Everyone Else's Girl
by foggynite

People say Death smells sweet and cloying, like the perfumed scent of a funeral parlor or the light breeze of a sunny cemetery. They say Death comes quietly in the night, while a babe sleeps soundly, to wing him up to heaven in a flurry of angel wings. They say Death is a mercy for those who are suffering, the beginning of eternity in peace and love.

A gentle and romantic view for a process that scares the piss out of every mortal man, despite protests to the contrary.

For Death is not kind. Death is the rotting aroma of the bloated animal carcass at the side of the road, black tire tracks across its back until it's broken down into tufts of fur, tar, and rainbow exhaust streaks. Death is the antiseptic stench that clings to an old woman's paper-thin skin, lurking beneath the surface as her bodies slowly decays around her bones and she tries desperately to cover the odor with baby powder and floral perfumes. Death is the liquor in the bottle; the crack of bones and marrow; the odometer steadily rising; the sharp twang of pain in soft guts. Death is impartial.

Having seen more than enough of it in the recent past, Blaise Harman is tired of Death.

Sitting in a remote graveyard lost among the foothills of Nevada, she pulls her hat tighter on her black curls and squints behind dark sunglasses. The driver is standing respectfully at the door of a black limousine, the vehicle gleaming in the bright sunlight and so out of place near this gated plot of land.

The Harman family cemetery is fairly small, considering the generations dwelling just beneath the surface. Some grave markers are new, although most have been transplanted from cemeteries across the country. Yet all who rest within the bounds of the crumbling brick wall belong to the Harman clan, are part of a long and noble bloodline of witches.

Perhaps Blaise would draw upon their collected wisdom. She has a vision of reaching down into loamy soil, perfectly manicured nails caked with black dirt and stringy plant roots, reaching down until she encounters a bony wrist and pulls it back to the surface into her welcoming embrace. A vision of kneeling in soft grass, the raw silk stockings on her shins soaked through with dampness, as she converses with the rotting remains of a great aunt. Empty eye sockets following her perfect pouting mouth, the shiny gloss of her own lips so different from the curled and chewed flesh of the other's face. Would there be vocal cords left to speak with? Would her words echo hollowly in the mossy, vacated skull?

She dismisses the fanciful whim, filing it away for research on a rainy day. The harsh light does not beget such involved efforts, and her body has yet to adjust back to the balmy weather of the West Coast. It was fall when she left New England, left her confines, and she is oddly adrift for the first time in her life during this blossoming spring. There is no longer an authority figure to rebel against, leaving her bereft of familial attention and at a loss.

So it is here, sitting on a weathered concrete bench amid these markers and mausoleums, where Blaise seeks to center herself. The sharply edged new marble in front of her seems incongruous in its place of honor, resting only a few feet from the statue of the Goddess in the middle of the cemetery. She clasps her hands tightly in her lap to keep from reaching out, from tracing the dark veins in the light stone or the deeply etched letters that are the final announcement of a woman Blaise had taken for granted most of her life.

She sits in the burning sun, dressed in mourning black for it fits her mood, and contemplates the future. She wishes she had remembered to bring her cigarettes for the distraction, but they are tucked in her small hand purse in the limousine. Waves of heat rise from the stone beneath her, warming her legs but not her fingers, which are clammy and she wonders at that.

Yellow eyes flash in her memory. Furtive movements in the shadow of a doorway, and there were screams. She remembers screaming like she remembers the events, removed from herself and nicely compartmentalized in her mind. As though it were not her ears that heard the harsh rip of fabric and what she later realized was the shredding of flesh. Not her that felt the feather light arm in her grasp jerked suddenly away. Not her that felt the hot spattering of blood on flesh, searing liquid still sizzling with body heat even as it traveled the short distance from body to flesh. Not her that was thrown aside by a heavily muscled arm covered in coarse fur matted with blood. Not her. Not-- Her.

She wonders at her clammy hands and watches a small bird fly overhead. She has no clue what breed or color it is, that's Thea's interest, but the tiny flutter of life in this waiting place is a reminder of her duties. A reminder of a cluttered shop just outside Las Vegas waiting for a mistress that will never return, and the role as proprietress that Blaise now finds herself in.

There are others to help her, witches she can call upon for ingredients and recipes and advice, but for the most part, she is the only one in the shop now. The tensions between the Night World and Circle Daybreak are escalating, and not many people stop by anymore. The vampires are planning to conquer the world, the werewolves are running wild across the land, the shape-shifters aligned with the witches, and the witches are divided, yet drawing together under the martyr they have made of the High Lady.

And the humans. . . .

Blaise watches the tiny bird peck for worms at a crumbling grave on the other side of the Goddess.

Humans are cattle. Humans are weak. Humans can never survive in the Night World, yet the Crone was willing to accept them, bring them into the world of magic and eternity for the sake of all the worlds interlaced. Could peace be possible? Is there any other choice? If the vampires have their way, the dragons will raze the entire planet before letting the humans coexist with anyone, and then what will be left? Pain and suffering.

She tries to reconcile in her mind twenty years of hate and disparagement as her world is collapsing around her. Part of her is slowly deconstructing that which is Blaise, all the core philosophies and habits, beliefs and memories. Another part is refusing to give in, stubborn and haughty and full of pride because this is her world and she will shape it as she sees fit. But she realizes most of all that she cannot control everything, not even herself.

"Let the world live its own way. As long as it lives it away from me and mine." She smiles at the sting in her words, and wishes her grandmother were here to argue with her.

The wide brim of her hat doesn't keep the sun completely off her back, and now a bead of sweat trails down the inside of her black sundress. Inhaling the silence of the place once more, she stands slowly in tall heels and follows the beaten grass path back to the rusty wrought iron gates.

Other people have left talismans near head markers for past holidays, some have planted wild herbs and flowers, and others have left half-melted candles in remembrance.

Blaise brought nothing, and leaves nothing behind.

The rain is drumming on the roof of the limousine when Blaise returns to Thierry's mansion the next day. She waits for the driver to park, protected in the dry womb of the plush leather seats, and ignores the offered assistance when stepping out under the covered carport.

Descouedres has made his driver available for her quick sojourn, respecting the solemnity of the occasion, and now Hannah is holding lunch for Blaise's return. The plebeians that surround the Lord and Lady of the Night World are aghast at Blaise's casual address of their revered nobles, but Blaise is not one to bow and scrape before anyone. Hannah seems to find her candor refreshing.

The scent of rain lightens her mood, cleanses her of the morbid thoughts that still cling tight from the cemetery. The sharp clicks of her heels on the tiled walkway soothe her.

The mansion's stained glass doors swing open to reveal a dour looking Lupe, who offers an unenthusiastic greeting.

"Ms. Harman. How do you do? It's nice to see you. Again."

While not normally friendly with beings outside the mansion, Lupe makes it a point to be excruciatingly polite to Blaise, perhaps hoping to raise her ire. The witch merely smiles.

"Always a pleasure, Lupe. I see you've cut your hair. Interesting style; it makes you look almost feminine." Blaise strides past her briskly, invigorated and in control, not waiting for a response from the werewolf, who does not deign to offer one anyway.

"Lady Hannah is in the drawing room," Lupe offers belatedly, waiting until Blaise has started in the opposite direction first.

The mansion is over twenty years old, a possession of Thierry's he has been loathe to part with and a practical place for the Night World dignitaries to gather. Blaise can remember holding tightly to Thea's hand their first visit, so young and delicate in their homemade dresses, gawking at the tall ceilings and lavishly decorated rooms as they trailed behind their grandmother. Sometimes she and Thea would spend the summer in the echoing place, being granted free range of the rooms and grounds while the Crone went about Craft business.

Blaise remembers the uncomplicated, mischievous times with a fondness she had not thought herself capable of. Then she berates herself for brooding, and firmly locks her memories away, focusing on the present luncheon.

