"More sparkles," Rosalyn demanded, jabbing her bejeweled finger at my already blindingly glittering head. "This is her big day. I want her to shine!" The faceless servants did as she commanded, adding more diamond-studded pins to the voluminous ringlets of my hair.

I stared at myself in her accursed mirror. For once, it had chosen to act like a respectable mirror and reflect the room. It didn't seem all that pleased by it though. I could feel a rumble in the air, like a dog's aggressive snarling. It sent shivers of fear through my bones. "I'm confused," I muttered, tugging at the off-shoulder sleeves, trying to make it a bit more modest. "Is this a club initiation or a masquerade?" The gown she'd had the servants stitch me into was an elaborate ballgown of sparkling silk and taffeta. It was a dark purple-blue with silver and gold stars shining in it. It was like she'd torn a piece of the night sky from the heavens and wrapped it around me. Sitting on a writing desk nearby, was my mask for the evening. A silver, heavily jeweled thing with a crescent moon curling along the brow.

Rosalyn swatted my hands away and pushed the sleeves back down. I was already blushing. My chest felt dreadfully exposed. I'd never worn anything that showed so much flesh. "The other members do so love to be mysterious." She smirked at me, her purple painted lips pulling upwards in one corner. "Even I haven't seen all of them unmasked." She was wearing a garish peacock costume, her gown made of strange fabric that shifted from emerald green to purple and all the shades between depending on how she moved. Her train was a peacock's tail and more feathers decorated her pale curls and mask. "Besides, who would turn down a perfect opportunity for a party?" She giggled into my ear as I frowned at my reflection.

The costume was dazzling, but the girl beneath, to me, seemed to dull as if she were fading from existence, a moon hidden behind storm clouds. Her lips were curved downward solemnly, her eyes darkened with fatigue, worry, regret. Yes, a great deal of regret.

I had spent the whole day before practicing the spells that I would be expected to cast this evening surrounded by my peers. The casting, the calling upon that old ingrained knowledge was frighteningly easy for me. It came to me like breath, without pause or thought. That night, I had laid awake again, listening to Christopher's shuffling footsteps as he paced outside my door. He didn't speak to me again, didn't come so close to the door as before. Even when I called to him, when I begged him to stay and talk, he remained quiet and fled back to the third floor as if the devil himself were chasing him.

Now, as I awaited the start of my initiation into the mysterious group of black magicians my own family had founded, I listened to the faint music drifting up from floor below, set my mask into place and glared into that mirror at the reflection of the woman behind me. How badly I regretted that I didn't have the nerve to smash the mirror and end her.

"Ready?" She asked, squeezing my bare shoulders.

"I suppose," I muttered. The mirror blinked out, returning to its dark emptiness. I could feel it sigh with relief. The last image I saw within it was Ashton, impeccably dressed in a crisp black and white suit and a demon's snarling face masking his own devilish grin, standing in the doorway behind me. Absurd, I thought, to wear a mask atop another mask.

"You look marvelous." Ashton complimented me. I could feel his eyes scour every piece of bare skin. My belly twisted in disgust. He took my hand within a black glove and kissed my pale fingers. "Pretty as a picture." His dark eyes smiled through the demon's eye sockets. He righted himself and smoothed down his jacket, making sure everything was in its place. "Everyone is here, waiting for you, My Dear. They're all excited to meet the Isabel Craft."

"Then let's not keep them waiting a moment longer." I...no...this other Isabel I didn't know answered, her voice completely foreign to my ears. She strode towards the door with her head held high, her shoulders squared and did not even flinch when Ashton touched the small of her back with a gloved hand guiding her towards the door. All while I, trapped within my numb body, screamed and screamed.

This other me, I had become well acquainted with over the course of the past few days. She was the one who could burn away the shadows without feeling, the one who called upon magic as if she and it were old dear friends. She was the horror that they would mold me into, the one that would live the rest of my life once I discarded my self and fed it to the spirit of the mirror. Isabel Craft, the enchantress, sorceress, witch, whatever she chose to call herself. Heir to an empire of curses and death.

The world exploded with sounds and colors as we descended down the staircase. A band of shadows played a lovely, flowing tune while men and woman clad in elaborate costumes whirled around the dining room. The table and all other furnishings had been removed to turn it into a ballroom. Shadowy servants, as well as those of flesh and blood, milled about the room in stark black and white uniforms. The shadows had their blank white faces to act as masks. The humans wore simple black ones. Though they hid their faces, I could see a despair in their eyes. A lack of hope I knew quite well. Each and every one of them was cursed.

