by Stacia Kane
"I can't,” she said, tearing her gaze away. “Thanks, Greyson, but I have a dress."
"It's ugly."
"How nice of you to say."
"Look, Megan. It doesn't matter to me if you want to look like the frump that ate Manhattan, but there will be press people there tonight. Not to mention my boss, who'll be expecting to meet you, and several other high-ranking members of my Meegra. Demons are very ... let's just say some of us judge books by their cover. So try to look pretty, won't you? You do want their help."
"Are you saying they won't help me if I don't look pretty enough?"
He grinned. His teeth were very white. “I'm saying it won't hurt your cause to look like a sweet, attractive woman, and not the prickly, fussy ball of nerves you actually are."
Megan eyed the dress with exaggerated distaste. She wanted to put it on more than anything. She just didn't want him to know that, so she nodded and walked into the bedroom holding the dress at arm's length, as if it was a piece of particularly nasty garbage she was forced to touch.
It fit perfectly, adhering to her small breasts and making them look larger while making her waist look smaller, and swirling gracefully to the floor. Her pale skin glowed against the black chiffon. After one long, pleased moment, she fixed her face in a frown and left the bedroom.
"Fine, I'll wear it, because I need your Meegra's help. But I'm giving it back tomorrow, and that's that."
Greyson's lips twitched. “Of course. Just because you need help."
A knock at the door made her jump. Greyson sighed. “That'll be your date. I'll see you there."
Before she could reply, he leaned forward and planted a quick, soft kiss on her lips.
"Hey,” she said, but he'd already slipped out the patio doors, fading like a vampire into the night.
Chapter Eighteen
Megan pulled her fake-fur wrap tighter around her shoulders. She shouldn't have been cold in the car. The heater was on. But the waves of disapproval rolling from Brian's stiff frame made her want to hide under a pile of blankets.
"This is fun,” she said. “Oh so much fun."
"Sorry, I guess I'm not as interesting as your mobster boyfriend."
"He's not my boyfriend."
"He's not your fucking babysitter, either. You know what, Megan? I didn't give a shit what your relationship was with him, until the two of you set up that attack or whatever in the park and decided to try to mess with my head because of it. But you did. Whatever little game you're playing, you better be careful. Because I'm going to find out. And once I do, so will the rest of this city."
"Or at least the ten or fifteen people who read Hot Spot.” She'd wanted the words to be cold, uncaring, but her voice broke on “Hot."
"We have a lot more readers than that. And besides, once I break this story, I won't be working for them anymore. I'll be at a real paper, maybe even in a bigger city."
"I'll tell them what you do. How you cheat."
"And they won't give a damn even if they believe you."
Damn it, her makeup would run if she let those tears fall. She dug a tissue out of her sparkly little evening bag and dabbed at her lower lids.
Brian must have seen the movement. Some of the chilliness faded.
After a minute, he said, “I won't apologize. But I don't want to go down this road, Megan."
"Why? You certainly seem happy to."
He sighed. “I thought you were a good person. When we met I thought you were a good, nice person."
"And now?” Why she cared she couldn't say. Who was Brian anyway? A reporter assigned to do a puff piece on her. Not someone she would ever see again. Not a friend. Barely an acquaintance.
It just hurt to have someone, anyone, think so badly of her. Someone not from her hometown, at least. They still thought of her as a “murderer” there.
"Now ... I think you're just someone who can't help being what you are. I don't think you deliberately try to deceive anyone. It doesn't make it right, what you're doing and what you did—but I don't think it was malicious. You just don't think. Or care, or whatever. It's sad. I don't understand it."
"But I'm not like that,” she said. Behind her, one of the brothers shifted position, leaning forward and resting his meaty hand on the back of her seat. She must sound more upset than she thought.
"I wish I could believe that,” he said. They finally reached the valet. Cool air swirled into the interior of the car as the doors opened, and Megan stepped up onto the curb with her wrap still clutched around her shoulders.