"Hannah," she exclaims with practiced delight, coming into the brightly lit drawing room with a flourish of her pale slender hands. The Lady is not alone, but Blaise directs her attention solely on her until introduced to the other three women present.

"Blaise! How was your trip?" Hannah rises from the settee and Blaise admires the deep gold hair reflecting the light, the smart trim of clothes Blaise herself chose for her. A light embrace, and Blaise sinks gracefully to the cushioned seat.

"As expected, and not a peep of complaint from anyone."

Smiling politely in spite of the morbid humor, Hannah turns to the remaining guests. "I'm sure you remember Winnie, Blaise, and her partner, Nissa. Keller is off on an errand for Thierry at the
moment."

"It's been some time, Winifred. Nissa. You're both looking wonderful."

Winnie smiles tightly, mumbling something resembling a greeting, while Nissa merely nods coolly in return. Blaise's own polite smile becomes somewhat predatory when she notes Winnie's minute shifting toward the vampire.

"And this is Iliana Harman, the Witch Child."

Blaise truly looks at the other girl for the first time, taking in the long, almost silver hair and demure eyelashes. Iliana blushes shyly under the intense scrutiny, thin cheeks turning an appealing rosy hue. Her pale pink tongue flicks out to wet already shining lips, and she regains her confidence, fairly bouncing on her seat.

"Hello! Hannah mentioned you're a Harman, too?" She seems so bubbly for a moment that Blaise takes the time to recline and study her a bit more.

"Yes, a far distant cousin, no doubt. Welcome to the clan." Draping an arm casually across the overstuffed sofa back, Blaise narrows her eyes artfully, creating a pleasantly distrustful tension in the room. Part of her wants to push at this naïve bit of fluff until she breaks, and the other half debates the advantages of ingratiating herself with the Witch Child. The half that kicks puppies wins out in the end.

"So, Iliana, what's the Witch Child up to around these parts?"

Hannah and Iliana are oblivious to the underlying mockery in the statement, but Winnie tunes in right away.

"Iliana is here visiting the enclave. She's going to officiate at the Ostara ceremony." The red headed witch seems to be waiting for a snide response, anything to find fault with Blaise. The Harman heir gazes back impassively.

"Is that so?" She looks pointedly to Iliana, who is busy wrinkling her nose as the bursting carbonation bubbles from her soft drink tickle her face.

Blaise has the passing thought that maybe the world is doomed after all, whether the dragons win or not.

Then the Witch Child looks up, her eyes alight with an inner gaiety foreign to Blaise, and gives an unaffected, impish grin that automatically disarms and reassures those around her. Blaise's self preservation instinct is screaming at her, steeling her backbone to that tempting charm. She will not fall under this trifling girl's charm as Winnie and the rest obviously have.

"They said I get to wear whatever style robes I want," Iliana chattered happily. "I didn't know robes came in different styles, but I'm glad I get to choose because they had some really horrendous ones in a moldy old chest that I absolutely refused to wear. I mean, we're talking Dark Ages here. I was expecting Dracula to come out of the nearest wardrobe."

"Mmm. The more... traditional members of the enclave prefer to keep to the old ways." Blaise smiles wickedly. "Personally, I prefer my rituals in the buff. Especially with the weather changing. . ."

Blaise represses a grimace as Iliana giggles and blushes. It really is getting to be a bit much for her to take, so she furtively glances for the lunch tray.

"We do not do rituals in the nude!" Winnie is aghast and blushing furiously, although whether over the actual content of the conversation or the fact that Hannah is present to hear it, Blaise isn't sure. If Iliana were any younger, the firey witch would have her hands clamped tightly over the girl's ears.

"Oh, live a little, Winifred. It's a great way to get back to nature." Blaise is having fun now, as always when she has the chance to bait Winnie.

"I don't think I have the body for going nude, anyway," Iliana comments with a frown, studying her own waist through her tank top. Blaise tries not to stare at the firm flesh displayed beneath the light cotton. "Not like you, Blaise. You have Barbie doll proportions."

"Thank you," Blaise returns dryly as Hannah nearly snorts her drink. Blaise looks sideways at the Lady, raising an inquisitive eyebrow when Hannah waves her off with a chuckle. "Did you not say you were going to feed me today? These Barbie doll proportions require sustenance."

"Oh, yes. I completely forgot," the younger woman stands with an amused grin. "Would you care to stay for lunch?" Addressing the remaining three, Hannah looks hopeful.

"We'd love to, my Lady, but we have to get the fabric for Iliana's robes before dinner," Winnie declines with an honestly regretful expression. Blaise fights the urge to sneer; no doubt having lunch with the Lady Hannah would be one of the highlights of her meager existence.

"Maybe we can get together tomorrow, then?" Hannah offers. "We can discuss it more at dinner."

"Of course, my Lady. We'd be honored," Winnie agrees eagerly. Blaise rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, that would be cool." Iliana stands, and Blaise is treated to a perfect view of a lightly tanned strip of belly where her top doesn't quite meet her shorts. Her legs are skinny but toned, and the dark witch shifts uncomfortably with the thought of touching the light cover of downy blonde hairs around her belly button.

Iliana and Winnie leave, with Nissa trailing silently behind, and Hannah escorts them to the door. Blaise wonders if it's wise to let the girl out in the open so close to the Circle Daybreak head quarters, yet can't seem to care too much. After all, Blaise herself is not a member of the 'peace and love for everyone' circle, so it is not her concern.

"Isn't she something?" Hannah asks as she returns to the drawing room, motioning for Blaise to follow her to the kitchen.

"She's. . . something. Exactly what is the question?"

Hannah looks heavenward at her cynicism with a laugh, and pulls open the double doors of the professional quality kitchen. The counters are all gleaming chrome, and pots of all sizes hang from the ceiling, reflecting the fluorescent lights dully. It always reminds Blaise of a butcher's shop, and she wonders what Thierry used it for before his mortal staff moved in.

"I'm thinking of having a little get together," Hannah mentions as she pulls a tray from one of the refrigerators. "Just something to get people's minds off this Apocalypse business for a night. I think we've all gotten too tense."

"Fear does that to people, darling. Moving, changing careers, getting married, end of the world; all major stress factors to our poor little psyches." Blaise inspects the freshly prepared sandwiches on the tray, poking at the unrecognizable contents of one before settling on a bean sprout looking creation.

"I was thinking a costume ball," Hannah mentions innocently, picking at a turkey sandwich. Blaise looks at her suspiciously, eyes drawn for a moment to her pale pink birthmark.

"Just how 'small' will this soiree be?"

"Only the people who are involved in the peace efforts."

"You mean, only Circle Daybreak, the witches, the shape shifters, and a few select vampires? Just them, huh?" Starting to chuckle, Blaise shook her head ruefully.

"I'm sure I can convince Thierry," Hannah protests.

"I'm sure you can." Blaise smirks, provoking a blush from the other woman. "It sounds like a wonderful idea, Hannah."

"I've just never really had to plan one before. . . ."

"Of course I'll help."

Grinning with smug anticipation, Blaise finishes her sandwich as Hannah begins outlining her project.

She dreams sometimes.

Midnight dances in darkened halls, moonlight streaming through tall windows. Nameless, shapeless bodies twirling around her in dizzying patterns, flashing in and out of her periphery. Another person is there, spinning with her. A swirl of red velvet and black silk and the face constantly changes but the ivory locks framing it do not. Slender fingers in her hand, so much warmth compared to the bleak landscape, concentrated in her palm.

She wakes clutching the sheets tightly and reminds herself that she always wants what she can never have.


"What do you think; blue or grey?" Hannah asks a few days later, standing in front of her mirror in boxers and a tank top, alternating between gowns.

"The grey would make you look like death warmed over," Blaise responds without looking up. She continues to thumb through the latest issue of Circle Twilight’s newsletter open on the bed in front of her.

