“Felix,” I say, the sound of his name sweet as honey on my lips.

“Took you long enough,” he says, pulling me closer. His crooked smile is wickedly dark, and I can just make out the scent of the forest on him – midnight pine, icy moss, night-blooming flowers.

Mystical and arcane – a deep dark mystery that has me firmly in its grasp.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to detach myself from him, but finding that somehow, I’m unable to.

I have no control of my limbs, and my hand refuses to unclasp his; my feet glide gracefully over the grass in a perfect waltz.

“You really thought I’d miss tonight?” He asks.

“I told you not to come,” I say. “This is seriously risky. If anyone recognized you…”

“Relax,” he says. “That’s what the masks are for.”

Masks. Masks? PLURAL?!

“Don’t tell me…” I trail off, turning to where the rest of the masked group were dancing earlier.

The pirate with the black mask has light tan skin, and I can see messy black hair sticking out under his hat.

Ben sighting confirmed.

The guy in the angel costume, with his sun-kissed tan, deep blue eyes and dark blonde hair, is obviously Alastaire.

How could I have missed that? So obvious.

Even with the golden mask hiding his face, a crowd of girls is gathered around him, watching from the sidelines as he dances arm in arm with the girl in the pink dress. She’s still holding the bottle of what I suspect is rum, her cheeks flushed red as she clings to Alastaire, who seems to be trying to shove her away, to no avail.

The guy in a set of knight’s armor is harder to guess, but from his six foot something height, I’m assuming that’s Elliot. The way he’s coolly and calmly hanging back from the action, watching over the others from afar, is also pretty typical of him.

His face is hidden by a visor, but I’m certain it’s him.

The only one missing is…

“Lyall,” I whisper, then more loudly, “where’s Lyall?”

Felix laughs, twirling me around suddenly, before catching me and pulling me closer than before.

He’s very close – my body is pressed up against his, and he tightens his grip on my wrist, smiling as he ducks his head so that his lips brush gently against my ear.

“He’s here, with the others,” he murmurs into my ear. “Why? Don’t tell me you’ve got a crush?”

My face burns bright red, and I try once again to pull myself free, but my body won’t listen to me. Some invisible force guides me over the lawn like a ragdoll in Felix’s arms – defenseless, powerless.

Is he doing this? How could he be?

There’s something different about him tonight.

Something in his eyes.

I stare deep into those beautiful hazel irises, trying to see the secrets beneath.

Gazing at my reflection in his eyes, I see the answer written on my own face.

Sadness. He’s hiding his sadness.

“Felix…” I murmur, wanting to ask him a million questions, but not sure where to start.

Who are you, really? Was I hallucinating last night in the forest, or did you really transform into the dark prince from my dreams? Did you really kiss me, or was that a dream too?

I shake my head, trying to chase the thoughts away.

I need time to think.

I glance over to the other couples dancing around us, and I spot a familiar group of girls (freshmen, I think – I’ve seen them at school dressed in matching Fable t-shirts). They’re dressed as the vampire dancing girls from the music video for Thirst, off Fable’s second album. They’re loving the fact that Fable’s most popular song is playing right now, and they’re screaming out the lyrics to Déjà Vu at the tops of their lungs, almost drowning out the actual music.

….beautiful moment

I’m falling fast, I can't forget

Over and over, your story's rewritten

Unbreakable chain….

“Shut up Kayley!” One of the girls screams. “It’s my turn! You know I always sing Felix’s part! I’m Felix, I’m always Felix!”

Felix takes a glance in their direction, laughing quietly.

“If only they knew, right?” Felix whispers, smiling mischievously.

“Yeah, if only,” I say, imagining him taking his mask off, and the crowd of crazed fangirls swarming him right here on the lawns, ripping me and everyone else in their way to shreds like a pack of hungry wolves under the twinkling fairy lights.

“Anyway, doesn’t it feel weird dancing to your own music?” I ask.

“Weird?” He asks, his expression suddenly turning serious. “No. It feels perfect.”

His eyes are burning with secret fire, smoldering whispers of hazel flame, burning into my own pale green eyes.

“Ashling…” he begins.

“Sorry!” I hear a boy shout just a few feet from us.

From the looks of it, he tripped while carrying a plate of food from one of the stalls, and he knocked over some guy standing near the “dance floor” in the process.

It takes me a moment to recognize the man lying sprawled out on the grass.

Robert. Mrs. Leyton’s creepy boyfriend.

There’s some sort of sauce, or drink, all over his shirt. The boy is apologizing profusely, trying to mop up the mess with a paper towel while Mrs. Leyton helps Robert up.

Robert bats the boy away, smiling breezily.

He rises slowly with a groan, and finds his feet again.

His eyes find mine for just a split-second, but that’s enough.

The smile doesn’t change, but his eyes do.

