Incarnate

“How will you know who I am?”

 

 

Sometimes I wanted to hit him. “I didn’t look at your costume. I really was just going to tell you I could hear you outside. It’s not my fault you both talk so loud.” Or talked about me when I wasn’t around.

 

“That wasn’t my question.” His voice cracked. “Neither of those was ever a question. Dear Janan, you’re the most defensive person I’ve ever met.”

 

My lip was going to have permanent indentions where I bit it so much. I bit the top one instead this time.

 

“Be careful on your way to the market field.” Footsteps sounded toward the stairs.

 

“Sam.” I felt like I was choking. Or drowning. Maybe some of both. He stopped walking, at any rate. “You asked how I’d know who you were.”

 

Silence.

 

“I’ll always know.”

 

A minute later, the front door closed and I was alone in the washroom, only the reflection of a stranger in my mirror. When I thought he’d had enough time to get to South Avenue, I checked that my mask and knife were secure, then slipped sideways through doorways because my wings wouldn’t let me pass through head-on.

 

As I left the house and darkness closed in, I tried to imagine myself having fun tonight. I tried to imagine myself smiling and laughing and maybe ending up in someone’s arms by the last dance, like the magic of the masquerade was real and could help you find the match to your soul.

 

I couldn’t imagine myself doing any of that, but that was okay.

 

Tonight, I wasn’t Ana.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Chapter 21

 

Masquerade

 

COOL AIR SLITHERED around my dress, ruffling the edges around my calves. The breeze pushed on my wings, so every step took a smidge more force than usual. It was unsettling, but by the time I reached the market field, I’d mostly compensated. If only I’d had the foresight to work that issue into dance practice.

 

The market field was gloriously lit with silver-tinged lights from the Councilhouse, and poles scattered over the field. The temple glowed; I carefully ignored that, as well as the accompanying twist in my gut.

 

People in costume drifted in as evening encroached. Hawks, bears, pronghorns. Someone had dressed as a troll—such bad taste—while an osprey flirted with everyone.

 

The market field filled with bright fish and ferrets. A sparrow chased a lizard, and they embraced. Hundreds of people swarmed across the field like herds of gemstones.

 

I glanced toward the landing atop the Councilhouse steps, where Tera and Ash would be dedicated later. Only a robin and house cat prowled there now, fussing with controls to something.

 

The robin stepped up to a microphone and cleared his throat. Meuric’s voice carried from the speakers fastened to the light poles. “Tonight, we celebrate the rededication of two souls.”

 

Costumed guests turned as one entity to face him. I was trapped in the back and couldn’t see around most of the crowd; I wondered what people on the other side of the temple did, where they were looking. The party stretched all across the market field.

 

“Every generation, our souls are reborn into new and unfamiliar bodies, as are the souls of those we love. Rarely does romantic love transcend incarnations. Rarely. Some souls, however, were created as matching pairs. Those Janan-blessed partnerships have continued over centuries. Millennia. Every generation, these souls are drawn together, regardless of their physical forms. Their love is pure and true.

 

“Tonight’s festivities celebrate the commitment between Tera and Ash. As they search for each other in this sea of unfamiliar faces, let us all remember that Janan created us with a purpose: to value one another, and to love.”

 

He stepped away as the opening chords of a pavane came through the speakers, and lights flooded the market field with a dreamy glow. Interesting that Meuric didn’t make his announcement before he changed clothes. It lent credit to my theory that I was the only one who cared about being anonymous tonight.

 

At least I knew how Meuric was dressed, so I’d be able to avoid him.

 

With the music playing, people began taking partners to dance. This pavane wasn’t one of Sam’s compositions, but it was pretty, different from what I was used to listening to. A chorus of strings and woodwinds sang across the evening.

 

I kept to the edges of the mass of dancers, though bodies still bumped against my wings. A few muttered apologies, while most either shot annoyed looks beneath their masks, or didn’t notice, and I felt like a jerk for wearing something so cumbersome.

 

Self-consciously, I walked a complete circle around the market field, followed by the sensation of being watched.

 

So much for anonymity.

 

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