"But the blue isn’t too Cinderella-ish?"

"Darling, all of it is Cinderella-ish." And her tone is bored, dry like the desert sand outside.

They are going through an old wardrobe that Lupe found for Hannah in the attic. The gowns in it are musty and covered in lace like a thousand cobwebs and Hannah fell in love the minute the lid was opened. Faded blues and pinks and greys, fabrics and cuts from decades long since past. Blaise is serving as an advisor, because it would not do for the Lady Hannah to show up in her own sense of fashion. Blaise shudders at the thought and gives Hannah her full attention.

"I suppose if we find you the right mask, maybe add a wig and some long gloves..."

"I’m trying to convince Thierry to go as the Scarlet Pimpernel..."

"Then you’d make an excellent Margeurite, my dear."

"You really think so?" Hannah is beaming.

"No, I was just saying that for the hell of it. Go with the blue."

Hannah is happily silent then, holding the dress against her slim frame. Blaise returns her attention to the newsletter, fashion crisis averted.

"So now you’ve met the Witch Child..." Hannah introduces a little too casually after a few twirls.

Blaise cocks an eyebrow without looking up, curiosity roused. "Yes, and she’s as vapid as I expected."

"She’s pretty wise, if you give her a chance."

"She’s seventeen and interested only in teenager things. Hardly confidence-inspiring."

"Well, she did step up when we needed her. She didn’t have to accept her duties as Witch Child..."

"No. She could have gone shopping. Oh wait, that’s what she does now..."

"Blaise." Hannah’s tone is reaching exasperated, so Blaise shrugs and backs off. She knows how to pick her battles, and arguing over that flibberty-jibbet isn’t the way she wants to spend her afternoon.

Instead, she reclines on the bed and gives Hannah her best disarming look, honest and friendly and skeptical. "I sense an underlying issue here, darling..."

"Well, I--" Hannah breaks off, annoyance forgotten as a wistful shadow crosses her face. "I was just hoping that you’d think again about joining Circle Daybreak, now that you’ve met her."

If Hannah knows what that expression on her does to Blaise, she is more diabolical than the witch had previously credited her.

"Hannah..." There is a slight warning in her tone, not enough to offend or frighten, but an encouragement to change the subject.

"I know, I know. I just think you might find it... helpful." The blonde shifts uncomfortably, turning her attention to repacking the wardrobe. Blaise sits perfectly still for a moment, trying not to grind her teeth.

"And just how, exactly, will joining Circle Daybreak benefit me?" Her voice is even, steady, like she doesn’t already know what answer she will get. Hannah’s packing falters.

"Well, with Circle Twilight standing as it is, I thought you’d like to have a coven again. And you haven’t seen Thea in forever, even though she asks about you every time she stops in, and if you joined, there are a ton of witches that would be willing to work with you..."

The sadness in her statement softens the blow, but it still hurts Blaise to hear the truth. She has drifted from her old coven, and she hasn’t really been able to face Thea since the High Lady’s funeral.

Her sister witches had slowly slipped away during her stay on the east coast. It was to be expected, but when Blaise returned the west, they were waiting with open arms. Standing right next to the werewolves and upper echelon of the vampires.

It had been pure coincidence that Blaise was visiting the High Lady when the werewolves attacked. Just chance. But it made her position in this debacle painfully clear.

So now Blaise runs her store-- her grandmother’s musty old store-- and ignores the invitations from old acquaintances. It has not garnered her any popularity in certain social sets. In fact, she is steadily being grouped with Circle Daybreak the more she visits the mansion.

But a witch without a coven--worse, a pureblooded witch without a coven--is a pitiable sight, indeed. She will not give them the satisfaction of officially severing ties. She isn’t that pathetic.

"Technically, I’m still a member of Circle Twilight," she finds her voice to remind Hannah tartly.

"Yes, I know," Hannah whispers, then stands up straight with a smile. "Well, I don’t know about you, but today is just too beautiful to stay inside. Want to go shoe shopping, now that I have my dress?"

"Sounds feasible," Blaise agrees easily, turning on her public face. Hannah dims a little when she sees it, but musters herself quickly and offers Blaise a hand up off the bed. Blaise ignores the warmth in her palm and focuses on smoothing her skirts. They leave the bedroom, Blaise trailing behind Hannah as they descend the main staircase. Lupe is at the last step, waiting.

"Will you be needing the car, my Lady?"

"Actually, Lupe, if you could get Nilsson, that would be great. Thank you."

She can’t help her silence as they retrieve their purses from the butler. The pleasant expression is plastered firmly on her face, but something in her is cracking, slowly oozing out.

A vehicle that is not Thierry’s limo pulls up as they linger in the foyer. Blaise recognizes the shock of red hair through the picture window of the door and grinds her teeth. A glance at the mirror mounted on the wall and her face relaxes back into its agreeable mask. Anger gives one’s opponent the advantage, never mind that she is angriest at herself.

Iliana bursts through the front door, bringing in the warm summer breeze and the smell of cucumber-melon lotion. Blaise hangs back as Hannah greets the girl enthusiastically, trying to ignore the twinge in her heart at hearing the relief in Hannah’s voice.

"You’re lucky you just caught us! We were about to go shopping and grab some lunch. Feel like coming?"

The answering smile shimmers and Blaise feels like she’s been staring at the sun. "Sure! Winnie needs to talk to Lupe about the party, but Keller can guard me. Like, you would not believe how she tore into me yesterday about wandering off--"

Blaise tunes out the conversation, not really up to playing nice. When the other two start walking towards the door, she follows, slipping her sunglasses firmly into place. She wants to berate herself for this moment of weakness, wants to think it’s just a moment and not longer, and Hannah’s words bounce around inside her head like gnats over a corpse.

Bad image, that.

When she quietly slips into the back of the limo, she’s aware of Iliana’s curious gaze as the girl continues talking without pausing for breath. Keller slithers in behind the Witch Child, and Blaise knows she’s being glared at from behind the dark glasses of the bodyguard. Normally she would offer a comment on the werepanther’s attire, maybe leave a parting shot for Winnie. Instead, she looks out the tinted window and sits primly with her purse clutched in her lap.

They’re halfway to the mall before Iliana addresses her.

"So what are you going as, Blaise?"

A haughty eyebrow is raised as she languidly turns her head in the Witch Child’s direction. "Aphrodite, I think. I haven’t really decided yet."

"Cool." Iliana returns to kicking around her own ideas, with Hannah’s gentle suggestions. Blaise does not notice her skinny girl-knees beneath her shorts.

The mall is crowded when they arrive. Lupe and Keller are on edge, dogging their steps and Blaise likes the thought that she can slip away while Hannah and Iliana can’t. Then she wonders at her own anonymity.

"We were thinking of smoothies?"

Iliana is at her elbow, smiling. Blaise glances around and realizes Hannah has wandered into a shoe store with Lupe, while Keller is glowering over Iliana’s shoulder.

"I thought we were getting shoes?" Blaise asks with a pleasant smile.

"Oh, we already picked them out. Hannah asked you what you thought, remember? You said they looked great." Iliana’s eyes are a little too familiar for Blaise’s comfort, like the girl can see inside her head.

"Of course." Blaise is too disconcerted to cover her slip better. Her family does have a history of insanity. "Smoothies sound great."

"Cool. Hannah said she’d meet us down in the food court."

Presumptuous, and Blaise almost likes her because it’s something Blaise would do. Then they start walking, and the girl keeps talking, and Blaise wishes she wouldn’t.

"So you were a member of Circle Twilight?" She smiles a cotton-pink smile at Blaise and the dark witch arches an eyebrow. The girl was either gutsy or brainless to say that out loud in a human mall.

"I still am."

"Cool." The rebuff slides off Iliana like water, and Blaise is beginning to think her innocent façade is more calculated than she originally perceived. "I’m still learning about all the rules and everything, and Winnie just kinda coughs and changes the subject when I ask her about any thing other than Circle Daybreak."

