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I blink. “I don’t know. Wolf was joking around, said the flowers always die when you’re around. Said I could use magic to make them come alive again.” He continues to stare at me, forehead creased. “So, I just thought about them coming alive again, but nothing happened.”
“That’s all you did? You just thought about them?”
“Well, I said excelsior,” I say quietly, feeling silly.
He chokes back a laugh. “Excelsior?”
“I told you, I don’t know what I’m doing. Is that a magic word?”
“Any word can be a magic word if you’re the one that wields the magic,” he says carefully. His grip tightens. “But you brought these roses back to life. Maybe it didn’t happen right away, but clearly it happened. Not only that, but they’re filled with blood. Is that what you imagined too?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
He observes me for a moment, the intensity in his gaze making me squirm. Finally, he says, “You shouldn’t have this ability, moonshine. Not so soon. You’re supposed to be taught how to use it, and you haven’t been.” He pauses, eyes narrowing. “Have you?”
I shake my head. “No, of course not.”
“Very curious indeed,” he says, leading me down the hall to my door.
We step inside, and only then does he release me. He gestures to the shopping bags piled on the bed. “I did my best, but Amethyst helped as well. Find something you want to wear. Just remember you want to look as good as possible.”
I stare at the bags for a moment, a couple of them from Alexander McQueen. What on earth?
I whirl around to face him. “I’m sorry, did you just say you want me to look as good as possible? How about I don’t fucking wear any of it and just show up in this?” I raise my arms out, gesturing to my bloodied nightgown. “What are you going to do, force me into the clothes?”
“I could,” he says, a smoky look coming over his eyes. “You know I could.”
“I thought you couldn’t always compel me.”
His expression darkens and he takes a step toward me. I move back instinctively, the back of my legs hitting the bed. “There are other means of force.” He keeps coming, stopping inches away, and I suck in a breath. “Be a good girl. Wear the clothes. Make yourself beautiful. You’re not doing it for me. You’re doing it for yourself. Make me want to keep you around.”
I swallow thickly, trying to avert my eyes from his, but I can’t. I don’t know if he’s compelling me again or not, but once again I can’t move, and the more he stares at me, the more I lose control.
Then he breaks the spell and leans in, the headiness of his scent making my eyes fall closed.
“Play my game, Lenore,” he says into my ear, his voice so low and quiet it feels like it’s originating inside my skull. “I’ll let you win.”
And then he pulls back, the air around me growing cold, and when I open my eyes, he’s gone.
Chapter Eleven
I’m dreaming again.
About people in dark cloaks. They’re standing in a circle, surrounded by snow, the land barren and frozen, going on forever. Long curtains of red thread hang from the tops of their hoods, obscuring their faces. The effect is disconcerting.
They’re chanting in a language I don’t understand. Suddenly, one of them holds out their hand, as pale as the snow, a skeleton-thin finger pointing toward the center of the circle. Red blood drips from the fingertip and onto the snow.
One by one, all the fingers point toward the middle, blood dripping, crimson splatters in the white.
In the sky above, the sun is eclipsed by the moon, turning the world dark, and when the sun reappears, I’m standing in the middle of the circle.
I’m frozen in place, unable to move, the fear building inside me.
The chanting gets louder.
The blood starts trickling through the snow, slithering toward me like red snakes, climbing up my legs, all the way to my throat where it wraps around me, again and again, choking me.
I collapse to the ground.
