Page 53 of What Is Dark Within Me

“Sorry to show up in the middle of the night like this!” he said, sounding like a tired man in his mid-twenties and not an ancient Otherlander. “We live a few blocks down. Our dog got out of our yard, and we saw him running down your driveway.”

No one responded. Aleja stared at the lights in the house, trying to remember what day it was without looking at her phone; Paola’s missed calls would just induce another wave of guilt. Monday, she settled on. It must be Monday.

The intercom cackled to life, sounding like a scratchy recording of distant music with voices laughing in the background. The man on the other end of the speaker gave a tipsy chuckle. “What? A dog?”

“Yeah,” Nicolas said. “A Doberman, but he’s super friendly. Mind if we come past the gate and call for him?”

“Uh, sure. Sure, why not? Hey, James! How do I open this thing?”

There were a couple of clicks before the gates rumbled and pulled apart from each other.

“That was easy. What if we were here to rob the place?” Aleja commented as he returned to the car.

“If you’re powerful enough to possess an Unholy Relic, you’re probably not worried about human robbers.”

“Well, that works out for us. What now?”

“Sounds like they’re having a party. Makes it easier for us to sneak in and have a look around.”

She looked at her ragged sweater as Nicolas tucked her car into the driveway with the others—Cadillac SUVs, sleek Mercedes sedans, and an antique sports car with a brand-new paint job. Someone had left fresh tunics and leggings in her room, but she’d changed back into her original clothes. “The only party I’m dressed for is the ones the raccoons throw in the dumpster behind my apartment building.”

“You’ve got Otherlander power now. Use a glamour.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Perhaps you should have used your stay in the Hiding Place to train, as I suggested.” He watched her, eyes softening. “In the interest of time, I can manage, but it’s something you really should work on. Glamours are one of the most essential parts of Otherlander magic. How do you want to be dressed?”

She threw her hands up into the air. “Whatever you wear to a rich occultist’s party when you don’t want to be noticed. Where the hell did Garm go, anyway?”

“I’m sure he’s making himself useful,” Nicolas said. He paused for a moment, moving his fingers as if he were conducting a small orchestra. Aleja resisted the urge to shrink into her seat. She had, until now, been doing a good job of not remembering the scorching feeling of his body against hers.

The magic didn’t leave a metallic taste in her mouth the way witchwork did. It was vanilla instead, the same smokey richness that always lingered close to Nicolas’s skin. Okay. So the Knowing One smelled good. It wasn’t like she was about to throw herself into his lap—again—if she acknowledged that.

Keep telling yourself that, said the voice.

“There,” he said. “That should do.”

Aleja looked at herself in the side-view mirror as she stepped out of the car. There was smokey make-up around her eyes, and a red stain on her lips. As she followed Nicolas to the front door, she caught another glimpse of herself in an SUV’s rear window. She wore a black dress with a V-neck low enough to show the swell of her breasts. It was sleeveless, with a slit in the side that exposed her thigh. When she took another step, the fabric came alive.

It wasn’t just black. The dress shimmered with hints of red and gold when the porch lights hit it, almost opalescent when the colors swirled around one another as if the night sky was on fire. “Isn’t this a little much? I thought we were trying toavoidattention,” she muttered, joining Nicolas on the stairs.

“You might as well be an Otherlander now. Going unnoticed is innate for us. Just don’t make eye contact with anyone and don’t speak.”

“Then why the dress?” she asked, smoothing it down as they approached the front door.

“If we get seen, I want these assholes to know you’re the one in charge.”

The house was unlocked, and music spilled out along with a blast of warmth. Aleja had noticed the song coming through the gate’s crackling speaker but confronted with it at this volume, she shuddered. It wasn’t the Devil’s Trill, but similar in spirit; a violin sonata she could tell was complicated to play, yet this one only made her wince.

“Basilio Montalti,” Nicolas whispered, leaning in close. “Ididmake a deal with him, but not for musical talent, as you can tell.”

Several people stood in the main room, a space as opulently decorated as she’d expected. There was an enormous pentagram sculpted into the ceiling’s molding, at the center of which hung a chandelier dripping with black crystals. A painting on the back wall depicted a witch’s sabbath with naked women dancing around a bonfire. At its center, a dark figure with glowing red eyes stood within the flames.

They didn’t get the eye color right, said her voice.

She inhaled, waiting for the crowd to notice her, but they continued sipping Champagne and listening to the music with their heads tilted. The people were well-dressed, but it seemed the party had been in full swing for a while. Jackets draped over the long sofa. At least one woman had kicked off her heels and the shoes were tossed next to a fireplace framed by a sculpture of cherubs with wickedly sharp bat wings.

Nicolas tugged her arm.

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