I'll Be Damned (Anna Wolfe Series) (45 page)

It takes me a minute to comprehend what he just said. Elena is a woman’s name, so that means Brielle is… gay? My look must match my thoughts because Valen nods his head yes.

Brielle steps towards me. “Maybe we can try this again,” she says, extending her hand. “I’m Brielle, Valen’s best friend, who also happens to be lesbian,” she finishes with a snort.

I reach for her hand, shaking it firmly. “I’m… sorry,” I mumble.

She smiles. “No need to apologize. I was a bit of a bitch too when we first met, but that’s the wolf in me,” she says, walking back to Valen. “I’m pretty overprotective of him,” she states, resting her hand on his broad shoulder. “So you can imagine when I saw you, I had to step up my game,” she smiles.

“I don’t know what to say,” I respond. I look at Valen. “I’m sorry. I assumed…”

“It’s okay,” he says, cutting me off.

Roman clears his throat before standing up. “Brielle,” he nods to her.

“Roman,” she responds without a smile.

The tension between the two of them is clear. I’ll have to investigate why later.

“Well, now that’s settled; let’s move on to more pressing issues,” Valen states sarcastically. “Anna, I have bad news… Cara is involved with Micah,” he confides, looking at me.

“I know… I performed an allegiance spell,” I answer softly.

“Then you should know she’s under duress too. Brielle has been tailing her for a few months.”

Brielle steps forward. “She’s running with the wrong crowd. I saw her meet Micah twice, and each time, he wasn’t friendly, if you catch my drift,” she says with a cocked eyebrow.

If I hear anymore, I might pass out. My only concern is saving my sisters. “What do we do?” I plead with desperate eyes.

“We attend the Ball,” Roman answers. “Anna, Micah will try to keep you busy by serenading you, which will give Valen and me time to search for Janie and Cara.”

“Busy?” The very thought triggers my gag reflex.

Roman glares at me. “Yes, he’ll want to dance with you, talk to you, and show you off. Do whatever you need to in order to keep him distracted. He won’t attempt anything rash in public, especially at the Ball. Brielle will keep a close watch on you two.”

Valen shakes his head. “I don’t like it, Roman. What if they aren’t there?”

Roman strides over to Valen. “We have no choice, Valen. What else can we do? If we can’t find Janie or Cara, we’re screwed. I’m positive he’ll bring both of them to use for leverage,” he spits, running his hand through his hair. “Besides, the Ball is public enough that we won’t have to be as concerned about her safety,” Roman finishes, pointing at me.

I step between them. “Both of you, relax. I’ll keep Micah busy so you can find my family. I’m powerful enough to hold my own
if
anything does happen. Plus, Brielle will have her eye on me,” I respond.

“Girlfriend is right,” Brielle chimes in.

If tonight is any indication of how misconstrued our communication might be on the night of the Ball, I have a lot more to worry about than Micah.

Chapter 13

Today is my birthday, and for the first time, I look forward to it being over. My cramps kick into overdrive, a precursor for tonight. Kristy organizes a small gathering this afternoon at my house with Martello, Roman, Valen, Brielle and her. We all sing and smile, hiding our worry concerning tonight. The cake isn’t touched - surprise, surprise. There’s no such thing as keeping calm and eating cake. Martello gives me an extra-long hug before leaving, as his way of saying goodbye without actually saying it. I need to step outside and clear my head after all the fake celebrating. I’m just not good at it. I survey my yard, wishing I spent more time here. It’s funny how the chance of impending death forces me to focus on my regrets rather than my accomplishments. I sigh as another cramp contorts my body like a pretzel. I almost keel over from this one. It would be so much easier if I could spell these stupid spasms away! I breathe deeply, focusing on encasing my entire body in white, healing light. It’s the closest thing I have to a giant Advil.

