Page 8 of Lethal Souls

People stare, of course, murmuring amongst each other. Willow stiffens next to me, and I’m glad the volume of the music increases to allow this awkward moment to pass.

Bloody Armistice Night and its formalities. If I had it my way, I would’ve told them not to introduce me. Shit, don’t even fucking look at me.

Willow’s eyes turn up to mine as we step deeper into the room. I’ll have to get used to that.

I fight a smile. Don’t worry. They’re already looking away. They care more about the drinks than us.

Willow gasps, her eyes turning left. I look with her at the aerial dancers hanging from golden silk cloths, swaying and flipping gracefully. Set between them are chandeliers that weren’t here the last time we visited the palace. Alora must’ve had them installed.

The ceiling curves into a wide dome made of glass to reveal the starry night.

Then there are the people. So many fucking people. They skip around, dance, and mingle. Counters topped with all sorts of drinks are in every corner and flooded with guests.

Waiters and waitresses zipline through the crowd in white vests and pants, masks on their faces and glitter on their bodies. The gold trays they effortlessly carry in one hand contain drinks or food.

A group of Mythics stands in a corner, their glasses and plates floating next to their heads as they chat. One of the Mythics blows gold dust into a female commoner’s face, and the commoner giggles before turning toward her partner and plunging her tongue into his mouth.

I stop walking as my clan does, and we all digest the atmosphere. Everyone is relaxed…and I start to feel a wave of relaxation hit me too.

Because that’s the thing about Armistice Night. The strongest Mythics are gathered here and told to send a spell of harmony over the palace. This causes everyone to get along, to forget about worries and conflict, and to enjoy the night.

“Who are they?” Willow asks, pointing up.

I shift my gaze to the second level, where a group of older people sits together. “Those are the elder Mythics. You can always tell who is elder by the scarves on their heads and the many layers of clothes they wear. They don’t like to reveal themselves much.”

“Oh.”

“There aren’t very many of them,” I say. “As you can see, there are only six in all of Vakeeli. They’re centuries old and wield a lot of energy. Only the strongest Mythics who avoid dark energy sit up there. Though they’re highly respected, they like to be left alone. You’ll hardly ever see them. They’re hermits, sort of like Beatrix, and I can understand why. People get greedy. Demand things. Elders are the closest people we have to miracle workers. They can heal, create, protect entire territories. But there is only so much they can do at once. Too much energy used and they weaken.”

“Like Beatrix.” Willow’s eyes sadden and guilt develops, churning in my gut. Willow’s guilt.

“Sadly, yes. Like her.”

She nods, blinks quickly, then looks from the elder Mythics to the rest of the ballroom, drinking it all in. The guilt fades the more she observes.

“Would you like a drink?” I gesture to one of the counters.

She smiles. “Sure.”

“I’m going to find a few friends,” Juniper calls, already shuffling away. “Don’t wait up!”

I glance at Rowan, and as if he’s read my mind, he follows Juniper at a safe distance. She can have fun, but she still needs to be careful.

“I’ll find my girls as well,” Maeve announces. “You all have fun tonight, all right? Let’s make this a good one.” My aunt prances away, already spotting her cluster of women. There are about eight of them, all nearly the same age as Maeve and dressed in silks and feathers.

The Vigilante.

They seem much softer now compared to when I first met them as a teenager. Suppose their killing days are over and they’re making peace with life. Many of them have grandchildren now, according to Maeve.

“Killian, what will you do?” I ask. “You can stick with us if you want.”

Killian shifts on his feet and starts to speak, but something catches his eye and he locks on it. I look to where his attention has gone, and he’s focused on a woman standing at the bar.

She wears a silk gold gown, her hair in deep, dark waves that carry to her chest. She swirls a wine glass in one hand as she stares right back at Killian with smiling eyes, as if daring him to come over.

“I’ll be around,” Killian mumbles.

He takes off without looking back, leaving me alone with my gorgeous mate.

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