Chasing Midnight - A Cinderella Retelling (Once Upon a Curse Book 3) Page 5

  Too late now.

  I try to smother my grin, but the edges of my lips twitch. Energy simmers beneath my skin. I’m ready to go, ready to leave. I don’t want to be in this place with these people anymore. I want to be out. I want to be doing something. I want to be one step closer to my sister.

  “Anything else?”

  Omorose sighs at my tone.

  As if I care.

  “Be kind to her, please. She’s just a little girl who’s all alone. And—” Omorose cuts off as she bends down to tug some strange fluffy brown thing from the bag by her feet, then offers it to me. “And give her this.”

  When I meet her gaze, one of Omorose’s pesky memories floods to the forefront of my thoughts. I’m suddenly bombarded by the image of a little girl with curly chestnut hair and innocent round eyes, staring at me, holding out this bit of brown fluff and telling me to be brave. Her voice holds the conviction her hard-to-decipher words lack, and though she wobbles on unsteady feet still learning how to walk, there’s something undeniably proud in her gaze—something that reminds me of Aerewyn.

  I shake the thought as quickly as it comes.

  I shove it back into the depths, hoping it will shrivel away without access to the light.

  I blink and return to reality.

  Trying to recover myself, I cinch my thumb and forefinger around the foreign object, holding it at a distance as I stare. Suddenly, I notice a big black eye and some messy stitching, then maybe a nose. I think I’m holding it by the ear. “What in the world is this?”

  “My sister will understand,” she grumbles as she takes the odd little animal in her arms and presses it to her chest for a prolonged moment, before gently easing it into the bag I’d left on my bed. “When you find her, just give him to her and tell her he’s from me. Tell my sister that I love her and that I’m waiting and that I wish I could’ve gone with you. Tell her not to be afraid of the magic. Tell her I know how to keep her safe. Please, just—”

  Her voice cracks and Omorose goes silent.

  The flower at the center of my soul wilts, just for a moment, overcome by the emotion in her words—all things I long to tell my own sister. That I love her. That I’m waiting. That I’m trying to save her. Then I remember where I am—what I’m plotting—and I flinch back, cutting off the sudden stream of warmth, eclipsing my heart.

  I remember the stories I saw in her memories, what the humans of this new world think of faeries in the tales they weave, and I tell her what she wants to hear. To them, we’re a joke, bumbling magical fools. We’ll see who’s laughing in the end.

  “I’ll be her fairy freaking godmother, okay?” I snap. Then I lift my palm above my face, so they can’t see my lips, and very quietly murmur, “Salis ni mither dam lu da thaol, on aoch in ithir fidi loam del bhfalich.”

  Mother’s light, please pass me by. In Father’s night, I long to hide.

  The spell washes over me, leaving me cold as the Mother’s light passes through me, unable to touch my skin. I’m surrounded in shadow, part of the world, and yet separate from it, enshrouded by the Father. It was Aerewyn’s favorite spell—very useful for spying on the priestesses—even though she’s never quite been able to perfect it. That didn’t stop her from begging me to make us invisible so we could watch the priestesses perform magic we weren’t supposed to learn for years. Loyal to a fault, I always gave in.

  And look where it left us.

  The smile threatening to spread my lips dies with the thought. I watch as Omorose and Cole stare blankly around the tent, wondering where I’ve gone. As long as I don’t move, they’ll never find me.

  “Did you know she could do that?” the shifter prince asks.

  “No,” Omorose answers as worry draws a groove into her forehead. “If she could have left us the entire time, why did she stay? Why did she swear the oath? Why is she helping us?”

  I hold my breath.

  But I have no need to worry. I’ve played my part well.

  “I don’t know,” the prince says as he turns Omorose around and holds her by the shoulders, willing her to believe him. “But she did. She swore the oath. Everything will be all right.”

  Before my eyes, their hard exteriors melt and they wilt toward each other, softened by my absence. Their tough masks fall, revealing warm eyes and warm souls that pulse with an inner light my presence had snuffed out. I was a dark storm over their heads, and with me gone, they bloom.