"With good reason," Keller interjects with a disapproving frown. That’s enough to have Blaise answering Iliana’s questions for the next fifteen minutes, whispering in the smoothie line and then at a table in the noisy food court. Keller glowers, but doesn’t try to stop them, and Blaise is almost disappointed.

Hannah joins them with more than just one pair of shoes, and for a second Blaise thinks Iliana was a diversion so that Lady Hannah could employ her own questionable tastes. The thought’s dismissed as too much trouble for footwear, and besides, Iliana does seem genuinely interested in what she has to say.

With their arrival, though, the table is crowded and Blaise finds herself pressed against Iliana’s side. Every time the girl waves her hand, she elbows Blaise in a delicate area, and really, this is getting ridiculous. Hannah is smiling happily at them, Keller and Lupe are glowering like she just kicked a puppy, and now that the conversation is on a more inane topic, ie: nail polish colors, Blaise just wants to go home.

This really isn’t like her. She used to be a social butterfly, the girl everyone else wants to be, but since returning to the west coast, she’s been different. She’s never been fond of change she isn’t controlling, and as the unsettled feelings spread through her limbs, the smoothie she was just distractedly sipping sours in her stomach.

The feeling of displacement has become more frequent these days. Like she’s done this before, been here before, opened this door or sat at that table, and she’s just now remembering. Sometimes she stares at her hands and wonders if they’re actually hers.

Hannah’s voice recalls her attention to the table, and now everyone is staring at her again.

"Excuse me?" Blaise asks vaguely, hoping someone will prompt her.

Instead, Hannah frowns. "Are you all right? You don’t seem like yourself..."

And wasn’t that just the problem? But Hannah has just handed her an out and she seizes it gratefully.

"Actually, I’m feeling a bit run down. Nothing a long nap won’t cure, I’m sure." She smiles and continues before her concerned friend can suggest anything. "I think I might just call a cab and head home, since you have your shoes now, dear."

Hannah looks like she wants to protest, but she might be feeling guilty because all she does is nod and stand up. "We’ll walk you to the entrance."

Blaise smiles and grits her teeth, and puts up with the company a little longer. Iliana is subdued now, her brightness fading as she lays her hand on Blaise’s arm uninvited.

"Maybe we should drive you, if you’re not feeling well?"

So solicitous and Blaise waves her away gently. "I’ll be fine. I just need to watch my vitamin levels better, that’s all."

They don’t look convinced, but they let her go anyway. Sitting in the cab, she leans back with a tired sigh.

The door to the shop creaks open, the bell attached to the doorjamb announcing a visitor.  Blaise has little hope that it’s an actual paying customer as she strolls up to the front counter.

Part of her is surprised to see the Witch Child standing in the waning light. Surprised and a bit annoyed, because she hasn’t seen the girl since the trip to the mall three days ago and doesn’t want to rehash all that.

The other part is smirking inside, wondering how far she’s gotten her hooks in this one.  Iliana looks tiny compared to the towering shelves, and maybe a little lost. It reassures Blaise that she can still think along the lines of manipulation and personal interest. She’s been spending far too much time with Hannah lately for her own good.

"Where's your entourage today?"  Blaise asks insolently, ignoring the surge of warmth at the joyful recognition on Iliana’s face.

Iliana's sheepish expression does not bode well for her future safety when Keller finds her. "I told them I had to pee?" 

"Charming," she says drolly, idly running a cloth over the worn wood of the counter.  Blaise wonders how much of the trouble will be ascribed upon her person. "What brings you here, sans bodyguards?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to go for coffee?  Like, real coffee." If the light wasn’t so poor, Blaise could swear the girl is blushing.

"I believe I’ve told you all I know about covens," she demurs.

Iliana shrugs. "There’re other things we could talk about..."

"I’m not at all as interesting as my reputation, I assure you..."

And Blaise doesn’t know why she’s wasting this perfect networking opportunity. Maybe it has something to do with Hannah’s pitying eyes the other day, or this weird depression she’s been going through. But Iliana just looks more determined to have her way.

"We don’t have to talk about the Night World," the teenager insists. Blaise clicks her nails along the counter.

"Then what else? We’ve already covered clothes, shoes and nail polish. So what’s next?" Iliana is frowning at her and Blaise feels like she’s gaining ground, so she continues. "Television? I don’t watch it. You?"

"Not so much anymore..." Iliana murmurs.

"That’s out then. What about boys? I find them useful for my purposes. Do you have a special someone?" Her statements are rapid fire and Iliana falters.

"No--Not really. No."

"Hm," Blaise purses her lips, then brightens as though something might have just occurred to her. "Is it girls, then? I hear that’s all the rage in the New Age groups, and with Nissa and Winifred around..."

Iliana flounders for a moment, then frowns and puts her hands on her hips defiantly. "Why are you being like this?"

"Like what, dear?"

"So--So--" Shaking her head so her blonde hair flies everywhere, Iliana gives a small stamp of her foot. "Oooh. Do you want to have coffee with me or not?"

A petulant pout, and it is rather amusing to watch. Blaise is all prepared to deny the request on principle, quite sharply in fact, because she never succumbs to any demands.  She's always the one in control.

But instead, she finds herself drawling after a moment of deliberation, "I suppose I can take an early lunch break.  We'll see how far you get before your watch dogs track you down.  It should provide some amusement."

"Great!"  And suddenly Iliana is all smiles again, perfectly even white teeth shining out of her tanned face. 

Blaise finds herself briskly retrieving her purse and car keys, flipping the door sign to ‘Closed’ and ushering the girl out.  She steels herself against the affection she finds in Iliana's gaze now that the girl’s annoyance is forgotten.

"So I hear you're helping Hannah plan the party?"  Iliana mentions once they're in the car.  Blaise takes a moment to respond, pretending to concentrate on the road behind her sunglasses.

"I might give her some advice..."

"I’d do it just to get to decorate the mansion. It’s like a SIMS game, only you get to do it for real. I’m sure it would be expensive, though..."

"Then I’m glad I’m not the one paying for it."

"Winnie said you like to spend a lot of cash," Iliana says without thinking, but Blaise just shrugs.

"Who doesn't, when it's not their money they're playing with?"  And the real smile just sort of slips out there, shining in the rearview mirror before Blaise can smother it.  The fond look in Iliana's eyes implies that she noticed it, too.

"I know you two will do a great job."

The flattery might have sounded insincere, coming from anyone else.  Blaise ignores the glow of pleasure the compliment gives her.

"Of course. I’m me." And she’s only half-teasing.

Iliana laughs, and hangs out the window a little, eyes closing in the wind.

They stay silent until they arrive at the coffee shop. Blaise finds a table in the shade as Iliana orders. The Witch Child’s skirt clings to her legs as she walks, and Blaise looks away, questioning why she’s here. But then Iliana’s there, placing her macchiato in front of her and Blaise relaxes back into her chair.

"So I assume since you’re here in the middle of the day, your bodyguards aren’t letting you go to school?" She asks casually as she takes a sip.

Iliana laughs. "I’m still in school. We had to move so that I could go to one that’s already warded, though, because the...other side was causing too much trouble at my old one. I miss my friends, but I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt." A frown marrs her perfect features, but the shadow is quickly chased away. "But it’s spring break. I’m here visiting and I have a whole week of freedom to enjoy."

Blaise barely has time to process that and its ramifications before Iliana changes the subject.

"So, do you run the shop all by yourself?"

She’s almost getting used to the girl’s randomness.

"Yes, actually." Blaise swirls her straw for a moment, then decides to be sociable. "The Crone kept a college student around to help her out. Well, more of an apprentice. But I have no need of assistance, so now it’s just me."

"That’s sounds fun--Owning your own place." Iliana’s tone is wistful.

