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“I hope you know,” Emmy said seriously, “I’m still gonna vote for you.”
THE BALLROOM WHERE the gala was due to be held had been decorated unlike anything I’d ever seen before. The Circle’s lackeys had transformed the space into something fit for another world.
The only light sources were the orbs floating in mid-air above our heads like enchanted balloons, casting a silvery glow over the floor. The food was being served by paranormals wearing elaborate masks to cover their faces, the males in sharp suits and the females in tight black dresses. They swirled the room with finger foods, bite-sized desserts, trays of champagne that glittered and glowed with enchantments.
Emmy reached for a drink that radiated orange like a sunset. I took a sparkling pink beverage that snapped and fizzed with an alarming amount of enthusiasm. We clinked glasses, and no sooner had I taken a sip, than I was swept away from Emmy with the force of a powerful ocean whitecap.
A swarm of people encircled me, bustling me away from my friend, bumping against me with such force half my drink spattered to the ground.
“Trixie Gardens.”
“Over here!”
“Did you expect your name to be called?”
“A Gardens witch—it’s been a long time since the Gardens name has been in the news. Care to comment? What’ll your family think?”
“So will you give up your cab driving career to campaign?”
Questions were flung at me from all angles. I felt like I was drowning as the crush of reporters and curious onlookers swarmed me. I caught a glimpse of Levian through the ruckus, and the man looked at me with flames burning in his eyes.
The elf was holding up a finger, his lips parted in surprise, as if he’d been mid-sentence when the reporter talking to him had ditched him in favor of shouting questions in my direction. Obviously Levian was not a fan of the attention I was garnering.
“No comment,” I muttered. “Go talk to the other candidates.”
The fact that I’d said anything at all only seemed to spur on the reporters, to give them hope that I might open up more if pressed harder.
“What’s your angle going to be?” one asked. “You seem very relatable, Ms. Gardens. Do you think that’ll be your platform?”
“The debate is only three weeks away. Will you have time to prepare?”
“Was this a shock to you as much as it was to everyone else?”
“Do you think the witches will be proud to have you represent them as a candidate?”
I threw my arms up in the air, my pink drink fizzling and snapping with extra pizzazz as if reacting to my outrage. A bolt of electricity shot down my arm, zapped my glass. I needed to get ahold of my emotions before my magic started seeping out of me in a way that was really dangerous. There wasn’t enough tequila in my flask to keep my magic in check with this much energy around me.
“I’ll give y’all one comment,” I finally announced. The room quieted some, those nearest me watching with bated breath. “I’m not joining the campaign.”
“That’s not possible,” one of the reporters said after a beat. “You’re not allowed to drop out.”
I raised my shoulders and dropped them back down. “Well, whatever. They can’t force me to put on a dress and show up for a debate. My vote is going to Lucas. I don’t want any part of this. There are better candidates than me, so I’m bowing out—unofficially if need be. Leave me alone. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”
If I’d thought my honesty would help matters, I was wrong. Somehow, what I’d said seemed to only incite the reporters more. They stepped closer. My windpipe felt like it was closing up as people got into my space bubble. Someone knocked my elbow. Questions were coming louder, faster, more invasive.
“This is unprecedented!”
“How will you explain your disinterest to The Circle?”
“Is it true you don’t actively use magic? Are you even allowed to live in The Hollow? Aren’t you afraid you’ll be banned for defying The Circle?”
“You seem to really dislike Dominic Kent. Is there something personal there? Scorned lovers?”
“I said—” I tried to break through the hubbub, but it was clear by now that the reporters didn’t actually want to hear from me—at least not the truth. Because I’d already told them the whole truth, and they weren’t listening.
They were crowding me, pulling me into their swarm. Someone stepped on my foot, someone else tugged on my hair. It was claustrophobic, and my breath was coming in sharp waves. The edges of my vision were going black.
I glanced down at my hands, horrified to find that the tips of my fingers were glowing a violent purple. The hand holding the drink was shaking, spilling my pink concoction. I really needed to get this magic under control before something went awry in a large group of people and someone seriously got hurt from an errant burst of repressed magic.
