Page 39 of Spark of Sorcery
I sit quietly, attempting to imagine what on earth that can mean as he brushes colored powder across my eyelids and paints my lips a pinky-red color.
“There,” he says. “Not bad. Go take a look.”
I walk to the mirror and peer at the reflection.
“Wow,” I say, tipping my face one way and then another. “I look like a shadow weaver.”
“They just look better than us because they can afford better cosmetics and face creams,” he says.
“And can probably use their magic to remove pimples,” I point out.
“That too.” He bends down and rummages in the bag he brought with him. “Now, for your hair.”
He pulls out another implement – something that again looks suspiciously like an instrument of torture.
“What the hell is that?” I yelp.
“Curling irons.” He walks over to the fire and places them carefully alongside.
“Are you going to brand me on the ass?”
“No, I’m going to curl your hair.”
“With something you’re heating in the fire?!” He nods. “No way. I’ve already lost parts of my hair.”
“You won’t lose any more. I will be careful.”
I shake my head.
He nods his.
We glare at each other.
The fire crackles. I can smell the irons warming.
We stare some more.
I’m thefirst to blink.
“Fine. But if any more of my hair is burned off, this will be the end of our short but sweet friendship.”
“Understood,” he says, lifting the irons out of the fire with the rubber handle. He touches it lightly with his hand and then, instructing me to take my seat on the bed again, gets to work on my hair.
“I think,” he says with a grin on his face, as he arranges my hair in waves of curls, “even Cinderella’s fairy Godmother didn’t achieve such an amazing outcome.”
Chapter Fourteen
Briony
The tower clock chimes at seven o’clock and I am suddenly a bag of nerves, probably feeling a lot like Cinderella did herself.
I take one last glance at myself in the warped mirror. I have to admit, Fly has worked some kind of miracle. I don’t look like myself at all. It makes me uncomfortable – this isn’t me, is it? Some glamorous woman hanging on the arm of powerful men? For the last few years it’s been just me looking out for myself, scraping by to survive. Will others look at me and think I’m one big fat fraud? Will they resent me even more for it?
I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin.
Do I care what they think? No, no I don’t. After all the girl from Slate has a damn firestone hidden in her room!
With one last straighten of my skirt, I walk towards thedoor. Fly has returned to his own room, and I promised to go knock for him.
