Page 47 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

Anuck lounged on the windowsill, tail swishing, watching her pace with the kind of judgment only a cat could muster.

“You could look a little encouraging, you know,” she told him. “It’s not every day I dress up like this.”

He blinked slowly—the feline equivalent of a shrug—and began cleaning his paw.

Cassia sighed. “I see. So that’s how it’s going to be.”

A knock sounded at the door. Her heart gave a completely unnecessary flutter. She exhaled, squared her shoulders, and opened it.

Arkenoth stood on the other side, dressed in a sharp-cut tailcoat of black, grey, and silver with a subtle sheen that caught the lamplight like a shadow made tangible. No blue again, tonight.

But he looked . . .

Cassia blinked.

He looked unreal.

Ark’s gaze swept over her, starting with her face, the neckline of her gown, the glint of crystals and embroidery, and finally—slowly—returning to meet her eyes.

“You look . . .” His voice sounded lower than usual. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight, hands clasped behind his back. “I see Miss Wren and Miss Aruna decided not to play fair.”

Cassia blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I was expecting to be able to think tonight.” His smile widened a touch. “Your friends just made it that much harder.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying hard to not blush. She feigned a droll look and stared at him. “Is that your version of a compliment?”

“Anything else would fall short.”

She averted her eyes, but the warmth in her cheeks betrayed her. She didn’t know how to guard herself with someone like him. With cruel men, she’d learned all the defensive moves. But a demon with genuine charisma? She felt completely lost.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She plucked her coat from the stand beside the door, draped it over her forearm, and stepped outside, closing the door gently behind her. “Ready.”

The night air was crisp but not cold, scented faintly with chimney smoke and the last blooms before the first real frost arrived. They strolled along the garden path to the fence, and the sight that awaited stole her breath away.

A carriage stood there—the kind she’d watched glide past Starlight a hundred times, circling Eldryn Gardens on its way to some glittering soirée. Sleek and dark, with a glassy finish that caught the starlight. Runes traced the edges of the doors in faint silver, pulsing gently. It hovered just slightly above the road, utterly still, utterly silent. No horses. No driver.

Humans preferred cars—practical, unremarkable, designed to get from one place to another without much of a fuss. But she knew the magical factions still favoured the old ways, even if they were becoming rarer—expensive to build and even more expensive to maintain, requiring skilled enchanters to keep the runes working and the hover stable.

“Pulling out all the stops, I see,” she said. “I’m impressed.”

Ark didn’t so much as blink. “Tonight shouldn’t be about subtlety. It’s about making an impression.”

“Point taken.”

Dusty-blue velvet lined the interior of the carriage with small silver sigils stitched into the trim. Soft lighting glowed overhead from crystals embedded in the arch of the ceiling, casting the cabin in warm, golden light. It didn’t hum or lurch when it moved. It simply began to glide, silent and swift, the houses of Little Mineola quickly vanishing behind them. The thrum of magic was inaudible, but it was ever-present, tucked beneath the silence like a heartbeat.

Cassia gestured to the enchanted interior, forcing a nonchalance she didn’t quite feel. “So, is this carriage part of the standard courtship package, or am I a special case?”

Ark’s mouth quirked. “Since you entered my life, you’ve been a unique disruption to the mundanity of my schedule. The carriage seemed a necessary payback.”

She laughed, and the sound surprised her—genuine, loose. She sat with her hands folded in her lap. For a moment, she let herself feel it: the absurdity of where she was, who she was with, what they were about to walk into. Then she tucked that away too, and watched the scenery outside the window. His reflection floated on the glass—composed, watchful, one arm resting on the windowsill. He hadn’t said much since she stepped into the carriage, but then again, neither had she.

Thirty minutes later, the carriage glided through the wide, gleaming streets of Angelene’s Demon District, where everything was polished stones and sweeping arches, lanterns suspended midair as bright as miniature moons.

Cassia sat straighter as she took in the imposing architecture. “Your district really doesn’t believe in being subtle, does it?”