Page 15 of Prince of Masks
But it is heavy. Between the crystals on the bodice, those on the skirt, and the layers, the weight is something of an adjustment.
And the off-shouldered tulle sleeves, thin and gentle, almost wispy, arejust that bit too tight.
Guilt is fast to flush my cheeks.
I avoid the women in the reflections, eyeing me from each mirror that encases me.
Still, that doesn’t save me from their whispers.
Amelia’s whisper is a truth. “It can’t be let out.”
“There isn’t the time, even if it could.”
“She has to lose the weight.”
“A lot of weight. Quickly.”
“Four pounds?”
“No,” Mother’s whisper hums, “She’s carrying weight there—see, on her back.”
“It’s almost folding over the bodice.” Amelia tuts. “At least six pounds, then.”
So it’s decided.
Their whispers have determined that I’m to lose six pounds in a matter of weeks.
When the dress is taken off me, I find I don’t miss it. The spectacular gown has lost its allure.
Now all I want to do is get the hell out of here and see Nonna.
Since it’s later into the afternoon—with a glance at my watch, just past three—but not quite evening, I doubt I’ll be eating anything at Nonna’s. No dinner to be served at three in the afternoon. Where she lives, they don’t eat dinner until after eight at night.
I didn’t have breakfast.
My cakes were ruined by Mother and Amelia.
So my stomach, naturally, growls with a sickly burn as we leave the boutique.
Amelia parts ways with us on the street. We take two separate taxis for two separate veils.
Veils are scattered like that. Disorganised.
Their power can be channelled by witches—or by enchanted pentacles, like mine—but not created. Thus cities and towns and villages were built around their magic. A veil is where it is, and it leads only where it leads. Nowhere else.
Amelia has two veil trips ahead of her: the veil in Milan, a mere five-minute drive away, which will take her to the heart of Dublin, and from there, she can step into a direct veil that opens into Stonehenge, followed by the drive home. That route will save her time; the veil back to Dijon is a half-hour away from the boutique, and that adds time to her day’s travels.
It’s no wonder witches are drained dry after veil travel—the essence of the magic tires one out, sure, but maybe it’s all the time spent on it, too.
Mother and I, on the other hand, have just one veil transfer, and then a long drive.
4
Amelia can’t come with us.
Nonna doesn’t like her very much.
Nonna isn’t the sort of witch to make anyone outright uncomfortable, but she’s certainly the sort of woman to cut down any chastising of me. Even Mother can’t always get away with telling me off if Nonna doesn’t agree.
