Darkangel by Christine Pope (red queen ebook TXT) 📕

events: the Halloween dance, the holiday lighting ceremony…the Mardi Gras dance in February.

Even so, it was a gray sort of day, not the kind to inspire much enthusiasm. It helped a little that Sydney came up early, saying she wanted to give me a manicure, because I needed red nail polish to match the lipstick, and between that and watching her spend a good hour curling her hair while my nails dried, we managed to use up a large chunk of the afternoon. And after that Aunt Rachel fed us smoked chicken enchiladas and her famous Spanish rice, saying she knew we’d be drinking and so had better lay down a good base first. I noticed Sydney didn’t make much protest, despite the tight-fitting dress she’d be wearing later; no one in their right mind turned down my aunt’s enchiladas.

Then it was time to change, and the two of us headed up to my room to put on our dresses and makeup. That is, Sydney insisted on doing my makeup, too, since she was the expert. I didn’t bother to protest, since deep down I had to acknowledge that I wanted to know what I’d look like with real makeup on and not some hastily applied lip gloss.

“I’d love to smoke up your eyes,” she said as she worked away on my face, dabbing foundation on with a sponge, “but you’re doing a red lip, and that would be too much. We don’t want you looking like a streetwalker.”

“Well, it would fit the neighborhood,” I joked. Hull Avenue, where Spook Hall was located, had been the center of the red light district back when Jerome was a bustling mining town.

“But it wouldn’t fit you,” she said severely, then set down the sponge and picked up a brush, lightly applying blush in upward motions along my cheekbones.

“Probably not.”

For the next few minutes she worked in silence, expertly tracing liner along my upper lids, brushing on mascara, using a pencil to define my brows before at last applying the red lipstick. Finally she said, “Okay, I think I’m done. It’s pretty amazing…but don’t peek until you have the dress on.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

I just shook my head, feeling the unfamiliar weight of my hair gathered into a low chignon. But I did as she requested, keeping my eyes cast downward at the Persian rug on the floor as I went behind the mirror and took off my shirt and jeans, then pulled on the unfamiliar and not very comfortable hose I had to wear under the gown.

“Goddess, people actually wear these horrible things every day?” I muttered as I wriggled into the pantyhose.

“Oh, stop grousing. I can only imagine what you’d say if you had to wear something historical with a corset.”

“I would’ve put my foot down about that,” I retorted.

“Quit bitching and get that dress on already. It’s almost eight.”

I didn’t bother to point out that she’d just spent almost a half hour doing my makeup. Instead, I stepped into my gown and drew it up, then gave the zipper a quick mental yank. Then I sort of pushed and pulled until everything more or less felt as if it were in the right place. I’d left my borrowed shoes back here so I could step into them easily once I was dressed, and I did that now, then came out from behind the mirror.

“About time,” Sydney began, and then she stopped, staring at me. “Wow.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah. Look at yourself.”

Almost fearfully, I turned and regarded myself in the mirror. Well, that is, I knew it was me, but it definitely didn’t look like me. My usually unruly hair was sleek and shining, my mouth full under its coating of red lipstick. Long gold earrings danced against my neck, and the dress, with its built-in padding, was doing some spectacular things to my cleavage.

“It’s…nice,” I said finally.

“Nice? Give me a break. Adam’s going to take one look at you in that and have a heart attack.”

“Well, that’s really not what I was going for.” To put it mildly. Adam’s infatuation was already enough of a problem…what was he going to do after he saw me looking like this?

Sydney grinned. “No worries. I’ll run interference if I have to.” She came over and stood about a foot behind me, regarding herself critically in the mirror. “No one’s even going to notice me with you looking like that.”

“I highly doubt that.” Maybe at first glance my outfit was more eye-catching, but she looked like the perfect golden girl, with her hair curling over her shoulders and the gleaming fringe of her dress shimmering with every move she made. Also, that dress was short. Her legs looked about ten miles long in it. “Anyway,” I added, “why do you want people noticing you? I thought you were with Anthony.”

