Furthermore(27)

Oliver had gone reddish.

Humility had gotten lost on its journey to his ego, but the two had finally been reunited, and the meeting appeared to be painful. Oliver swallowed hard and looked away. “Alright,” he said. “Alright. I’m sorry. But let us find a quiet place first. A private place. We won’t have much time to spare, but I’ll do my best to tell you the things you need to know.” His eyes darted left and right. “And please,” he begged, “for Feren’s sake, lower your voice.”

Alice sighed.

“Oh, very well,” she nearly said. “Fine, fine, let’s carry on,” she nearly said. She nearly said she was perfectly ready to be amiable.

But nearly said was not quite enough. Alice was distracted, frustrated, and embarrassingly stubborn, and she had stopped paying attention to anyone but Oliver. So it should come as no surprise to you then, that in that moment, just as she was about to grant Oliver her acquiescence, she was plowed into.

Apologies abounded.

Excuse me and pardon me and oh goodness collided in the air. Alice was dusting herself off and adjusting her skirts and clambering to her feet (with no help from Oliver, mind you), when she first saw the person with whom her body had collided.

Friends, he was the most handsome boy she’d ever seen.

He was tall but not too tall, perfect but not too perfect, dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin. He looked like molasses had made a man. Her exact opposite in every way. Skin like silk jam, hair as dark as pitch. Eyes with lashes so thick and black and oh, how they fluttered when he blinked. Was he blinking? He was staring. At her.

At her?

Where she looked like nothing, he looked like everything, and she had never been so speechless in all her life.

Be still her heart, he was smiling at her.

Alice was convinced, after a moment or two, that she was most certainly in love with him. It seemed like the only logical explanation for what she was feeling. And it wasn’t until Oliver pointed out (rudely) that her mouth was open (only a little, really) that she was startled back into her bones.

She gasped, surprised by how loudly her jaw snapped shut, and wondered how best to ask the beautiful boy to marry her. He was maybe Oliver’s age, which meant he was close to Alice’s age, which meant none of them had any actual interest in marrying anyone, but that didn’t change what Alice said next.

“Will you—” she began to say, and thought better of it.

“Would you—” she said instead, and reached for his hand.

Oliver snatched her arm away and gave her a very mean look. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Oh, hush,” she whispered, waving him away.

“Good sleep to you,” the beautiful boy said to her, smiling wide. “It certainly is a pleasure to be meeting you tonight.”

He had a slight accent; his voice was deep and musical, like maybe it wasn’t real. Like maybe he was speaking a language she didn’t know she could understand.

She didn’t much care either way.

“It is a very great pleasure to be meeting you, too,” she said quickly, ignoring Oliver, who was already trying to pull her away.

“Yes, yes,” Oliver said. “Pleasure. We must be on our way now. Thank you, good-bye!”

“Wait!” said the boy urgently. He scanned Oliver’s face for only a moment before turning back to Alice. “You are new here. I have never seen anyone like you before,” he said, and as he did, he reached out, tangling a strand of her unfortunate white hair around his fingers.

Alice nearly fainted.

“Would you like to stay awhile?” he asked her. Only her. “I could show you around—”

She was already nodding when Oliver interrupted them, yet again. “Please,” he said quietly. His eyes were bright and twitchy and locked on to hers. “A moment of your time in private?”

Alice wanted to ignore him, but the look on Oliver’s face worried her. So she excused herself and promised the beautiful boy that she would return shortly.

Oliver, however, was steaming mad.

He had a whole host of unhappy things to say to her about breaking the rules and not listening to him, and though she tried to reassure him that she hadn’t meant for any of this to happen, Oliver was adamant that they keep moving.

“And anyway,” Oliver said, “I haven’t any idea why you’re so enchanted by him. Residents of Slumber are very nearly covered in dust.” (Dust, I should mention, was a kind of slang for magic.) Oliver crossed his arms. “He has hoaxed you, be sure of it.”

“Oh but Oliver,” Alice said, glancing over his shoulder. “Did you not see him? He is so astoundingly beautiful. Just, oh”—she was very nearly melting—“so very, very beautiful. I am sure I have never seen anyone so handsome in all my life.” She grabbed Oliver’s sleeve. “Do you not think he is the most handsome person you have ever seen in all your life?”

Oliver went purple in the face. He pursed his lips and flailed his arms and almost exploded the words he spoke next. (Honestly, no one could understand a thing he said, so I won’t even try to recount any of it.) Anyhow, Alice didn’t want to upset Oliver—he seemed so very put out by the whole thing—so she prepared to tell the boy that she could not accept his generous offer. But when they returned, he’d already assembled a crowd, and by then—well, by then it was far too late.