"It has its merits..." Which she’s still searching for, besides being able to set her own hours.

"I don’t know what I’m going to do after I graduate," the girl says, fidgeting with her cup. "I mean, I didn’t even know about all this other stuff a year ago. Now my mom’s talking about different colleges and curriculums and careers, and all I’m thinking about is where I can go so that everyone else will be able to come with me. I have no clue what I want to be. Besides my other calling, of course..."

She trails off, fingers running idly over the lid. "I guess I want to go into a field that will make a difference, you know? Like, social work or a non-profit organization or something. Although, I don’t know; fashion design does seem pretty tempting..."

There’s a halo of sunlight around her when she laughs, even as she pokes fun at herself. It makes Blaise’s breath catch in her chest and she understands why the witches and Circle Daybreak and shapeshifters are throwing themselves at this beautiful apparition’s feet. Some innate purity that shines out of her eyes, even though Blaise knows she’s been touched by the darkness, been forced to kill the dragon.

Iliana continues speaking, unaware of Blaise’s scrutiny. "I’ll probably go to a school away from my family. It’s a little silly, but I have this picture of sharing an apartment with Keller and Nissa and Winnie. I’d like to see what a dorm’s like, but I think living with them would be great. Too bad my mom would never go for Galen moving in... Anyway, I figure I’ll just take my gen ed courses this first year and see if anything strikes my fancy before I think about a major."

Granting that the Powers That Be don’t see fit to end the world this New Year’s. But Blaise doesn’t mention it because her throat hurts suddenly, tight and dry. Because Iliana sounds so optimistic, so sure that the millennium will come and go with the Witch Child there to witness it. It hurts because in six months, this bright and beautiful child could be--

Just coincidence that she was visiting the Crone, but she doesn’t think she’ll ever feel quite comfortable, quite safe, again. Having someone there one minute, then yanked away with the splatter of arterial spray on the sidewalk. On her face.

She takes a gulp of her drink, forcing herself to swallow. Dredges up a smile. "I never really thought about college. It just seemed so... mundane. But my cousin went to veterinary school. She and her husband opened their own practice in some backwater town after they graduated."

Iliana sighs happily. "That’s so sweet. I’d love to meet someone I could share everything with like that." Her nose wrinkles. "But I don’t think I could work with animals. I mean, I love them and they love me, but seeing a sick puppy or hurt kitten? I’d go to pieces. Plus, I have these issues with blood."

She shudders and Blaise grins wickedly. "The inside’s the same as the outside, dear. Just different bits get sticky."

Iliana looks at her askance and shakes her head fervently. "No way. Blood’s supposed to stay in the body, out of sight."

Blaise shrugs. "It’s just another fluid."

Looking a little freaked out by the topic, Iliana stares down into her mocha for a second. The mood doesn’t last long. When she glances up at Blaise, her expression is contemplative.

"So the shop is what you want to do with your life?"

It’s an actual serious question, and Blaise takes her time responding, wondering how much to reveal. The honest and open gaze has her telling more than she planned.

"I used to hate being stuck there when I was younger. It usually meant me and Thea had gotten kicked out of another house and were just waiting for the next one to open up. But I have good memories of it, too. Back when it was just me and Thea. When things were simpler. I learned a lot from the old lady, even if I felt stifled."

Iliana’s next question is soft. "And now?"

Blaise shrugs. "Now, I don’t know. It’s almost like I’m still waiting for the next place to let me in. Since Thea’s been excommunicated, I was the Crone’s heir. The shop... sort of fell into my lap. It’s not really me; I just can’t let it go."

A little silence after that, and she feels awkward talking about such personal things. Iliana’s next statement makes her cringe.

"You must miss her very much."

A quiet observation, somewhat hesitant. Blaise looks out at the passing traffic.

"We never got along. Thea used to say we were both too stubborn. But she pretty much raised us, you know? I used to have fun seeing how far I could push her. She never failed to react."

"I only met her once," the blonde says, splaying her fingers across the table top. "She seemed so gentle, but strong. She made me want to believe I was the Witch Child."

Blaise pauses, trying to keep the memories tightly sealed. "Her last words were for you. She believed in you."

Iliana nods, and cradles her cup like it was the finest crystal. "I know."

Something makes her mouth keep moving. "She was lying there, bleeding out, and I couldn’t do anything. People were screaming, running all around. She had killed the werewolf that... Toby and I ran the other two off. We hadn’t even seen them coming. It just... It happened so fast and I..."

She can’t look at Iliana, but she feels the girl’s violet eyes on her like a physical thing. The girl reaches out, takes a hold of Blaise’s hand, and Blaise is shocked to find herself squeezing back.

She realizes that she missed this, missed connecting with another person. She used to feel like this around Thea all the time before she lost her, and Hannah is a close friend, but Blaise can’t tell her everything. But she feels like she can share it with Iliana, and she wonders how much of it is because the girl is the Witch Child and how much of it is Blaise’s own want of attention.

They sit like that, Iliana’s tiny pale hand resting in Blaise’s longer fingers, their skin tones almost matching. There’s so much power in the girl, she fairly glows. It’s a little awe-inspiring as well as intimidating. But Blaise doesn’t want to let go, and Iliana... isn’t letting her.

They should head back to the shop, she thinks. She should stop this before it becomes something, she tells herself. The girl is young and untouchable and Blaise always wants what she cannot have.

She uses her free hand to finish off her drink. The sound of the empty cup hitting the table is startling, because the rest of the world has faded away.


She dreams of bright sunny days and heat coming off the sidewalk in waves. Blurry dreams, fuzzy around the edges where there’s a comforting presence beside her, walking with her steps, guiding her down the concrete path with snarling lips and gobbets of flesh between her teeth and blood spurting in her mouth--

She wakes with bile in her throat and barely makes it to the bathroom before her dinner comes back up. Her face is gaunt without glamour covering the bruised-looking skin beneath her eyes.

She thinks maybe she has issues.

Maybe.

The door jangles shut behind Selene and Vivienne and suddenly Blaise can breathe easier. She shakes the tension from her fingers, muscles cramped from her grip on the tall stool, and tells herself to relax. They’re gone. And probably never coming back.

Time trickles past second by second. Blaise thinks longingly of the day she spent at the family cemetery, warm sun on her back and the High Lady beneath her feet and silence save the occasional bird. The darkness of the shop around her seems to pull the very marrow from her bones.

The door jingles again, sunlight refracting through the warped glass over worn floorboards. Silver hair and violet eyes, a being so fey she is blinded by her presence.

"Man, am I starving!" Iliana exclaims with a pixie grin. Keller is scowling at Blaise over her shoulder, but the dark haired witch has gotten used to it. Iliana had mentioned her guardians were a little put out with both of them for the girl’s disappearing act on Monday, and as a result, they weren’t letting her out of their sight.

But the girl has shown up for lunch at the same time for the past four days, always smiling and cajoling until Blaise gives in. Her vacation is almost over, and after the Ostara ceremony, she’ll be packed off back home. Blaise isn’t sure how she feels about that.

Wordlessly, she gathers her things and closes the shop, resigned to the futility of arguing. Honestly, she has to admit that she likes the company. Iliana is basking in the bright sun while she waits. A black sedan is parked behind Blaise’s convertible, containing a stoic Nissa behind the wheel. Keller stalks over to the sedan and climbs in, surprising Blaise. She wonders if Iliana said anything to them.

"What are you in the mood for?" She asks casually as she slides into the convertible. Iliana settles in the passenger seat and shrugs.

"Surprise me."

Blaise rolls her eyes and throws the car into first, letting up on the clutch. The salesman had tried to sell her an automatic, but Blaise figures, if she’s going to have a sports car, she’s going to do it right. They’re off down the deserted road before Nissa can pull out, and she waits patiently for the bodyguards to catch up at the next stop sign.