Somewhere among them, I knew Christopher would be working. My eyes scanned the room for him, knowing and hoping that he was given a reprieve from his curse and would appear as he should with a human man's face.

Just as we reached the bottom step, the music ceased and Rosalyn took the floor. "Ladies and Gentlemen," She began with a strong, loud voice that echoed through the house. At the sound of her voice, the dancers stopped cold and every masked face turned towards us. "May I present our guest of honor, my niece, Isabel Craft." Taking my hand she guided me out further onto the floor, into that menagerie. So many faces. Those of hag, wolf, fox, bird and demon grinned at me. They applauded, even the clapping of their hands in sync with each other. They welcomed me, complimented my gown, and glared at me as if they might like to see what my blood tasted like. There was nothing kind or friendly in their eyes or smiles, the only parts of their faces that were not hidden behind their masks. All of their eyes were black. Every smile was that of a snarling animal.

This was The Smoke and Mirrors Club.

Pleasantries spewed from my lips. I returned their smiles, laughed at their jokes and made small talk until I went deaf to my own voice. I was almost grateful when Ashton's breath tickled my ear. "Let's dance, shall we?" Ashton whispered, taking my hand. He didn't wait for my answer before pulling out into the middle of the room. The band began playing again and the other club members returned to enjoying the party. Some joined us on the dance floor while others were content to chat, partake in the drinks and horderves and smoke cigars.

We swept across the polished floor, each step perfectly timed and performed. Always the pinnacle of refinement, Ashton was a marvelous dancer. I, however, was not. I trampled on his toes more often than the floor, but he didn't complain. He was far too busy grinning at me in that way that turned my blood to stone in my veins. Through the haze of gray smoke, the masks of the guests faded in and out as they danced closer and drifted away. Their faces, masked by those of beasts and devils, took form from the smoke, their black eyes on me, gleaming hungrily...beckoningly.

Ashton's most of all.

His hands were burning hot, both the one clasping my hand and the one at my spine seared against my own flesh. His black eyes flashed, hinting at the creature beneath his skin, the one who's face melded perfectly with that of his second mask. "So what do you think of our little order?" He asked, his voice low, soft. "Intriguing isn't it?"

I looked past him to the other dancers and those watching at the sidelines. All eyes were on us, on me, watching to see what I would do. If I would join them or run. "These people are...frightening to me," I replied. It was the truth. For I could feel their power, their link to magic and the spirit which gave it just as surely as my own tether to it. Only mine was but a thread. Theirs was a chain made of steel.

"They are you. What you will be very soon." He was nearly purring in my ear. "When you make your deal with the spirit of the mirror." I stiffened against him and he smiled. His blue-black hair and neatly trimmed beard gleamed like raven feathers in the light of the chandelier above us. "Still hesitant are we?" He asked. "I suggest you don't forget the bargain you have already made. The deal was that you would join our group in exchange for Thorn's return." His voice pitched to a breathy snarl that sent goose-flesh down my spine. "Refuse the spirit, and I can guarantee that we'll take him from you again, this time much less swiftly and far more painfully. And don't think my affections for you will stop me from making you watch, Dear Wife."

I shoved myself free of him. He made no attempt to hold me in place. As I fled into the crowd, I looked back over my shoulder only once to see him standing right where I left him, his hands in his pockets and a grin stretching from ear to ear, showing gleaming sharp teeth. His rumbling chuckle chased me into the smoke.

All around me faces swirled, were born and faded. Cackling filled my ears just as smoke choked my lungs. These people. They were animals just like those whose faces they wore. In corners and even out in the open men and women kissed and touched each other brazenly, not caring who saw. They smiled wolf's smiles and laughed at the fear twisting my features as I ran through the throng. What was The Smoke and Mirror Club? What in God's name had I agreed to?"

"Where are you running off to?" A man grasped me by the elbow, tugging me to a stop. I whirled around, my hand raising on instinct to send fire into his face. He caught it with another hand at my wrist and I felt my call to magic fade into a whimper. The man was tall and thinly framed. He was dressed in all black and over his face was that of a wolf. Golden eyes, not the usual black, burned from within.

"Let go of me." I demanded, shaking loose.

He let go immediately and held up his black gloved hands. "Forgive me. I meant no offense, Miss Craft." There was a sort of teasing tone to his velvet voice. A playfulness to the curve of his mouth beneath the wolf's snarling muzzle. "You seemed upset is all. Did Ashton do something untoward?" He tucked his hands into his pockets, his figure slouching in a very relaxed posture that didn't belong to his fine clothes or the opulence of the party. "Would you like me to give him a good walloping?"

"That won't be necessary, Mr.?"

