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.

And it was all her fault.

Oliver had gone white.

He was milk and paper and ghostly fright. He’d taken her hand and was squeezing so tight Alice had no choice but to shake him off. She yanked her hand back and scowled at no one in particular, realizing all too late that she had caused quite a lot of trouble. She glanced at Oliver. He was frozen in place, eyes wide, horrified by the spectacle they’d become.

The beautiful boy and his crowd of people were close, closer, and a blink later, had circled around them completely. The tallest held a torch and held it high, high above Alice’s head, so everyone could get a good look at her face. They were pointing and gesturing, heads cocked and gazes roving over her hair, her skin, her tattered skirts. She felt as though she were locked in a cabinet of curiosities, and she didn’t like it one bit.

Alice narrowed her eyes at the beautiful boy, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was smiling wide, looking around at his friends like he was proud, like he’d discovered something odd and strange and oh, wouldn’t it be tops to poke fun at the nothing-girl tonight. Well, she wasn’t having any of that.

Alice was not interested in being stared at, and besides, she and Oliver had a very busy schedule and no time to spare for nonsense.

The beautiful boy stepped forward.

“My name is Seldom,” he said. And smiled.

Alice wanted very much to speak, but she was abruptly startled into silence. Seldom had moved into the torchlight and his face—well, it was nothing at all like it was in the moonlight. Here, where the fiery glow illuminated his features, she could see him far more clearly. Tall and broad, he wore a sleeveless shirt with a deep V-cut neckline, very short shorts, and a pair of moccasins. But most interesting was his skin. He was a stroke of midnight—so blue he was almost black—and he was covered, head to toe, in tattoos. Stars, moons—galaxies—were drawn upon his body in ink so gold they shimmered in the light. Alice stood there staring at him, just as he stood staring at her.

Mouths agape.