Storm Born Page 0,71

back here. Volusian had insisted I start making arrangements. What an age we lived in when spirit minions advised on fashion.

"Any special requirements?"

I considered. "Nothing bridesmaid or prom-ish. Think cocktail party. Simple. But elegant."

"Sexy?"

"Moderately."

"Color?"

"As long as it looks good."

"All right. Got it. I'll have it by next week. Oh, yeah, Wil Delaney called again."

"You don't have to let me know anymore. I sort of take it as a given by now."

"So you don't want to return it?"

"No."

We disconnected, and I hit the shower. Beltane eve, the big night, was fast approaching. Tonight was the warm-up. The night I made my deal with the devil.

After digging out my dusty blow-dryer, I dried and brushed my hair until it gleamed. I didn't usually go for makeup - not having the patience - but a little foundation went a long way to hide the small bruises on my face from yesterday's blowout. I considered mascara superfluous with already dark eyelashes, but when combined with some smoky eye shadow, it did make my eyes look bigger. More lipstick, and I barely recognized myself. I didn't look slutty or anything, but it had certainly been a long time since I'd looked so polished.

I considered a skirt but couldn't go that far. Instead, I opted for tight jeans and the new half-heeled sandals. The tank top I selected was olive green, the same color as my moleskin coat, with thin straps meant to rest slightly off the shoulder. Each strap had a tiny ruffle along its edge, as did the low, cleavage-showing scoop neckline.

Examining my reflection, I couldn't help a wistful sigh. I looked better tonight than I had when I met Kiyo. If only he could see me now.

I spritzed on some Violetta di Parma, grabbed my coat and weapons, and headed for the door. Tim nearly fell out of his chair when he saw me.

"What are you doing? Are you going out? You can't do that! Not after what happened yesterday."

"I'm feeling better," I lied. Actually, it was only partially a lie. Did I feel good? No. Did I feel better than yesterday? Yes.

"You're crazy."

"Sorry. Got business that can't wait."

"Dressed like that?" he asked skeptically.

Ignoring him, I drove out to the gateway in the desert. The transition to the Otherworld was a little rough in light of my weakened physical state, but I managed. Volusian and Nandi waited for me at the crossroads when I arrived. Finn hadn't felt like showing. It was one of the downsides of not having him bound to me. We set out along the road.

Shortly into the walk, I realized wearing heels was the Worst Idea Ever. I took them off and carried them the rest of the way. If I was going to keep seeing Dorian, I would need to leave an anchor at his place to facilitate crossings.

"Don't cross his threshold without asking hospitality first," warned Volusian. "They'll disarm you before you can enter. You don't want to do that without protection."

I agreed, though I didn't like the idea of disarming in the first place.

No one ambushed us this time, and I practically walked up to the gates without incident. The guards recognized me and locked into a defensive stance, weapons drawn.

"Our mistress comes in peace," said Nandi mournfully. "She would speak with the Oak King and ask his hospitality."

"Do you think we're stupid?" asked one of the guards, eyeing me watchfully.

"Not exactly," I said. "But I do think you were here last time and saw that I didn't cause any trouble. Maybe you also noticed I spent a lot of time in your king's bedroom. Trust me, he'll want to see me."

They conferred briefly and finally sent one of their number away. He returned minutes later, granting me admittance and hospitality - once they had indeed disarmed me. They walked me through the same hallway as before but not up to the throne room door. Instead, we wound deeper into the keep until we stood at a set of glass doors leading out to some sort of garden or atrium.

"Our lord is outside," explained one of the guards, about to open the doors.

Volusian blocked his way. "Get a herald to announce her. She's not a prisoner anymore. And use her titles."

The man hesitated, glanced at me, and then called for a herald. Moments later, a stout man dressed head to foot in teal velvet hurried in. He looked at me and swallowed nervously before opening the doors. A handful of elegantly dressed gentry stood out in