He tisked, wagging his finger. "We don't give our names out to nonmembers. This might be your initiation, but you haven't dealt with the devil yet. For now, you may call me, Mr. Wolf." He said, gesturing to all of himself. As we spoke, a red-haired servant passed by holding a tray of wine glasses. He snatched up two glasses. "Letting me thirst to death are you?" He murmured and gave the girl a flirtatious wink when she turned to look at him. The girl's face paled then turned the same color as her hair. She ducked away, hurrying her pace. My eyes followed her, noting how she kept looking back at him as if she were making sure he wasn't chasing after her, perhaps partly hoping he was.

"Friend of yours?" I asked.

"Oh, we are very friendly." Mr. Wolf chuckled, still watching her leave. He sipped from his wine glass and handed me the other. I didn't dare drink any of it. "So what did my old friend, Ashton, do? Did he try to marry you? Lock you in a closet? Cut you open? All of the above?"

"One out of the three, so far," I replied. "We are, supposedly, engaged."

He laughed so hard he nearly choked on his wine. "Let's not go three for three then." He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, not caring if it left a stain on his fine clothes. His voice was pleasant but there was a roughness to his accent that suggested he had not been born in the lap of luxury. "I highly suggest you end your engagement. The girls he marries rarely live past a year." He warned. "And should he ever tell you about the key, cut his throat before he cuts yours." He downed the rest of his glass and set it on one of the shadow servants' trays as they passed us by. I did the same, not wanting to risk a sip.

"I thought he was your friend?" I asked, recalling the night Christopher had drunkenly spoken of a key, among other things.

"Friend? No. You'll find no friends of Ashton's here. It is one thing to have an appreciation for the darker arts. It is quite another to give birth to whatever the hell he is."

My stomach twisted, an emotion like mortal dread sweeping through my body. "You...don't think he's human? Do you?"

"I know he's not. We all do." Mr. Wolf said, golden eyes flicking towards where Ashton was now dancing again with an older woman in a dress that made her look like a tiered cake. "He was fathered by the bloody devil himself." He gestured towards a large mirror sitting near the center of the room, its face dark despite the flurry of activity around it. I backed away from him, knowing that my face must have paled. My eyes felt like they might fall out of my head as they bounced between Mr. Wolf and Ashton. "You can't mean..."

Mr. Wolf's mouth pulled up on one side peeling his lips from his teeth in a sly crooked grin. "Old Rosalyn gave the spirit a lot more than souls in exchange for power."

I felt sick to my stomach. The thought of that creature and Rosalyn together...

Mr. Wolf shrugged, tilting his head against his shoulder as he snickered at my horrified expression. "Not as innocent as you appear, are you, Sunshine? You should see the look on your face. What dirty thoughts must be running about in that head of yours." A lock of wavy dark brown hair fell over the brow of his mask. He stepped a little closer to me. My nose filled with the scent of him, of cigar smoke and tree sap. A burning forest. " I was only joking. He may not be its child per-say, but rather a piece of it. I'm not sure. No one but Rosalyn is." His voice deepened to a breathy pant against my skin as he leaned in to whisper in my ear, his laugh like a caress down the slope of my back. "There's no need to blush like that. Whatever was done to make him, I doubt it was very romantic." I felt my skin flush hot, magic worming its way into my gut, similarly to what Ashton had tried to do when we first met, but somehow stronger. My legs shook beneath my skirts. I suppressed the urge to lean into him, to press my lips to the curve of his jaw.

"Stop," I growled. I called upon my magic, tried to push his away. His power pressed against mine struggled with it. His smile grew, his golden eyes flashing like an animal's at night. I could feel him reaching, seeping past my defenses to rake dark claws through my mind. I was nothing, nothing at all compared to him. "Oh," He gasped then purred, his lips peeling away from white teeth, sharp canines showing. "Hello, Thorn." A large white-gloved hand was wrapped around his throat, squeezing just hard enough that his voice sounded off.

His power released me at once. It rushed away, leaving me as chilled as a strong northern wind. I blinked back to my senses with panting breaths. I stared at the hand lightly choking Mr. Wolf for a long moment before my gaze finally slid towards its owner at the large masked man with silver eyes and golden hair.

"That's quite enough," Christopher growled, baring his teeth as if the lion's sharp teeth were still visible, his fingers digging into Mr. Wolf's tanned skin. "I suggest you take your hunt elsewhere."

"So sorry, Bloke. Had no idea you'd called dibs already." Mr. Wolf's smile became more of a baring of teeth as golden animalistic eyes met silver. His accent too had changed, becoming more cockney than anything. "Tell me, does Rosalyn know you kissed her son's new bride?" Christopher's eyes flicked towards me. His grip on Mr. Wolf's throat tightened. "Careful," Mr. Wolf warned me, "he wants to do a lot more than kiss you."