They should be glad that she’s behaving. But then, she’s heard about Nissa’s driving under pressure and the vampire would probably run her off the road if Blaise tried anything funny. As irritating as the three operatives are, it’s reassuring to know they’re so protective of Iliana. She doesn’t let herself explore why she’s interested in the girl’s welfare.

Iliana is playing with the radio, flipping from station to station until she finds a top forty one. Blaise’s tastes run a little darker than the pop trash coming from her speakers, but it’s the last day Iliana will have free before the ceremony preparations keep her too busy to visit. Or maybe Blaise is just getting sentimental in her ripe old age of twenty-two.

They don’t bother trying to speak over the wind and the music. She decides to take them to a nice Italian restaurant she knows of, a place not too expensive but still sophisticated.

Nissa pulls into the parking lot beside them and Keller has Iliana’s door open before Blaise can turn off the car. The werepanther stays close to the Witch Child’s side as they enter the building, looking intimidating in her sunglasses. Nissa stays with the car.

Iliana had confided in her that their fanatical devotion to their duty hadn’t eased since they’d been officially assigned as her bodyguards, but she’s been able to convince them to limit the numbers occasionally as her own training and powers progressed. Apparently, Iliana is the only one happy with that situation, but the girl has a tendency to get her way if she wants something bad enough.

Blaise has to admit she admires that.

They’re nibbling at breadsticks before any actual conversation starts. Iliana is frowning at Keller, who only ordered water.

"You can eat, you know..." She reminds the girl with a smile. Keller’s eyes flick to Blaise before responding.

"I’d rather not have any distractions while on duty."

Iliana shrugs, it obviously being an old argument between them, and turns to Blaise. "Will you be there this weekend?"

"I haven’t decided," she responds with a pleasant smile. Unfortunately, Iliana has developed an uncanny knack for reading her in the past four days, maybe from her experience with the glowering company she keeps.

"You should come," the girl says firmly. "I’ve never done this before and I need all the support I can get.

"I’m sure you’ll have more than enough groupies present to satisfy you," Blaise drawls as she waves the request off. "I do have a business to run."

"And the only ones shopping on Saturday will be the ones that are unwelcome elsewhere," Keller snaps before Iliana can respond. Blaise’s connections to the Night World obviously rankle the bodyguard.

"True," Blaise accedes, mild as milk. The arrival of their entrees prevents Keller from retaliating.

"Well," Iliana says after the waiter leaves, forestalling further confrontation. "If I won’t see you on Saturday, then when else can I before we leave?"

Blaise ignores Keller’s glower and lifts one shoulder elegantly as she cuts her pasta. "You know where to find me."

Iliana looks frustrated for a moment and gives a sigh, but then her expression brightens. "I guess we’ll just have to drop in unexpected."

"I’ll be sure to wear my surprised face," Blaise deadpans. Iliana giggles, and the sound isn’t as annoying as Blaise first thought. Just very... melodic.

"So Winnie made my robes, but I have no idea what to do with my hair," Iliana says suddenly, changing topics, and Blaise is beginning to realize that her babbling about mundane things is her way of diffusing tension. Or ignoring it. The dark haired witch gives a crooked smile and just goes with it.

The rest of lunch is spent on idle chatter, with Iliana doing most of the talking since Keller is pouting (oh, beg pardon--"ignoring distractions") and Blaise is mulling over the earlier invitation. The offer is tempting and she’s not sure if she wants to attend or not.

If she were to go to the ceremony, the only people she’d be willing to speak with would be Hannah and Iliana. Of course, Thea might be there, but Blaise doesn’t know if she’s up to seeing her cousin again just yet. Since the Witch Child is guest of honor, the ceremony will be full of local and visiting witches alike, making it much larger than the ceremonies of her youth. Chaotic crowds and plenty of staring people.

She decides against going, even though she misses the feeling that comes from a large group of witches gathering. Once Selene and Vivienne relay their conversation with her this morning to the rest of the Night World, her official severance from Circle Twilight will be common knowledge. But she knows that she’ll be regarded suspiciously by her sister witches on both sides for quite some time.

It’s a choice that took her some time to reach, but she knew she made the right decision when the two Circle Twilight members showed up in her shop, asking her for information. Blaise is many things, but she will never stoop to being a spy, some ordinary pawn in someone else’s game. That isn’t her style.

When it’s time to leave, Keller tries to hustle Iliana off to the waiting sedan.

"I want to go back to the shop with Blaise," Iliana states, a pout forming. The werepanther nearly growls, and Blaise wisely stays out of the conversation.

"You have to meet with Mother Cybele in less than an hour."

"Which I can still be on time for even if I go to the shop. She hasn’t shown me her workroom yet."

Blaise can’t prevent her eyebrow from arching. Oh, really?

Keller looks put upon. "Fine. We can spare twenty minutes at the shop. No more."

"Good." Iliana is all smiles. "You and Nissa can go get lunch since you didn’t eat anything, and pick me up there."

The werepanther looks dumbstruck. "You don’t really think--"

"We’re going straight to the shop, which has more wards on it than my house. I’ll be fine." As Iliana speaks, she’s getting into Blaise’s car. "We’ll see you in twenty."

Slipping in, Blaise starts the engine and is pulling out before Keller can think of another argument. Of course, nothing is stopping them from following the convertible if they want to, but Blaise doesn’t think they will. Iliana wants something from her, and she has to admit, she *is* curious to find out what.

Iliana amuses herself on the ride back by making her hair flare wildly all over the place. Blaise suppresses a grin and drives faster.

When they’re safely in the shop, Blaise turns to her with her hands on her hips.

"So. I haven’t shown you my workroom?" Her tone is on the edge of dangerous.

"Well, you haven’t." Iliana beams and walks past her. "Where is it?"

"In the back." Blaise glances at her, then leads the way with a rueful sigh.

She stands at the edge of the workbench as Iliana pokes around the table’s contents and looks through the jars on the shelves. The girl seems relaxed and genuinely curious.

"This is so cool. It’s like something out of a movie..."

"Thank you."

The sarcasm is brushed away with a pale hand, and Iliana stops in the middle of the room, turning to face her. "So," she says, breaking off.

Blaise shifts her weight back on her heels and regards the girl patiently. Iliana wanders to the workbench, absently picking up a stone Blaise has been grinding.

"I’m gonna be gone for, like, almost two months before I can see you again..." She continues quietly as she rolls the stone between her fingers. It begins to give off a faint glow and she frowns, carefully putting it back down.

"I’ll be back for Hannah’s ball, though." She starts fiddling with a piece of wire, avoiding Blaise’s gaze. "It’s right after my graduation, and I’ll be getting in that morning. But I’ll be there."

Blaise nods and comes forward to stand with her hands resting lightly on the scarred work area.

"So, can I call you?" Iliana asks quietly. Blaise shrugs.

"I’m sure you know how to use a phone."

Stamping her foot, Iliana glares. "That’s not what I meant."

"I know." Blaise gives a ruthless smile. Her heart rate is beginning to pick up, because this isn’t the interest of a new friend. This isn’t even the interest of a sister witch. This is... something more than she expected.

They stand silently, Iliana nudging a pair of pliers with her finger. "Do you want me to call you?"

She says it so quietly, so miserably, that Blaise can’t keep up the cold pretense. The older woman looks away, cheeks flushed. "If you want to; it’s your life."

"I want to." The blonde’s responding smile is overwhelming. She moves closer to where Blaise is standing, leaning in. "I’ll miss you."

There’s a moment where Blaise wants to take everything back, rewind to that day Iliana asked her out for coffee and say no. But she doesn’t want to, not really. She doesn’t regret anything.

