Page 43 of Soul of Shadow #1

This was no simple flapper dress; it was the dress of a magician.

Charlie knew then why she thought she had seen it before.

It reminded her of the old videos she’d watched of Dorothy Dietrich, resplendent in her sparkling gowns, holding captive the attention of the audience.

The first woman to perform the bullet catch.

The first person to re-create Houdini’s legendary burning-rope straitjacket escape.

Charlie brushed her fingers over the beading.

She loved it.

“Damn you, Elias,” she muttered, draping the dress over her shoulder and walking to the closet to pick out a pair of shoes to match.

“Thank God Colin came through with an after-party,” Lou said, blinking slowly onto her mascara brush. “Apparently, his dad is just going to look the other way when the vodka comes out.”

“Sounds like great parenting,” Abigail grumbled, fishing around for something in her pink makeup bag.

They were spread out on Charlie’s bedroom floor—makeup bags, brushes, palettes, mascara, lipstick, and the tiny round mirrors that Charlie kept in her closet for exactly this purpose.

It was just the three of them, as usual, wearing tank tops and shorts, yet to put on their dresses.

They were scheduled to meet their dates out on the front lawn in fifteen minutes for pictures before they left for the dance.

“It is good parenting,” Lou said. “Better for your kids to drink under the safety of your roof than in some parking lot somewhere.”

“A parking lot ?” Abigail asked, aghast. “Was that seriously in the running?”

Before Lou could answer, the door to Charlie’s bedroom swung open. In walked Mason, shirt unbuttoned, no tie, blue Gatorade bottle dangling from one hand.

“Evening, ladies,” he said, swishing his hips as he swaggered into the room. “What are we talking about?”

“A small town in Kentucky called Nunya,” Lou said.

Mason flopped down onto Charlie’s bed, his socked feet dangling off the edge. His brow crinkled. “Nunya?”

“Yeah,” said Abigail without missing a beat. “Nunya business, asshole.”

“Oof.” Mason pressed a hand to his chest. “You wound me. Especially when I so considerately brought you ladies electrolytes to help you stock up for the drinkathon tonight.” He held up the Gatorade bottle, shaking it suggestively.

“Abigail!” called Charlie and Mason’s mom from downstairs. “Your date is here!”

“Ope.” Abigail jammed a lip gloss tube back into her makeup bag. “Better get my dress on. See you in a minute.” She picked up her lavender gown and disappeared into the bathroom.

“So.” Mason rolled over onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. “What did my gorgeous date choose to wear tonight?”

“Like you care,” said Lou without even looking up from the mirror on the floor.

“Of course I care,” said Mason, feigning offense. “I need to know which of my three ties to wear. ”

Lou pursed her lips to apply color. “You can wear whatever you want as long as that hideous flamingo tie doesn’t make an appearance.”

“Aw.” Mason laid a hand over his heart. “You have my wardrobe memorized?”

Quick as a blink, Lou spun around and lobbed her makeup bag at Mason’s head. He ducked, barely avoiding the slew of brushes and powders that exploded outward, falling all over the bed and floor.

As Mason and Lou continued to argue about nothing, Charlie wandered over to look out her bedroom window. She leaned against the wall, setting her head on the window frame, and stared at the empty spot on the roof where, just last night, her sister had landed.

It still didn’t feel real. Too many things had happened too quickly in the last week, barely leaving Charlie enough time to process them.

She had spent two years mourning a sister that never died.

What was she supposed to do with all of that grief?

Tuck it away? Destroy it? Pretend it never happened?

That would be impossible. What’s more, she didn’t really have her sister back.

She merely had the knowledge that her sister was alive and working on behalf of a god.

It was a comfort, to be certain, but it left her with just as much confusion as relief.

As if sensing Charlie’s sadness, the v?tte, who had been sunning himself in a patch of warmth on the carpet, waddled over to where Charlie stood. He nuzzled his hat against her ankle. She smiled absently at the comfort.

Eventually, Lou’s voice wiggled into her conscious. “Charlie?” she asked. “Did you hear me?”

Blinking, Charlie turned away from the window. When she looked over, Lou and Abigail were both already in their dresses and heels, Mason no longer in the room. Geez. Had she really zoned out for that long?

“Hear what?” she asked.

