Page 273 of The Spider Queen
“It means,” Herron said, taking her own glass of wine and sitting in the matching white chair perpendicular to the couch, “that Barrett and Flynn Campbell are influential people. Not going is like a slap in the face.”
I frowned. “They’re in your circle. Why aren’t you going?”
“We were invited.” Herron grinned. “But Blaze surprised me with tickets to Paris for the weekend.”
“That will be fun,” I remarked absently.
“What’s really bothering you, Stella? Because I know it’s not the masquerade.”
“It’s—I don’t know. Restlessness, I guess. About being here.” I’d been in the city for a few years, but I’d been born with wanderlust. I never liked to call one place home for too long.
Herron’s gaze remained on me. “Where will you go, do you think?”
“I don’t know. I’m just—feeling itchy in my own skin. Like this life doesn’t fit me anymore.”
“What life?” Her tone was gentle, but no less powerful for it. “You’re holed up in that shop all the time. And every night you venture out into the city. For what? To ease your own burdens by aiding others?”
It was my form of balance. But lately, it just hadn’t felt as enriching. Obligatory, maybe.
“I’m in a rut.”
“Which is why I think the party will be good for you. It will force you out of your comfort zone, but at least you can do what you do. Think about all those people in one place. I bet you could ease the emotions of at least ten people in one night. Hell, you might even set a new record.”
“Throwing down the gauntlet, huh?” I took my glass of wine over to the window. Blaze and Herron lived in a penthouse on Park Avenue. The balcony wrapped around the entire floor, and on a good, clear day, there was a perfect view of the city. Today, murky gray clouds floated across the sky, too lazy to rain.
“When was the last time you slept more than a few hours a night?”
“About two weeks ago,” I admitted.
“You’re going to crash soon.”
“No doubt.” I took a sip of the wine. French, if I had to guess. Herron was a Francophile, through and through. She’d studied abroad for a year in Paris where she’d been discovered. She’d met Blaze there, too. She’d graced the cover of a few French magazines but hadn’t pursued a modeling career further than that. She’d chosen him over a world of diets and jet-setting. She still got to do the jet-setting, but she was able to do it with the man she loved.
“How am I lonely in a city of eight million people?” I asked, turning quickly and nearly spilling my glass of wine.
“Was there ever a time you weren’t lonely, Stella?”
“How can I connect with people the way I do, and yet feel sodisconnected? Sometimes I think…” I shook my head.
“Finish that thought.”
I bit my lip. “Sometimes I wonder if I really am schizophrenic. And one side of me is completely apathetic. But that would be weird, right?”
For as long as I could remember, I’d always felt like I had multiple facets. Like I was layers and layers of different personalities. Yet, I knew I wasn’t schizophrenic. The pills I’d taken when I was a kid hadn’t worked.
Herron didn’t say anything—she just continued to watch me. Not in a fearful way, but cataloguing me. She knew me best, but that wasn’t saying much.
It was like a part of me was behind a wall and whatever was behind it was something I couldn’t fathom. A dark part, perhaps. A monster. I had no idea. I wanted to find out what it was, but at the same time, I was afraid of it.
“So this masquerade,” I said, clearing my throat. “What should my costume be?”
Instead of answering, she leaned over to grab her cell phone, which rested on the heavy wood coffee table. She typed off a quick message and then sat back and waited. A few seconds later, it buzzed with a reply.
“Finish your wine,” she said in excitement. “So we can get out of here.”
“Where are we going?” I asked in trepidation. There was a glimmer in Herron’s eye that I didn’t like.
“Blaze’s cousin does costumes for the American Ballet Company. We’re raiding the costume closet.”
