Page 128 of Hateful Prince
Staring into the mirror, I did my best to tame my hair and get all the flyaways to behave. It was a lost cause. I was sweaty from dancing, but my hair looked like a cross between Magenta from Rocky Horror and the Bride of Frankenstein. It was sticking up all over. As I ran my palm over it a final time, the white-blonde strands tried to follow my hand, lifting as if pulled by invisible strings. It reminded me of that time my cult-school teacher taught me about static electricity by using a balloon and rubbing it on my head.
“This is wild,” I muttered.
The long waves were as smooth as they were going to get. Honestly, after all that dancing, I looked more like a mermaid than a screen starlet. That was fine by me. Cas liked mermaids, right? All I needed were a couple of willing jumbo starfish, and we could have ourselves a roleplay.
Giving myself a last cursory once-over, I had to admit, crazy hair aside, I was pleased with what I saw. My eyes were bright, my cheeks flushed, and there was no hiding my smile. I was happy. Go figure. I was stuck at an asylum during a black-tie event, surrounded by at least a hundred people I didn’t know. It had all the makings of a disaster. My very own trigger buffet. And yet... I didn’t feel any of the usual anxiety weighing down on me.
Was this personal growth? Was I getting better? Had Blackwood and all those sessions with Masterson actually been good for me? Or did it have more to do with the four hot guys railing me nightly—okay, and daily?
Guess the why didn’t matter, given the results.
Hands resting on the counter, I stared at myself in the mirror, really allowing time to take in the woman reflected in the glass. She looked back at me, big gray eyes set in a kind face, and for the first time, I saw her for who she had become. This was the adult I needed when I was a child. The person I would’ve felt the safest with. Trustworthy. Loyal. Loving. Gentle. I grew into her, and it made sense.
Eyes prickling with tears, my reflection beamed at me. “Way to go. I’m really proud of you. Doing the things. Not chickening out. Hanging out with real live people and some dead ones too. Falling in love with four hot men. Hell, letting them even get close enough for that to happen. You are a badass bitch. You’re on your way to becoming a productive member of society or something.”
Technically I was already productive, but I don’t think anyone could argue that I was a member of society with a straight face. I avoided that bitch like she wanted money. Or at least I had, before the choice had been taken away from me. And damn if I wasn’t thriving. Guess they—they being the doctors and Kiki—showed me.
Pulling a tube of lipstick from my cleavage, I leaned close to the mirror as I reapplied, but ice bloomed in my chest as a familiar and unwelcome buzzing began in my head.
“No. Nope. Not today,” I muttered, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.
I did not have evil bitch ghost on my bingo card for this evening.
Opening my eyes, I focused on my reflection as the mirror filled with frost, the icy coating fanning out from the corners like the fronds of a fern.
“Leave me alone. I’m too busy for your brand of bullshit.”
The harder I tried to keep my eyes on myself in the mirror, the harder it was. My attention was drawn to the black writhing mass manifesting just over my right shoulder.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
The bitch was back. And here I was without Hades or Asshole to help send her packing.
“Guess I’m just going to have to do it myself.”
Later, I would reflect on this moment as another tick in the ‘personal growth’ column. I wasn’t screaming, crying, or running. I was taking control. But in the moment, all I cared about was establishing dominance. She was not the boss of me. Kiki was. And also Hades. And sometimes me.
Spinning around, I faced the spirit that haunted my nightmares. My heart beat so hard I worried it would break through my chest, but I held fast to my strength. I’d had her in my grasp once before. I could do it again, but dammit, I didn’t know what to do with her after that.
She looked more human tonight, her eyes strangely familiar, hair still a bedraggled mess in front of her face, mouth open on a soundless scream. Until the most bone-chilling rasp escaped her.
“Dahlia.”
Jesus in the manger with the donkey, isn’t that what Kiki always said?
Goosebumps scattered down my neck and arms. It took everything in me not to bolt. I kept an arm raised in front of me, like it would somehow fend her off. “Listen, Linda. I don’t know why you are up my ass, but maybe let’s not tonight, okay? It’s kind of a big night and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m in formal wear.”
“Dahlia.”
Ooookay, so we weren’t going to listen. Cool. “What do you want from me? I’m not too inclined to help you when you keep leaving bruises on me and fucking terrorizing me.”
Her skeletal hand reached out for me slowly, like it was moving through freezing water, but just before she touched my skin, the loud roar of applause caused me to flick my gaze toward the door on instinct.
The ritual. It must have started.
The ghost must not have liked that she’d lost my attention—let’s just add narcissist to the list of red flags this bitch was carrying, shall we?—because an ear-splitting scream filled the room. On reflex, I covered my ears, but not before I heard glass shattering behind me. Projectile pieces of the mirror fell to the floor, a few shards slicing my bare arms.
“Ouch,” I hissed. The little nicks in my skin stung like a motherfucker. “What the hell was that for?” I snapped, but the ghost was gone.