"Shut up." Christopher snarled. He shoved Mr. Wolf away, releasing him. "Get out of here before I tell Rosalyn what you were up to."

"Don't you worry," Mr. Wolf said, smoothing out his suit. "I was only teasing her. There's far easier prey around." He winked at me and stalked away off in the direction the red-haired girl had gone.

"Did he hurt you?" Christopher asked. The moment Mr. Wolf was gone, he clasped my face between his palms, looking into my eyes for signs of pain, physical or otherwise. I stared at his face, unable to tear my gaze away. His face was covered just like all of the servants in a black mask that hid his features from his brow to his nose. Only his lips and jaw were visible. He looked very much like he had in my nightmares, his blond hair cut and swept back from his brow, his rounded, strong jaw, and thin lips. Last time he'd been given a reprieve, he seemed to have had a beard, but now he was cleanly shaven. His body hadn't changed. He was still a very large man, built solidly from working in the garden. I still felt tiny compared to him.

"Yes," I replied, swallowing down my racing heart. I wasn't sure if it was due to my struggle with Mr. Wolf or for another reason entirely. "Who was that man?"

Christopher's eyes narrowed slightly. "Trouble." He released my face and folded his arms over his chest. "As much as I hate to say this, you'd best stay close to Rosalyn. You don't want to be alone with any one of these people." His silver eyes passed over me, taking in the diamonds studding my hair, the midnight blue gown that swallowed me up in its stars. "You look..." He fumbled for words. The skin at his cheeks where the black mask ended turned slightly pink through his tan. "Pretty." He finally finished and grit his teeth at the sound of his own voice.

"Thank you." I laughed lightly. Unable to help myself, I reached for his face, wanting to know what he felt like; if I'd feel human skin or a lion's fur. When he'd kissed me that night, I'd felt only human lips. Warm and soft. My fingers had only grazed his jaw when he flinched, jumping back from me as if I'd touched him with hot pokers. He seized my wrist, pulling my hand away and keeping it at bay. "Don't." He said, releasing me.

"I want to see what you look like." I pressed, reaching for his mask.

He took a step back from me, holding up his hands at his chest to fend me off. "I'm sorry. I can't." Even as he said it, he seemed conflicted. His eyes shifted from my face to the floor in thought. "I fear you'd be terribly disappointed anyway." His lips tugged into a broken smile. I recognized this expression, could picture the lion's face doing the same, showing a few sharp teeth.

I wrapped my arms around myself, looking away from him as my face warmed. "I don't think I'd be disappointed at all," I said, smiling to myself. "You have a perfectly fine face from what I can see."

"At least I have a handsome jaw." He huffed a chuckle, scratching his chin.

He did. A handsome mouth too. I liked the shape of it and the expressions it made that were so wholly Christopher. When I had imagined meeting him in human form, face to face, I had feared that he would still feel like a stranger and even though he was still masked, I didn't have that feeling at all. He was still him. All shy awkwardness and all.

"I heard you outside my room last night," I said. He stiffened and his smile faded, his lips setting into a pinched, pained expression I also recognized. "Why didn't you stop to speak to me?" I fiddled with the diamond necklace at my throat as I waited for his answer.

He raked his hand through his hair, slicking it back down. His hand stalled at the back of his neck. He wouldn't look at me. "There's nothing left to say." He said, nearly whispering.

I blinked at him, my stomach twisting into knots. "Are you angry with me?" For saying that I loved him and then backtracking. Even now, I couldn't say how I really felt about him, if I loved him as a friend, a brother, or more, much more. I was so confused by all of it. I wished I hadn't blurted out those words. Not without knowing what it meant.

"No." He replied, lowering his head a little. "Not at all. It's just that I've spoken my peace. I've told you how I feel and you have expressed something very different. I love you." He breathed between us. For a moment, it felt as if we were alone in the crowded room. His face was the only one I could see. "I want nothing more in this life than to be your husband, but if friendship is the only love you feel for me, then that is how it will be. No other words need be said." His eyes finally lifted to mine, held my gaze for longer than a second. I felt him take my hand, squeeze it gently. I wished he was not wearing gloves, that I could feel his calloused fingers, his scarred palms. "Just know that whatever happens, I will always cherish you as my friend and that this past year has been the best of my entire life."

I felt something in me shatter. "Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye?" I asked, tears dripping down my cheek beneath the mask.

He smiled, broadly. His smile was prettier than I could have ever imagined. "Perhaps I am." He leaned down and kissed my cheek. As his lips parted from my skin, he whispered to me. "The servants passed me a message last night. Do not worry. Everything will be all right."

