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He frowns. “Go to any Faerie shop in Everwilde or the mortal world, give them my name, and they’ll put it on my account.”
I pause, suspicious of his offer. “No, I can’t.”
“No?” His eyes widen like someone who isn’t told no very often.
“I can’t pay you back,” I remind him. “And I’d rather not owe you or anyone else at this school. Lord knows I already have to find some way to take care of my bill for food and books.”
“Get the dress, Princess.”
I swallow, all kinds of thoughts running through my head. Mainly that I can’t dance, and he’s going to be there to witness that. But also that this is the second time he’s done something nice for me and I’m not sure how that feels.
My throat clenches. “I’ll find a way to pay you back.”
“Seeing you in a dress will be payment enough.”
We clean the mats and lock up the gym. On the way out, I happen to glance to my left. The sun has gone down, but there’s enough moonlight to make out the snow-packed ground. The white crust is pristine, untouched.
All except by the window, where two large footprints sink deep into the snow.
47
“You have a footman?” I ask, my gaze ricocheting from the marble walls veined with gold to the huge fountain in the center of the lobby. We’re in Manhattan, inside the first floor of the Woolworth Tower where Mack’s parents live. The plan is to stop by to say hello and then go dress shopping. Evelyn, who already has her dress, is here to help us make the right decisions, whatever that means.
“Wait,” Mack says, “we just traveled through a portal to Manhattan from Everwilde, and your mind is blown over a footman?”
It’s true. If anything should have blown my mind, it’s the charm on her bracelet that, when pressed where portals are allowed, forms a portal to her house in the Untouched Zone. It’s a recent gift from her parents for passing midterms. But I’m already accustomed to magic and its many, many conveniences. We can set the temperature in our dorm just by telling the magical fire what degree we want the room kept, we can find our place in the academy books just by saying, “nerum lantius,” which means find last page read.
And today, in the commons, I discovered a magical coffee mug that fills to the brim with hot, delicious lattes whenever I ask.
I’m a little annoyed that it took me this long to find that party trick, but, yeah, magic has lost its wowing abilities. On the other hand, the Upper East Side of Manhattan is blowing my mind.
I tug on the hem of my tight blouse, trying to pull it down to cover my navel. “He was wearing livery, for Fae’s sake!”
The charm on her bracelet was supposed to take us into the lobby of her apartment, but apparently it needs tweaking because it spat us onto the street outside the Gothic skyscraper.
She sighs as we enter an elevator with an operator—because rich people can’t punch their own buttons, apparently. The operator hardly glances at the two sprites fluttering about our heads.
He must see this stuff all the time.
According to Mack, this building was one of the first to allow integration, and they have a least twelve Fae families who split their time between here and Everwilde.
Just like the footman, the operator gives Mack a curt nod. “Penthouse floor, Miss Fairchild?”
“Yes, please, Mr. Phillips,” Mack says before throwing me a sheepish grin. “What?”
The Penthouse? I mouth.
She shrugs. “Go big or go home, right?”
Mr. Phillips—an older gentleman with a gray handlebar mustache—and I exchange a look. The kind of look between two people who will never own an apartment in any floor of this building.
As soon as we exit, I follow Mack and Evelyn down a mirrored hallway. Soft cream rugs line the white marble floor. I frown at myself in the mirror. My jeans—Mack’s jeans—are stained from overuse, and the sleeves of the gold jacket she gave me to finish off the ensemble hits just below my elbow.
I refused to take any of the clothes from the prince’s manor, but now I regret my stubbornness. I’m meeting Mack’s parents. By now, after hearing all of Mack’s stories, I practically love them, even though I’ve never met them. I want to make a good impression.
“Stop fussing, you look great,” she orders as she drags me to the dark gray door. “Tell her, Evelyn.”
Evelyn gives a feeble nod. This is the least I’ve ever heard her talk.
