I take a teetering step back and shiver, turning to the banquet table instead. It looks like pure gold, but I’m not somebody who can tell the difference between fake and real. Vines of ivy seem to be trapped underneath the gold, and it’s not just a carving. Real leaves sprout from the design. I can’t help myself. I step forward and bend in front of one twisting table leg and run my finger along the smooth metal and then the fine, papery texture of a leaf. I wonder how it stays alive in there. A silly question, but I can’t seem to stop myself from looking for the strings behind all this.

At least one string exists—the magic itself—but from everything I’ve gathered, it isn’t something you can find and observe to learn how it works. Dangerous. The word springs to my mind unbidden. I try to push it away, but it lingers, taunting me, reminding me why I’m really here: I want the magic to make me dangerous.

The leaf, still under my finger, turns a winter brown and then black, cracking beneath my fingernail and falling off. A solid gold leaf grows in its place.

I jerk my hand back and step away from the table to take it all in. Black drapes cascade from blacker walls. The shining black marble floor reflects my pale face when I stare down. The only color comes from the table and the array of strange and colorful people surrounding it. All the black around them gives them an extra-glorious light—gods floating in an otherwise dark and empty abyss.

Beautiful. I take the word and wrap it around the danger. Beauty is an excellent mask for danger. Nature uses it all the time. People use it too. I can’t afford to think of the danger, not if I want to stay, not if I want them to choose me in the end. I need to trust in this magic.

“You must be Ava.”

I turn to face a white guy in bright red. Every piece of his attire, from his shoes to his slacks to his tie, is the exact same startling color. He’s almost painful to look at, like an open, glaring wound.

“Who are you?” He stands so close that all I can see is the perfect knot of his tie. I take a quick step back, and his mouth widens like he’s scored some type of victory over me. I glance around, but nobody watches us.

I’m unremarkable on a good day. Among these people, I’m invisible. Everyone mingles around the tables in outlandish dresses and suits in every color. The styles range from modern sleek gowns to corsets and skirts straight out of Henry VIII’s court. A woman passes in a dress that appears to be made of live roses.

I wonder about the thorns.