Dark Light of Day (38 page)

W
hen we arrived at Empyr there was a long line to get in. At first I worried there might be some sort of ticket requirement, but then I saw the Angels had posted two Seraphim by the door to greet their guests. The Seraphim appeared in high spirits, making ribald jokes, mocking some people’s costumes and enthusiastically praising others. I was relieved to see that the crowd was almost equally divided between polished and professional (black robes, gray gowns) and dramatic and decadent (bright iridescent fabrics, shimmering face paints, masks, ribbons, trains…).

Peter refused to even look at me while I was at Ari’s side and Ari made it clear he wouldn’t be letting go of me anytime soon. Not that I minded. For the ball, Ari had donned a two button, black frock coat with matching pants. He wore a deep mahogany vest of the same material and a coordinating striped silk ascot. His chin and cheeks were now free of stubble but, like Night, he’d left his hair unbound. It fell in unruly waves, almost reaching his starched white collar. His appearance was a drool inducing combination of debonair
and devil-may-care. I could hardly believe he was
my
date for the night.

Fellow students’ reactions to me were mixed. A few complimented me on my dress or on my choice to use Flora as my muse (I hadn’t, but in deference to the demon, I didn’t correct them). Some women even showed signs of envy, until they remembered who or what I was. I gathered none would have wanted the beauty if it meant having to live with the mark. Others, like Babette, just seemed awed to be in my presence. They were almost as hard to take as the ones who reacted to me as if I were an insect skittering across the floor. Apparently seeing really is believing. My mark seemed to grow darker with my mood. I knew I was being oversensitive (and likely seeing devils where they did not exist), but I couldn’t help it. By the time it was our turn to enter Empyr even Ari’s rock-solid presence by my side couldn’t steady my skittish nerves.

The two Seraphim at the door were passing something out as guests entered. I froze when I saw what they were.

Flowers. Morningstar lilies, of course. Flora’s favorite. Legend had it they hadn’t even existed prior to the Apocalypse. According to the story, they’d first grown from the ground where Lilith had shed her tears over Lucifer’s death. Since every lily was supposed to represent a tear, and Lilith’s tears had been endless, lilies now dot every field and valley of Halja. Their blooming time: early spring, or Beltane. There were some who believed Flora had been a religious zealot, or at least a good patriot, and that her motivation for scooping up the lilies she eventually killed was purely altruistic, instead of vain and destructive. Those who told that version of the story believed Flora had meant only to collect her lady’s tears, and in so doing somehow reverse what had happened to her lord. But when the lilies died, Flora knew the land wasn’t yet ready for his rebirth so she lit the bonfires, not in outrage, but instead as an act of holy purification.

I didn’t know which version to believe so I took my lesson from the common element in both, the one which was most likely to mirror reality. My touch would kill a flower as surely as Flora’s had. And despite how brave I’d been to bare
my demon mark, there was no way I was going to willingly kill something, even if it was only a clipped piece of greenery that only had days more to live.

Luck, let me pass by unnoticed.

It was possible. The hallway was a crush of people, the interior of Empyr was a cacophony of sound, and the last few minutes had felt like a pell-mell rush to get into the biggest event in New Babylon. I figured I had it made when Ari waved off the Seraph to our left but a second before I entered the Seraph to the right spied the flower in my hair and thrust one of the lilies in my direction. I stopped, almost unwillingly, mesmerized by its perfection. Like the apple wines, were they enhanced with a spell? The lily was flawless: its top large, smooth, and white as milk, its leaves and stem thick, stiff, and dark green with robust health. It smelled amazing and I nearly reached out to take it so that I could bury my nose in its top and breathe deep the smell of life. But sanity prevailed and instead I turned toward the Seraph so he couldn’t miss the demon mark on my chest. I inclined my head ever so slightly.

“I’d best not,” I said, my voice hoarse with emotion. The Seraph stared at me, knowing he’d made the gravest of social faux pas, something any Angel was loathe to do—even a Seraphim, the equivalent of their court jesters. Myriad emotions splashed across the Seraph’s face—disbelief, revulsion, interest, and then… inspiration.