“I am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still want guys looking at me.”

“I really don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

She grinned, her blue eyes twinkling. “Yeah, probably not. But can we both agree that putting masks on top of all this is really a waste?”

My gaze flickered to the mirror. Sydney was a golden goddess, and I looked far more sultry and exotic than I’d ever thought I could. Wearing a mask did seem kind of silly. “You’re right. No masks.”

“Thank God.” A quick once-over of her ensemble in the mirror, and she asked, “So are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” I went over to the bed and picked up the black fringed shawl I was using as a wrap — another loan from my aunt.

We clattered down the stairs and heard voices coming from the living room, where apparently Adam had been waiting for us. He’d been chatting with my aunt, the cowboy hat he was wearing as part of his costume tipped back on his head, but when I entered, Sydney a few paces behind, he apparently lost all power of speech. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes widened. Great. Just what I’d been fervently hoping wouldn’t happen.

My aunt, bless her, scoped out the situation immediately and rose from the couch, exclaiming, “You girls both look wonderful! Sydney, it was so good of your friend to loan out her dresses!”

“Oh, well, she wasn’t going to wear them again, so she figured they might as well get some use,” Sydney replied, her voice full of suppressed laughter. I could tell she was having a hard time not bursting into giggles at Adam’s reaction to my appearance.

“You look great, too, Aunt Rachel,” I said. And she did — she’d sort of piled together some of the choicest boho pieces from her wardrobe, making an awesome gypsy fortune-teller costume. Big gold hoops hung from her ears, and it looked as if she were possibly wearing every necklace she owned.

“Oh, well….” She waved a hand. “Tobias is running a little late, so you three should just go on ahead.”

“What, no armed escort?”

That remark earned me a sour look. “There are several…guardians…at the hall already, and you’ll have Adam with you.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” asked Sydney.

“In this case, unfortunately, yes.” My aunt softened her words with an accompanying smile. “But there is always strength in numbers, I suppose. Anyway, there are also a good many people on the street as well, so I think it should be safe enough.”

“Then let’s get going,” I said. “I want to get a decent table to sit at.”

That comment seemed to snap Adam out of his stupor. “Right. It’s better to get there early, or you end up having to stand all night.”

I had a feeling that really wouldn’t be an issue, that because of the bodyguards and my status as prima-in-waiting I’d somehow magically I’d get a table no matter how crowded it might be already, but there really wasn’t any reason to delay any longer. “Okay — we’ll hold some seats for you and Tobias.”

“No need for that. We’ll manage. You go and have a good time.”

That seemed to be our cue to leave, so the three of us left Aunt Rachel in the living room and trooped to the back door. The sun had been down for a few hours by then, and the night air that greeted us was already chilly. Sydney had decided against a shawl or coat and now looked as if she regretted it. Good thing we didn’t have far to walk.

Because she was there, Adam kept silent, although I noticed how his gaze kept darting over at me. I pulled the shawl closer and pretended not to notice.

There was a line to get into the hall, but it looked as if we were early enough that we’d still be able to snag a table without having to resort to any magical intervention. We paid our ten dollars to get in — for a second I was worried that Adam would try to pay for my ticket, but one quelling look from me seemed to let him know I wasn’t going along with that idea — and found a spot toward the back of the room but on the side closer to the bar.

“You two want some drinks?” Adam asked, hovering at the table without sitting down.

“Bacardi and Diet Coke,” Sydney said promptly. One of her mottoes was definitely “never turn down a free drink.”

Since arguing with him about buying me a drink seemed petty, I made myself smile and say, “Whatever red wine they have would be great.”

“Got it.” He smiled back at me, and I hoped he wasn’t going to take my accepting his offer of a drink as a sign of encouragement. But then he headed off toward the bar, black frock coat flapping behind him. It was a nice-looking getup, I had to admit, although his boyish looks made it seem a little more Young Guns than Tombstone.