It might be inslightlybad taste, all things considered, but the only person who could possibly get the “joke” likely wouldn’t even be here.
A twisted, possibly perverse part of me hadn’t been able to resist.
I hadn’t dreamed about him again. Thankfully.
It probably didn’t hurt that I’d asked Jolie to teach me a particularly powerful sleeping spell that was supposed to send me too deep to maintain much of a dream space. I couldn’t abuse the spell of course, but for now, it would hopefully keep me from “summoning” Bones again, at least until my brain got past whatever this was.
Strangemore leaned closer, and wrapped an arm lightly around my waist. “Damn, Shadow,” he breathed, softer. “Youarekidding, right? You look gorgeous. You’ve painted a target on my back. Every guy in here wants me dead.”
“Honestly,” I muttered, flushing.
I recrossed my arms.
I uncrossed them a second later, realizing the pose probably wasn’t helping my costume any. I glanced down at the hemp skirt that hung low on my hips, and its jeweled belt, adjusting both a small amount with my fingers. Above the belt, a gold, shoulder-less bodice cinched around my torso like a corset made of soft metal. Rings of gold circled my thighs in two places above the gold wrappings of my knee-high, golden sandals. I wore more gold bands on my arms, and a large, Egyptian-style necklace that covered most of my upper chest.
I also wore gold strand earrings decorated with precious stones I’d found in a different store, each carved like the head of an Egyptian cat.
Compared to a lot of outfits I’d seen, it was exceedingly tame.
Still, I supposed I was showing a lot of leg, given the slits went up to my hips, and my cleavage was still visible, even with the heavy gold and black necklace. On my head, I wore an eerily realistic-looking panther face attached to a circular headdress with a gold ball symbolizing the sun. My eyes were painted Egyptian-style, heavy with black kohl and colors that matched the necklace. Miranda decorated my cheeks with gold make-up and glitter, and I carried an ankh staff in one hand.
I was Bastet.
Well, sort of. I was B’Tasia, the Magique version.
On the plus side, there was a good chance no one would recognize me, at least not right off. My eyes were still recognizably mine, but even those looked pretty different with the heavy makeup and deep contouring Miranda had done. My hair was completely different, and I doubted anyone had given much thought to what my thighs looked like.
How could this possibly be seen as anything but tame?
I glanced up at Graham again, who, rather unfortunately, had come in a less conspicuous costume, at least from what I could gather from reactions. Still, he hadn’t copped out by only getting half-dressed up, either.
He’d come as his favorite Skyhunt player, he explained, but not from the current time period, from the distant past. That was back when they used to play it with swords, and players actually died, and generally fought as slaves to amuse the gods and royals.
To conform to the time period, he changed his brown and blond-streaked hair to a dark red mohawk he wore down his back. He wore Viking-like furs, and white war-paint on his neck and naked chest. His costume also included fur-lined boots, and a massive broadsword he wore strapped to his back. He tied a long hunting knife to his leg, just above the knee-high boots.
Still, his face looked mostly the same.
I definitely saw more people staring at me than at him.
Maybe they were trying to figure out who I was?
“I’ll get us drinks,” Graham suggested. “You want to come with me?”
“No,” I said, a little too quickly. “No, that’s okay.”
I wasn’t ready to be trotted around the cavernous hall, even on Strangemore’s arm. I’d rather stick to the shadows by the wall where I was, at least until I’d relaxed. A drink with just me and Graham sounded like an excellent way to do that.
One drink, anyway. Maybe two, depending on how strong they were.
“I want to watch the dancing,” I explained. “It’s different than where I’m from.”
That much was definitely true.
The band was playing a thumping, dense, blood-throbbing beat, coupled with intense strings and high, discordant horns that reminded me of bagpipes. The off-kilter melody coupled with that pounding vibration, seemed to go up through the floor and into my legs, bones, and heart. Couples twirled around rhythmically, the men gripping the hands of their dates with both of their own and swinging them with a decent amount of muscle. It reminded me of old folk dances back home. There was something tribal about it, and certainly less “refined” than the formal dancing I’d learned in boarding school.
It definitely worked on my body and magic differently.
“Any requests on the drink?” Graham asked. “Alcoholic? Non-alcoholic?”