In that moment, in his gaze, I see Robert’s true self.

Rage. Murder. Hatred.

His icy glare stabs at me like a knife, and I hear the echo of words whispered in my mind, a voice bleak and raspy as dry leaves rustling in the wind.

Don’t think you’ve escaped. You haven’t, and never will. You belong to us.

Mrs. Leyton grabs his hand, dragging him away swiftly, probably to the bathrooms to get cleaned up.

At that moment I realize I’ve stopped dancing, and I’m just standing there, watching the two of them walk away.

I hold my hands up to my face, turning them back and forth. I burst out laughing, realizing that I can control my own body again.

“They work!” I giggle, laughing hysterically with my hands held up to my face. “I can move them!”

I’m getting a few strange looks from people, but I couldn’t care less right now.

Being able to control my own limbs is awesome.

Felix grabs me from behind, wrapping me up suddenly in his arms.

His lips find my earlobe, and he does the last thing I expect – he kisses me softly on the sensitive spot just below my ear, where my jaw meets my neck.

“I didn’t take you for that sort of girl,” he whispers. “Bad girls need to be punished.”

I shiver, prying his arms away, hoping no one saw us.

The moment I free myself, he grabs me and spins me around back into his arms, pressing me against his chest, my face against his shoulder.

He leans down and whispers into my ear, “Who gave it to you? I know it wasn’t one of your girl squad. Was it that pervy player guy in your band?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“I’m not mad Ash,” he says, suddenly squeezing me tighter, although his voice had taken on a hard edge, dark and distant. “I get wanting to experiment and try new things. I do understand. But I don’t want you doing something like this again.”

“What do you–” I begin, before Felix cuts me off mid-sentence.

“That guy’s just after one thing,” he continues. “The same thing I’m after. But I wouldn’t stoop so low. I don’t need to.”

He stares me hungrily, pressing me harder against him.

“If I wasn’t here he’d probably have his way with you,” he says coldly. “As tempted as I am to do the same…” he pauses, dipping his head and kissing my collarbone, “…after this dance I’m taking you home to your parents. And you’re going to sleep this high or trip or whatever its is off and–”

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks.

“You think I’m STONED?!” I gasp. “Like, on drugs?”

Felix’s face creases in puzzlement.

“You’re not?” He says, sounding honestly bemused, studying me at arm’s length. “Then what was with you laughing at your hands like a maniac earlier?”

“That was…”

I stop mid-sentence, noticing that Felix’s grip has suddenly tightened, and his expression has gone hard. He’s looking at something, or someone, behind me.

I whip my head around, and come face to face with Alastaire.

He smiles that devilishly angelic smile of his, his bright blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

Despite the golden mask he’s wearing, I know it’s him.

He bows slightly, the resplendent white angel wings and alabaster robes sweeping the ground as he holds one arm behind his back, the other extended out to me.

“May I have this dance, Cupcake?” He asks me with a wink.

“I was wondering how long it would take you,” Felix says, suddenly, stepping between Alastaire and I. “Shouldn’t you be off banging some groupies or something?”

Alastaire clears his throat, and repeats his question.

“Cupcake, care to dance?” Alastaire’s voice is soft, gentle – warm and inviting.

“That’s not going to happen. She doesn’t want to–” Felix begins, but I cut him off.

“Actually, she does want to,” I say, pulling my wrist from Felix’s grasp.

I’m not some pretty little porcelain doll for you to do with as you please. I can make my own decisions, thank you very much.

As I step forward and take Alastaire’s hand, he sticks out his tongue for a second at Felix, which makes me feel sort of bad, but I’m not about to bossed around like that.

If there’s one way to make a girl want to do something, it’s telling her that she can’t.

I hear Felix mutter something like “fine, one dance” before Alastaire sweeps me literally off my feet – he lifts me into the air and let’s me fall backwards, before catching me a moment later, then pulls me up into his arms.

I can see Felix glaring at Alastaire from the sidelines, so I avert my gaze.

Awkward.

With one hand wrapped around my own, and one hand on my waist, Alastaire begins to move in some sort of formal dance – maybe the waltz or some other ballroom style.

I stumble for a second and lose my footing, falling forward into his chest.

“Sorry,” I say, hoping my blushing cheeks aren’t as bright red as they feel. “I don’t know the steps.”

I guess that having no control of my body and being manipulated like a puppet by who knows what mysterious force during the dance with Felix earlier was actually kinda handy. At least I got all the steps right. Go figure.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I say.

“You could stand on my feet,” Alastaire says.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” I say. “I’ll probably stand on my own feet, even. I’m a dance floor hazard.”

“No, I mean, only one of us needs to know the steps. You can stand on my feet,” Alastaire says, pointing down at his feet, clad in roman style gladiator leather sandals, which I assume is to match the white toga-ish thing he has going on with the angel costume.

