Page 62

Apparently, being a former angel didn't make a man particularly good at assembling artificial wings.

Cillian slipped an arm around my waist and drew me closer, careful not to catch the feathers against the passing guests.

"You're staring again," he murmured.

"I'm admiring my handiwork. Those wings would've been crooked without me. I can think of several ways you could thank me."

His smile turned wicked, and he bent to kiss me beneath the lights of the Grand.

I caught his lapel and kept him there a little longer than was strictly necessary.

When we finally separated, a woman in an elaborate silver gown was watching us with an indulgent smile. Her companion, dressed as a Venetian nobleman, appeared considerably more interested in Cillian's wings.

"Those are extraordinary," he said. "How on earth did you construct them?"

Cillian glanced over his shoulder at the feathers, then at me.

"Most of the credit belongs to my girlfriend. She has a remarkable talent for persuading complicated things to cooperate."

"Don't let him fool you. He did most of the work," I told the gentleman. "I simply prevented a few structural disasters."

The couple complimented our costumes before continuing toward the entrance. Cillian watched them go, looking thoroughly entertained.

"That was satisfying," he said.

"Being admired?"

"Being able to explain where the wings came from."

I smiled and slipped my arm through his.

My own costume was considerably less elaborate than the one I'd worn last Halloween. I'd chosen a floor-length gown of deep burgundy silk, with black lace tracing the neckline and a daring slit that revealed one leg when I walked. A delicate black-and-gold mask framed my face, and I'd pinned my hair into an elegant arrangement of loose curls.

Cillian had spent an indecent amount of time admiring the dress before we'd left his loft.

He'd also managed to make me late by kissing the back of my neck while I fastened my earrings.

Inside the Grand, the lobby was crowded with masked guests making their way toward the ballroom. Elaborate arrangements of dark roses and autumn branches decorated the marble columns, and the enormous chandeliers cast warm light over velvet gowns, jeweled masks, and glittering costumes.

The familiar grandeur brought back the excitement of my first visit, although the man beside me was no longer a mysterious stranger.

I knew his name, his favorite foods, his infuriating habit of leaving his boots where somebody was certain to trip over them, and exactly how affectionate he became when he was sleepy. The loft had acquired several of my sweaters, a collection of books, and a proper teapot because he'd discovered I preferred tea in the evenings.

I also knew how much he loved having me there.

We'd barely entered the ballroom when Taryn appeared beside an enormous floral arrangement, waving enthusiastically.

She wore a fitted black-and-purple gown with dramatic lace sleeves, a magnificent witch's hat, and enough silver jewelry to stock a respectable occult shop. The violet streaks in her sleek black hair shimmered beneath the chandeliers.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, embracing me. "I was beginning to think the two of you had decided to celebrate Halloween somewhere else."

"Not a chance," I assured her. "Although getting those wings into the car took longer than expected."

Taryn stepped back to examine Cillian's costume.

"Good heavens. You've outdone yourself this year."

Cillian smiled. "I had excellent assistance."