Page 108 of Shades of Silver City

His golden eyes light up in amusement, and he holds an arm out. “May I?”

I once thought his eyes and soul-shade were the same bright, rich hue. But now, there’s no mistaking the fact that his soul-shade is definitely darker than his eyes…and darker than it was before.

It unsettles me briefly, but I shake it off.

Reaching up, I wrap my arm around Archer’s bicep and try to ignore how solid it is in my grip. And how warm his body is next to mine… How good he smells…

“This is going to be a long night,” I murmur. His body shakes with silent laughter.

As we head toward the stairs, my limbs grow heavier and heavier. There are so many people around. I scan the various soul-shades, searching for grey. Everyone is surrounded by color, but that does little to ease my panic.

My lungs tighten, and suddenly there’s not enough air out here.

“I can’t do this.” I stop moving, squeezing Archer’s bicep even tighter. “The Scouts are still—”

“They’re not here,” Archer murmurs. “And they won’t recognize you.”

That absurd thought does little to calm my anxiety. “A mask isn’t going to keep them from recognizing me, Archer.” It’s nice to be able to use his name openly for once, because here, he is Archer.

Not the Phantom.

“Not only that. But they’re not searching for you here.”

The implication of his words hits me. I’m just a low-life bartender who wears stained shirts and curses too much. Tonight, I’m done up and mingling with the city’s finest. I’m hidden in plain sight.

He places his hand on mine, giving me a brief squeeze that only makes me more nervous. “You’re not alone. We’re doing this together.”

“Yeah, but I don’t belong here.”

“And you think I do?” he murmurs. “Then you don’t know me at all.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I take a deep breath. My hands shake as we continue walking. Archer reaches out to cover my hand with his, giving me comfort.

Whether it’s intentional or not, it works.

"If further investigations into the efficacy of soul-magic yield positive outcomes, the prospective applications become limitless, expanding the horizons for future integrations of complementary magical disciplines…”

-Excerpt from the personal journal of Dr. Claude Foster, Director of Faeology at Mesmeric Labs

CHAPTER 25

FANTASIA

We climb the stairs, keeping some space between us and all the other couples, throuples, and larger groups headed inside for the evening. Though the sun has set a while ago, it’s still warm, and the humidity threatens to melt my makeup off my face. I’m tempted to speed up—to get into the air conditioner that awaits us inside, and get this over with—but based on the slow, nonchalant pace of those around us, it’s not the Sweetcreek way.

Archer and I don’t speak during our ascent. The confident energy radiating off his body is enough to keep me moving. But once we get to the glass doors separating us from the hall’s interior, my hands begin to shake even more. My legs go weak, and sweat lines the back of my neck.

Glancing up at the intimidating building makes it worse. The entire front is made of opaque glass. I can see my reflection perfectly. Although the girl standing before me is gorgeous, I can still see the regular Fantasia Foster underneath the mask, the makeup, and the expensive fabric draped over my body.

The girl whose parents were executed by the Silver Scouts.

The girl who grew up in foster care and was repeatedly abused by the same men who were supposed to protect her.

The girl who’s worked in a bar since she was a teen, serving the aimless alcoholics of the inner city.

The girl whose boyfriend cheated on her and disregarded her emotions.

I don’t belong here.

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