“Trust me,” he says. “Hitch a ride. It’ll be fun.”

Luckily I decided at the last minute not to wear the ridiculously high stilettos Kitty bought me to go with the dress, and I opted instead for a much safer (aka easier to walk in) pair of ballet flats. My dress sweeps the ground, so my shoes are hidden anyway, and the last thing I wanted tonight was to worry about falling on my butt in front of everyone.

Still, I don’t want the underside of my shoes to touch Alastaire’s skin, so I slip my feet out of them, discarding them on the grass. I step onto Alastaire’s feet barefoot, clinging to his waist.

“Like this?” I ask, uncomfortably aware of his body pressed against mine.

“Yeah,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

He wraps his arms around my waist.

“Hold on tight, Cupcake,” he says, before stepping forward, then back and to the side, moving with the grace and poise of a practiced dancer, his step as light as a spirit of the air.

I feel like I’m floating – moving round and round, feet not touching the ground, as the soft golden fairy lights cast a warm glow on the pearly white feathers of his wings.

They look so real. Almost like he could really fly.

The music picks up a little and he moves faster, gliding through the night, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist.

I feel… free.

Something bubbles up inside of my me, something light and sparkling.

We move faster and faster, and I remember that feeling of being a kid on a swing, the joy of momentum, of freefalling – or of rolling down a hill, the thrill of motion, of movement, of letting go.

So I let go.

I begin to laugh, the way I haven’t laughed in ages, since the accident, since I was a child.

Alastaire bursts out laughing too, and we move round and round, my feet pressed on to his and he waltzes, and I wish I could freeze this moment, keep it forever.

I laugh so hard that I begin to cry, and I bury my face in his chest, feeling the hum of his own laughter as we sail through the air.

The music stops, and another song begins to play – some old experimental alt rock thing, impossible to dance to.

I stay with my face buried in the folds of Alastaire’s toga, fighting back the giggling fit that’s overtaken me.

I can feel the heat of his body through the thin white fabric, the steady beating of his heart, soft brush of feathered wings on the backs of my hands as I grip his waist.

We’ve stopped moving.

Alastaire’s still. Very still.

I look up, and I can see a clearness in those azure eyes I’d never noticed before – an openness and an earnestness at odds with Alastaire’s usually cool, flippant, devil-may-care demeanor.

He’s staring. Watching me. Intently.

“What?” I say. “Have I got something on my face? Apart from glitter I mean. That was Jamie’s idea, she did my makeup tonight, and she just loooves the stuff, although you’re not really in a position to judge, everyone’s seen that pic on your instagram where they painted you head to toe on gold glitter for some charity event, being a super famous celebrity must be hard, especially when you get glitter in your buttcrack to help Cure Lymphodemia by 2018, it’s so crazy, oh my god… glitter...”

I’m talking shit because I’m getting nervous, trying to fill the silence.

Dammit Alastaire, say something already! Stop staring! Just spit it out!

“Alasta-” I begin, but he lowers his mouth close to my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin, as he whispers:

“Ashling Shields, may I kiss you?”

W… WHAT?!!

I’m so taken aback by his question that I release my grip around his waist, and stumble back, catching myself just before I trip backwards over my own dress.

“That’s not funny,” I say, trying to look calm and collected, but knowing I probably look like I’m having a heart attack. “You shouldn’t joke like that.”

“I’m not joking,” he says, stepping forward and grasping my arms, his expression serious.

It takes me a moment to process what’s going on. What he’s actually saying.

I still don’t believe it.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” I say. “You’re… you’re the Alastaire Michael-Cassiel Kensington. One of the most famous people in the entire world. You could have any girl. Any woman. Why… why me?”

It suddenly occurs to me that the same could be asked of Felix.

Why me?

“I don’t want just any girl or any woman,” he says evenly. “I want you. And only you.”

In that instant he leans in, and before I can really grasp what’s happening, his lips meet mine.

There’s a moment of softness, and then… nothing.

Felix stands before me, in the space Alastaire stood just seconds ago.

Alastaire is sprawled out on the ground, half of his beautiful golden mask shattered, blood trickling from a cut on his cheek.

Time seems to freeze.

And then, it goes fast.

Too fast.

In all happens in a matter of seconds.

Alastaire leaps up onto his feet, and launches himself towards Felix.

Alastaire’s fist connects with the right side of Felix’s face.

Felix’s silver mask cracks and then splinters like a cloud of shivering glass, a spell broken, an enchantment undone.

Shards of silver fall to the ground, revealing Felix’s face.

His perfect, bewitchingly handsome face.

A face I’d know anywhere.

A face everyone around us would know anywhere.

“Oh my… OH MY GOD! ” A voice in the crowd screams out. “It’s Felix Lockhart!”

And with that, they descend upon us.