Raine shook her head. “But I—”
“Just do it,” Mara said flatly. “There's a huge party tonight You’ve got to look good, so let's get on with it”
“But—”
“You do have contact lenses with you, don't you?” Mara asked.
“Ah, yes, I have them in my purse, but—”
“Thank God.” The white-haired woman rolled her eyes and began unraveling Raine's braid.
There was no stopping them. They plucked, steamed and peeled, massaged and moisturized her. Her hair was washed, conditioned, rinsed, trimmed, dried, straightened. It seemed a waste of energy to resist. It was part of Stone Island’s spell. Part and parcel of the bizarre transformation she underwent, day by day.
Even the lingerie was provided. It was the most beautiful stuff she'd ever seen—midnight blue lace panties, lace-trimmed thigh-high stockings. She looked around for a bra, but Mara shook her head.
“Not with the dress you'll be wearing. You won't need one.”
“Me?” Raine looked nervously down at her bare chest, trying to imagine what kind of dress she could possibly wear braless, but there was no time to fret about it She was plunked down in front of the big makeup mirror. Lydia, the short-haired woman, coiled her hair back into a smooth, intricately knotted chignon at the back of her head, while the plump woman, whose name was Moira, began with the makeup. She made approving tittle noises as she dabbed on cosmetics with a slow, delicate hand. She brushed Rained face with a translucent powder and stepped back with a triumphant smile. “Done.”
“Now the dress.” Mara rummaged through the things on the rack and pulled one out, tossing it on the bed. A long, voluminous skirt spilled out from the plastic wrapping, gleaming against the white lace coverlet. It was a deep, peacock blue taffeta, shot through with subtle rainbow tints. The garment was two pieces, the billowing skirt and a tight, boned corset top, strapless and scalloped at the neckline, angling down to a rounded V at the bottom. Raine finally understood the lack of a bra. The close-fitting bodice was a bustier in itself. It pushed her up, offering a daring expanse of her white chest, and lots of deep, shadowy cleavage. Lydia scowled as she fastened up the hooks. “You're thinner than I was led to believe.”
“Sorry.” Raine almost laughed at her accusing tone. “I haven't had time to eat lately”
“If you don't eat, you'll lose your looks,” Lydia scolded, threading her needle. “Hold still while I fix this.”
They twitched and tucked, stitched and tweaked, spritzed and sprayed- Finally they led her before the mirror on the armoire.
She tried not to gasp, but she was truly shocked at the way she looked. The color of the dress set off her skin, making it pearly and luminous. The makeup was subtle, but it brought her face into focus, accentuating her high cheekbones. Her straight brows were plucked into an elegant shape, opening up her face. Her eyes seemed huge. Even her big, full mouth, which she had always felt made her look childlike and vulnerable, looked different. Sensual and curvy. She looked glittery, luminous. Almost... beautiful.
She had never considered herself beautiful. Pretty, maybe, in a washed-out sort of way, but beauty was Alix's undisputed territory and Raine had sensed from an early age that it would be dangerous to encroach on it.
The knowledge that she was beautiful gave her no pleasure, however. It was a possible advantage, maybe even a weapon, if she had the stomach to use it. Alix had used hers. Often, and without mercy.
The thought chilled her. Beauty did not make her feel powerful. At least, not here. On the contrary, she felt even more vulnerable in the sensual, beautiful gown. Victor was playing with her.
The dress was the color of the last light of evening in a clear sky. It reminded her of an illustrated volume of fairy tales she'd read as a child. Bluebeard’s bride had worn a dress like this one, except for the addition of puffed leg-of-mutton sleeves. The same peacock color had clothed her on her voyage of horror and discovery through her new husband's grim, bloodstained castle.
She shuddered. Mara misinterpreted it and reached behind her.
“There's a wrap, if you're cold,” she said. She draped a stole of the same peacock taffeta across Raine's shoulders. Rainbow highlights shitted, shimmered. Raine dragged her gaze away from the mirror and looked at the expectant faces of the three women. She manufactured a smile. “Thank you. You're all very talented. I look wonderful.”
“Come with me now,” Mara said briskly. “Mr. Lazar said to bring you to the library when you were ready.”
She followed Mara through the corridor. The taffeta skirt billowed around her, brushing sensually against the floor. Cool drafts sighed across her bare shoulders and exposed neck, making the stole float behind her like fairy wings. Mara opened the door to the library, gave her a brief nod of farewell, and melted away into shadow.
Raine wafted across the crimson carpet The library was lit only by a stained glass hanging lamp that illuminated the photographs on the shelf below and the portrait of Raine's grandmother from above. She stood in the center of the roiling serpentine pattern of the Persian carpet, swathed in an enormous, dreamlike silence.
She stared up at the portrait. Her grandmother's painted image seemed to stare down, her pale gray eyes gleaming with subtle amusement. Raine realized that she had the same eyes and brows. The brows were slightly different, now that Moira and Lydia had plucked and tamed them, but the basic effect was the same.
She wished she had called Seth, but the cell phone was still in her purse in the tower room. She had no evening bag to match the dress to carry it in. She'd been so afraid of Seth's reaction, but now, dressed up and led here like a virgin sacrifice, his anger seemed the least of her worries. She stared at her reflection in me window. Darkness had fallen, and the skin of her exposed throat and shoulders looked shockingly pale in the dim room. Trapped in this spooky dream world, the thought of Seth was a lifeline to reality.
Currents of air whispered across her shoulders. She sensed the library door opening, though it made no sound. Her senses had dilated, like eyes opening. There would be no more jumping and squealing in surprise. She knew exactly who had just come in the door.
She stood in the center of the blood-red vortex of the carpet's strange pattern and waited quietly, staring at her grandmother's image. Victor's reflection moved closer. He placed his hand on her shoulder for a moment, then removed it.
He gestured towards the portrait, “You're very like her, you know.”
She let out a long, silent sigh. He knew who she was, he had always known; and the awareness of his knowledge had crept up upon her so gradually, it had no power to jolt or alarm her.
The world shifted and settled quietly, like a garment fluttering down around her. She turned to him. “Am I? People keep telling me I look exactly like my mother.”
Victor dismissed her mother with a casual flick of his hand. “Superficially,” he said. “Your complexion is like Alix's, but your bone structure is much more pronounced and delicate.
Your lips are fuller. And your eyes and eyebrows are pure Lazar. Look at her.”
They stared up at the portrait for several moments.
“You share more than just her name “ Victor said. “May I call you Katya? It would give me great pleasure.”
Her automatic desire to be accommodating and agreeable crashed up against this new, solid woman planted in the center of a red vortex. The new woman won the struggle with surprising ease. “I would prefer to be called Raine,” she said. “My life is chaotic. I wish to maintain as many lines of continuity as possible. Otherwise I'll lose myself.”