Brian handed over the keys and stood next to her. “Ready?"
"What? No. No, I'm not ready. I don't want to spend my evening knowing you think I'm some kind of murdering, cheating mind-rapist."
"Keep your voice down.” He moved to take her arm, but Spud's hand grabbed him before he could. Megan glanced back. Spud frowned and shook his head.
"'E's right, m—Miss Chase,” Malleus muttered. “This ain't the place to be speaking too loud."
Megan looked around. People passing by were indeed looking at them strangely, though how much of that was their conversation and how much was the three stocky men in tuxedos and faded newsboy caps she couldn't say. “Fine.” She reached out and took Brian's hand. “Come here."
"You're dragging me into the bushes alone?"
"Yes."
"M'lady—Miss Chase, I don't fink this is such a good idea, I don't fink Mr. Dante would like—"
"Be quiet, Mr. Brown."
Her heels sank into the sharp-smelling mulch as she led Brian back into the pine trees next to the building. Curious partygoers turned to watch them go. Great. Now everyone will think I couldn't wait to seduce Brian up against a wall.
But this couldn't wait. She needed him to read her and tell her honestly if she was a bad person or not. If all those choices she'd made, all those decisions to steal that parking spot, or close the elevator door on someone carrying heavy packages, or make sarcastic comments—decisions she'd made on her own—qualified her to be just the kind of person he thought she was.
Or if there was hope for her after all.
"What are we—"
"Shut up and read me.” She squeezed his hand and lowered her shields. Completely.
For a second she felt nothing at all, then the impact of the thoughts of the crowds around her, of Brian's mind entering hers, slammed into her body and knocked her over.
She felt the brothers’ hands rough on her bare skin as they picked her up, but she didn't register it. They touched her body, that was all, and she was not fully in her body at the moment. Instead she was in the air, while someone else invaded her mind.
Thoughts replayed themselves for her as he rummaged through them, coldly, without mercy. Harlan Trooper's face loomed in front of her, replaced by Art Bellingham. Regina, her radio caller. Her mother, fear in her eyes. Trooper again, his face green and covered with saliva as his mouth opened to reveal row upon row of silvery teeth. The kids in her school, laughing at her, tripping her in the halls or teasing her to tears in class. Greyson Dante, his arms tight around her, pulling his face away from hers in the back yard...
No! The part of her that could still think tried to pull away, but it was too late. Dante's back, while her hand slid up the little knobs of his spine. Then another image, a guy she'd dated in college, sprawled naked on the sun-dappled bed of his dorm room while she straddled him.
"No!” This time she screamed it, her body twisting and shaking as she tried to pull away from Brian. Strong hands closed over his, over hers, hands that were all the more welcome for not transmitting anything at all. The demons.
Brian tried to pull back, but something tangled between them and held fast. Before she could get her shields back up she was assaulted. Crowds of people were just on the other side of that wall, were lined up in cars or standing around outside. Their thoughts hit her, engulfed her, their emotions swelling inside her until she thought she would explode.
"I wonder what ti
me he'll have his service call with an ‘emergency'. Some emergency, her new lingerie."
"Ooh! This is exciting!"
"Okay, five to eight. Drew will be waiting for us in two hours. Don't forget to throw that damn watch in the garbage before you call the police."
She twisted, thrown from her body, flying somewhere in the sky, still assaulted by thoughts and emotions. Hate. Envy. The grinning, toothsome faces of personal demons filled her mind, dancing around her. She screamed again, screamed at the knowledge in their eyes. Screamed because behind them was the shadowy face of Art Bellingham, and as she tried desperately to escape and go back to her body she heard his voice.
"Watching you, Megan ... you can't block me forever..."
His laughter echoed around her, as if she was floating on it, swimming in it. She caught a glimpse of Brian's terrified face before something slammed into the air between them, cutting off Art's laughter and the leering demon faces. Something that burned her like fire, but it was a fire she could stand, a heat that gave her strength. It roared in her ears, flames in her vision.