"Isabel!" Rosalyn's shrill voice made us jump apart "Oh, Isabel, Darling! It's time to get the festivities underway!" She waved her hand around above her head, beckoning me towards the large mirror in the middle of the room.

"Go," Christopher whispered, pushing against my spine to urge me towards Rosalyn.

I stared back at him, confusion pinching my features. "Wait, what are you-" I began.

"Everything. All this mess. Will right itself, Isabel. At least for you. Now go to the mirror."

"But,"

He gave my hand one final squeeze. "Trust me." He breathed, kissed my fingers, and let me go.

When he let go of my hand, he stepped away, ducking into the crowd and disappearing into the haze. I, completely confused as to what he had meant, staggered towards the mirror where Rosalyn and Ashton waited.

"Now, we can, at last, begin the initiation." Rosalyn cooed, taking my hand as she helped me to kneel before the mirror in my cumbersome skirts.

Before the mirror were six red candles each of varying heights and widths. In the middle was a bowl and a silver knife, newly sharpened. I first took off my mask, then, discarding it beside me, began the ritual by lighting the candles with a conjured flame. "Mirror, Mirror, on the wall," I began the spell that would call the spirit forth to claim me. I coughed, my lungs suddenly protesting against the assault of smoke. The candles wreaked of burning flesh. As I pulled my hand away from my mouth I noticed the black spittle left behind. "Listen now. Head my call." The blank mirror began to flicker, going white then black in rapid succession. I could see something begin to take form, a white blob that might soon become a face. Taking up the silver knife, I held the sharp edge against my palm. For Christopher. I had to do this for Christopher. Only once I grasped power could I ever hope to free us. Gritting my teeth, drew a red line of blood there, so deep blood poured out easily filling the bowl. "Into your hands, I commit my s-"

I stopped. "No." I laid the knife down, let the bowl tip and spill, snuffing out one of the smaller candles.

"What are you doing?!" Rosalyn snarled, fisting her hand in my hair and jerking my head back. "Finish the ritual! Finish it now, or Thorn dies!"

"No," I repeated, tears both of pain and regret and fear wetting my face. "I won't. I won't become like you. I refuse." This was what he'd meant, wasn't it? That there was another way? That I didn't have to sell my soul to save him? I prayed I was right. I prayed and I prayed I was right.

There was a snickering among the crowd, the other members of The Smoke and Mirrors Club laughing at Rosalyn's failure to entice me into joining. At the sound something beneath Rosalyn's skin seemed to stir, her features turning ugly and cruel. "Then you've no one to blame but yourself for all the pain he will endure." She spat.

Suddenly, the flickering stopped. Everything stopped. Everyone went quiet. Still. The whole mirror turned a deep blue that shifted and swirled like...like ocean waters.

"What's happening?" Rosalyn asked no one, gawking at the mirror as fish swam by. "What did you do?" She demanded.

Ashton, his hands still in his pockets, took a few wary steps away from the mirror. "I don't think she's doing it at all." There was a smile on his face, a sinister, triumphant sort of smile as a pair of hands came through the mirror. "It's been a while, cousin." He greeted as man passed from one side of the mirror into ours.

There standing before me, his hair and beard long and bedraggled, his clothing worn to shreds was my father.

Before I even had time to think of what, who, I was looking at, a wave of water rushed from the mirror. It passed over me, leaving me in a protective bubble while it swept Rosalyn and Ashton away. Most of the onlookers fled, disappearing into clouds of black smoke before the water could touch them.

My father rushed forward, looping one arm around my waist and hoisting me towards the mirror. "Thank God I made it in time." He sighed with relief as he held me.

My wide-open eyes found Christopher standing off to the side, just watching us. "Christopher!" I reached for him. "Wait, Papa!" I slapped at his arm. "We have to take him with us! I can't leave him behind!"

My father spared Christopher only a glance, his brown eyes strangely darker than I remembered. "I'm sorry. We can't help him. We have to leave." He touched his free hand to the mirror, ignoring my struggling to get free. "Mirror Mirror on the wall," He was starting an incantation. My father, who I'd been told had never made a deal with the mirror spirit, was calling upon it now. I felt my stomach twist in absolute dread. "Christopher!" I screamed, again reaching for him.

"Go, Isabel!" Christopher called back over the rush of the waters still sweeping through Rosalyn's mansion. He smiled at me, that warm blinding smile. There were tears in his eyes. "Be happy."

"I bid the winds, come carry me." Father finished the spell. He stepped back through the mirror, carrying me away before my scream had finished fading.