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“You don’t have to play translator anymore. I’ve given her my answer, and now we’re going home.”
“You’re sure?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’m sure. This, at least, is one problem that will fix itself. With what little magic she has left, I doubt she’ll last longer than another day or two.” There’s a twinge of pity in Josephine’s voice as she turns her back on Phi, letting the spell—and the bird—drop.
The tired raven tries to flap her wings, but barely manages to slow her descent before landing gracelessly on the floor with a thud that makes me wince.
Tavor winds his way down Elara’s leg and goes to Phi with an urgency that tells of how dire the raven’s condition truly is. “Quick, we need nettle, black elderwood, ginkgo root…” he continues to list off ingredients, but Josie is heading to the door and I’m no longer paying attention.
I hope she’s making the right call. Somehow, my gut says we aren’t finished with Adelaide’s old familiar. Not yet. Demons are resilient bastards.
CHAPTER TWELVE
FINN
Josephine’s room is a whirlwind of silk, lace, and satin as we prepare for the masquerade ball on a major last-minute time crunch that has both of us growing more and more flustered with each passing minute.
“This one isn’t right either,” she huffs from behind the changing screen.
“Let me see.”
With another small sigh of frustration, Josephine steps out from behind the changing screen, trying in vain to smooth down the ruffles of the dress and looking wildly uncomfortable.
“You look stunning.”
She’s dressed in a magnificent poofy, ruffled gown that alternates between layers of white and pale pink. I thought the colors would look good with the pink in her hair, but the mass of fabric envelops her like a marshmallow—a beautiful marshmallow.
“That’s what you said about the last one.” Her hands get sucked into the dress as she rests them on her hips.
“No, the last dress made you look ravishing.”
It was a red number with tassels like a 20s flapper dress. It was nothing short of amazing on Josephine. So is this one. But she’s right. Neither of these gowns fit the occasion.
“The eggplant purple number made you look stunning,” I correct.
While true, that dress wasn’t up to par either.
“Right. I’ve tried on too many outfits. My brain is starting to jumble them all together. The whole fashion show montage thing looks way more fun in the movies.”
I second that but keep the thought to myself. Someone needs to be the calm voice of reason to keep this train on schedule.
We’re running out of options. The no pile just keeps growing. “Why don’t you give the pink ball gown a second try?”
Josie eyes the mound of gowns laid out on her mattress, the pink tulle of the dress in question barely visible underneath so many of its competitors. “It looks too much like something an eight-year-old would wear trying to be a princess.”
“You’re going to have to pick something. The pink one is pretty. What was wrong with that one?”
“It is pretty, but it’s not appropriate for a ball.”
“More appropriate than showing up in the nude,” I point out.
“Yeah, but I’m sure you’d love that.”
She steps up close, the billowing hem of her dress brushing against my legs, keeping Josephine at arm’s length.
I step past the barrier of Josie’s dress and pull her closer. “No. Your body is for my eyes only.”
The possession I feel over her is growing. It’s not like me, and I don’t know how to handle the rush of protective and greedy impulses.