"Help me,” she heard Greyson gasp and the flames wavered for a second then grew stronger, their tips rimmed with blue-white. She came back to her body, thudding into reality and finding herself clasped in Greyson's arms, almost horizontal. Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud all had their hands on her, her shoulders, her legs. She had a brief second to be embarrassed before they let go. Greyson set her unsteadily on her feet with his arm tight around her waist, pressing her against the safety and strength of his body.
"What the hell happened here?"
"Mr. Dante, she insisted we—"
"She said it'ud be fine, she said she just wanted to—"
"Jesus, I don't know.” That last was Brian, his voice shaking. Megan pulled her face away from the solid warmth of Greyson's torso to look at him, pale and shivering against the ivory stucco of the building.
"I let Brian read me,” she said. Her voice didn't sound like her own. “He didn't believe me ... and I thought, I just wanted to..."
"Shit.” Greyson's grip on her tightened. “Got more than you bargained for, Stone?"
Brian leaned against the wall and reached into the breast pocket of his tux, producing a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes. She'd had no idea he was a smoker.
"I'm not,” he said, answering the question she knew must be on her face. “I keep them with me in case people I interview want one.” He shook one cigarette out and put it between his lips, then flicked a cheap plastic lighter.
Greyson snatched the cigarette away. “You're about to light the filter,” he said. He turned it around, gave it back, then took another cigarette for himself. “I don't, either,” he said to Megan. His eyes looked larger in the pallor of his face.
The boys did. Megan, feeling left out and more than a little irritated that smoking had suddenly become more important to all of them than what just happened, grumbled and grabbed one for herself. Dante lit it for her. She noticed that while he still held Brian's lighter, he didn't use it. He gave her shoulder a light caress as he withdrew his hand.
The smoke burned her throat and her chest, but she managed not to cough, although her eyes stung.
"Great,” Brian said finally. “Now that we're all smoking buddies, can someone tell me what just happened?"
Dante exhaled a thin stream of grayish smoke. It hung in the still, cool air, wreathing his face with haze. “Power transfer,” he said. “It's my guess, anyway. Nothing else feels like that."
"Power transfer? Really?” Brian leaned forward, his eyes bright. “I've never done it before. That was intense."
Megan's hands finally stopped trembling. “Transfer?"
Dante nodded. “Trust me, every damn sensitive in the place felt that. Megan, you lowered your shields all the way, right?"
"I didn't want him to think I was hiding anything."
"She didn't hide anything,” Brian said. “I'm sorry, Megan."
She knew the apology was for what he'd seen as much as anything he'd said. She gave him a half-smile, more relived than she thought she would be. He didn't think she was an awful person. A weight she'd barely been aware of lifted from her chest. Someone knew her secrets and still thought she was okay.
Someone human, not demon.
"Okay, but when she lowered her shields all the way you weren't expecting it, right? You were pushing with everything you have. You went all the way into her head, into her power. You took it from her without meaning to, and her psyche or ka or whatever you want to call it reacted by stealing yours right back and locking the two of you together. I guess she couldn't get her shields back up and the thoughts of everyone in here leapt into her head."
Brian nodded. “I heard it was a pretty dangerous thing to do. My old teacher told me once."
"It's usually not a good idea, no. You could have been bound together permanently, or you could have stolen all of her power and not been able to give it back. It's rare, but it's best not to do transfers unless there's no other option.” Greyson looked at them both. “You both seem fine, though, and I'm a little worried that people are going to come looking for us soon. We'd better finish these up and head inside."
Megan had forgotten about her cigarette, now just a long tube of ash hanging from her fingers. The men had smoked theirs down to the filters.
"Here.” Brian held out his hand, and Megan handed the butt to him. He stubbed it out in the dirt and pocketed it. “Wouldn't do to leave any evidence of our little social crime, would it?” He smiled, but Megan hardly noticed.
"Don't forget to throw that damn watch in the garbage..."
