Total pages in book: 230
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
I straightened, smoothing my hands down the sides of the dress. Okay. Definitely not bending over in this in public.
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my makeup case and went into the bathroom. The makeup took awhile, because I had to take my time to get it right, but when I was done, my face was virtually unrecognizable. Cheeks contoured until they were sharp and high. Lips outlined to be plumper and filled in with a color that was only a shade or two darker than my natural lips. I even filled in my eyebrows before tackling the eyes. I gave myself what I thought was a dark and smoky, mysterious look. Since I was leaving the contacts out, I put on some false eyelashes, and decided that if I didn’t end up with a sty at some point during this, I was a mutant.
Back in the closet, I browsed the selection of wigs as I nibbled on my fingernail. Blonde. Red. Brown. Black. Purple. The vibrant wigs would draw too much attention at a place like The Court, so I picked the short, chin-length black wig and slipped it on, securing it in place and then combing it down so it was smooth and sleek.
The boots were… difficult. Made of some kind of stretchy material that covered the calves and knees with no zipper, I almost winged them across the bedroom trying to get them on. Sweat dotted my forehead by the time I was completely dressed.
And I was panting, a little out of breath as I slipped the iron cuff on my wrist.
Done, I turned to the mirror and grinned at my reflection. “I look like Aeon Flux,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “A much sluttier version of Aeon Flux. Perfect.”
The Court on Canal looked like a, well, like a dump from the outside. The kind of place you’d expect to get a little food poisoning with your crawfish if you were brave enough to actually eat whatever they served, but the inside was all upscale.
Bar and booths made from wood refurbished from Katrina. Thick, leather-cushioned stools. Shiny, always clean high top round tables, and I’d never so much as seen a stray napkin in any of the private booths that sat back from the tables, lining the walls.
I carried only a black clutch as I strolled to the bar, wholly aware of the glances that lingered and followed while pretending that I wasn’t.
It was weird to me. The knowledge that dressed like this, looking like this, I wasn’t invisible. I was no longer a ghost, but I was….
What had the Prince said to me?
You are nothing but lies and façades.
Ugh.
He was right, and I really, seriously disliked him for that.
I wasn’t this incarnation of myself. I could feel the warmth of embarrassment creeping up my throat in a prickly flush as I heard a low whistle from a man who was at one of the tables.
But I also wasn’t the Brighton before the attack. She was gone, dying the night I should’ve died. Because while I was embarrassed by the attention, there was still a half grin that appeared on my lips.
Maybe the Prince was wrong.
Maybe I wasn’t completely a façade.
I had no idea.
Climbing onto the stool as ladylike as humanly possible, I crossed one leg over the other and placed my clutch on the bar top.
A human bartender was behind the bar, but so was a fae. I wasn’t quite sure if the female actually worked here, but she was the one I always saw when I came here, ferrying Nightshade back and forth to the non-human clientele.
Right now, she was carrying an entire tray of glasses to one of the booths along the wall. My gaze skipped away. There were a handful of fae among the humans chatting and drinking. None of them recognizable.
And definitely none of the younglings.
So far.
“What can I get you?”
I turned back to the bartender and smiled. He was young and his gaze was clear. Focused. Obviously not under any trance or control, but he had to know that not everyone who was served here was human. There was no way he couldn’t, what with the Nightshade being served and what went on up on the second floor.
“A rum and Coke,” I said.
“Coming right up.” He picked up a glass and got to making the quick, easy drink. “Tab or pay now?”
“Cash.” I opened my clutch and slid the money over to him. “Thank you.”
The man smiled and then he was off, serving someone at the other end of the bar. Sipping my drink, I twisted around on the stool so I was facing the main bar floor, but was able to keep an eye on the back hallway, where the elevator serviced the second level. I pulled out my phone and pretended to be engrossed in it as I scanned the floor.