Darkangel(37)

Then it was time to change, and the two of us headed up to my room to put on our dresses and makeup. That is, Sydney insisted on doing my makeup, too, since she was the expert. I didn’t bother to protest, since deep down I had to acknowledge that I wanted to know what I’d look like with real makeup on and not some hastily applied lip gloss.

“I’d love to smoke up your eyes,” she said as she worked away on my face, dabbing foundation on with a sponge, “but you’re doing a red lip, and that would be too much. We don’t want you looking like a streetwalker.”

“Well, it would fit the neighborhood,” I joked. Hull Avenue, where Spook Hall was located, had been the center of the red light district back when Jerome was a bustling mining town.

“But it wouldn’t fit you,” she said severely, then set down the sponge and picked up a brush, lightly applying blush in upward motions along my cheekbones.

“Probably not.”

For the next few minutes she worked in silence, expertly tracing liner along my upper lids, brushing on mascara, using a pencil to define my brows before at last applying the red lipstick. Finally she said, “Okay, I think I’m done. It’s pretty amazing…but don’t peek until you have the dress on.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

I just shook my head, feeling the unfamiliar weight of my hair gathered into a low chignon. But I did as she requested, keeping my eyes cast downward at the Persian rug on the floor as I went behind the mirror and took off my shirt and jeans, then pulled on the unfamiliar and not very comfortable hose I had to wear under the gown.

“Goddess, people actually wear these horrible things every day?” I muttered as I wriggled into the pantyhose.

“Oh, stop grousing. I can only imagine what you’d say if you had to wear something historical with a corset.”

“I would’ve put my foot down about that,” I retorted.

“Quit bitching and get that dress on already. It’s almost eight.”

I didn’t bother to point out that she’d just spent almost a half hour doing my makeup. Instead, I stepped into my gown and drew it up, then gave the zipper a quick mental yank. Then I sort of pushed and pulled until everything more or less felt as if it were in the right place. I’d left my borrowed shoes back here so I could step into them easily once I was dressed, and I did that now, then came out from behind the mirror.

“About time,” Sydney began, and then she stopped, staring at me. “Wow.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah. Look at yourself.”

Almost fearfully, I turned and regarded myself in the mirror. Well, that is, I knew it was me, but it definitely didn’t look like me. My usually unruly hair was sleek and shining, my mouth full under its coating of red lipstick. Long gold earrings danced against my neck, and the dress, with its built-in padding, was doing some spectacular things to my cleavage.

“It’s…nice,” I said finally.

“Nice? Give me a break. Adam’s going to take one look at you in that and have a heart attack.”

“Well, that’s really not what I was going for.” To put it mildly. Adam’s infatuation was already enough of a problem…what was he going to do after he saw me looking like this?

Sydney grinned. “No worries. I’ll run interference if I have to.” She came over and stood about a foot behind me, regarding herself critically in the mirror. “No one’s even going to notice me with you looking like that.”

“I highly doubt that.” Maybe at first glance my outfit was more eye-catching, but she looked like the perfect golden girl, with her hair curling over her shoulders and the gleaming fringe of her dress shimmering with every move she made. Also, that dress was short. Her legs looked about ten miles long in it. “Anyway,” I added, “why do you want people noticing you? I thought you were with Anthony.”

“I am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still want guys looking at me.”

“I really don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

She grinned, her blue eyes twinkling. “Yeah, probably not. But can we both agree that putting masks on top of all this is really a waste?”

My gaze flickered to the mirror. Sydney was a golden goddess, and I looked far more sultry and exotic than I’d ever thought I could. Wearing a mask did seem kind of silly. “You’re right. No masks.”

“Thank God.” A quick once-over of her ensemble in the mirror, and she asked, “So are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” I went over to the bed and picked up the black fringed shawl I was using as a wrap — another loan from my aunt.