Cinders [Completed]

Chapter 42: The Ballad of Alice Kennedy

The Night of the Ball

Elia is going to have a lot to explain to Lee.

But first, she has to figure out what in high hell is going on.

Her father had tracked her down the second she entered the building. He was acting even weirder than normal, looking at her with an uncomfortable amount of pride and going on about all of the important people she would need to be introduced to. It makes her want to gag.

Her father thinks she is something that she most definitely is not.

"Don't go too far," her father had finished, leading her forcefully to the main dining hall, "I'll come get you when it's time."

Maybe he would try to match her up with one of the upper alphas, watching closely to see if they were mates. He is the type to go for a political alliance.

Elia had nodded and smiled and tried to make him go away with telekinesis. By the time he finally left her alone, she was even more ready to strangle him than normal.

Elia glances around. Lee's already be alone for half an hour longer than she planned. She hopes she didn't go looking for her; who knows what kind of catastrophe would blow up if her father found her.

She feels her jaw tighten. Maybe tonight will be the night she accidentally shreds Beta Collin's face to pieces. Pompous ass.

Elia begins wending her way through the crowd, trying not to look like she's in a hell of a rush. She even picks up a flute of champagne from one of the waiters, gliding through the rooms, and only when she's sure no one will notice that she pick up the pace.

It only takes ten minutes to find where her and Lee were supposed to meet up. But when she opens one of the doors, looking into the dark entryway, she's disappointed. It's empty.

She's gone.

Elia sighs. Okay. Maybe this will turn out fine. Maybe this will not lead to another scar on her best friend's body. Elia swears under her breath, cursing herself for her stupidity. She turns in a circle, hoping to pick up on at least Lee's scent.

It's when she turns to the left that she sees her.

She's wearing a waiter's outfit. Her thick black hair is curled back into an elaborate hairstyle, framing her rosy face. Elia can see the warm, melting brown of her slanted eyes, the scattering of freckles across her nose, the way her lips part in surprise.

She's - beautiful.

And she's looking at Elia the same way Elia is looking at her.

The champagne flute slips from Elia's fingertips and splinters into a million tiny fragments -

-

I reread the name ten times before I register it.

Alice Kennedy.

"The servant that died a few weeks ago?" Orion asks.

I blink at the paper. The name begins to swirl.

And the pieces start to fragment together.

"I need to talk to Joanne." My voice doesn't sound like mine. It's too surprised. Too horrified.