“Tonight, you are Flora, our patron,” he said. “Accept this. Let your touch start the celebration.”

Once again he pushed the flower toward me. I stepped back to avoid contact and stepped on someone’s toes, which made me feel angry and self-conscious. It seemed wrong to force someone with waning magic to blacken something she didn’t want to. I felt my magic thicken inside me and had to consciously work to control it. This would be no time to accidentally set something on fire. I’d worked hard this year. I wasn’t going to embarrass myself in front of my classmates or, Luck forbid, the faculty. I shooed the Seraph away with an impatient motion.

“Flora’s first touch may have been a flower,” I said, “but her next step was to burn everything in sight. Is that what you want, Angel? I was under the impression Empyr was at its limit with candlewicks. Do you really want me to burn Empyr down to the ground?”

Everyone in the hallway went completely silent. The Seraph stood before me, his eyes wide, his mouth opening and closing like a hooked trout. I swept past him without a further glance and headed straight for the bar. I needed a drink.

Ari was right by my side, grinning foolishly.

“What?” I snapped.

“I enjoy seeing you embrace your dark side, Noon.”

“Well, I don’t,” I said, my resolve to enjoy myself tonight faltering. Ari grabbed my hand and pulled me back toward him. Since I’d been walking at a near frenetic pace my reversed momentum propelled me straight into him before I could stop myself. He was as immovable as a mountain, his chest beneath his coat as solid as Corpus Justica’s cornerstone. I tilted my head up, slightly dazed by the impact. Ari put his hands on my shoulders and gently rubbed my arms. His gaze held mine and suddenly it was just us again. By all rights I should have felt breathless and unstable. Wobbly and rickety. That’s usually the sensation I felt when Ari held me close and looked at me that way. But instead I felt calm again. Since the day we first met, Ari’s actions had made it clear that he wanted me to stand on my own two feet, but he wouldn’t let me fall.

My temper subsided and I glanced around the room, curious as to how the straightlaced Angels would celebrate the debauched holiday of Beltane. To my surprise and pleasure, Empyr had been transformed into a high-class carnival. Awash in white, silver, gold, and glass, everything gleamed. There was fire, but it was limited to hundreds of tiny candles. High in the ceiling, and likely protected further by powerful spellcasting, were bowers of fresh flowers and leaf garlands. Their smell was intoxicating. Ari wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“You don’t like them,” I said, smiling.

“I like that you like them,” he said, kissing the tip of my nose and releasing me.

Our voices were almost lost in the din of hundreds of people talking, laughing, and clinking glasses in toast or greeting. Far off, set against the sparkling outline of Etincelle in the darkened southern windows, a band played. The music was a curious combination of heavy beats and light ethereal notes, an eclectic mix of beautifully harmonized sounds coming from an unusual array of instruments: cellos, harps, and violins, dozens of woodwinds, and a small battery of drums. The singer was another Seraph, a slender woman who was dressed in what appeared to be only undergarments. But, if so, they were the most expensive underclothes I’d ever seen. The Seraph’s bejeweled skimpy top and tight satin knickers flashed brilliantly against skin covered in white reflective body paint as she danced under colored lights magically timed with the music she sang to. Her voice was throaty and deep, completely at odds with the body it came from, but enthralling. Since she was an Angel, I was sure she’d cast a fair amount of magic into her song. But no one here looked ensorcelled. She didn’t look powerful enough to pull that off.

I eyed the spinning couples on the dance floor with envy. I had a vague notion of how to dance. As a sophomore at Gaillard I’d taken a class to fulfill a history requirement. Dance steps hadn’t changed in centuries. But I hadn’t had much practice. The class had lasted only one semester.

Ari and I made it to the bar with Fitz and Babette still in tow. Night had led Ivy to the dance floor and Peter had disappeared soon after my scene at the door. I sighed and grabbed a drink menu, interested to see what the night’s offerings would be.

