I knew I shouldn't go. I had spells to memorize, and I needed to understand the phases of the Blue, Red, and Black Moon. And I had six days left until the next full moon. Six days until I saw my father again. Six days until I found a way to bring Grimm's wings back. Too little time.

But Death whispered, seductively. "Escape the night with me." Too sweet and poisonous.

He needed me there. It only meant I could take something from him. Grimm has his reasons for wanting to go to this gala, and I didn't care much for it. I needed something in return.

I offered. "I'll go on the condition you give me the names of all the witches and warlocks on the council."

Grimm sealed it with a kiss.

I settled.

****

The only good thing about going to this gala was that Dilara was coming along. Grimm knew I couldn't leave Dilara in the house alone, especially one she hated. There was also the precaution that if any witches and warlocks or any other supernatural creatures found this castle and were looking for me they would kill Dilara. I didn't want Dilara's life in my hands but the longer she stood by my side, I was playing with it. She still hadn't decided if she was leaving or not. These remaining days I could keep her safe and unharmed until she makes her decision but if she chooses to stay I could not guarantee her safety.

Maybe a night from all of these killings and attacks could be a good thing. It would be wonderful to just eat with friends, wear a pretty dress, and maybe kiss a certain man with crimson lips. Even as the image appeared in my head I felt naive for thinking such a thing. This world won't let me have anything, so I have to bend it.

Pushing those thoughts away, I checked myself back into reality.

We were in one of the larger rooms on the upper level of the east side of the castle. Dull colors and drapes of black enclosed the room with its thin arch windows as sunlight passed through. It wasn't completely lifeless. Grimm kindly sent a group of stylists to take care of Dilara and me, although I thought it was a bit much until one of the stylists gave me a note. Grimm wrote the stylists were souls that were previously beauticians who wanted to make art one last time before they left for the afterlife. Grimm wanted me to help them grant their wish, so I let them in.

Dilara sat by my side as we looked at ourselves through the twin oval mirrors, her gaze kept flickering back and forth between my eyes and the stylists. I knew I shouldn't haven't told her about them. She was twitching and squirming in her seat.

I crossed my arms. "They were once like you and me." Dilara cut her gaze toward mine. "Except they don't breathe anymore." She leaned in and said in a hushed tone. "The dead don't belong with the living. They should be resting." I had thought the same.

But from what I have seen, the dead had difficulty leaving this world. The living is to blame. The pain we give to each other when we are alive, the invisible wounds that appear on the soul. It makes it hard for anyone to get rest. Understandably, they become vengeful, spiteful, and hateful.

Souls then become ghosts, they haunt you for what you have done to them.

"I'll rest as soon as I get rid of your eye bags." Dilara jumped as a stylist pushed herself in between our chairs. She had brown shoulder-length hair and wore a black blouse. Her lips curved into a soft smile and held a poised attitude. Still, it must have been uncomfortable to be inside a body that wasn't hers. Bodies were like homes, I supposed. She must be feeling unwelcome.

The longer a spirit stays inside the human body, it starts to collide with the other soul. It is painful as they fight for possession. But I doubted any of the stylists would possess the bodies for more than a day. Grimm, known as The Capture of Souls, always stuck true to his title.

"And yours too." I blinked, meeting the gaze of the stylist as she lowered her eyes slightly. "I'm Beth, and it is a pleasure to meet The Crier of Souls. Thank you for giving us this opportunity. I promise you won't regret it." I never heard someone sound so eager, and excited to meet me. Strange. Her eyes went back toward Dilara. "But before we start, do you have any requests? Anything you don't like or want?"

Dilara pursed her lips as she thought about her answer. I looked directly into the vintage mirror, my eyes drifting near my cheekbone. Mis lunares. Makeup sometimes accidentally covered beauty marks but I couldn't let them disappear. It was the Del Luna mark, and every single family member bore it. The moon does not hide and neither should I.

My fingers graze them, carefully. "Please, don't make them disappear." I don't want to hide whose daughter I am. My family, my history is all sewn into my skin.

Beth looked over, her head tilting to the side. "I would never erase your beauty, I emphasize your beauty. You both are beautiful women and I hope you don't think I'm changing you into a different person. But that does seem like something a witch can do." Dilara looked stunned and Beth gave her a wink. "We know what you are. Everyone knows who you are. When you are seen with the King or the Honorable Hans, we are listening and watching. The dead love gossip."

Not different from the living at all.

Dilara snorted. "The Honorable Hans? Can a demon even be honorable?"

"Demons take their servitude seriously with their King, it is similar to knighthood," Beth responded.

"You would think Hans was his dog," Dilara said.

I answered. "Well, dogs are inspirational for loyalty." Dilara grinned, nodding her head while Beth shot us both disapproving looks.

I didn't mind Hans except, for the day he said I didn't care about anyone or anything. It was untrue but the words were spoken like a fact, as if he had expected it. He had no idea what I felt. I didn't have to explain it to anyone, nobody cared about me. All I have is myself.

And father, a soft echo reached my heart. That's all that mattered. I couldn't linger too much on my hurt from his forced absence. My father and I have been separated for too long. We'll destroy Helene Worth and every warlock and witch that helped sentence my family to their death. That was the simplified plan.