“I was just saying”—Lou’s tone was uncharacteristically soft and wistful—“that I wished Sophie were here. That she should be taking pictures with us downstairs.” A small smile. “She would have lost her mind if she knew I was going with Mason.”

Charlie forced a laugh, but it was stilted, uncomfortable.

In her chest, her heart squeezed painfully.

How was she supposed to do this? To sit on the knowledge that her sister was not only alive but had become something inhuman, something strong and fierce and magical?

It was cruel. It was wrong. They deserved to know the truth.

But she couldn’t give it to them. Not if she wanted to keep them safe.

“Anyway.” Lou patted her hands to her legs. “Elias will be here any minute. You should put your dress on.”

“Right.” Charlie nodded, trying to bring herself back to the present moment. “Right. The dress.” She scooped it up from where it was laid out on the bed and carried it over to the bathroom. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

Lou and Abigail exchanged an unreadable look, then nodded and walked out the bedroom door.

Inside the bathroom, Charlie slipped on the shimmering black dress.

It fell down her body, hanging almost to her knees but not quite touching.

The intricate beadwork shimmered under the bathroom lights.

Her wavy dark hair, usually loose and unkempt, had been tamed into an updo by Abigail, with two strands of hair dangling on either side of her face.

Her eyes were rimmed with black, her lashes long and lush.

Lou had done something with her eye shadow that gave the lids a smokey look.

Paired with chunky black boots and the flapper-like dress, Charlie felt beautiful.

Not in a traditional, pink-and-pearls type of way, but with mystery, with danger, in a darker undertone that she never imagined would suit her so well.

She had only a few additions to make. Pulling open the drawer beneath her bathroom sink, she rattled around until she found her lucky deck of cards, which she slipped into the pocket under her arm.

Then she shut the drawer and opened the cabinets below it.

At the very back of the sink, jammed up beneath the pipes, was the knife and pouch of feathers that Sophie had given her, wrapped up in five different hand towels.

Charlie unraveled them until the leather pouch fell to the floor and the knife’s shining silver blade flashed under the bathroom lights.

She handled the blade gingerly, even knowing what Sophie had said about it never slicing its owner.

With a shaking hand, she held the knife out, tip pointed down.

She uncurled her left fist. Then she pressed the knife into her skin.

It went against every instinct in her body, every sense of self-preservation, but she did it anyway.

And she pressed hard , actively trying to draw blood.

Nothing. Not even a drop. Even though the knife looked deadly sharp, it felt, on her skin, like the blade was rubber.

Slightly comforted, she pulled open the longest trick pocket—one at her waist—and slid the knife inside. Then she picked up the pouch from the floor and tucked it into the pocket just above her backside.

Once everything was in place, she walked out of the bathroom and into the hallway.

As she approached the landing, voices drifted up the stairs from the front hall. She heard Abigail talking rapidly, Lou and Mason arguing over a corsage, parents mingling and admiring each other’s iPhone cameras.

“… and even the selfie camera has autofocus,” she heard her mother explaining to whatever hapless victim was listening. “I especially like the forty-eight MP sensors. I swear I can see every wrinkle on my middle-aged face.”

To Charlie’s surprise, it wasn’t a fellow parent who answered. It was Elias.

“What wrinkles?” he asked. “You don’t look a day over thirty, Mrs. Hudson.”

Charlie heard her mother’s familiar laughter. “Oh, you’re just trying to get me to approve of you taking out my daughter.”

Shuffling across the carpeted hallway, Charlie peered over the banister to see the people gathered below.

Lou and Mason stood by the grandfather clock, Lou’s mother trying to prevent Lou from stabbing Charlie’s brother with the boutonniere pin.

Abigail and Bex were clustered with their parents, sliding corsages onto each other’s wrists and shooting each other shy smiles.

And right at the foot of the staircase—Elias, talking to her mom.

“Am I that transparent?” Elias asked her mom with a grin.

Charlie took a step back from the bannister, then another, until she was pressed up against the wall, well out of sight of the people gathered below.

She let out a long exhale. This was it. The beginning of her charade.

She knew her mission: extract any possible information from Elias on the whereabouts of the Fenrir monster without making him suspicious.

It shouldn’t be too hard, right? He already believed they were on the same side, working toward the same goal.

She just needed to make sure he continued to believe so .