Page 22 of My Faire Lady

And I have to admit, Frankie was right. This suits me far better than the concoction I tore from my closet this morning.

Nesbit appears from behind my bedroom door and chirps, feathers ruffling as if she approves of the outfit.

I smile at her in the reflection. “Should I wear my hair down?”

She jumps onto the back of the couch and releases a string of chirps before dragging her tongue down the length of her feathers.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say, pulling the elastic from my braid.

I unwind the strands and shake them out, combing my fingers through my hair. I’ve never particularly cared about my appearance. In its own way, magic itself lends a certain amount of confidence, but for the first time, a nervous knot twists in my stomach.

I want to impress her.

I tuck my hair behind my ears, but it exposes the white scar my mother gifted me when I was an infant. Pursing my lips, I shake my hair back over it. I’m proud of it, but the sight pinches something in my chest. Unlike witches, humans aren’t particularly known to enjoy the sight of scars.

The clock ticks closer to the hour, and I give myself a final scan. Nesbit presses her head against my spine and I turn, lowering to her level as I scratch under her chin.

“You look lovely today, too, Nes.”

She purrs—a deep rumble from her throat, and I give her a final pat before leaving my living quarters.

I pass through the disguised entrance and smile as the fresh morning air weaves through my hair. In the last week, I’ve hardly left the tower, too busy pouring over spell books and ancient tomes. In the distance, Shadow whinnies from the stables, and the smell of smoked meat fills the air.

The mornings before the faire opens have always been my favorite. There’s a certain anticipation that floods my body with electricity. But this year, it has dulled. Perhaps the excitement is draining with the magic, or it’s the low turnout and the subsequent lack of funds.

A horn blows, signaling the opening and alerting any roaming creatures to return to the spaces glamoured from humans. I stride in the direction of the bar, passing the dungeon as one of the red-eyed vampires lingers in the shadows, his pale hands peeling open the metal gates.

With each step closer to the bar, my pulse heightens, climbing into the roof of my mouth. Lottie never responded after I sent that text in the middle of the night, and I hate that I checked my phone incessantly over the past week, hoping I’d hear back from her.

I told her I’d make it up to her, but a pinprick gnaws at my side. What if she doesn’t want me to?

What if she doesn’t even show up?

Frankie’s voice floats through the air, riding on wisps of wind. My steps slow as I approach the back entrance of the bar, and I wring my hands against my corset as I pause.

“You haven’t dated anyone in three years?” Frankie says, voice carrying from the front.

“Dating is a little difficult when you’re a caregiver,” Lottie says. There’s a tap of metal, as if she’s arranging the tankards in a row. “And the breakup was messy. I haven’t talked to her since.”

I shouldn’t eavesdrop, yet I hold my breath and inch closer to the front of the building, my footsteps silent despite my racing pulse. If Boden were here, he’d sense me in a heartbeat, but Frankie doesn’t have that ability.

“And what about Scarlet?” she says.

I freeze.

“What about her?” Lottie says.

“Oh, please. I’ve seen the way you look at her.” A chuckle. “Or, I should say, the way you try not to look at her. Do you have feelings for her?”

My heart stalls, and I lean closer, every muscle in my body taut.

There’s a long pause, then a simple, “No.”

I teeter against the wooden structure. It’s as if talons have burrowed into my core, twisting the organs in its grip. My chest squeezes, and suddenly the clothes hanging from my body are a joke.

This is why she didn’t respond to my message. I made her uncomfortable.

A lump rises in my throat, but I swallow it down and slide through the back door. It’s a job for her—a way to enter the contest she so badly wants to win. And I need the labor. It’s a mutually beneficial partnership, nothing else.