World After

An army of people in hotel uniforms fuss over the costumes and shell-shocked females. Women and girls sit in front of mirrors, putting on makeup or sitting mutely while someone else works on them. There are also females being dressed and then paraded in front of the staff in glamorous speakeasy dresses and old-fashioned heels.

Makeup artists rush from mirrored station to station with powder and brush in hand. One station has so much hairspray and perfume in the air that it looks like a fog has moved into that spot.

Costumes are being rolled around so fast it’s amazing they’re not crashing into each other. They give the impression of feathers and sequins zipping across the room with nervous energy. Everybody is visibly jittery.

There are far too many women here to serve as Uriel’s twin trophies. Although there must be at least a hundred people, hardly anyone is talking. The tension is more like that of a funeral home rather than a prep room for an elaborate party or play or whatever this is.

I stand by the entrance, staring. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I like the chaos. It might give me a chance to sneak away and look for Paige or Beliel. It gets even better when Madeline seems to forget about us and marches off to give orders to a group of hairdressers.

I drift around the room among the ribbons and sparkles. The only whispered conversations I hear repeat the same mantra: “Get yourself an angel protector, or else.”

I find myself melting into the group of matching females who are being prepped in one corner of the ballroom. My look-alike is already there. The women are made up in pairs to look like identical twins, which several of them are.

So this is why Uriel’s trophy women looked so terrified when I saw them at the last aerie. They’d been drafted from the jail cells of Alcatraz and had probably known about the horrors awaiting them if they didn’t please Uriel. I thought the aerie club scene was surreal when I was there, but now I realize how insane the whole thing must have been to the girls who came from that nightmare factory.

Just when I think we’ve been orphaned enough for me to sneak off, Daniel, Madeline’s assistant, rushes in to talk to her. His voice carries over the eerie quiet.

“ ‘Brunettes. Small, but well-proportioned,’ he says.” Daniel gives her an I-told-you-so look.

Madeline scans the group of girls standing in pairs. Everyone freezes like a rabbit waiting for a hawk to swoop down. The girls all try to escape Madeline’s notice by shrinking and looking anywhere but at her.

She looks at me and my matching pair, Andi. We’re the smallest of the brunettes. Her lips thin out into a stubborn line.

“You’re not really going to risk all of us, are you?” asks Daniel. He sounds as if he thinks she will. “We have to give him the closest thing we’ve got to what he wants. You know that.” Fear vibrates off him through the intensity of his eyes and the tension of his shoulders.

Madeline closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Whoever Doc is protecting must be very special to her.

“Okay,” she breathes out. “Get them ready.”

Daniel looks over at us. Everyone follows his gaze and watches us. I don’t like the mix of sympathy and relief in their eyes.

We get special attention even though the workers look frazzled and harried. After a whirlwind of showers, lotions, perfumes, haircuts, dresses, and major makeovers, we stand in front of Madeline.

Our masks are sparkly makeup rather than a plastic disguise. Playful ribbons of blue and silver makeup tease each other from our temples and curve around our eyes and over our cheekbones.

We wear matching dresses with silky drapes of burgundy that cling to every curve. Headbands with plumes of peacock feathers. Thigh-high nylons with elastic bands to keep them up. Shapely, sparkly, gorgeous but uncomfortable heels.

People are fighting for their lives on the streets, and I’m here minding my p’s and q’s in four-inch heels that pinch my toes.

Madeline walks in a slow circle around us. I have to admit, we look like twins. My hair has been cut to Andi’s shoulder length, and there’s so much gunk in it that it would take hurricane-force winds to tweak a strand from the matching curled halos around our heads.

“Nice touch with the eyelashes,” says Madeline. We wear shockingly long fake lashes tinged with silver at the tips. I doubt that Uriel would remember me from his brief glimpse in the old aerie basement, but it’s reassuring to know that even my own mother probably wouldn’t recognize me now.

Madeline nods after she finishes her inspection. “Come with me, girls. You’ll get the next shift with the archangel.”

URIEL’S SUITE is spectacular. The living area is enormous—the kind of thing you see in Hollywood movies. Two of the walls are lined with large windows that give a stu

“Over here, girls,” says Madeline. She walks to the grand desk that sits on one side of the room beyond the tan leather sofas and chairs. She points to either side of the desk by the wall. “While the archangel is in his suite, you stand in these two spots. Do not move unless he tells you to move. Not like a statue—you are a statue. You’re allowed to breathe but that’s it. Understood?”

We walk to our spots. There is a subtle piece of tape on the floor that marks where we’re supposed to stand.

“You are living art. You are the archangel’s trophies, and you’ll remain on either side of him while he sits.”

We take our positions. Madeline stands tall, pushing out her chest, dropping one shoulder and emphasizing her curves to show us how we should look. We mimic her. She comes over and adjusts us, putting a hand on my thigh, tilting my head, arranging my hair. I’ve seen storekeepers do this with their ma

“When the archangel leaves his suite, you follow. Flow around the desk and all obstacles in unison. Walk two steps behind him at all times. If you find yourselves falling behind, do not run. Gently pick up your pace until you are caught up. Grace at all times, ladies. Your lives depend on it.”

“What if we need to go to the bathroom?” asks Andi.

“Hold it. Every few hours, you’ll get a quick break for food and bathroom runs. Someone from our team will come for you with food and makeup kits to freshen your hair and makeup during those times. Sometimes, the archangel will remember to give you a break before a long meeting. He can be good with his pets as long as they do what they’re supposed to do.” Her voice makes it clear this is a warning and not a reassurance.

She walks to the far side of the desk and eyes us critically as we hold our u

“Good luck, ladies.” She sounds grim.

She turns and leaves the suite.

WE STAND there for almost an hour before the door opens. It’s enough time for me to worry about every possible reason why Uriel wants us here. I’m in the middle of another poorly thought-out, harebrained scheme that risks not only my life but all the other lives around me. How am I supposed to sneak out and find Paige while I’m being a decoration for Uriel?