The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4 (Cursed #3-4) - Rebecca Donovan Page 0,124

everyone’s returned. I hope they’re with her. I hate the idea of her prepping for tonight alone.

Arden delivers us drinks, using people from her squad of beauty professionals, who are themselves an explosion of colorful personalities. And they share the funniest stories. I get scolded several times by Braxton for laughing while she’s applying my lash extensions.

“Are you going to tell Grant you’ve been drinking?” Ashton asks after I take a sip of the raspberry-flavored concoction in my hand.

“I told Arden to make mine without alcohol. She put some sort of calming elixir in it instead,” I explain. “I want to be alert anyway.”

“True,” Ashton agrees, finishing her drink. “This is my last one. Just enough to make me bubbly.”

“You are most certainly that, darlin’,” Yvette tells her, admiring the glitter dusted in Ashton’s teased hair. “Lana, honey, you are all set for your wardrobe fitting. Ashton will meet you in your room in a minute.”

I peek in the open doors as I pass, in awe of the girls in different stages of primping. The designs are so intricate and abstract; it’s hard to believe they’re all inspired by fairytales. Or maybe that’s what makes them so fascinating … the interpretations of stories I’ve grown up reading and others I can’t quite decipher, held in place by pins and glitter.

I open my door to find a package on my bed. Inside is a gold metal bracelet. I spin it around in my fingers, not sure what to make of it. I place it on the counter for now and pull my costume out of the closet, unzipping the garment bag where it was stored after someone from Yvette’s team pressed it.

Just as I’m sliding on my boots, a knock comes from the bathroom.

“Lana?”

“Come in,” I call, checking myself in the mirror one last time.

I literally lose my breath when Arden walks into my room. “Omigod, you are amazing,” I gasp. “I have no idea who you are, but holy shit!”

Arden struts in and twirls, a short metallic cape floating around her. She is glimmering silver from head to toe. Her legs are wrapped in sparkling lace-pattern bell-bottoms, and her top is covered with a corset. Every inch of her exposed skin is painted a shiny silver, and her hair is hidden behind some sort of crown that scrolls around her head.

“I’m the Looking-Glass,” she announces, and it suddenly all makes sense.

“That is the most incredible costume I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” she says with a sweeping bow down to her metallic-silver platform boots. “And you, my dear huntress, look deadly.”

“They did a great job, huh?” I hardly recognize myself in the mirror.

The subtle contours make my cheeks look severe. And my dark eyes blend with the glittering hues smudged around them, accented with bold, dramatic lines. Deep red is drawn to accentuate lips that aren’t quite all mine. It’s the hair that makes the look. The warrior braids are woven tight on the sides. Leaves and branches are tucked into the voluminous curls that reach the bottom of my back.

The dark green huntress costume cuts dangerously low and hugs me tight—from the capped sleeves to the pants. It takes on more of a sinister look combined with the hair and makeup. The thick belt around my hips has a fake dagger in a holster and several pouches for storage. The only thing I protested—but didn’t win—are the knee-high brown leather boots with flat soles, shrinking me to about Arden’s bustline in her gargantuan heels.

“Told you I should be in something with more of a heel,” I say when she stands beside me in the mirror. Our height difference is staggering. “Grant’s going to look like a giant next to me.”

“We had to go with something more practical for the plan,” she reminds me. I stare longingly at the black lace-up platform boots I was meant to wear. “Now let me set you up with your camera.”

“Where’s yours?” I ask.

She points to a button in the middle of her chest. I squint, having a hard time seeing it.

“These are amazing,” Arden says, attaching something to the back of my pants and weaving a wire through to my front to subtly poke out through my buttonhole. She tapes and secures everything into place. “There you go. Brendan will test all of them on his phone when we get there to let us know if we need to angle them differently.”

“Thank you,” I say, trying to locate it in the mirror but barely making