I blushed harder, remembering the way he’d traced his fingers over my hand and up and down my forearm, each touch sending tingles over my body. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

He laughed as we stepped through the doors into Vatticut Hall. It was the oldest structure on campus and only used for special occasions, like dances and graduation. Tonight the building resembled a medieval castle even more than usual. Blue and silver silk streamers had been strung in between the ornate tapestries and heraldic banners that decorated the outer corridors. Torches hung beside the banners, creating a flickering, romantic ambiance. Of course the grandeur out here was nothing compared to the grand ballroom.

Long wooden tables set with crystal plates and goblets were spread across the hall among glistening ice sculptures of magical creatures like unicorns, dragons, and even our school mascot, the hydra. In each corner of the room stood four trees enchanted by the school’s fairy gardeners to grow out of the floors. With trunks the size of industrial stovepipes, they stood tall enough that their branches covered the ceiling, creating a dark, leafy canopy. Beneath it, thousands of free-floating orbs of light shone in various colors as they flitted here and there, creating an aurora borealis effect. Every now and again, one would shoot across the room, leaving behind a trail of glittering light and a smell like fresh roses.

Paul and I joined Selene and Justin at a table across the room. Justin shared Selene’s views on the anti-objectification of sirens, but neither of them seemed much concerned with politics tonight. They both looked stunning in their masquerade getups, she in pale blue silk and he in a white-on-white suit. They exuded that hypnotic sensuality specific to sirens. Still, I knew Selene and Justin were just friends and nothing more.

Selene took care of the introductions, and we sat down to wait for the feast to begin.

Eating in a mask was tricky, but I managed okay. We spent most of the feast playing a “guess who’s behind the mask” game. Mask wearing during Samhain was pretty serious business for magickind, which meant nobody had taken theirs off. It was surprisingly hard to figure out who was who.

“That’s Katarina,” Selene said, pointing to a girl in a pink gown with a matching pink Columbina mask encrusted around the edges with sparkling pink and red jewels. A long pink feather rose up from one side of it.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“See how it looks like a cat?”

I took in the angular slant of the eye holes and the feline shape of the nose and nodded.

“She always wears a mask like that. Can’t stand not to be recognized. It’s her signature. You know, Kat-arina.”

“That’s original,” Paul said.

I grinned at the derision in his voice. “That’s Katarina. About as original as a Salvador Dalí print.”

“About as pretty as one, too,” said Paul.

Yeah, this could be love.

I shifted my gaze from Katarina to the person beside her. Eli wore a black cloak over a white dress shirt that he’d unbuttoned far enough I could see the edge of his tattoo on the left side of his chest. Vivid memories of the night before popped up in my mind. A white mask covered the left side of Eli’s face. He looked like a sexy, teenage version of the Phantom of the Opera. He turned his head in my direction and our eyes locked for a moment. I glanced away first, certain that he knew it was me. My mask did little to disguise my red hair.

The teachers were harder to figure out. Probably because we didn’t spend as much time thinking and looking at them as we did our classmates.

“I think that’s Mr. Ankil,” I said, pointing to the front of the hall where the teachers’ tables were set beneath the dais.

“Which one?” asked Paul.

“In the purple mask with the gold trim.”

“Why do you think so?” said Selene.

“Look under the table. He’s wearing jeans and sandals.”

Selene dropped her gaze. “That’s him, all right. But who’s that in the Medico della Peste?” She pointed to a man walking across the front of the hall wearing a long black cape over a white shirt and black pants.

“The what?” I asked.

“The plague doctor,” said Paul. “That’s what the masks with the long beaks are called.”

“Oh.” I looked at the man again. He walked with a slight hitch in his gait that I recognized at once. “That’s Mr. Culpepper.”

Thankfully, nobody asked how I knew.

When the feast ended, the tables and chairs disappeared, clearing the floor for dancing.

Even though it was a formal masked ball, the dancing was typical of any American high school, lots of jumping around and grinding while a band played cover songs of popular ordinary music from atop the dais. Paul liked to dance, and we spent five straight songs out there. He paid me constant attention, touching my waist, my shoulders, my hips.

But after a while, I began to feel like I was wearing railroad spikes on my feet instead of high heels, and I had to sit down at one of the small round tables in the back of the ballroom.

“Want something to drink?” Paul said, trailing his fingers along my neck.

I closed my eyes to better savor the feeling. “Sure. Anything cold will do.”

Then I watched him walk off as I scooted farther underneath the table so no one could see me kick off my shoes. I breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back, awash with contentment. Not only because of my feet, but because I was having such a good time. The bad stuff about Nightmares, Keepers, and murderers seemed very far away.