Sneak Peek: A Star of Darkness

An unedited excerpt from my WIP (work in progress), A Star of Darkness. [Content subject to change.]

Once the gown had been fastened around her, Vesper was sent to a vanity table where a makeup artist would paint her face, her back, and down one arm. Portia favored body art and the enhancing of the Calyx’s already exotic features with cosmetics. Vesper had overheard some of the older Calyx complain privately about it, apparently it wasn’t something the previous royal gardener had ever used. But the younger and newer Calyx loved how it further enhanced their beauty. Vesper didn’t care either way, she just wished it didn’t take quite so long or tickle quite so much. Still, the balls and performances were where popularity was forged, customers cultivated, and royalties boosted. Whatever would help Vesper leave the Calyx with the fattest purse possible, she would willingly endure.

Her costume completed, her dancing slippers donned, Vesper left the tailor’s hall and made her way to the lounge where the first shift of Calyx waited for the flutes to trill. Pushing her way through the big double doors, she cast about the parlor for Morpho. She saw Jessamine, Aster, Rose and Lily sitting on the overstuffed upholstery, sipping nectar and chatting, each dressed in one of Olinya’s jaw dropping creations. Skimming over them and a cluster of male Calyx, looking dashing and colorful, Vesper frowned when she didn’t see her moth. She expected he’d be here, ready to perform.

“What’s wrong, Vesper?” Aster held a delicate flute of green liquid in her long, thin fingers. Her familiar, a carpenter bee named Chile, sat on top of her dark curls, flexing its wings.

“Have you seen Morpho?”

Jessamine looked over her shoulder, her gray eyes lined with sparkly kohl, her long brunette curls stacked on top of her head. Her bat sat on her shoulder, a tiny dark shape no larger than an acorn, watching Vesper with glistening ink-drop eyes. He shook his head at her. Vesper wasn’t sure if he was shaking something out of his ear, or saying No, we haven’t seen your moth. She guessed it was the latter. Jessamine’s familiar was frightfully intelligent, or so she’d been told.

“Not since earlier today, in the garden,” said Jessamine.

Vesper thanked them and left the room, hurrying so that she would be back in time for the Calyx’s formal entry to the ball. She returned to her suite—the only other place he was most likely to be right now—calling for Morpho as she entered. Some Calyx knew where their familiar was at all times through the magic that linked them, but Vesper and Morpho had never been connected in that way. He could pick up on her thoughts if they were directed to him, but he couldn’t return any thoughts back at her…or rather, she couldn’t read his mind. She didn’t know whether that was her failing or his. They could feel one another’s presence only when they were physically close to one another, like in the same room, which was a pitiful tether if the other Calyx and their familiars were anything to go by. However they had developed other ways of communicating, utilizing Morpho’s unique magic. Unfortunately, she had to be looking right at him for it to work.

As she crossed the room, looking around, she sensed an increase in anxiety that did not belong to her. It was coming from her writing desk. She spied her familiar there, perched on the side of a feather quill, and moved toward him with relief. But Morpho’s antennae twitched madly, and she covered a cry with her hand when she saw the reason for her familiar’s agitation.

On the blotter, making small individual circles in perfect unison, were a cluster of large black houseflies, more than a dozen. Fat, with wings that buzzed, also in unison, and little hooked feet that Vesper could actually hear scratching the surface of her blotter. A cold feeling swept through her. Flies didn’t particularly bother her, but here in her private quarters, she disliked having any insect that wasn’t a familiar. The fact that these flies were acting strange didn’t help. It made her wonder if they were under some kind of spell, which was a most unwelcome thought.

“Shoo,” she said, waving a hand over them hoping they would break formation and leave through the open window. “Before I squash you all flat.”

At the sound of her voice, the flies broke out of their dizzying circles. They began to crawl in different directions, and as they did so, their bodies lit up, turning first red, then orange, like fireflies. But these were not fireflies, Vesper was well acquainted with the nocturnal beetle, the way they blinked their tiny lanterns on and off in the darkness. She loved them, but these insects were different, much less pleasant. Her breath caught when tiny columns of smoke began to drift up from their bodies. She swore under her breath. This was magic, there was no mistaking it. Fear gripped her throat as the fireflies began to burn up, each leaving a trail of ash and soot behind, until nothing remained but the line they’d left behind them on her blotter—a line that came together to form words, as though written by an invisible hand. The message made her blood turn to ice.

I know where you are. I know what you’ve done. Your time is short, Darkstar.

She stopped breathing as she stared at the words, her heart like thunder in her ears. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

“It’s not real. I’m seeing things.”

But when she opened her eyes, the message remained, glaring out at her in charred cursive… the threat of it seemed to crawl off the page and lunge at her throat.

Morpho fluttered to her and she put out a hand to receive him. His antennae waved madly as he crawled up her arm. His anxiety was now also hers.

Someone had discovered them. Someone knew her surname… her real surname, not the one she’d given Portia when she’d been hired.

Your time is short, Darkstar.

What did it mean? Her time was short for what? For being in the Calyx? For being Vesper? For living in Solana? For living at all?

