Page 38 of Spark of Sorcery

“Asshole,” I tell him.

“Who only has your best interests at heart. All our interests at heart. I’m determined we’re all going to get laid tonight.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s likely,” Clare says, fiddling with her glasses.

“With the adjustments I’ve made to this dress, it’shighlylikely. Now get moving both of you.” We stand there staring at him. “Go!”

The shower is far colder than I dreaded. Around me I can hear others squealing, gasping and even screaming in agony.

I wash as quickly as is humanly possible, scrubbing my hair with some shampoo Fly has lent me, and then go stand in front of my pathetic fire, hoping to warm up.

I think of the raging fires in the Princes’ tower. How warm and toasty it is even in the bathrooms. I think of that deep hot bath.

Maybe being their thrall wouldn’t be all bad. Well, clearly it wouldn’t. Beaufort has the ability to turn my body to fire. He drags orgasms from me that must be magical.

I sigh, thinking about that and then I snap the hell out of it and concentrate on rubbing my body dry with the flimsy towel.

Twenty minutes later, my body may be dry (although still freaking freezing) but my hair is damp. Fly knocks on the door and enters.

“I’ve come to do your makeup.”

“Makeup?” I say, peering at him from a funny angle as I dangle my hair in front of the fire.

He points a finger at me as if it were a dagger. “Don’t even think about arguing. Everyone needs makeup. Even the most stunningly beautiful of human beings.”

“Are you going to wear some then?” I ask.

He steps in closer and flutters his eyelashes at me. Over his eyelids he’s dusted something sparkly and his eyelashesare coated in a dark paint that make them look thicker and longer than usual. “Already am, Cupcake.”

“You can do that to me too?” I ask.

“We’re going to do a little more than this to you, Cupcake.” He takes my face in his hands and angles it upright. “You don’t have naturally defined cheekbones like I do and your lips are a tad on the thin side.”

“Jeez, thanks,” I say.

“No worries. This is what makeup was invented for. Now where is your makeup bag?”

I stare at him with an amused look.

“You really think we have luxuries like makeup back in Slate Quarter?” I say, a little annoyed at my friend. “You know once we went without bread for two whole days.”

He cringes. “Shit, Cupcake. You’re so … stoic about this bullshit, I sometimes just forget. Let me go get mine.”

He halts by the door. “Do you think Clare has no makeup too?”

I shrug and continue to rub at my hair.

Another five minutes later, he has me sitting on the bed, bottles and tubes and little cases spread across the mattress.

“It’s not the best stuff,” Fly mutters, smudging something pink over my cheeks. “It’s all the bits and pieces my sister-in-law didn’t want anymore. Smuggled of course, because …” He shrugs. “Tip your head back and don’t blink.” I tip my chin up, but as soon as he comes towards me with a short black stick, I flinch. “It’s mascara,” he explains. “Hold still or I’ll poke your eye out.”

“Gosh, that sounds reassuring! Do I want to lose an eye in the pursuit of beauty?”

“Yes,” he says, “the dress is stunning. You can’t let it down with drab hair and makeup.”

“Will you do my hair in braids again for me?” I ask,trying my best not to tear up as he combs black liquid across my eyelashes with a tiny comb.

“Uh uh, we’re going to do something more elegant this time.”