Chapter 41 The Invitation
Samuel's hidden chamber was a crypt for bad ideas. The air thrummed with old magic, the walls sagging under the weight of a hundred banned grimoires, and the lamps cast everything in a kind of surgical blue. Daisy stood in the center ring of mirrors, watching herself come apart by degrees. The scales had overtaken her shoulder and half her throat, crawled down her back and over one hip, and were now advancing on her jawline with the deliberation of a siege. She flexed her hands, watching the new claws, if she was being honest, catch the light.
"Focus," Samuel said, somewhere behind her, his voice dry as old paper. "You're losing it already."
"I know," Daisy snapped. "You said the pain would get easier."
He snorted. "I lied. Try again."
She stared at herself, eye to eye, and summoned the blood glamour. It started at her neck, a flush of heat, then spread across her skin as if she was being doused in boiling water. The scales faded, replaced by the old freckles and cheap tattoo. For three seconds, she almost looked human. Then the sweat broke across her forehead, the pain doubled, and the glamour peeled away in a shimmer of red, baring the scales worse than before.
Daisy braced both hands on the table, knuckles white. "I can't hold it."
"You can, or the Gala is a corpse party," Samuel said, and for a moment she hated him more than she'd ever hated any man. Even Xeris. Even Ravensworth.
She tried again. This time, the glamour held. For ten seconds. Maybe twelve. It was enough for a polite conversation, a handshake, and a single lie in a noble's parlor. Not enough to last through a gala, not sufficient to make it past the first toast.
Eleanora watched from the far corner, balanced on the edge of a worn settee, the invitation glimmering in her fingers. She wore white, of course, a clean, surgical white that made her hair look even darker and her eyes even colder. The effect was clinical: predator in a hospital coat.
"You're improving," she said, more observation than compliment. "The face was almost seamless until the jaw started twitching."
Daisy glared at the Duchess's reflection in the mirror. "You planning to stand there and judge, or are you going to actually help?"
Eleanora's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Judgment is helping."
Behind Daisy, Oliver lounged against a stack of books, feigning disinterest. But she could feel his eyes on her, the way he flinched every time the scales crept a little further up her arm. She wondered if he would still have come to the library with her, all those months ago, if she'd looked like this. She hoped not. That was the whole point.
Samuel paced behind her, every step a calculated irritation. "It's not about pain tolerance," he said. "It's about integration. The blood glamour has to match your intent, or it slips. You have to want to be human."
Daisy laughed, sharp and ugly. "Why would I want that?"
Samuel's face pinched. "Because the city will never accept a monster, not even a clever one."
Xeris' voice swelled in her head then, a wet, heavy rumble: 'You grow too independent. Our power is meant to be shared, not separated.'
She bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to draw blood. "You want to share so much, you come down here and do it yourself."
Samuel stepped between Daisy and her reflection. "Again. Make it stick this time."
Daisy didn't move. "No. We do it my way, or not at all."
The old mage rolled his eyes. "And what's your way, Smithson?"
She met his gaze. "We layer the glamour. I keep the monster under the skin. Use it if I have to."
He considered this, then nodded, just once. "Show me."
She sucked in a breath, felt the blood spiral tighten under her skin. The magic pulsed, once, twice, then bloomed outward. Her human face melted over the scales, but the eyes stayed dragon-bright, rimmed in gold and red. She grinned, showed her new teeth, and let the glamour crack just enough to show the predator beneath.
Eleanora clapped, slow and deliberate. "Lovely. You'll be the most memorable debutante at the ball."
Samuel's mouth turned down, but he said nothing.
Daisy let the glamour fall, shaking from the effort. Sweat pooled at her collarbone, and her hands trembled. She braced herself on the table, trying not to show how much it cost.
Eleanora crossed the room, her heels a soft percussion on the old stone floor. She handed Daisy the invitation, a thick parchment, sealed in black wax. The Ravensworth crest was stamped into it, arrogant and undeniable.
"Seven bells sharp," Eleanora said. "They'll expect a spectacle. Don't disappoint."
Daisy thumbed the wax seal, feeling the spiral under her own skin pulse in time with the pressure. "What's the play?"
Eleanora's voice was ice. "You're my ward. A charity case, polished up for the new social order. All you have to do is stay in character. Smile. Don't bite."
Samuel slid her a glass of water, or maybe vodka. "Stay close to Eleanora. If you lose the glamour, get out fast. If you get caught, run to the east wing; there's a safe room behind the council's old portrait gallery."
Daisy gulped the drink. It was vodka. She barely tasted it.
Oliver finally spoke, his voice quiet but clear. "What about the others? The mages who are supposed to help?"
Eleanora's eyes didn't leave Daisy. "Most of them are sheep, and sheep are only useful for feeding the wolves. You're not a sheep, are you, Daisy?"
She bared her teeth. "No, Duchess."
Eleanora smiled, satisfied. She turned to go, then paused. "You'll need a dress. Something that doesn't clash with your blood."
Daisy snorted. "Not much point."
But Eleanora was already gone, trailing the scent of cold perfume.
Samuel muttered, "She's right. You'll need to blend in, at least for the first hour. I'll talk to Mira, see if she can reinforce the glamour with a little misdirection."
Daisy slumped onto the bench, head in hands. Her skin felt like it was crawling, like every cell wanted to be somewhere else.
Oliver moved closer, his presence a steady warmth against her shoulder. He waited until Samuel vanished into the stacks, then said, "You don't have to do this alone."
She looked at him, really looked, and saw the fear and the hope and the sadness all tangled up together.
"You've got scales, too, you know," she said, and was surprised by how much she wanted to laugh.
He grinned, relief in it. "Maybe we're contagious."
Daisy leaned her head against his and let herself rest for just a second.
The lamplight flickered, and somewhere high above, the bells tolled the hour.
She pushed off, feeling the glamour settle over her like a shroud. "Let's go, before I change my mind."
They left the chamber together, arm in arm, their footsteps echoing in the dark.
Behind them, the mirrors held a hundred versions of Daisy: girl, monster, hero, liar.
She liked not knowing which one would show up tomorrow.