The kiss is sweet, a gentle pressure on her lips. Her pulse is beating wildly in her neck and she’s holding her breath. The chastest kiss she’s ever been given, yet no one has ever made her feel like this before. Like witch fire is burning in her veins and she’s drunk on blueberry wine and she’s free-falling all at once. Her lips part involuntarily, inviting and commanding, and Iliana presses closer, twining her arms around Blaise’s shoulders. Her tongue swipes the inside of Blaise’s lips, teasing and making her gasp. Blaise’s hands shoot out, clenching the slim waist in front of her. Her eyes drift shut.

They sway for a moment, hips bumping the workbench until they rest against the counter, unmindful of time. Just the slide of lips and the feel of warm skin under her fingertips.

They break apart, gasping for air. Blaise opens her eyes, staring down into Iliana’s violet ones. If she were with a man, she would have some suave comment, something to make him want her desperately and give her everything he was. If she were with a man, though, she wouldn’t feel this way.

She can feel Iliana’s breath on her face. It’s tainted with the coffee from dessert, and she can’t bring herself to care.

"You should come on Saturday," Iliana whispers.

Reluctantly, Blaise shakes her head. "You’ll be fine. You’re the Witch Child. If all else fails, just stand up there and look pretty."

Iliana laughs like she’s supposed to, and leans her head on Blaise’s shoulder. They stand in the quiet of the shop until the door bells jingle.

"I’ll call," Iliana says, breaking away. The loss of her warmth gives Blaise goose bumps. Footsteps down the hall, deliberately loud, and Keller appears in the doorway.

"Time to go," she announces shortly, and promptly spins on her heel to march back the way she came.

Iliana gives Blaise a happy smile, one that she has to mirror, and with another quick peck on the lips, the Witch Child leaves her standing in the middle of her workroom.

Blaise doesn’t know what this feeling is, spreading through her limbs. She doesn’t understand it, but for once she doesn’t question it, either.

She enters the main hall like the whisper of falling leaves. She brings with her a heavy cloak of anger and pride.

Heads are turning her way, murmurs from people who haven’t been keeping up on their gossip. Some of the onlookers admire her. Others do not. There are no members of Circle Twilight present. She tells herself she does not care what these people think, doesn’t care what they say about her as she passes.

There is one costume she is looking for this night. One reason to venture out in this world of madness she has grown so weary of. She imagines the picture they will present, when they stand together. The iciest of blues, sparkles and gauze, and crimson red, encrusted with leather like dried blood. And that is when she smiles, as the faces around her glaze over with admiration.

She could own them, if she desired. But there is only one person worth corrupting this night. She’s waited over a month for the chance, through hour long phone calls at least four nights a week and Hannah’s curiosity and threats from her old coven.

But she doesn’t care about all that. She’ll get to see Iliana tonight, and then they can catch up in person. She tells herself it’s the excitement of the party that has her heart racing. She would never be so stupid as to get herself worked up over seeing a... date. But they haven’t come here together, have they?

The mansion is crowded, security at every entrance, and the mob parts unconsciously as Blaise cuts through. Hannah is holding court on one side of the main ballroom, shyly smiling at sincere and insincere compliments alike. Blaise’s bodice creaks a little as she leans forward to kiss the air beside Hannah’s cheeks, once then twice. Her acknowledgement of Thierry is just as warm, and he accepts her air-kisses with a suffering grace she has to smile at. He is skillfully lurking beyond Hannah’s shoulder and letting her do most of the socializing, mock-scowling at the crowd in his fop’s outfit. Hannah said he had it tailored from memory. The cut looks good on him.

Easily, Blaise falls into the circle thronging the Lord and Lady, paying half attention to the conversation as she scans the room for sparkles and gauzy wings. Unfortunately, there are quite a few blue costumes present. Hannah should have kept her dress-discovery a secret.

The awed murmuring clues her in first, like a wave breaking around her. Admiration for the Witch Child and her escorts, including the son of the First House, who are all dressed as though they came from Mab’s court. Straining, her ears can pick up the faint jingle of bells. It seems her graduation present for the girl arrived on time. Not that she would admit she sent it. She doesn’t have to, honestly.

The Witch Child’s group draws closer, and Hannah catches Blaise’s eye. The knowing grin on her face makes Blaise frown skeptically and turn her head to study the people dancing on the other side of the room.

"Hannah! Thierry!" Iliana arrives in a flurry of glitter, eyes wide and face bright with happiness as she embraces her hosts. "Oh, it’s all so beautiful! Everyone looks wonderful and it’s just like a fairy tale!"

Her effusive greeting is tolerated by Thierry, who brushes stray sparkles off his coat. "I have to agree. It has far surpassed my expectations, but then, Hannah usually does..."

Hannah blushes a becoming shade of pink, smiling shyly. "Blaise planned most of the decorations. I just organized the rest."

"Which was the hardest part, undoubtedly," Blaise says dryly. She tries to maintain an aloof expression but Iliana has turned to her, and--

She’s stunning. A vision that makes Blaise’s stomach drop and her skin flush, and she feels as though she’s standing in front of the sun, about to be consumed. Iliana’s costume is nothing but a slip of a blue dress, layered by gossamer material that floats when she moves. Her legs and arms are bare, save for the string of tiny bells wrapped around her ankle and wrist. Her sandals are held on by thin straps and make Blaise want to touch her perfect feet. A shimmery patina of body glitter covers her limbs and her cheeks, making her skin opalescent in the candlelight. Her eyes have just enough make-up to accent the startling violet color, and her hair has been artfully piled on top of her head, blue-streaked strands escaping in a messy halo. Her wings start above her head and end mid-thigh, delicately veined with blue.

She glows and radiates warmth and doesn’t even realize it. If Blaise’s costume of leather and tulle, all spiked edges and darkness, garnered admiring glances, the looks Iliana receives are of blind worship.

But Iliana is smiling just for her, as though the rest of the ball has ceased to exist. And Blaise has to smile back, can feel the tense lines of her body softening. Weakening, but she doesn’t mind. She’s learned to accept it in the past two months.

They don’t touch, Blaise doesn’t trust herself to be able to stop, but Iliana looks as though she’s been kissed anyway. Color in her cheeks and a breathless quality.

Galen interrupts the moment unwittingly, addressing Thierry and Hannah in the lull. He’s in garnished woodsman attire, looking like he’s covered in brown and green leaves, golden glitter liberally applied to no doubt appease the Witch Child. Nissa and Winnie are hanging back from the group, having greeted their hosts, and are in costumes similar to Iliana’s, only with pants and not skirts. Keller keeps swiping at the glitter on her own face, standing stoically next to Galen, and she obviously fought for her practical black costume. She looks like the tooth fairy from hell.

"This was a great idea, Lady Hannah," Galen says with his quiet intensity. "I don’t think I’ve seen this many witches and shapeshifters peacefully gathered before in my life. And even my parents are dressed for the occasion, which left us all shocked, I must admit."

It’s said with a kind smile and Hannah laughs. "I was so excited when they agreed to come. I was afraid not many people would want to."

"And miss the biggest social event of the year?" Keller asks with a sarcastic arch of an eyebrow. There’s a teasing edge to it, though, so no one takes offense.

"Everyone kept asking me if I was coming," Iliana says guilelessly. "It’s all the girls at school would talk about."

"And a bodyguard’s worst nightmare," Keller mutters.

"Don’t worry," Thierry smiles dangerously. "We had the best witches available ward the perimeters, and there is an entire troop of guards on duty."

"Not to mention the party-goers themselves," Galen adds, and nudges Keller’s shoulder affectionately, expression fond. She rolls her eyes and hides her grin.

"So," Iliana seizes the opportunity. "If it’s so safe, that means I can dance, right?"

No one is going to argue with her when she uses that tone of voice. It makes Blaise proud, but then the violet gaze zeroes in on her and she frowns.

"Surely you jest," she says when Iliana just looks at her expectantly.

"You said you’d save me the first dance," Iliana pouts. Blaise is unimpressed.

"That wasn’t meant to be taken seriously." Her tone is discouraging. Iliana ignores it, as usual.