I watch as the sun sets angrily, turning the sky a furious red. It’s time. I hustle inside, running straight up the stairs, and hoping to avoid everyone. On my bed sits a petite, scarlet jewelry box, secured with a black velvet bow. I walk towards it warily. Sitting next to it, I pluck the small paper out from the ribbon, and flip it over to find the initial
V,
written in elegant cursive. I pull the edge of the ribbon delicately until the bow unties and falls to the side. Flipping the lid open, I can only gasp at the magnificent diamond earrings dazzling before me. A long string, decorated with tiny pave diamonds, descends into a crystal-clear, enormous diamond teardrop. The clarity makes it almost invisible. Excitedly, I pull them from their holder and slide the weighty earrings through my ears. I secure the backing before hopping over to the mirror excitedly. They are timeless. I softly swing my head side to side, watching as the stunning diamonds shimmer and catch the light. I remove them skillfully, tucking them away until I’m ready. Valen shouldn’t have done that. They have to be obscenely expensive. My vanity is rejoicing in the anticipation of wearing earrings that cost thousands of dollars. I wonder if I’ll look different.

My thoughts suddenly do a U-turn, lining up on tonight. I can’t believe the Netherworld Ball is only a few hours away. My nerves are skidding all over the place in anticipation and fear. Logically, nothing should happen, right? I’ll be with Valen, Brielle and Roman, and well protected by all of them, but something keeps eating away inside, as though it’s trying to warn me. Call it intuition. I know after a hot shower, I’ll feel human again. The ritual of washing away the day’s dirt can be much more than just physical sometimes. I drop under the water, letting it cascade over my body. I wash my hair and skin, and it gratefully soaks in every warm drop. When I’m finished, I step out and dry myself off. I throw on a pair of shorts and a tank top. It’s an outfit that frees me to begin the primping process of straightening my hair and painting my face.

I pour a big glob of styling mousse in my palm before raking it through my damp hair. I’m a little bummed about my dress, considering it’s anything but sexy. The long, opaque amethyst gown has an array of fancy flowers climbing up one shoulder, before falling over it. There’s no sparkle or oomph to it. I bought it for a wedding, and it was perfect for that, but a supernatural ball? Not so much. I straighten my hair in record time, surprised it decides to cooperate tonight. Normally, it has a mind of its own when it comes to important events. I roll as many oversized Velcro rollers as my scalp will hold, grinning back at my gawky reflection. I slather on foundation as thickly as I can, aiming for the porcelain doll look. I dab my face with loose powder, and seal the liquid in. Next, I tackle my eyes. I’m determined to perfect the smoky eye tonight. If my dress doesn’t pop, at least my eyes will. I swipe a shimmery gold eye shadow over my lid, allowing the brush to trace my eyes freely. I’ve always loved decorating my eyes; it’s just short of an art form. I switch brushes, dipping a fluffier one into a pearled black shade. I fan it from side to side, starting from my outer lid, and moving into the crease, mimicking the stroke of a windshield wiper blade. I wonder what Kristy's wearing? Knowing she will be there tonight makes me nervous, but Valen swears she’ll be fine. I wish I had more time to talk to her, but the extra shifts she’s been picking up at her job limit her social life.

The sound of my doorbell echoes loudly through the house. I throw my eye shadow brush on the dresser and head to the door. It’s too early for Roman, and the sound of the hall shower indicates Valen must be in there. I peek out the peephole, confused to see no one there. I unlock the door and swing it open. A crisp breeze runs into my house like a playful child. No one is here. I move forward to step outside when my toe smacks into something. I look down at a large black box sitting on my welcome mat. Hesitantly, I bend down and slide my arms around the awkward package. A stylish, gold blow tickles my nose as I hoist the box up to take it inside. I close the door with my foot and trudge to the kitchen table, placing the box on top of it. Pacing back and forth, I feel unsure if I should open it. Who could have sent this? I'm sure it wasn’t Roman. Snippets of horror movies jab at my memory, spiking the panic in me. What if there’s a dead animal in there? What if I lift the lid and it explodes? At least, I won’t feel it. I exhale, frustrated at my new, unwelcome paranoia. I walk over to the box, grabbing the sides of the lid. Its heaviness shocks me. I take a deep breath and rip the lid off. Cringing, I hold my breath and wait for toxic gases to encompass me. I glance down at a shimmering gold envelope sitting on top of the pale pink tissue paper, which sparkles for my attention. I reach for the card, waiting for something to grab my hand, but when I wrap my fingers around it, I pull it out without any incident. I rip the envelope quickly, trying to subdue my ever-growing suspense. The card is beautiful. The background is a light gold shimmer like a wedding invite, only this is someone’s everyday note cards. The elegant script dances across the page in bubbly, swirly letters.

