Page 57 of Malcroix Bones Academy (Bones and Shadow #1)

Masquerade

Iwalked into Worm Hall, head held high.

Well, sort of high.

I actually had to hold my chin more level than usual, because the headdress on top of my precise, black braids was fairly heavy. It also felt slightly unstable, although we’d attached it using magic, so it should be fine.

It had taken a few hours earlier that week, wandering around Bonescastle with Jolie and Miranda, to find a costume I actually liked. I’d thought maybe Draken would come with us, too, but he was “pouting,” Miranda informed me with a roll of her eyes.

I hadn’t asked her what that meant.

We left Wraith alone in the room, which no longer worried me.

We’d been doing that, off and on, for the last five days, and Wraith hadn’t had any big accidents, not even while we’d been in class.

Despite the kitten’s occasional naughtiness, and sharp claws and teeth, she seemed to understand how to use her magical litter box just fine.

One of the other students in the hall, Valerie, who also had a cat, advised me on everything I needed to buy, and I took every one of the witch’s recommendations.

Now, when I went back to the room to check on her, Wraith was usually either curled up on my bed, buried in my laundry basket, chasing bugs under my desk and bureau, or pouncing on bands of sunlight that decorated the floor.

Wraith also managed to shred several pairs of my lacier knickers, eat holes in four socks, and gnaw on the leather bindings of several library books.

The day we went costume shopping, Wraith also emptied an entire box of tissues, and was working on her second box by Jolie’s bed before we found her and wrestled the box away.

Jolie only laughed, and we started hiding things we thought Wraith might destroy.

As it turned out, two other witches on our floor had cats, and a number of students on other floors had cats, too, so I planned to start letting Wraith out of the room under supervision soon, to see how she did with the rest of the Grathrock felines.

For now, Jolie and I decided to keep her isolated, at least until she’d adjusted.

“You look hot as fuck,” Graham murmured, leaning close to my ear.

I scoffed a little, but my face warmed.

“That can’t possibly be true.” I glanced up at where he grinned down at me. “I look like an old lady compared to most of these costumes.”

His eyebrows rose, and he snorted a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

I bit my lip, about to argue, then folded my arms.

I hadn’t actually been kidding.

I was tempted to look for a reflective surface, but I’d spent too much time in front of the mirror with Miranda and Jolie already, both at the costume shop we’d eventually settled on, and back in the dorms. I found myself second-guessing my choice of costume yet again, but I’d been doing that the whole time, and even I was getting tired of it.

The costume was fine.

It might be in slightly bad taste, all things considered, but the only person who could possibly get the “joke” likely wouldn’t even be here.

A twisted, possibly perverse part of me hadn’t been able to resist.

I hadn’t dreamed about him again. Thankfully.

It probably didn’t hurt that I’d asked Jolie to teach me a particularly powerful sleeping spell that was supposed to send me too deep to maintain much of a dream space.

I couldn’t abuse the spell of course, but for now, it would hopefully keep me from “summoning” Bones again, at least until my brain got past whatever this was.

Strangemore leaned closer, and wrapped an arm lightly around my waist. “Damn, Shadow,” he breathed, softer. “You are kidding, right? You look gorgeous. You’ve painted a target on my back. Every guy in here wants me dead.”

“Honestly,” I muttered, flushing.

I recrossed my arms.

I uncrossed them a second later, realizing the pose probably wasn’t helping my costume any.

I glanced down at the hemp skirt that hung low on my hips, and its jeweled belt, adjusting both a small amount with my fingers.

Above the belt, a gold, shoulder-less bodice cinched around my torso like a corset made of soft metal.

Rings of gold circled my thighs in two places above the gold wrappings of my knee-high, golden sandals.

I wore more gold bands on my arms, and a large, Egyptian-style necklace that covered most of my upper chest.

I also wore gold strand earrings decorated with precious stones I’d found in a different store, each carved like the head of an Egyptian cat.

Compared to a lot of outfits I’d seen, it was exceedingly tame.

Still, I supposed I was showing a lot of leg, given the slits went up to my hips, and my cleavage was still visible, even with the heavy gold and black necklace.

On my head, I wore an eerily realistic-looking panther face attached to a circular headdress with a gold ball symbolizing the sun.