"Too bad. You still said it."

The rest of the group is watching the exchange with a myriad of reactions. Thierry looks faintly amused, while Hannah is trying not to smile. Keller and Winnie are trying to hide their disapproval (and for once Blaise wishes they’d interrupt before it’s too late), while Galen is obviously confused. Nissa keeps her face expressionless.

Other people are starting to notice and Blaise would rather it be somewhere she can easily ignore them.

"Fine."

Iliana smiles and takes her hand before she can change her mind. Blaise sighs once, but lets Iliana pull her into the crowd. The live orchestra is playing a waltz. Grandma Harman’s lessons come back to her as they take up position in line. They’re not the only odd couple out on the ballroom floor, and she wonders where Iliana learned the steps, and what others she knows.

As the dance begins in earnest, she loses herself to the beat and the movement of her body, and Iliana’s smiling eyes.


The party is winding down, most of the masqueraders retiring for the evening.  Blaise finds herself wandering through the french doors to the cobbled patio, smothering a smile when she hears the soft jingle of bells following her.

"Oy, is it crowded in there..."  A childish voice says, perhaps trying to cover the click of the door handles.

"Not as bad as earlier..."  Blaise continues to stare out into the night.  Iliana steps up to her side, body radiating heat despite the flimsy costume.

"I'm surprised your bodyguards let you wear that," Blaise murmurs quietly, running a finger along the silk at Iliana's shoulder.  The fabric clings to her like a second skin.

"Winnie tried to veto it, believe me," Iliana says with a laugh, nose doing her little scrunching thing.  Blaise has the urge to poke it playfully and finds her hand halfway there before she changes its course. And she says that she can't help herself.  She has to reach out and touch that glittering skin, see if it's as firm as it looks.   The tension she's sensed between them all evening makes her bold.

Iliana sidesteps her questing fingertips with a giggle.  "I'm ticklish!"

A predatory smile breaks Blaise's composure.  "Oh really?"

More giggles, the soft tinkling of the bells, and Iliana's leaving a trail of glitter behind her.  It's covering Blaise's fingers, marking her, declaring her crimes for all to see.  But she can't help it, honestly.  The swell of the girl's slight breasts leave her breathless, the curve of her slim waist begs to be defiled.  An ache is building between Blaise's legs, yearning and lust and the need to lose herself for just a little while. Two months of easy conversations, laughter and moments of comfortable silence, and a shared kiss in her workshop hanging in the space between them. They haven’t really spoken yet tonight, but there’s not much to catch up on besides Iliana’s flight in, and the silence of the garden is not for such trivialities.

The playful look Iliana throws her is almost coy, as the girl slips further down the darkened path.  And Blaise wonders who is playing what game.  Who will win and who will be lost.

The water fountain is a soft hush off to her right.  The ghost of Iliana’s glitter and tinkling bells leads her further into the shadowed eaves of the evergreens, like Ariel luring Ferdinand to his doom.  When the noise of the party has faded, with only the cry of feasting bats overhead, Iliana turns to her, smiles brightly, fondly.  Blaise wonders if her own expression is as sweet.

When Iliana reaches for her, she forgets about the stares they received all evening. The whispers, and the hovering bodyguards who are probably looking for Iliana right now. It’s just them, stealing a moment of time.

Delicate fingers in her hair, running along her temples until she closes her eyes, and she's unsurprised that Iliana is taking the first step.  One thing she has learned is that the Witch Child is always direct once she has made up her mind.  And her plans seem to include pulling Blaise close to her, close enough that their breaths mingle in the cooling night air, and the teasing touch makes Blaise's gut clench. Two months of imagining this, dreaming this. Wanting this.

With a groan, she lets her hands close around that perfect waist, fingers digging into solid flesh.  Iliana's mouth is sugary from the punch, delicate pink tongue so slick and filling as Blaise sucks it into her own mouth.  For a moment she just revels in the slide of Iliana's lips against her own, the slick friction of contact, and when their chests brush together, she has to stifle a moan.

The hands in her hair slide lower to cup her neck and chin, then down to the leather-covered small of her back, pulling her forward.  They languidly move together, towards a stone wall of the garden.  Iliana's back hits mossy concrete, wings spreading flat, and Blaise spares a quick thought for dirt stains and ruined make-up, then decides that she likes the thought of leaving her mark.  Staking her claim indelibly.

The longer they kiss, the more frantic Iliana's fingers become, dancing along her back and over the swell of her ass, bunching the fabric of her dress in tense fists.  Her hand wanders down Iliana's hips, takes a moment to mold to her perfect hip bones, before pushing lower, to the gauzy hem of the Witch Child's miniskirt.

There is no hesitation in her movements, no chance for doubts or worries.  Just need, pure and unadulterated.  She breaks away from Iliana's mouth with a gasp, nuzzling her neck instead.  Small nips to the line of her shoulder, and the fingers are digging into her back through the corset, a pleasant pain.  One hand braced against the wall, she levers herself up until she's hunched over Iliana, sucking on her shoulder tendons.  Her other hand quests lower, cupping her mound through the cloth of her skirt, rolling it in her palm until the high-pitched pants in her ear turn pleading.

The fabric of Iliana's underwear is already soaked through, cooling in the night.  Blaise darts one fingertip along the covered cleft, delighting in the fervent response she receives.  A wicked smile graces her lips and she pushes the elastic of the panties aside.  Iliana moans into her shoulder, trying to mouth at her breast helplessly and clutching at her back.  The Witch Child hitches herself higher on her toes, trying to spread her legs further, but Blaise merely returns to pillaging her mouth, swallowing the euphoric gasp as she slides a finger into the moist heat.  Iliana's too close to tease for long, so she fingers her clit lightly, adding another digit and spreading the slickness further.  Rolls the wet skin between her fingers until she can slide right up into the moaning girl, stroking her tight opening and scissoring her fingers until the muscles spasm around her and Iliana's scrabbling at her back, thrusting hard against her hand.  Trying to swallow Blaise's tongue down around her own groans of pleasure.

After Iliana's shaking limbs slide limply down her back, Blaise pulls away gently, gazing down at the girl's hazy violet eyes.  Iliana's make-up is smeared beyond repair now, sweat making the colors run.  Blaise decides she likes having the girl flushed and panting beneath her.

Waiting until Iliana catches her breath, Blaise brings her slickened fingers up to her face, inhales Iliana's scent on her own skin, and gives her knuckle a little lick.  The Witch Child's expression is fixated on her hand in the moon light.

"What can I...?"  Iliana finally asks softly, gesturing at Blaise with a slender arm.  Pulling the girl close by the back of her neck, Blaise slides her tongue into that perfect mouth.

"You can come home with me tonight..."  And she tries to put as much promise in her voice as she ever has, wills Iliana to agree as though she might control the girl with her thoughts.

The brilliant smile she's rewarded with makes it all worthwhile.  Iliana's little girl hands are at her hips, her sated body now thrumming with energy again.

"Okay."

And as they head back to the party, Blaise debates washing Iliana's musk from her hand.  Likes the idea of being marked, trailed by her very own debauched fairy.  Spares a moment to be afraid, because she might not want to let Iliana go again.


She dreams that she’s on the sidewalk again, trying to hold her grandmother together, trying to put the pieces back because she can’t be gone. Can’t be dead. But she is and there’s steam rising from the pavement and tears running down her cheeks and she’s crying, for the first time since it happened, and this isn’t how the dream is supposed to go...

She wakes with thin, strong arms around her. A soothing voice above her head, whispering in rhythm with the rocking, and there’s a cool breeze coming through her window. Tears are on her face, one of those dreams where you wake up quietly sobbing and don’t realize it. Iliana is a sticky heat against her back, refusing to let her go when it seems like she might try to flee. She holds on until the tears dry up.

And Blaise starts to believe that maybe... Maybe sometimes she can have what she wants, and be happy with it.