Dearest Anna,

Please do me the honor of wearing this dress to the Ball tonight even though its beauty is unmatched to yours, my love. Happy Birthday.

Yours truly,

Micah

Seeing his name leaves an offensive
taste in my mouth. I toss the card on the table, determined not to even look at what’s inside the box. I pace again, allowing curiosity to creep its way into my thoughts. I bet it’s something beautiful... too beautiful. I can’t throw it out without looking inside. I wish Martello were here; he would have no reservations about diving into it. I stop in front of the box, trying persuade myself not to peek. What will I gain from it, besides a moral dilemma? I reach in and squeeze the wad of tissue paper, which yields softly under my pressure. I pull it out, placing the nicely wrapped present next to the box. Gingerly, I tear away the sticker holding the tissue together, and spot the Dior logo. The tissue falls to the side, revealing a spectacular, folded dress. I gently lift it up, watching it gracefully flow onto the floor. The fabric and details are so luxurious, they flaunt their high price tag. I run my hand down the glistening, gold satin. The low-cut décolletage is covered in dazzling crystals that hang from its lacy overlay. The slinky, champagne-colored silk woven underneath makes everything sparkle. I run upstairs like an excited teenager on Prom night.

I rip off my shorts and top, throwing them chaotically on the bed, and reach for the dress, unzipping the side of it. I slip into it like butter, gently pulling it over my curves. I slink my hands through the skinny straps, before zipping the side closed. I walk to the mirror and stare. I can’t believe my reflection. This dress is seamlessly fitted, highlighting my body like a dream. The fabric and beading catches every gleam of light, flicking it back on the floor and walls like a disco ball, minus the tackiness. I turn around to see what my backside looks like and swallow hard. The seamstress must have forgotten to add fabric. The back plunges steeply, ending right above my butt. It's sinfully exotic and I love it. After a few minutes of awe, I remind myself this was a gift from someone I greatly dislike. I can’t wear it.

I unzip the side, halfheartedly pulling myself out of it, and grab a hanger from my closet, placing the dress where it belongs. Instantly, my mind whirls through thoughts like an addict…
If I wear it, I can have the upper hand… I wouldn’t want to upset him and chance him lashing out at Janie… How bad can it be? It’s only a dress.
I have no idea what to do. I glance in the mirror, thankful I did, since I completely forgot to finish my other eye. After five more minutes, my makeup is done. I unfold the Velcro rollers, watching my thick, black curls topple over one another. I tease my roots carefully, and finish it off with hairspray. Seeing myself in the mirror, I grin. I look abnormally amazing. Times like these are few and far between, so relishing it doesn’t seem too conceited. I steal a glimpse at the Dior dress, taunting me in the mirror's reflection. It completes my whole look tonight. I wrestle between my better judgment and vanity. I don’t have shoes to match. I grumble, knowing that is the deal breaker.

I mosey downstairs reluctantly. I thought I’d find relief in my decision, but I don’t. I’m actually disappointed. I grab the box and turn around in one swift movement. It feels oddly heavy and the sound of clunking fills my ears. I look in it, realizing something else is wrapped in tissue paper. It has to be shoes, and the thought scares me. If the dress was Dior, I can only imagine what the shoes are. My disappointment soon gives way to elation as I walk back to my bedroom. I rip off the gold paper wrapped around the shoebox anxiously. My fingers go numb, pulling off the Manolo Blahnik lid. Inside, lie the most gorgeous pair of shoes I’ve ever seen on their sides, inches from my fingertips. I lift one up in astonishment. They’re a strappy, champagne color and adorned with the same crystals as the dress. The heels are four inches high and also in gold. My feet ache just looking at them. They’re plain in comparison to the dress, but still chic. I place them gently in the box, like they were made of glass. I'm trying to do the right thing, but in the end, my vanity will win. I grab the dress off its hanger and slip myself into it. I look at myself in the mirror, amazed. My makeup and hair are in agreement for once, allowing me to indulge in the luxury of seeing my own radiance. I slip Valen’s earrings on to seal the deal. Sitting down, I reach into the designer shoebox, pulling out two of the most gorgeous shoes I’ve ever touched, and slip them on my feet. I wonder if this is how Cinderella felt. I can understand why she went to the ball regardless of the consequences. I feel intoxicated.