Page 38 of Too Hexed to Handle

‘You said you’d give us the instructions now.’

‘Where are we supposed to be looking, exactly?’

‘What items do we need to open these doors? Are you going to tell us where to find them? I bet you don’t know, do you?’

Damian ignores them all, gaze flicking to the side again, in the direction of one of the castle’s towers, but there’s nothing to indicate what’s drawn his attention. Whatever it is, it’s got him spooked, because they’re right, he had promised to reveal everything tonight. Whatever he’s seen has changed his plans entirely.

Sucking in a deep breath, he makes one final attempt at normality – or as normal as a man who can shoot emeralds from his hands gets – by offering us a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. ‘All your questions will be answered at dawn. Please, enjoy the rest of the party. Tonight, you are friends. Tomorrow, the race is on.’

13

Brief as they were, it’s as if his words have reminded everyone we’re not just here for a party. Like they’ve awoken from a slumber, guests look around, sizing one another up. The musicians pack away their instruments. The woman with the sick son begs at the top of her voice for someone to help her, to share their reward, her voice punctuated by the occasional sob as it carries in the wind.

Nobody’s listening. They’re busy flexing their muscles, declaring themselves the strongest, fittest, most ready for the quest. Some are whispering about how they’ve brought knives coated with poison to take out the competition. Some are simply plotting how they’ll spend their new-found wealth.

Every sentence uttered drives a new wedge between them. Couples who were locked in an embrace ten minutes ago now stand apart, like the land has cracked and they’re standing on opposite sides of the valley. I spot Nuri and Cale in the distance, and although they remain united, Nuri looks terrified, gnawing on her lower lip as he pulls her through the crowd.

Love is falling apart around me as Damian’s words sink in. He’s pitted friend against friend, lover against lover, crushed blossoming flowers before they had the chance to bloom. Tears sting my eyes.

Try as I might, I can’t ignore emotions this pungent. Greed tastes metallic on my tongue; iron and copper and the gleam of gold. I lean against Astin, wanting to breathe in something good, but he shifts away – not intentionally, I don’t think, although I wouldn’t blame him if he had. Sniffing people in public is strange behaviour, even for a Souleater.

‘Dais? You okay?’ Astin’s hand is warm on my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about them. We’ll find a way to win. I told you I’d save the inn and I will. Whatever it takes.’ Then, because it’s clear I’m on the edge of a meltdown, he cracks a smile I’m certain is as false as the ones I employ when I’m trying to feel better, and adds, ‘Or maybe we should rob this place. Reckon we could stuff some goblets in a bag?’

Others have the same idea. Nearby, a girl is attempting to ram a plate down her dress, while others are inspecting the forks to see if they’re made of real silver. They might be on to something. Astin can promise what he likes, but for all the Souleaters he’s killed, it doesn’t make him any more equipped to find the cure.

If we’re going to win the reward, we need some kind of edge.

Like all the information Damian omitted tonight. The exact location of the cure and whatever these two items are that’ll gain us entry to its hiding place.

Shouts break out at the buffet table as someone establishes the silverware is indeed silverware, and a tussle ensues over a teaspoon. Astin steers me to the exit, but my attention remains locked in the direction of the tower that had caught Damian’s eye.

Damian liked me enough to dance with me. Maybe he liked me enough to give me a head start.

But to get answers from Damian, first I need to find him. Once I’m in my room, I have no idea if the corridors will be guarded, or if Astin is going to let me out of his sight, given his notable lack of trust in Damian. I certainly can’t invite him to come with me, lest Damian reveals anything about who he plans to use the cure on.

A group blocks our path, pushing and shoving to the exit, wanting to avoid the fistfight at the buffet table. Astin is tugging me, but I’m slow to follow, the stampede of boots and crush of emotion overwhelming, making it hard to concentrate on where I am, what I should be doing. His palm slides from mine, and my view of him is immediately cut off by a fresh wave of cure hunters barging indoors.

This is my best chance to escape.

Gathering myself, I slip to one side, ignoring Astin’s panicked shout of my name – along with the twinge of guilt I feel at causing him such alarm – and, keeping to the shadows, head towards the tower, hoping Damian’s still there. Hoping whatever caused him to storm off hasn’t put him in a foul mood.

Pushing aside ivy draping over the entrance, I head inside the tower and climb the staircase, spiralling up and up until I reach an arch leading on to the roof of the turret. Damian stands next to the parapet overlooking the courtyard – and he’s not alone.

I shrink back, tucking myself against the wall before peering round it once more. A woman faces him, her hand pressed to his chest. Silver hair flows to her midriff, gleaming like flooded moonlight, and her frosted-blue gown is a perfect match to Damian’s eyes. Damian, meanwhile, has his hands tightly balled into fists.

I risk moving closer, sliding along the far wall to tuck myself behind a pile of debris from where a higher tower has crumbled above.

‘I can’t believe you’re having a party without me,’ the woman says. Her voice is high-pitched, and there’s a lyrical lilt to it. ‘There are so many excited souls here.’

‘I’m surprised you haven’t joined them.’ Damian pushes her hand from his chest. Her fingers are left hovering in mid-air, like she’s desperate to touch him once more, like to not touch him is to be starved of air. He forces them to her side before cocking his head and saying, ‘Or perhaps you already have?’

‘No. I didn’t want to be tempted. I knew you’d be upset, if I touched someone new.’

If only she knew Damian was touching me not that long ago. My cheeks grow hot. I’d thought we were alike in our loneliness, our inability to get close to others, and it stings to learn he might have had someone all along.

The woman pouts, tone turning babyish when she continues, ‘I’ve done everything you asked, and you didn’t tell me you were throwing a party. It was mean. I had to guess where you were, knowing how you feel about this place.’ Her face darkens. ‘What is this party for, exactly?’

Damian shrugs, but the gesture isn’t careless. It’s performative. A lie. ‘Do I need a reason? Why shouldn’t I celebrate what I can do, just because you’re unable to be a part of it?’