Page 33 of Too Hexed to Handle

‘Oh dear,’ I say faintly. I’m sure I’ve seen his exposed throat before, but everything feels unfamiliar in this strange place; we’re two jigsaw pieces that were removed from a complete puzzle and now can’t find a way to reconnect. I fan my face. ‘Is it warm in here?’

‘A little,’ he huffs. ‘How much longer are you going to be?’

His trousers bunch harder around his thighs as he leans against the door frame, one leg crossed in front of the other.

‘Uh-huh,’ I say, trying not to stare.

I am absolutely staring.

‘Daisy.’

‘Mm?’ I think there’s something in his pocket. I hope there’s something in his pocket. Oh, hexes. What if there isn’t something in his pocket? What if I’m blatantly staring at . . . I whimper.

‘What is wrong with you?’ The tetchiness in his voice slices through my increasingly panicked deliberations about what may or may not be in his trousers.

‘Nothing,’ I squeak. ‘I told you, I’m hot. I got in a bother with –’ I make another attempt at pulling the corset’s strings. ‘Could you help me?’

He blinks several times as though the request is confusing in some way, then clears his throat and crosses the space between us. With surprising deftness, he begins fixing whatever mess I’ve made, his knuckles brushing my back as he loops the string through the correct grommets. The touch is feather-light, but I feel it in my bones. Instinctively, I lean into him, and despite my complaints I’m too warm, the heat searing from his chest is like peace, like sinking into a hot bath after a hard day. He tenses behind me, but doesn’t shift away, even though I must be making his job difficult. One sharp tug later, and the corset is firmly in place, before the string is tied into a knot at the base of my back.

When he’s finished, he still doesn’t move. His hand lands on my hip.

I freeze, all my focus going to that hand, to the way it curves around me, the way it squeezes ever so slightly. The only sound in the room is our united breaths, both a little too quick, and I try to tell myself the added constraint from the corset is the reason my lungs are struggling. The reason my heart pounds against my ribcage. His other hand runs over my shoulder, brushing away hair that’s come loose from my plait, before sliding down my arm until he’s holding my wrist in a loose grasp. I can’t bring myself to move an inch.

We’re only stood like that for a few seconds, and yet it feels more impactful than any hour we’ve spent together at the inn, and when he steps back it feels as though I’ve had something torn away from me.

He rakes a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at me. ‘What did you and Damian talk about? You were in there ages.’

‘Um. He said . . .’ The words catch in my throat. If Astin knows Damian is after the Souleater, the one who killed his sister, he’ll be determined to make the killing blow. He won’t let the cure out of his sight until Damian has led us straight to them, which means I won’t get my chance to take it. Or, worse, he won’t want to wait for the cure at all. But if they’re as dangerous as Damian says, Astin won’t have a chance against them if they’re at full power. I have to keep him out of harm’s way. ‘He said he didn’t want anyone causing trouble at the party. What did he say to you?’

‘The same, mostly. Asked about my motivations for entering. Promised me he’d get me everything I wanted if I succeeded.’

Interesting. He probably said the same to everybody he met, apart from me. He never asked me about my motivations because he saw my hexmark and assumed I’d prioritise revenge over anything else.

But I won’t. I’ll never.

‘Dais? Are you sure that’s all he said to you? You’re shaking.’

‘I’m fine.’ Astin gave me zero time to do anything about my hair, so I settle for pulling it free from its braid and fluffing it with my fingers, which I’m not sure helps, given the way Astin can’t stop looking at it tumbling over my shoulders once I’ve finished. For a final touch, I pull a thick bracelet from my bag to cover my hexmark. ‘Let’s go. I can’t wait to see what a joy you are at parties.’

‘I don’t dance,’ he says flatly. ‘Just so you know.’

I grin and pat his chest. ‘We’ll see.’

12

Despite Astin’s eagerness to reach the party – I suspect because he thinks the sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave – we end up at the back of another long queue, filtering through to the courtyard. I loop my arm through his proffered elbow as we move along.

Every guest is in the same emerald clothing as us, like Damian’s turned us into an army of green-worshipping servants. Not that anyone minds. The air is ripe with excitement, and full smiles shine on everyone’s faces.

‘Be on alert,’ Astin murmurs in my ear. ‘A Souleater could be among us.’

I’m barely listening. While he searches for Souleaters in the shadows, I’m drinking in the magic of the evening, my powers bubbling just by being near all of this. My throat burns, but my fingers don’t twitch, have no desire to channel any emotions that don’t belong to me. My own anticipation is enough to drown out the noise.

We enter the courtyard, sandwiched between the four inner walls of the castle, to find a quartet playing a slow, almost mournful tune on a small dais. Candles lie at their feet. Couples twirl on freshly cut grass, and the sight is a tug on my belly, pulling me towards them. Wanting to be among them for once. I slide a glance at Astin, in case he’s reconsidering his refusal to dance, but he’s steadfastly staring around the courtyard, head full of threats and violence, not noticing their antithesis directly in front of us.

I suppose I’ll have to settle for making sure everybody else is taken care of instead. There’s potential for me to do some of my best work tonight – I can walk around, encouraging more people to dance, to experience the magic of falling in love beneath a moonlit sky. They can be my penance for what I did to Brandon.

My hold on Astin’s arm tightens. Between meeting Damian and the party, I’ve managed to avoid thinking about what happened in the woods. Biting my lip, I focus harder on my surroundings, needing the distraction this night can bring.