  My soul blossoms too, for another reason entirely.

  They don’t suspect me at all.

  I’m coming, Aerewyn. I’m coming.

  When they leave, I push Father’s shadows away and step back into the light. The ancient words rise to my lips again, this time with the scrying spell as I lean over the large bucket in the corner—the one I’d requested so I could bathe earlier that morning. They thought I was being difficult, but in truth, it’s my avenue of escape. The water flashes with the image of the orphanage, a window to the other side of the world.

  Soon, it will be much more than that.

  I place the bowl on the ground as words tumble from my lips, guttural and infused with the power beneath my skin—the spell for a faerie portal. It’s advanced magic, a spell that weaves both the magic in my soul, given by the Father, and the magic in my body, given by the Mother. His power lets me pass through time and space. Her power lets me spin the water, the earth, the air, the very sunlight into a door across the world. Aerewyn and I only learned the words of the spell from our days of spying, and it took months for me to learn how to wield it on my own. I remember times from my youth when the priests and priestesses worked together to form portals entire populations could cross. But in this life, it’s hard enough for me to keep it open long enough for a single person to pass through.

  Before the spell disintegrates, I jump, lifting both my feet into the air. As soon as my toes touch the liquid surface of the portal, I’m sucked into the vortex. With the spell blazing across my skin, I keep my thoughts on the orphanage, on London, on the sister I must save, forcing the door to remain open long enough for my soul to reach the other side.

  Everything goes dark.

  Then I open my eyes to a city unlike any I’ve seen before.

  The first thing I notice is the smell. The air is rotten and musty, reminiscent of leaves on a wet fall day, piled high on the forest floor and starting to mold. When I breathe, it tastes dirty, as though it’s full of dusty particles that clog my lungs. A cough tumbles up my throat and I sag against the ground, wilting like a stifled flower with no room to grow new roots as I try to clear my eyes. Before I have time to get oriented, a voice interrupts.

  “Are you okay, miss?”

  I glance up instinctually, following the line of an extended arm to a smiling face. The second I meet the stranger’s gaze, he gasps and draws back, eyes going wide.

  My skin.

  My face.

  I didn’t think the difference would be so noticeable, but beneath this damp gray sky, the shimmer is difficult to miss.

  “Fine,” I grumble as I jump to my feet and turn away from this man. I’m on a crowded street, one I don’t recognize from all my time spent staring at the scrying water. The portal spell must’ve weakened as I traveled through the vortex. I didn’t land quite as close to the orphanage as I’d planned—a risk I knew going into it. Faerie portals are notoriously difficult and even after so many years on my own, I’ve never quite been able to master them.

  Before the stranger can ask more questions, I scurry away, losing myself in the throng of humans as I tug the hood of my jacket low over my face, shielding my skin from prying eyes. Cars whoosh by on the busy street. Horns blare, making me jolt. The cacophony of voices and machines drowns out my own thoughts. I can’t think. In the crowd, I can hardly breathe. How do humans live like this? Surrounded by so much chaos?

  The street widens into a large square with two splashing fountains and a massive stone statue. I run over to the steps at its base and duck behi
nd an iron lion, cowering in the shadows. As soon as my butt lands on stone, I dip my head between my legs and draw in a deep breath, struggling not to gag on the scent of so much artificiality. I long for the woods, for the subtle sweetness of flowers. At this point, I’d take the crisp freshness of the mountain air I just left behind, despite the chill as I sucked it down. Instead, all I have is the subtle mist in the air hinting at rain. I try to hold on to that little bit of cleanliness as I tug the backpack from my shoulder. Much as I loathe to admit it, Omorose was right. I did need her help and I do need to blend in. I underestimated how overwhelming the sensory experience of this city would be.

  Digging through the contents, I find the gloves she promised and tug the navy suede material over my fingers. Then I cinch the cornflower-blue trench coat she gave me around my waist, button it up to my throat, and tuck my golden hair beneath the voluminous hood. With the material draped low over my head, I don’t think anyone will notice my skin, but I take the disc of makeup out anyway and dab a subtle layer of powder over my cheeks, my chin, and my throat. The glittery sheen dampens, but doesn’t disappear completely. It’ll have to do. The sooner I find Ella, the sooner I get to leave this place behind. Hiding in the shadows won’t help. I have no choice but to keep going.

