Page 24 of Spark of Sorcery
The girl I find in the mirror has me gasping in shock and for a moment, just a fraction of a moment, my mind is fooled into believing … until my senses swoop back. It’s me. Just me. But for that moment, that fleeting moment, I thought it was her.
I run my hand over the tight corset, imagining Beaufort’s hands holding me there, then let them trail down the soft skirt. I don’t look like me, like some kid from the Slate Quarter. The usual bruises and marks on my face have been smoothed away by Fox’s magic, my hair is braided around my head like a crown for everyone to see, and the dress pinches in my waist and makes me look like I actually own some curves.
“Can we come in?” Clare whispers from behind the door.
“Uh huh,” I whisper.
“Wow, Cupcake!” Fly says, clapping his hands together. “You look sensational.”
“Like a princess,” Clare says, mouth hanging open.
I don’t know if it was thinking my sister was here with me in the room, or the stress of everything that’s happened over the last twenty-four hours, but a sadness stabs me right in the center of my heart. I sniff and shake my head, tears burn behind my eyes. I don’t want to cry, not when my friend has done something nice for me like this.
“What is it?” Fly says, half joking, “is my design and needle work really that bad?”
“It’s beautiful, Fly, you know it is. But I can’t wear it.”
“Why not?” Clare asks. “You can’t really be worried about what others think?”
“It feels like a betrayal,” I whisper. Every glimmer ofhappiness does. Standing here with my friends. Making out with Beaufort in his car. Going to the ball in a dress far too good for me. It’s all a betrayal.
“To who?”
“My sister. I shouldn’t be worrying about boys, or balls or dresses. I should be out there finding answers. I’m letting her down.”
“Cupcake,” Fly says, resting his hand on my shoulder. “Your sister sounds like she was a really …” he searches for the word, “kind girl. It sounds like you both truly cared about and loved each other. Tell me, if the roles were reversed, if it was your sister standing here in front of this mirror, would you begrudge her some fun, some happiness? Stars know, we don’t get a lot of it – especially you kids from Slate.”
“You really think so?”
“You knew her, not me. What do you think?”
“I think she only ever wanted me to be happy. She was always going out of her way to make me happy – to make me laugh or to make me feel better or to ensure I wasn’t afraid.”
“Then she’d want you to be enjoying yourself – as much as it’s possible to – here.”
“But I should be finding the truth. I owe it to her.”
“Is there any reason why you can’t do both?” Clare asks.
“And you know, the more I think about it,” Fly says, straightening the dress a little and pinching in the corset just a tad, “the more I think you’ve been looking at this all wrong. You want answers about your sister. You suspect shadow weavers may have those answers. And three of the most powerful want to make you theirs. Don’t you think that might prove pretty useful?”
“He’s right–”
“Obviously!”
“–they might be able to help you, Briony. If you let them.”
“Maybe,” I mumble.
“Definitely,” Fly says, “don’t cut off your own nose to spite your face. You’re pretty, but not that pretty. You couldn’t pull off the no-nose look.”
“And,” Clare says, ignoring Fly’s silliness, “you could also let us help you.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“Cupcake, just being in the same vicinity as you is dangerous. Today I was nearly run over by Beaufort Lincoln,” I cringe apologetically, “the week before I was nearly electrocuted by Henrietta Smyte.”
“I think we may be able to help,” Clare says.