I looked over at Dilara. "But what's your problem with Hans?" I was aware Dilara had a stronger dislikement toward the demon.

Her golden eyes ignited like a flame but she turned away and sank into her chair. "The way he looks at me, it reminds me of how others used to look down on me."

Dilara was prideful, and her pride has been trampled on. She has learned to swallow it a thousand times but a wounded lion is bound to raise its teeth. Hans should be careful, but if he doesn't want to get bitten. I was about to tell Dilara she shouldn't care how Hans looked at her because she was never going to see him again after I gave Grimm his wings back.

But Beth surprises me, "Their eyes are part of their torture. Demons are usually in Hell, busying themselves with the damned. They must look intimidating, and give you the true meaning of fear. It's a part of who they are so don't worry about it too much. Think of it as his neutral face."

I said. "You know a lot for a soul."

She shrugged. "I've been dead for a year and like I said, the dead love to talk."

I was tempted to ask if she knew why demons have wings and if she knew about Grimm's wings. But, I knew I had to hear the story from Grimm's mouth. So I said nothing.

"After tonight, I'll finally get to see my sister. I'll reach my peace." Beth's soul peered through the human body she inhabited. Glowing softly like a candle-lighted room as she thought about her sister. Every soul has their reason for not parting immediately after their death, some lingered and others were more accepting. Beth looked ready to leave now and I didn't want to waste her time any longer. She needed to go as the rest of the souls in this room.

I straightened my back. "Then we should start. We don't want to be late." Beth blinked as she nodded her head.

"Is it possible if I can wear something colorful? This house has made me forget what a rainbow looks like." Dilara cautiously asked.

The stylist laughed and agreed. "Of course, I know exactly what color will suit you."

Then she was off giving instructions to the rest of the group. Racks were pushed through the door and an array of different dresses were displayed. Satin, velvet, tulle, and chiffon. Bejeweled and lace prints. All of the shades of every color were shown in a gradient and some were mixed with others. Serving carts rolled in like the ones used for room service except these weren't covered meals. They were arranged sets of necklaces and earrings being flaunted on black velvet cushion holders. Gold and silver with all the gems in the world. Some were small like stars in the vast night sky and others were as big as rocks.

Suddenly, I thought about Amelia Pensford. The first soul I had spoken to and listened to. Her dead ex-husband treated her like a prized jewel. She would've hated this sight. It's not right for me to remember her by jewelry, she should be remembered as someone greater. The letter-opener she gave me was a consolation for murdering her husband as I later used to hurt myself from the first warlock who tried to kill me. She saved my life and she didn't know it. She was my knife. My guardian from beyond the grave if possible.

Amelia was a resting soul, I shouldn't think about her too much. I don't want to disturb her peace.

I closed my eyes as I felt the brushes skimming my face and quickly, a pair of fingers were rubbing oil in the ends of my hair. My wrist was primed forward as one of the stylists, who looked to be younger, was hunching over and painting my nails. Tension released from my shoulders and I let myself savor this pampering. I might never get to have this again. Dilara seemed to be enjoying it, I couldn't hear her twitching.

In the chilling silence, I could feel the stares of all the stylists. All of their souls were piercing into mine. They were like curious children that had been told not to look but peeked anyway.

I murmured. "Are my nails too sharp for you?" I opened one eye, looking at the young girl holding my index finger like a delicacy. Her cheeks reddened and she lowered her head. "No, not at all." I frowned as others around me moved with fragility and scarceness. Have I done something wrong?

Then Dilara said out loud, "Don't mind her, it's just the way she talks." Oh, that was it.

Beth came into my view and lightly lifted my chin. "We're not looking at you because of the way you talk." She bit her lower lip as she gathered courage. "You're The Crier of Souls. We've heard about you. We know what you are doing for the souls. Not everyone can listen to the dead, and those who can do not have the patience for us. You can't see us and yet, you make the effort to communicate with us."

But I had been able to communicate with them because of Grimm. It was part of our deal. I would deliver messages from the dead to the living. He said he would make me a hero, and he just did that. The dead were watching and I knew they were but I didn't think too much of it. I only wanted to get rid of Grimm out of my life. The souls, however, were clinging onto me like hope.

There seems to be a mistake. I wasn't a hero. I don't save lives, I take them. I was to mourn as if my heart has been torn out. I needed to clear up this mistake but, the young girl painting my nails said. "Is it true your tears can cure anything?" It caught the attention of every single soul in this room. Beth's hand froze in mid-air, holding a brush. The older woman with streaks of gray had let the few strands of my hair fall.

Even dead I could tell she was at least a fifteen-year-old girl.

She swallowed, nervously adding another coat of black to my nail. "They say you can cry stars and blood. They say you can cure the dead...that you cure the Restless in Dark Paradise." She sounded hopeful.

I've heard about Dark Paradise. It's where souls who were not tainted enough to meet the pits of Hell or deserving of Peace. The souls were destined to wander there forever and it was considered to be Grimm's kingdom. It didn't seem like an ideal palace. The Restless is meant to walk forever with no destination. It was endless and pointless. Still, the dead were dead. I could not cure them.

The older woman returned to fixing my hair and scolded the young girl. "If the King were to hear you, he might throw you in there." But the girl ignored her warning and continued to look at me, seeking an answer.

They were all waiting.