  With a sigh, I stand and straighten my shoulders.

  Up ahead, I notice a patch of green. The mere sight of a tree soothes me. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve crossed the square, marching for the canopied street. The crowd moves with me. In a large pack, we scramble across the road while cars stop to let us pass, then we continue on like a slowly flowing river. I shuffle with the throng, letting it pull me along, as I stare overhead at the leaves fluttering in the breeze. The street here must be closed to cars, at least for today, because people spill into the center, filling every opening. Gradually, the rumble of machines falls away. And though there’s a sea of humans splayed out before me, more people than I’ve ever seen gathered in one place, even their voices hush. A current fills the air, ripe with anticipation, buzzing almost like magic. My skin prickles in a familiar way, as though it senses the energy on the breeze. But this is entirely man-made. Even as a roar erupts, crashing over me like a wave against the shore, drowning me in shouts and claps and cheers, no power stirs—at least not any I can access.

  “Hello, London,” a voice booms.

  The din loudens.

  “Hello, Great Britain.”

  I snap my gaze from the billowing branches and try to locate the source of the words. A dozen feet away, a massive face looms, ten times the size it should be. I gasp, catching the sound in my throat as my hand rises to cover my lips. I blink, unable to believe my eyes, as the giant opens its mouth to speak.

  “Hello to everyone else in the world who may be watching.”

  The man vanishes in a blink as a bird’s-eye view of the street takes his place, then quick shots of various other faces, some smiling, some crying, some watching in awe. They’re people in the crowd, not giants. It’s an invention, I realize as the original man returns to view—some sort of magnifying device or computer screen like Omorose showed me. Far down at the very end of the street, behind a gleaming golden statue, he’s standing on a balcony with a small handful of other people. Swathes of red silk fringed in gold drape over the banister, stark against the gray stone walls of the building acting as their backdrop. I recognize those massive columns and swirling iron gates from the scrying water. The humans call it Buckingham Palace, which means the orphanage is near. Yet, as the crowd quiets, I can’t bring myself to move.

  I finally understand who this man is.

  Their king.

  “Eleven years ago today, our lives were forever changed,” he booms into the silence. Authority oozes from his tone, the sort established by birth. “Nations vanished. Technologies we deemed essential to our daily lives crumbled. Families were torn apart, including my own. I lost a grandmother. This country lost a queen. Yet compared to most, we were lucky. While other countries fell victim to forces we deemed impossible, ours remained strong—a symbol of hope to a planet ripped apart at the seams.”

  He pauses while the crowd cheers.

  The magnifying screen zooms out, wide enough I can see the entire group of people standing beside him on the balcony—the royal family, I’m guessing. All the men wear matching uniforms, a bright scarlet jacket studded with metal pins and broken by a sky-blue sash draped from shoulder to hip. The woman by the king’s side, his queen I assume, wears a blue dress to match his sash, while the girl beside her wears pink. The queen's brown hair is mostly hidden beneath a floral hat, and his is mostly gone, but there’s no doubt the group of six are a family. The girl looks exactly like her mother, and the two older sons are a mix of their parents, yet I’m drawn to the boy at the end, the image of his father. He’s got a long face with a strong jawline, but my eyes go to his rakish smile, lazy and curled at the end, subtly hinting that he’s up to no good. His blond locks fluff in the wind, curling over his forehead as though somehow intentional despite the breeze, and his blue eyes pierce through the screen. They whisper at a seriousness the rest of his aura seems to purposefully lack, a crack in an otherwise convincing façade. For some reason, the sight of him sets me on edge. It reminds me of the first time I ever laid eyes on a human prince—one look and I knew he’d be our undoing.

  I have the same feeling now.

