sometimes found herself having? Maybe the crow was a messenger from her subconscious. Or maybe she was just hallucinating.
The “hallucination” squawked loudly and almost seemed to glare at her through the lightly frosted glass.
“You’re not dreaming, Underwood,” Donna told herself. “You’re just going crazy.”
And now I’m talking to myself.
She rolled her eyes. Definitely crazy. Not that she’d admit it to Nav when she told him about this.
Telling herself to get a grip, she opened the window and tentatively removed the paper on the crow’s leg from its bindings. Her hand accidently brushed warm feathers. The moment the scroll was in her hand, the bird blinked once and then flew back up into the indigo sky.
Donna watched its inky wings blot out a section of stars for a moment, and then it was gone.
She unrolled the ebony parchment, but froze when footsteps sounded outside the library. Great. Either the meeting was already over, or Miranda was about to kick her ass for breaking into her secret book stash.
The scroll contained a simple but elegant invitation, and Donna quickly read it before her mentor entered the room. She could practically feel her face drain of color as she wordlessly handed the paper to Miranda. At least now, she was less likely to get into trouble for touching those forbidden texts.
It seemed that the crow-messenger had brought something far more important for the alchemists to worry about.
INVITATION
To: Donna Underwood, member of the Order
of the Dragon, care of the Order of the Crow
(London, United Kingdom—Human Realm)
His Highness Demian, King of the Demon Realm
invites you to a
Masquerade Ball
at
Pandemonium Crypt
(Beneath St Martin-in-the-Fields Church)
Time: Midnight. Tomorrow.
Dress: Formal. Masks must be worn.
Three
I’m not going,” Donna said, standing tall in the center of the library and glaring at Miranda as though it were her fault.
The heavy black paper in her mentor’s hand looked like a shadow that didn’t belong, almost appearing to mock her as the silver lettering shimmered in the candlelight.
Miranda placed the invitation on the nearby long wooden table. She blinked at Donna’s outburst, but that was her only outward reaction. “This isn’t the only communication that was delivered tonight. Other alchemists have already received their own invitations.”
Donna raised her eyebrows. Waiting.
Miranda closed the book that Donna had dropped and slid it back into its rightful place on the shelf.
“Nobody said you have to attend,” Miranda said in her typically mild tone.
“Good.”
“You might want to consider it, though.”
Donna snorted, for once not caring about being unladylike in front of Miranda. “Why am I not surprised?”
Her mentor shook her head, as though disappointed. “I’m just thinking about what’s best for everybody.”
“What about what’s best for me?”
“I believe,” Miranda said dryly, “that I was including you when I said ‘everybody.’”
Donna dug the toe of her sneaker into the floor, wishing she could gouge a big-enough hole to escape through. “How could attending this thing possibly be good for me?”
“Because the Demon King seems to have taken rather a shine to you, and if he wants you to attend his masquerade, there must be a reason. We want to know what that reason is.”
Donna picked up the invitation again. “But this … why would Demian’s party have anything to do with me? And why is he even holding a masquerade ball? It seems kind of trivial for someone who supposedly has revenge on his mind.”
“The intelligence we’ve gathered indicates that the demons are maneuvering for something specific—why do you think they haven’t attacked the alchemists directly yet?”
Donna stared at Miranda for a beat. “Um … what do you call burning down the British Museum? I’d call that a direct attack.”
“On humanity, yes. Not on the alchemists themselves.”
“But there are alchemical artifacts in the museum. Maybe they were going after those.”
Miranda waved her hand, irritation passing briefly across her face. “Either way, we have reason to believe there’s a lot more going on here. We just don’t know exactly what that might be. Not yet, anyway.”
“The demons are probably still gathering their forces,” Donna said. “That’s got to take a while, after being trapped for two centuries.”
Miranda frowned. “The demons are powerful—Demian is powerful—you really think he wouldn’t have everything settled by now? No. Whatever it is they want, there’s more to it than war. More even than simple revenge.”
Simple? Donna didn’t think there was anything “simple” about revenge, but she chose not to argue the point.
She forced out a breath. “Right. And you want me to find out what he’s really up to?”
“If you can, yes.”
“I’ll just dance with him