The mirror reflected someone that, from a distance, could have been the soft, supple creature that my mother had molded me into. It was my eyes that gave me away.
The lilac gown boasted an empire waistline, falling seamlessly to the floor. The bust, encrusted with silver gemstones and crystals, ensured that my chest stood in the line of sight. I needed to use them as a distraction if I was going to get through the night.
My hair came down in soft golden waves. Everything falling into place immaculately. Practiced perfection. It was all so artfully curated - all so damn false. I ran my tongue over my teeth in an attempt to catch any smudged lipstick on them. Because that was the kind of thing I was known for. She looked beautiful, such a pity about her hair though. The hushed whispers had become my own personal anthem when I went to these things, and yet, it still didn’t stop anyone from cozying up to me because of my daddy’s money and business prowess. How lucky I was that this society was so willing to overlook my odd nature and multiple flaws in lieu of who my parents were and what they had achieved. But their achievements were not my achievements.
Satisfied with my appearance, I grabbed a silver clutch purse and was soon on my way.
I clutched my champagne flute in vain, feeling brittle and like the fraud I was as I listened to the banter around mergers and acquisitions. The last time I had spoken to Charl he said that this assignment needed to be discussed in person. It sounded like a big deal. That was the only reason I was sitting at this gala enduring this nonsensical talk.
Every now and then, they would try and loop me into their conversation as if suddenly remembering that I was there. I couldn’t even be offended, not when I had been trying to will away my visibility through sheer thought. I was content to be a wallflower - an observer, at least in this setting. Because the thrum of life here was not the thrum of life I actively sought.
These gala events tended to be a copy-and-paste experience of all its predecessors. There were the predictable large round tables - usually ten seaters. The same type of speeches could be expected with the inevitable line of it being our duty as the privileged to give back to the impoverished. And, the same faces could be seen at every single one of these events. I couldn’t make up my mind if they attended these events because it was tax deductible, or because they sought out the company. The reason probably rested somewhere in the middle, because while I despised these things, I was certain that many a deal had been negotiated and shaken upon at them.
The decor was the only thing that seemed to change at these events, and I watched the flames flicker and dance, casting light shadows on the white linen tablecloth. An enormous white candle stood in the center of the table, beckoning me with each rivlet of wax that dripped down its sides. My hands clenched into a fist, my short, filed nails digging into my palms as I exhaled in pleasure, suppressing the shuddering urge to carve images and sigils into the white wax pillar before me. The shadows danced and weaved with figures and shapes, harkening to things past, present, and future. Time was not linear. That had been one of my first lessons, still, I lingered on the knowledge that this candle was being fed a multitude of different energies from those around it. It had not been lit with any purpose other than mere aesthetic value, and so it was wild in the way it danced and absorbed bits and pieces of people’s very essence surrounding it. Such candles were dangerous, but with scented candles being slated as an essential in any girl's self-care routine, the lines between our world and the creatures that resided in others grew thinner and thinner daily. I knew that the wax left behind once the candle had fully burnt down would undoubtedly weave tales of future ventures from those seated at this table, the difficulty would lie in matching those future threads with the patrons here. I itched at the challenge, tampering down my need to touch the Magick. This was a gala event hosted by Andrew and his family, no good would come from me dabbling in Magick here.
Andrew’s family was a patron of the historical arts, which came as no surprise as he, himself, owned a castle that had been passed down through generations. Although, if you told him that, he’d quickly correct you, informing you that it wasn’t a castle per se, simply a manor. The purpose of this gala was to raise funds for the maintenance and restoration of various historical projects in England - the motherland. I didn’t object to the cause or the beneficiaries, I simply objected to the damn people.
Breathing through my nose, I excused myself to visit the women's parlour. That notion itself was ludicrous as well, but this venue was old, and women’s parlours were a prerequisite to host any sort of ball worth its societal meat. As I expertly dodged Andrew (which I had been doing for most of the night), I exited the room. My sweat soaked palms and shaky legs were the only reason I didn’t bolt for the nearest exit outright. Inhale. Exhale. If I repeated the exercise enough times, perhaps the walls of the gala wouldn’t feel like they were closing in on me.