She clutched Greyson's arm. “I heard something."
"Hmm?” He glanced around. “Like what?"
"No. I mean, when I was ... when I was reading everyone. Someone is planning to kill his wife, or have her killed. He was thinking it. I heard it."
"Don't we have more important things to worry about right now?” His eyebrows raised and he glanced at Brian.
Right. He must have felt Art Bellingham, or known Bellingham had been there in her head. The thought made her queasy.
"Is there something more important than the possible murder of a woman tonight?"
"Yes. You don't even know who she is."
Every time she started thinking of him as a man, something happened to make her remember. Not a man. A demon. The death of most humans affected him about as much as the death of a fly bothered her, which wasn't much.
Not for the first time, she wondered why he seemed interested in her. Not for the first time, she wondered if she wanted to know.
"It doesn't matter,” she said. “No, I don't know who she is, but I'm going to find out and we're going to save her. You know why? Because that's the right thing to do."
He looked peeved, but he nodded. “Fine. We'll try to figure out who it is. But to do that, we need to go inside, so may I suggest...?"
They wandered back out of the trees and onto the sidewalk, ignoring the curious glances from the dwindling crowd outside. Megan's hand flew to her hair. “Shit! I'm sorry, guys. My hair, my make-up, you did such a beautiful job and it's probably ruined."
"You look fine. Not a hair out of place,” Greyson said.
"We used, er, fixative on it. So it won't fade or nuffing."
They stopped just outside the doors. Brian took her arm. “Megan,” he said, pulling her slightly to face him. “I truly am sorry."
"That's okay. If we can save this woman, it will have been worth it."
She gave them all a brief rundown of what she'd heard and what sort of man she thought it had come from. She'd only received a flash and it was muddled, but it felt like a younger man, mid-thirties, wealthy. The wife was older, or at least the man perceived her that way.
"So, basically, he's a gigolo and she's old and rich?"
Trust Greyson to get right to the point. She couldn't dispute it, though.
Brian sighed. “That describes half the couples in
here."
"Then we'll just have to read them all, won't we?” She knew she should wait for Brian, since technically he was her date, but she couldn't resist sailing in ahead of them all and letting them watch.
Chapter Nineteen
Of course, she'd forgotten how dedicated Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud were to their jobs. They ploughed through the crowd and caught up with her before she'd gotten five feet.
She'd also forgotten that she didn't have the tickets. Brian did. He smiled faintly at her as he handed them over and she checked her wrap.
"Very dramatic,” Greyson whispered in her ear. She shivered as his lips brushed against her lobe. “It would have been quite spectacular if it had worked."
She turned to make a face at him, but he hadn't moved at all. Her movement brought her lips within an inch or so of his.
Their eyes caught, held. His left hand came up to rest on her left shoulder, half of a loose embrace. “If I find this guy,” he said in a low voice, “will you come home with me?"
She wanted to say something flippant and sexy. She couldn't think of anything, though. Instead she shrugged and turned away with her chin held high, hoping he would read something clever into it.
He squeezed her shoulder, then his hand and the heat of him against her back disappeared as he made his way into the ballroom.
"Megan?"
She turned to see Brian watching her, a sort of half-smile on his face, and realized she'd been staring after Greyson like a lovesick teenager. She tried to rearrange her features into a pleasant blank. “What?"
"I asked if you wanted a drink once we get in."
"Absolutely."
He offered his arm and she took it, grateful that the fabric of his tux kept that jolt of energy away.
She wasn't sure quite what she'd expected. Probably something like a cafeteria filled with flowers—in fact, probably something like the high school prom she'd only seen pictures of. But the Femmel benefactors had gone all out. Twinkling lights hung from the ceiling and white fabric hid the walls. The polished wood floor was clear in a wide semi-circle in front of the stage, where a long table was set up. For the charity board and a few of the most generous donors, she guessed. Not far from that an orchestra was just starting to play “It Had to be You."