Page 22 of Those That Don't Exist
“On the window ledge,” Bree replies, black wig now in place. It makes her alabaster skin even more porcelain, like she’s breakable. A total facade if you know her at all. She’s dressing up as Elsadeera, the Fae princess turned spy from one of the most famous ballet productions. I know it's a dream of Bree’s to one day play her for real on stage.
I hop and skip my way over to the window, stepping over the piles and piles of clothes, fake wings, bombs of glitter and capes that now cover almost every inch of the floor. Claire has changed character four times, for some reason she can’t stick to one, which is not like her. Normally she has her outfit nailed weeks before, but this year she can’t settle on one for some reason.
Making it in one piece to the window I find the palette easily, perched on top of a few books on the ledge. As I go to turn away, however, movement catches my eye. My head whips back to the street below.
It’s dark already and barely anyone is out. The clear wintery skies leading to the temperatures dropping to near zero already. There are two men strolling down the pavement opposite the house. My brain immediately locks onto the one on the left, the taller one. It’s him.
I blink a few times. Surely not. But indeed as my eyes readjust to the low light it’s definitely him. I’ve seen his figure enough times now I could easily pick him out of a line up. Both men pause. They’re gesturing wildly with their hands, clearly in a debate of some sort. Maybe they’re arguing. I wish I could openthe window to hear what they’re saying but I don’t want to draw their attention.
I watch them for a minute before the man I don't know storms off leaving my guy standing there. Shoving his hands into the pockets of the long coat he’s wearing, I see the cloud of his exhale as he huffs out a breath.
Then he looks up. Our eyes lock and I’m scrabbling backwards. I knock the books flying before tripping over some clothing behind me, landing on my ass with a thud.Shit.
“Ow,” I groan, yanking the offending fabric away from my feet.
“Oh my gods, are you ok?” Claire launches from her bed, and starts shoving stuff in a corner, a little too late.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I rub my sore coccyx with my free hand.
“Did you see a ghost?” Bree chuckles.
“Very funny,” I respond with sarcasm.
Although that damn guy may as well be a ghost.
“You girls ok?” David’s voice rings out over the music. He steps round the door, which is ajar. “I was heading downstairs and heard a bang.” He pauses to survey the room. “But I guess it was Claire’s closet exploding,” he deadpans at his sister.
She rolls her eyes. “Rory fell over.” She turns back to me. “I’m sorry by the way, I should have tidied as I went.”
“Yes, it's rather unlike you to allow us to get this messy in your room.” I smile and everyone but Claire laughs. “And I’m fine, I think I saw a spider, that’s all.”
David looks me over for injuries before stepping into the room to offer me a hand up, which I gladly accept.
Those butterflies are back as his eyes rake over me again. I might have my hair finished and have my make up half done but I’m currently wearing a robe, not wanting to get my dress crinkled. His eyes linger on my bare legs.
He breaks contact and quickly steps back as soon as I’m on my feet.
“Will you all be ready soon? People will be arriving any time now.”
“Yeah I’m almost done,” Claire says as she steps back away from me and picks up the mascara she was applying before I fell.
“I’m done.” Bree twirls, the skirt on her black dress flying out around her. It's gorgeous - a tight corset with black beaded detail that catches the light and a rough hem skirt of multiple types of fabric patchworked together. She’s added black diamond studs up her Fae ears and dark makeup to complete the look.
“I’ve got my makeup to finish, and of course the dress. What about you, you’re not in costume?” I say after taking in David’s casual jeans and a slightly smarter black button down.
“I am.” He looks offended.
“Well, what are you?” I say, confused.
“I’m a Fae.” He points to his ears. He’s bought some prosthetic ear pieces to give himself pointed tips.
“That’s not a costume,” Claire retorts.
“It’s all I had,” he counters.
“Are you at least a famous Fae?” I ask, my eyes on him in the mirror as I now finally start my eye makeup.
“I don’t know, who do I look like? Any hot actors I can pass as?” His gaze burns into my back.