As I began to relax, I felt the flutter of paper against my palm as a note was slipped into my hand. Finally. The wallpaper in the powder room was ghastly, and seemed to entail all things that men assumed could be associated with women. The shock of colourful flowers was overridden by the bright purple stripes layered over the image as if the merging of the two designs would somehow make either of them - or both - more tasteful. It didn’t, in fact it only served to make the room more nausea inducing. A small cream settee was positioned near the entrance, you know, for when women simply fainted at the sight of men.
My lips tugged up into a grin, my hair splayed across my forehead as I shook myself from my thoughts and remembered the note.
Opening the paper in the powder room, I read the one simple sentence that I had come to London for.
Royal bar. Midnight.
Suppressing my grimace, I realised I still had another two hours to endure the gala. I could just run, make up an excuse and leave - but I doubted ‘I just got mono’ would be accepted and digested here, especially with my mother lurking in the shadows. Sighing, I walked back to my table, preparing to once again be sucked into the mindless conversation that seemed to be paired with these events.
Once back at my table, I noticed that the chairs had been reshuffled to accommodate an additional person.
Sitting with his back flush against his seat was a man rippling with power. The shadows I had left dancing on the table seemed to disappear entirely in his presence. His black suit did nothing to hide his build. As I drew nearer to the table, I watched as he quirked his lips, listening to someone talk about why their company buyout was exactly what he had been aiming for the entire time.
I sat down softly, my skirts fluttering around me gently as I aimed to draw as little attention to my arrival as possible.
As soon as the back of my knees hit my chair, he looked up at me. Piercing green eyes, dark hair, and sensual lips. I felt myself blush under his stare. Lust and inexplicable want rushing to my surface. My core clenched in anticipation, my thighs pressed against one another in an attempt to still my body’s response.
What was wrong with me?
I wasn't the blushing, coy society girl, no matter the role I was thrust into. He smiled at my reaction, knowingly. And that's when it hit me. My hair started to stand on end as everything within me screamed 'other'. That instinct that I relied on without faltering was urging at me to run. To leave. To retreat.
He was a predator, and while I wouldn’t consider myself prey, I would certainly lose against the likes of him.
Gulping down my wine, I steeled my spine, and addressed him.
"I don't believe we've been introduced." I smiled at him. His eyes flashed in surprise. He knew that I could sense what he was. His grin grew feral as he extended his hand in a greeting.
"My name is Cort." he smiled sensually. My hand found his as another jolt of pure lust shot through, his hand engulfed mine. Deftly, he turned my hand out of the traditional greeting and placed a kiss on the center of my palm. Well that's not disconcerting at all. I jerked my hand back, clearing my throat as I gained control over my rapidly beating heart.
"Corinne," I introduced myself, inclining my head.
I had no idea what a Demon’s kiss could do, but the searing imprint he had left on my palm had me discreetly rubbing it off against my skirts. He chuckled darkly whilst I glowered at him. Cort was enjoying this far too much.
Our entire table seemed oblivious to our greeting, I was certain that that had been by design.
The rest of the evening was spent with Cort engaging the table in the possibility of buying out select companies. I watched him lure them in with promises of money and power. They lusted after him to varying degrees, buying into the power he was promising to sell them. He was a devil of lust, want, and greed, and even knowing that, my stomach still tightened in response to every smile he dished out.
He gave me a conspiratorial wink as if we were two con artists playing the same game. Despite the lust that had curdled to fear, I licked my lips - not out of desire, but because the anxiety of having Cort here was causing my mouth to turn to cotton, knowing that he was simply leading them on and hoping that he would release them, not following through with any of his promises. Because the alternative was so much worse. Few Demons actually dabbled in the financial sector of this realm. The way I understood it, it was simply too much red tape.