  A sense of foreboding shoots like lightning down my spine, shocking my heart. I mumble a spell for warmth, pulling the heat of the Mother sun from the sky and into my skin to chase away the chill. Magic prickles, warming me from the inside out. At the same time, the prince looks down toward his feet, at something in his hand. Without the weight of his knowing gaze, the tension in my body lessens. Just as I’m starting to feel at ease, his head snaps up, grin gone and eyes sharp as a blade.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  He stares out at the crowd—at me. For a moment, I feel as though those eyes can see right through the makeup on my face and the hood over my eyes, into the very core of who I am. I shake my head and force those fears away before I tumble back into the body of the worried girl I left behind a long time ago.

  I don’t need to be afraid.

  He’s not watching me.

  He doesn’t see me.

  He couldn’t possibly have picked me out of the crowd, not from this distance. If Aerewyn were here, she’d tell me to stop acting like a seedling that’s barely broken through the ground. I’m stronger than this. I’ll prove it—to myself and to them.

  “Our allies across the Atlantic have won two outstanding victories over their magical invaders these past few weeks, a sign that the tides of this global war might finally be changing,” the king continues while his audience listens, enraptured by their ruler. “Our allies to the south are making more and more technological advances every day to fight the devastating radiation caused by damage to their nuclear reactors during the earthquake. In countries all across the globe, mankind is fighting back. And make no mistake, we will win. Our strength has always been in our power to persevere against all odds—preferably with the help of a strong cup of tea.”

  As one, the crowd laughs.

  I don’t get the joke.

  While the king continues speaking, I focus on the prince. A smile is back on his lips, but it hasn’t reached his eyes. He scans the people, roving his gaze back and forth and up and down. I can’t help but think he’s somehow looking for me.

  Drawing back into the shadowy depths of my hood, I call on the wind, not with ancient words but with my own magic. All faeries have a little bit of elemental power—a gift from the Mother—and faerie priestesses, even those that haven’t been properly trained, have more than most. A breeze stirs in my chest, swirling and swooping beneath my skin. I let it build, gaining speed, gaining momentum, and when the crowd releases a loud cheer, I gently open my lips and blow. The gust shoots across the top of the crowd, blasting where I aimed it—straight for
the royal family. On the screen, the king’s magnified eyes go wide as the wind smacks him, slamming into his chest with enough force to push him back a step.

  He makes another joke, but the prince isn’t smiling. I blow again, this time letting the breeze sail in from the side so the prince’s hair swirls in the invisible force. He narrows his eyes and looks back down to a black object in his hands.

  Can he sense my magic?

  Is that possible?

  Omorose told me the humans couldn’t trace my power—that only stolen magic seemed to mess with their precious electricity, causing widespread blackouts. My magic, Cole’s magic, all the natural shifter magic went undetected by the humans hovering around the village. At least, we thought it did.

  Yet, this prince seems to know.

  As he studies the crowd, an unmistakable awareness fills his eyes. Then he glances back down to his hands, which are hidden just behind the banister. His fingers move quickly. I think he’s given up all pretense of paying attention to his father’s speech. He darts his gaze up a few times, but never for long. He’s focused. He’s—

  A buzzing noise catches my attention, a rapid slicing through the air that reminds me of the gentle purr of a hummingbird’s wings. While everyone else faces ahead, I look up, peeking around the edge of my hood into the cloudy gray sky. Something black hovers above me. For a moment, I think it’s a bird, but it’s not. Blades move through the air instead of wings. There’s a red light blinking on the surface—the eye of a monster as it spots me.

  My stomach flips and I glance down.

  It’s too late.

  The buzz grows louder as the invention floats closer, almost daring me to look back up. With the wind still reeling beneath my skin, I open my lips and blow. The gust slams into the black box, tossing it away. When I glance back at the screen, the prince is looking out at the crowd with a grin across his lips, curved and wicked, oozing with victory.

  I swerve through bodies, careful to keep the hood low over my head, and forget about the orphanage. The street is too crowded. The daylight is too bright. I need to buy time. I’ll find Ella tonight, when there are fewer watchful eyes around—when this prince is back inside his palace.