Page 9 of Trick Me
“And if I’m not meant to be here?”
“Then you have bigger problems than a flaming cocktail.”
Fair point. I take a sip, flames licking at my nose. It tastes like cinnamon sugar. My spine straightens, my shoulders go back, and suddenly the dress doesn’t feel too revealing.
“Better?” the bartender asks.
“Much.” I grin, then finish the glass and set it on the counter.
I offer a grateful smile and turn toward the ballroom. Time to explore and see what a fae party has to offer.
The space is nothing like I imagined. I thought maybe chandeliers, some kind of magical elegance. But this is wild. Colors shimmer in the air like heat mirages. Music pulses from nowhere and everywhere. The energy is alive.
I linger at the edges, taking it all in. It’s a lot, but not in a bad way.
A few spirits drift nearby, transparent, soft-edged, watching. They don’t bother me. Most don’t, unless Icall to them. And often I don’t even see them unless they’re attached to someone.
But then something shifts.
The air thins, tightens. A slow, cold crawl slides along the back of my neck.
I turn just as he enters the ballroom.
Tall. Devastatingly handsome. Dark hair brushes just above his shoulders. His suit is immaculately cut, but it doesn’t make him look polished. It makes him look dangerous. His jaw is clenched, mouth unsmiling, eyes scanning past everyone like the party is a distraction he’d rather not be part of.
People move around him. He doesn’t try to blend in.
And before I can talk myself out of it, I step directly into his path.
He stops.
His gaze lifts to me. “Apologies,” he murmurs, already shifting to move around me.
“You’re looking for death… Oh, crap, sorry, that came out way more ominous than I meant.” I laugh, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I get this vibe around you, like death is circling, looking for something. Sometimes the dead are so loud I forget to filter what comes out of my mouth. Occupational hazard.” I smile and turn away, feeling dumb for blurting out such things. Most people don’t appreciate it.
“I do seek death.” His voice stops me.
I glance back. He’s still watching me, but his gaze has dropped to my ears.
“You’re fae,” he says, eyes narrowing.
“Half fae, full-time ghost whisperer, part-time bad-decision maker,” I say with a grin. “But in truth, I was gifted with a connection to the afterlife.”
He hesitates. There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. Then?—
“I’m hunting a pair of daggers. They are made of an ancient magic that predates this world, and they are deadly to anyone they encounter. Do you sense anything like that here?”
“Honestly? Parts of this place reek of death; many of these people have killed, and others are thinking about it.” I stare at the crowd, rubbing my temple. “Your murder daggers could be right in front of me, and I’d probably miss them in all this supernatural noise. But hey, if they’re that dangerous, I really hope you find them before someone decides to test them out at the party.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs, seeming unsatisfied but not being pushy.
I’ve never been great at tracking down lost objects… so I slip away.
I step a little farther into the room and immediately catch sight of something in the back corner. A crowd gathered around someone, laughing and gasping at whatever is happening.
So I make my way toward the crowd, curiosity pulling me forward.
But as I get closer, I can feel old magic, real, the kind that makes the air taste like copper and blood.
