Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Just as the thought rides through me, my lungs working overtime and my breaths short, a hand catches my arm and yanks me to the side. I scream as I’m swallowed in darkness, and a hand claps around my mouth.
Twenty-Three
WILLOW
I smell her before I can see her.
“Quiet,” Hannie whispers, her hand still covering my mouth. My heart thunders in my chest, but not louder than Killian’s feet as he stomps past the opening.
Finally releasing me, Hannie steps past me, peeks around the corner of the opening, then moves away. As she turns to look at me, her irises shimmer gold and she releases a sigh of relief.
“He’s gone.”
“Are you sure?” I hear Juniper ask, but I can’t see her. Hannie walks past me to flip a light switch on, and we’re in some sort of warehouse with mannequins inside. The mannequins are headless, their bodies made of steel.
Yeah,” Hannie breathes. “I saw him turn a corner. We can get to Tomán’s this way. Come on.”
She walks through the warehouse made of brick and metal and out a backdoor, but not without keeping watch. Down an alley we go, and I hear people hollering, men bellowing. My heart beats a little faster, and I don’t miss the way Juniper rests her hand on her gun as we approach. As her shirt lifts and she moves a step ahead, I notice another weapon tucked between her back and waistband. This weapon looks like a thick, metal stick.
Finally, we round a corner, and relief sinks in when I see the houses ahead. They’re beautiful homes, simple, white, clean. All glowing gold with decorative lights. One house in particular stands out most. The roof is sleek and gold, so shiny the moonlight reflects off it.
The bass of music increases as we approach the house, and Hannie fluffs her hair as she walks up the white stairs, stopping when she approaches a man dressed in all white.
“Hannie, my love. Took you long enough,” the man says, a pompous smile riding his lips.
Hannie grins, running a hand over the man’s shoulder. “These are my friends.” She gestures back to us.
“Not Vanorians?”
“No, Blackwaters. They’re cool.”
The man looks us all over, hesitant. “Not sure if that’s wise tonight, Han. We’ve got Rippies coming in and out of this place.”
Hannie sighs, then stands on her toes and whispers something into the man’s ear. Whatever she says makes him reveal a smile worth a billion watts, and he steps aside to let us pass.
“You know the rules,” he says to Hannie. “No powers from the Gilded. Tomán has his at rest tonight.”
“Of course.”
Sauntering into the house, Hannie tosses her spring-like black hair over her shoulder, and when I look back, the man is watching her, licking his lips. I have no idea what she said to him, but it must’ve been good.
The music grows louder, livelier, a mix of folk and pop as we enter. People stand everywhere—on the stairs, in the living room, the kitchen. It’s like an American house party, but with people who are dressed ten times better, and look like gods and goddesses. I’ve never seen people dressed so nicely, with their gold jewelry and shimmery clothes. It seems custom here. If not dressed well, you’d stand out like a sore thumb.
Juniper hooks an arm through mine, and I look at her. “You all right?” she asks as Hannie is whisked away by a petite woman who is thrilled to see her.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “All good.”
“Don’t go dobbing on me to Caz in that head of yours.”
I laugh. “Trust me, he’s the last person I want to talk to right now.” My chest tightens after those words, making me short of breath. I don’t know what the feeling means. Maybe it’s from all the running we just did?
I let the feeling roll over me, shaking it off. It seems to only happen when I talk shit about Caz…or maybe my body is realizing the lies and reacting to them. Truth is, it wouldn’t be so bad to talk to him. Too bad he’s an asshole.
We enter the kitchen, where there’s a beautiful display of drinks on a waist-high table. The tablecloth drips with silver and gold, the glasses lined up neatly, some of them stacked. An ice sculpture is in the center, a swan with the beak of a crane. It’s all so beautiful that I don’t even want to touch it, but Juniper swipes a glass for herself, and I follow suit, picking one up and sipping it. The alcohol is sour, and my face puckers.
“What the hell is this?” I ask.
“Vinnel,” Juniper says. “Disgusting, but it really puts you in your element.”
“It’s really gross.” I place the glass back down. “Is there anything else to drink? Some wine?”
Juniper turns for another table, picks up a gold goblet and a steel bottle, and pours red liquid into the goblet. She carries it to me. “There you are, miss prissy.”