My eyebrows arched as I read through the menu. The Angels had spared no spell or expense. I looked around the crowded room, considering my choices. By far, the most popular drink seemed to be the Nonpareil. Nearly every woman had bought one, and a few of the men too. But the Golden Russet’s effects could certainly be seen. Throughout the crowd I spied a number of Hyrkes convincingly using fire as an accessory. I knew they were likely living it up, taking advantage of this one night of “free magic,” but I couldn’t imagine why anyone would willingly set themselves on fire, illusory or no. Veracity was a dud. What a buzzkill. Perhaps it might be useful at the end of the night though, when it was time to go home. Without a Black Gilliflower chaser, the Golden Russet’s effects might prevent some Hyrkes from catching cabs or checking into hotel rooms for the night. This might be Halja, but cabbies and hotel clerks had their limits.

Predictably, Babette ordered the Nonpareil and Fitz the
Golden Russet. Fitz’s first attempt at a fireball was so clumsy he would have set my dress on fire had it been real. I gave him a mock glare as he howled with mirth. Babette dragged him away from me, looking mildly terrified that I might lash out with the real thing. Ari asked what I’d like, and I told him to surprise me. He picked the Summer Queen.

“No Northern Spice?” I asked teasingly, glancing at the canoodling couples out on the western balcony.

“That’s like offering me an eye dropper full of water when I’m drowning in the Lethe.”

Oh.
Damn, Ari. Now my cheeks were the color of my drink.

I sipped demurely, trying to rid myself of images of Ari. Things he’d done to me. Things I wanted him to do to me. All the while aware of his gaze on me, and the fact that he likely guessed my thoughts, and without a doubt knew my feelings. I drained my drink, feeling deliciously woozy. My limbs suddenly felt supple and strong; my feet nimble and quick. The heavy beats of the music resonated within my chest wall. Wildly, impossibly, I felt my heart rhythm change to the beat of the music. My body became an elastic drum as the beats pounded against me and through me. The high ethereal notes I’d heard before now tinkled like bells along my skin. It was the lightest touch, like a lover’s caress. I shivered as the music made its way up my arms, across the swelling tops of my breasts, over my cheekbones with the barest feather light touch. Into my ears, where it tickled and teased, confusing my senses. I knew it was magic, but my body could no longer distinguish between sound and touch. It was an amazingly erotic feeling.

Had anyone else ordered the Summer Queen?

The bartender smiled at me, a little too lasciviously for Ari’s tastes. Ari offered me his hand, growling, “Let’s dance.”

He led me out onto the dance floor and twirled me around for an opening presentation. I let Ari and the music lead me. It didn’t surprise me that Ari was a great dancer even without the drink. I had yet to find something he
wasn’t
good at. As Ari held me, I felt his signature change into that tingly electric
feeling Ari called
arousal
. I sensed that he’d exercised the utmost restraint since Lekai. That he’d honored my wishes to act appropriately in public and stay apart at great cost to his self-control. Caught up in the moment, I lost track of how many times Ari set me free, spinning me endlessly like a flaming silk taffeta top. Always, he caught me, his strong hand reaching for mine or his firm grip encircling my waist. Each time my heart skipped like a flat rock thrown across still water. But my feet never faltered. I gave myself over to the man and the music, knowing that tonight there would be no holding back.

We dipped and swayed and I thoroughly enjoyed myself, nearly forgetting about the myriad things in my life there were to worry about. I was bent back over Ari’s arm, my head nearly upside down, when I felt him stiffen. I came back up suddenly, the first clumsy move I’d made all night thanks to the Summer Queen, and skittered to a stop in Ari’s arms. Despite the music, he’d gone still. I turned around abruptly to see what had caused his reaction.

I suppose I should have known. This annual Barrister’s Ball really
was
the biggest event in New Babylon tonight. Sure, the St. Luck’s and Joshua School people were present. But that would have made it of no more importance than the book fair they held down in Timothy’s Square every year. No, the real reason this event was so important was that important people came to it. Members of the Divinity. Members of the Council. Sometimes, even the executive.