Of Phantasm and Fury

The Nefarious Nadia

26 The Nefarious Nadia

"...And it's left them smooth and calm..." -E.H. Hanson

Day 4 to Day 5

Front Stairwell, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington

"Because of this—" Abigael thrust a bottle of unknown substance into the wide-open mouth of her own compact purse, its contents diving, awash in an unearthly orange glow, swiftly resurfacing in Mel's own handbag with an upward, outward bounce, as all three women plus Jordan watched, dumbfounded.

"That—" he exclaimed mere moments later, breaking the tension, "was cool!"

The brunette grinned, Cheshire-style, surveying her smooth, manicured nails before meeting everyone's gaze. "So what's the plan...girlfriends?"

Macy's Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington

Several dresses lay scattered about the bed, each more ostentatious than the next. None of them seemed 'right,' thought Macy, as she hurriedly rifled through each one. Not for such a serious situation as this. Pink, blue, and red seemed somehow inappropriate. What if something happened to Harry? What if—

She covered her mouth to stifle a sob.

"Hey," Maggie touched her arm. "You ok?" Macy shook her head, blinking away tears.

"No. No, I'm not ok. This is not ok. What if—what if Harry—" she shook her head, unable to speak, as Maggie rubbed her back sympathetically.

"He won't. He's got us—"

"But what if—" her eyes belied the fear within.

"Mace, you're my sister and I love you, but don't go there."

"Ok," Macy drew a slow inhale, followed by a deep exhale. "It's also that—none of these dresses do it for me..." she trailed off, her hand stroking the swath of multicolored silken fabric, each sultrier than the next. "I need something more..." she searched for the word—alluring? Dangerous? Death-defying?

"Bond girl?" offered Maggie, as her older sister's lips turned upward, ever-so-slightly.

"Exactly."

Several more minutes passed, in which more dresses joined the near-toppling pile. "How about this?" Maggie reached beneath, displaying an ebony-hued sleeveless fitted ballgown, its inch-width straps studded with metal—sheer badassery.

"Perfect," breathed Macy, as she walked toward the mirror, angling her profile, the dress draped across her front, still on its hanger. Spotting the excess fabric sweeping across the floor, the gown's stylish train, her face fell. "It's too long—"

"Not if you do this—" Maggie reached for the tiniest pinch of glamour powder, dabbing the sloping fabric, causing a tiny burst of glittering smoke. As the air cleared the next instant, Macy realized the material was neatly pinned, or somehow, attached—in an elegant dark cinched ruffle from behind.

"Wow, Mags," breathed Macy, turning this way and that, moving carefully as to not trip. "How did you—"

"French bustle, aka wedding fashion 101," she answered. "Even though Parker didn't pan out, I picked up some fashion tricks along the way. For when the couple dances, so the bride doesn't trip—"

Macy nodded. Makes sense. "Seems practical..." she paused, surveying her neckline, glancing at another one of Maggie's glamour vials, labeled "Goth Chic." "Uh, can I borrow that?" She envisioned cubic jewelry made of grey polished hematite, a stone known for healing properties. They needed all the help they could get, after all—