Being a ginger and suffering the inane “Gingers have no
souls” jokes was only slightly annoying growing up. Now, it seemed the universe
had a warped sense of humor, or at the very least was sympathetic to our
plight. During the Time of Darkness, it was discovered only humans with red
hair pigments were inedible. Go figure? I never seemed to have that problem
with any of my old boyfriends, may they rest in peace (or pieces, depending).
I had been “elected” from my district to attend the Summoning
Conference, but in reality, it was more like drawing the short straw. I guess
my lack of filter had ruffled a few more feathers than I realized. Sitting in
the back of the limo, my companions seemed a bit more nervous than I was. The
silence was thick with tension. The man to my right kept humming, a grating
tuneless sound that made me want to backhand him. The woman to my left kept
fidgeting with the bag in her lap. I sighed, closed my eyes and leaned my head
back, trying to breathe deep and relax.
The council would be awaiting our arrival. Many days of preparation
had been spent, not just feeding me information the district elders thought I
may need, but on my appearance. My long unruly hair was tightly bound and secured,
covered by a small hat with a netted veil. It irritatingly tickled the bridge
of my nose and I had to fight the constant urge not to scratch at it. I loved
the black pheasant shirt that rested just off my shoulders with the long
flowing skirt, though. The emerald steel-boned corset that I was forced to wear
over it, however, I was not a fan of. And the make-up; good lord, I doubt I’d
ever worn quite so much. I felt like a Thanksgiving turkey ready for the table,
which, under the circumstances, wasn't exactly the best analogy.
The car came to a sudden halt, and I lifted my head trying
to see out the blackened windows. The fidgeter next to me let out a small squeal
when the door was opened abruptly. She was frozen in place and no one else
seemed willing to say anything or move. I sighed and grabbed my own bag off the
floor, wasting no time climbing unceremoniously over her to exit the interior, meeting the dark night outside. I took a deep breath and
looked around. We were parked in front of an impressive Gothic structure
and I smirked.
“Something amusing?”
I slowly turned my head at the sound of the baritone voice.
Aside from the fact that he was clearly dead, he was breathtakingly beautiful,
spoke with a lovely English accent and was big. Very big.
I cocked an eyebrow, which only made the veil shift and
tickle my nose again. I stuck out my lower lip, blowing at the offending shear material;
it fluttered slightly, before settling back in place, which made me even more
annoyed. Me and annoyed don’t usually end well.
“A counsel of the undead, holding their Summoning Conference
in a Gothic cathedral? What could be more amusing?” I stated, tilting my head
and staring up at the man, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Which, in hindsight,
pretty much violated rule #1 the elders had given me, “Never look the undead in
the eye, and always, always answer their questions respectfully and demurely”.
Yeah, apparently that wasn't gonna happen. I was so screwed.
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