My eyes were painted Egyptian-style, heavy with black kohl and colors that matched the necklace.

Miranda decorated my cheeks with gold make-up and glitter, and I carried an ankh staff in one hand.

I was Bastet.

Well, sort of. I was B’Tasia, the Magique version.

On the plus side, there was a good chance no one would recognize me, at least not right off.

My eyes were still recognizably mine, but even those looked pretty different with the heavy makeup and deep contouring Miranda had done.

My hair was completely different, and I doubted anyone had given much thought to what my thighs looked like.

How could this possibly be seen as anything but tame?

I glanced up at Graham again, who, rather unfortunately, had come in a less conspicuous costume, at least from what I could gather from reactions. Still, he hadn’t copped out by only getting half-dressed up, either.

He’d come as his favorite Skyhunt player, he explained, but not from the current time period, from the distant past. That was back when they used to play it with swords, and players actually died, and generally fought as slaves to amuse the gods and royals.

To conform to the time period, he changed his brown and blond-streaked hair to a dark red mohawk he wore down his back.

He wore Viking-like furs, and white war-paint on his neck and naked chest. His costume also included fur-lined boots, and a massive broadsword he wore strapped to his back.

He tied a long hunting knife to his leg, just above the knee-high boots.

Still, his face looked mostly the same.

I definitely saw more people staring at me than at him.

Maybe they were trying to figure out who I was?

“I’ll get us drinks,” Graham suggested. “You want to come with me?”

“No,” I said, a little too quickly. “No, that’s okay.”

I wasn’t ready to be trotted around the cavernous hall, even on Strangemore’s arm. I’d rather stick to the shadows by the wall where I was, at least until I’d relaxed. A drink with just me and Graham sounded like an excellent way to do that.

One drink, anyway. Maybe two, depending on how strong they were.

“I want to watch the dancing,” I explained. “It’s different than where I’m from.”

That much was definitely true.

The band was playing a thumping, dense, blood-throbbing beat, coupled with intense strings and high, discordant horns that reminded me of bagpipes.

The off-kilter melody coupled with that pounding vibration, seemed to go up through the floor and into my legs, bones, and heart.

Couples twirled around rhythmically, the men gripping the hands of their dates with both of their own and swinging them with a decent amount of muscle.

It reminded me of old folk dances back home.

There was something tribal about it, and certainly less “refined” than the formal dancing I’d learned in boarding school.

It definitely worked on my body and magic differently.

“Any requests on the drink?” Graham asked. “Alcoholic? Non-alcoholic?”

“Alcohol, please,” I said, still watching the dancers. “Nothing too strong, though.”

He smiled and nodded, then walked away on his furred boots, the heavy broadsword flapping against his back.

I smoothed down the black skirt a second time, and tried not to feel self-conscious about my belly showing. I reminded myself that the costume was practically Victorian compared to Miranda’s, who’d decided to go as a succubus in nude-colored, mostly see-through netting and blood-streaked hair.

Even Jolie dressed in more revealing clothing than me, wearing what amounted to a belly-dancer costume for some fictional character in a book she loved.

Most of her upper body had been completely bare, with a scant bikini top made of charmed jewels that threw off colored lights, over a very low-slung, see-through skirt with more light effects, and ribboned sandals.

She’d looked positively stunning, of course, but that was hardly the point.

Why did I feel so visible?

I’d never been this weird about dressing up. I even liked going with fairly revealing choices at times, too, if the occasion warranted. Maybe everything going on lately had me more on edge than I realized.

Maybe the cat headdress was too much.

I scanned faces and bodies, and told myself I wasn’t looking for anyone in particular.

I definitely wasn’t looking for a flash of white-blond hair, or any other part of that particularly frustrating face or body.

Honestly, I kind of hoped he wouldn’t come at all.

Gods, would he come to something like this?

He didn’t strike me as much of a joiner, but maybe?

“I hope this is okay.” Graham’s deep voice made me jump. I turned and he smiled at me sheepishly, holding out a smoking, silver goblet. “They didn’t have mead, or even wine. They assured me this wasn’t terribly strong, though.”

I nodded, and took the goblet gratefully.