Vesper shivered, suddenly freezing in the warmth of her apartment.

Once the gown had been fastened around her, Vesper was sent to a vanity table where a makeup artist would paint her face, her back, and down one arm. Portia favored body art and the enhancing of the Calyx’s already exotic features with cosmetics. Vesper had overheard some of the older Calyx complain privately about it, apparently it wasn’t something the previous royal gardener had ever used. But the younger and newer Calyx loved how it further enhanced their beauty. Vesper didn’t care either way, she just wished it didn’t take quite so long or tickle quite so much. Still, the balls and performances were where popularity was forged, customers cultivated, and royalties boosted. Whatever would help Vesper leave the Calyx with the fattest purse possible, she would willingly endure.

Her costume completed, her dancing slippers donned, Vesper left the tailor’s hall and made her way to the lounge where the first shift of Calyx waited for the flutes to trill. Pushing her way through the big double doors, she cast about the parlor for Morpho. She saw Jessamine, Aster, Rose and Lily sitting on the overstuffed upholstery, sipping nectar and chatting, each dressed in one of Olinya’s jaw dropping creations. Skimming over them and a cluster of male Calyx, looking dashing and colorful, Vesper frowned when she didn’t see her moth. She expected he’d be here, ready to perform.

“What’s wrong, Vesper?” Aster held a delicate flute of green liquid in her long, thin fingers. Her familiar, a white butterfly named Cabbage, sat on top of her dark curls, flexing its wings.

“Have you seen Morpho?”

Jessamine looked over her shoulder, her gray eyes lined with sparkly kohl, her long brunette curls stacked on top of her head. Her bat sat on her shoulder, a tiny dark shape no larger than an acorn, watching Vesper with glistening ink-drop eyes. He shook his head at her. Vesper wasn’t sure if he was shaking something out of his ear, or saying No, we haven’t seen your moth. She guessed it was the latter. Jessamine’s familiar was frightfully intelligent, or so she’d been told.

“Not since earlier today, in the garden,” said Jessamine.

Vesper thanked them and left the room, hurrying so that she would be back in time for the Calyx’s formal entry to the ball. She returned to her suite—the only other place he was most likely to be right now—calling for Morpho as she entered. Some Calyx knew where their familiar was at all times through the magic that linked them, but Vesper and Morpho had never been connected in that way. He could pick up on her thoughts if they were directed to him, but he couldn’t return any thoughts back at her…or rather, she couldn’t read his mind. She didn’t know whether that was her failing or his. They could feel one another’s presence only when they were physically close to one another, like in the same room, which was a pitiful tether if the other Calyx and their familiars were anything to go by. However they had developed other ways of communicating, utilizing Morpho’s unique magic. Unfortunately, she had to be looking right at him for it to work.

As she crossed the room, looking around, she sensed an increase in anxiety that did not belong to her. It was coming from her writing desk. She spied her familiar there, perched on the side of a feather quill, and moved toward him with relief. But Morpho’s antennae twitched madly, and she covered a cry with her hand when she saw the reason for her familiar’s agitation.

On the blotter, making small individual circles in perfect unison, were a cluster of large black houseflies, more than a dozen. Fat, with wings that buzzed, also in unison, and little hooked feet that Vesper could actually hear scratching the surface of her blotter. A cold feeling swept through her. Flies didn’t particularly bother her, but here in her private quarters, she disliked having any insect that wasn’t a familiar. The fact that these flies were acting strange didn’t help. It made her wonder if they were under some kind of spell, which was a most unwelcome thought.

“Shoo,” she said, waving a hand over them hoping they would break formation and leave through the open window. “Before I squash you all flat.”

At the sound of her voice, the flies broke out of their dizzying circles. They began to crawl in different directions, and as they did so, their bodies lit up, turning first red, then orange, like fireflies. But these were not fireflies, Vesper was well acquainted with the nocturnal beetle, the way they blinked their tiny lanterns on and off in the darkness. She loved them, but these insects were different, much less pleasant. Her breath caught when tiny columns of smoke began to drift up from their bodies. She swore under her breath. This was magic, there was no mistaking it. Fear gripped her throat as the fireflies began to burn up, each leaving a trail of ash and soot behind, until nothing remained but the line they’d left behind them on her blotter—a line that came together to form words, as though written by an invisible hand. The message made her blood turn to ice.

I know where you are. I know what you’ve done. Your time is short, Darkstar.

She stopped breathing as she stared at the words, her heart like thunder in her ears. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

“It’s not real. I’m seeing things.”

But when she opened her eyes, the message remained, glaring out at her in charred cursive… the threat of it seemed to crawl off the page and lunge at her throat.

Morpho fluttered to her and she put out a hand to receive him. His antennae waved madly as he crawled up her arm. His anxiety was now also hers.

Someone had discovered them. Someone knew her surname… her real surname, not the one she’d given Portia when she’d been hired.

Your time is short, Darkstar.

What did it mean? Her time was short for what? For being in the Calyx? For being Vesper? For living in Solana? For living at all?

Vesper shivered, suddenly freezing in the warmth of her apartment.