The Hollow Ball

Chapter 13

There were three grand doorways into Artemis Hall, each flanked by moon-white columns carved into creatures with claws, teeth, and horns. The slopes of the archways were crowned with stained-glass motifs of the Hannover Forest, reminding me of the grim fairytale books in the library at Castellano Manor.

Last chance. Turn around, run, and don't look back.

My legs refused to move even as bodies flowed around me like white-water rapids. I wasn't sure if it was fear, anger, or disbelief—likely a combination of the three. Ahead of me, figures stood beneath the horrific columns, their faces masked with carvings of woodland creatures, their costuming dark as if to blend into the dark stone of the great hall.

Humans.

The people of Hunting Hollow not only sent us to our deaths, but they were going to watch them, as well.

Just as the thought crossed my mind, my skin prickled from the weight of the new presence by my side. "Are you going to shuck me through the doors, West?" I asked bitterly. "Trust me, I have no intention of running."

"Oh, so you do speak," he countered, referencing my deliberate silence in the carriage. The edge to his voice tore my gaze from the house to where he stood beside me, clad in black, regal and noble, and the picture of the Founding Families.

"Forgive me for not wanting to speak to my escort to my execution."

"It's my execution, too," he said with more reservation in his tone than malice. West wore a simple black band across his eyes, the color of which accentuated every angry shade of blue, green, and brown in his irises. "I won't apologize for looking out for my friend. Or would you have preferred to rot in a cell instead of spending another night with your family?"

The bitter truth in his voice stung. After what Father did with Kian, it was a miracle that I did not sleep in a cell last night and that my parents were by my side when I departed. But there was no chance in the world that I would admit such a thing to West.

Not even in your final hours? Not even to your childhood best friend? A voice in the back of my mind questioned.

Sighing, I looked down at the mask in my hands; its crystal detail glimmered in the lights of Artemis Hall. Mother told me forgiveness is the key to peace.

Forgiveness instead of revenge was a foreign concept to me. I couldn't forgive everyone, but for the sake of my soul, I could make one exception.

"You're right," I finally admitted. Thank you." Then, pushing my mask toward him, I said, "Help me put it on."

West grunted—not quite a laugh or a sound of surprise—and obliged. Despite the cold months, the air around us was warm, even balmy, as though eternal summer resided at Artemis Hall. West's fingers ghosted over my skin as he adjusted my hair, leaving a trail of cold shivers after each deft movement before he settled the mask across my cheeks.

I turned to face him, my lips parting with words I wasn't ready or able to speak. His eyes softened, then, and the ache in my chest returned tenfold. Out of all the people to stand beside me in this moment—even after years of silence and strangerhood—I was relieved to have West Shadeson by my side.

"Together," he said, offering his arm. "Like old times."

Inside, golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling painted to reflect the night sky in honor of the old goddess who was said to have ruled it before returning to the Void. The sweet scent of moonlight lilies saturated the air, and dark energy weighed down on me like lead.

It was a beautiful deception. Just like the masquerade ball it hosted tonight.

From the depths of the house, a haunting melody trickled over the crowd from a single violin, and an invisible force corralled the Chosen into the foyer. Twin staircases adorned with ornate red finery twisted up to where Mayor Warren waited on the platform. Flanking him were Ethel Fontaine and Dorian Shadeson, West's father.

I squeezed West's arm. He stared ahead, mouth pressed in a tight line.

"Is this it?" someone murmured beside us. "Where is the ballroom?"

"A pretty casket, wouldn't you say?" another voice said from my other side.

I twined my free arm with Maeve's without missing a beat, tugging her close. "That's not funny," I said. Sliding my gaze toward the girl, I saw her grinning from behind her maroon mask. Rubies encrusted her swan-like mask and matched the ruby clip that gathered her ornate braids into an elegant twist at the crown of her head. Her gown was covered in the same glamorous stones, flowing outward in satin fabric like a rose.

"What were you expecting?" she asked, not bothering to keep her voice low. "Boiling cauldrons? Bones and bodies hanging from walls?"

"No... I guess you're right."

No one would willingly give their souls without the exquisite glamour of the Hollow Ball and its finery, luxury, and beauty. It was a choice, after all.

Maskless and dressed in his finest regalia, Mayor Warren stepped forward and extended his arms. "Welcome, Chosen. We honor you tonight, not as we honor the Lords and Ladies of this Land, but as what you are: brave souls who will guide us into prosperity."

Ethel and Dorian grinned. West squeezed my hand.

With a grand sweep of his arm, the mayor gestured to the ornate doors across the foyer. A collective gasp wavered over the crowd as the doors opened and music surged from the ballroom inside. Glittering lights twinkled like stars, and marble floors glowed, gilded with rivers of molten gold.

My knees buckled at what waited at the far end of the ballroom.

Shadows.

Gone were the shrouds of darkness and mist. Instead, the Shadows wore beautiful gowns, robes, suits, and jewels—human-like, timeless, and devastatingly beautiful even from afar.

"I can't do this," I whispered to West. "I can't—"

"Easy," he said, his voice hushed and steady, opposite from the panic that screamed through me. "I'm right here, Hayley."

The invisible force that corralled us into the foyer pushed us into the ballroom, and in the distance, the doors of Artemis Hall closed to seal us into this fate.

The music surged again—strings, woodwinds, and instruments I'd never heard of—primal and haunting like the forest around us. Nobody dared to move for a moment—not Shadow, not Chosen. And then, as if a spell settled on the ballroom, bodies began to move.

Shadows and Chosen meet at the center of the room, and the Hollow Ball commences.

Shadows traded one partner for the other, hazy golden light swirling around each couple, shimmering from dancer to dancer. I follow a beautiful Shadow woman dressed in a raven's mask, her dress made of sleek black feathers that glinted gold and silver when she moved. As her partner dipped her, a heavy gasp expanded her chest, and the golden light twisted from the man who held her, resting on her lips.

It was the first taste of the night.

Her partner looked weary. To my horror, grey veins protruded from his pale skin.

"I have to get out of here," I gasped. But before I could say more—before West or Maeve could turn to my aid—a tug, deep in my chest.

He was easy to spot from across the room. White blond hair stood in a messy halo around his head, and he wore the same dark jacket and trousers as the others. But his mask set him apart: fashioned into a white skull covering all but his mouth.

And his eyes.

I recognized those eyes.

I saw them in a dream—right before I died. 

 * * *