peering up to the top of the tower. The top floor is made of glass and multi-colored lights flash from within and the pound of music wafts our way. It’s like nothing I’ve seen before.
“Yep,” Dray says. His grip on my arm has loosened but his grin is just as wicked. “I wanna show those other losers how fucking amazing you look. Rub their noses in it.”
“I don’t think that is going to do me any favors,” I mutter.
“What do you mean by that?” he asks, suddenly serious.
“Nothing,” I mutter.
“You did,” he says, eyes boring into me. I glare right back at him but he’s a hell of a lot scarier than I am and in the end I have no choice but to concede.
“Everyone in this academy already hates me.”
“We don’t,” Dray says, grinning. I think of Thorne. I don’t think Dray is right about that.
“You guys are largely responsible for that. They don’t think I should be your thrall.” Because I’m not good enough – not pretty enough, or popular enough, not even that skilled at anything.
“We don’t give a shit what those losers think. And they’re wrong,” Dray says.
“Doesn’t matter. They still hate me.”
“Who cares,” he says, snaking his arm around my waist.
I care because the hate directed at me from the other students has often been physical. Black eyes, broken noses and strained ankles are all testaments of that. If I mention that now though, there will be a lot of follow-up questions. He’ll want to know who has hurt me. I don’t fancy being dragged down that path again.
“Can’t we just go to the ball?” I try one last time.
“Come on,” Dray says, “it’ll be fun. I promise.”
I let him lead me inside the tower, because, really, what choice do I have? It’s grand – like I imagine the interior of a posh hotel in Onyx Quarter must be like – all mahogany woods and dark velvets. There is no staircase leading up to the top of the tower where I assume the common room and this party is. Instead, there’s an elevator. I’ve never been inside one – not even the ones back in the mines in Slate Quarter. Although, I’m sure the mine elevators don’t have polished mirror walls, gold buttons and twinkly music. The box lifts us up into the air and I gasp as my stomach fails to keep up with the rest of my body.
“All right?” Dray asks.
“Uh huh,” I say, laying my palm over my stomach. “I’ve never been inside one of these before.”
“We’ve got four inside the mansion back home,” he says, matter-of-factly without a trace of a boast.
“Did you go back home for the break?” I ask, suddenly curious. “To your family?”
He examines my face with amusement. “You heard about my brothers, huh?”
I shake my head. “Brothers.”
“Yeah, there’s seven of us.” My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “But don’t get excited, little Kitten,” he leans in and whispers in my ear. “I’m the most handsome, the strongest and the best.”
Somehow I don’t doubt it. “That wasn’t what I was–”
“Fuck! That reminds me!
He steps to the side and slams his fist against the array of golden buttons. The elevator comes to a juddering halt, jolting me forward and into his waiting arms.
“I got something for you.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. “To match your eyes.”
“I’m not wearing a col–” I begin.
“Relax, Kitten.”
He opens his fist and a delicate golden chain falls through the air and catches. At the end is a bright green gem the shape of a teardrop and the size of a galleon. It bounces on the end of the chain.
“I figured you’d need something pretty to wear.” I watch mesmerized as it swings from side to side, wondering if it possesses magical, or maybe even hypnotic, properties.
He snaps open the clasp and then he reaches around my throat and fastens it at the back of my neck.
“W-w-where did you get it?” I ask, trying to keep a hold of my thoughts as he slides his hands under my loose hair, his fingers warm on the back of my neck, and frees my locks from the chain, letting the cool necklace settle against my skin.
“My mom,” he answers, his gaze fixed on the crystal that now hangs against my chest.
“Your mom let you give this to me?” I say, surprised. Does that mean his mom knows about me? Does that mean she approves? I can’t see that she would. A girl from Slate.
Dray strokes his fingers over my shoulder, along my clavicle and positions the crystal at the apex of my cleavage.
“Not exactly,” he says, his eyes flashing darker. He sweeps his fingers along the soft skin of my chest.
“Huh?” I say, finding it even harder to focus on our conversation and not the feel of his fingers, of his magic, against my flesh, warming my skin, making it tingle with awareness, my body turning to liquid. I’m surprised I’m not a puddle on the floor.
“I wanted it for you,” he growls, leaning down to nuzzle at my throat, “so I took it.”
My eyes start to drift shut and I’ve definitely lost all track of his words. But then, without warning, the lift creaks and shoots upward again.
