by Hazel Hunter
Kayla gave her sister a glare, but Louisa ignored the jibe and calmly laid out a spread of three cards, faces down, before setting aside the deck.
“We will begin with your past,” Louisa said, and turned over a card. It had one long blade crossed by four others. “Here we have the five of swords. You waited to hear, and be heard, but a powerful force imprisoned you in silence. That is why there were so many dark days for you, my dear.”
Tara swallowed hard. “What does that mean?”
“Your past has been difficult for you,” Louisa advised gently, and turned over a second card. “Now, the present.” On the card eight more blades formed a cage around a blindfolded woman. “The eight of swords.”
Christine leaned close to Kayla to murmur, “That’s an awful lot of blades.”
“You feel trapped,” the older woman said, and paused, staring at the card before she added, “Someone close to you wishes to keep you from your destiny. You are blind to this, not by choice, but by the will of the other. This is why you struggle now, Tara. You have traded one prison for another.”
“Maybe she should reshuffle the deck,” Kayla suggested and reached for the deck. “Or you could do my reading now.”
“No,” Tara said, grabbing her hand. To Louisa she said, “Finish it.”
The older woman’s bright eyes shifted to Kayla before she reluctantly flipped the third card. She paled as she stared at the tall building being struck by lightning, and then looked into Tara’s eyes.
“The future is The Tower. You are in great danger, and that which surrounds you will come to…” She stopped and shook her head. “I can’t see, exactly, because it is hidden, like much in your life. I think you should be very careful in whom you place your trust. Like those who seem good and kind. They wear masks made only to deceive you.” She quickly collected the cards and put them in Kayla’s hands. “Now for your sister.”
The cards felt oddly cold as Kayla shuffled them and handed them back.
Louisa silently dealt another three card spread, and turned over the first, on which a radiant-looking woman wearing a crown sat before an enormous forest.
“Your past is The Empress. A great and benevolent presence in your life protected you, my dear. I’m sensing that it was your mother. She meant for you to arrive at this day to do the same for another.”
“My mother abandoned us when we were little,” Kayla said flatly. “We haven’t heard a word from her in eighteen years.”
“Perhaps by leaving, she protected you from some evil in her life.” Louisa’s hair bobbed around her red cheeks as she turned over the second card, which showed a man with the number eight floating sideways over his head. “The Magician occupies your present. He represents a powerful, clever force that means to undo the Empress’s work. This could be a man you’ve met, who you believe has feelings for you. He makes you believe this so that you won’t resist his will, but I think he underestimates your love for your sister.”
“That seems a little confusing,” Kayla said, frowning as she thought of Dirk Blackstone. He didn’t fit Louisa’s description, but Ryan certainly did. Was this all some kind of game he was playing, so he could use her for his own purposes? “Are you sure about this guy?”
“I can only read the cards that are dealt,” Louisa admitted. “The Magician is often a favorable card, but not in this position. For you, he means upheaval and pain.” She turned over the third card.
They all stared silently at the skeleton riding a horse.
“The future,” Louisa said, her voice shaking. She swallowed several times. “I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well.” Quickly she picked up the cards and put them back into her velvet bag before she stood. “Christine, there’s no charge for the readings.”
Kayla quickly got up and blocked her path to the door. “What does it mean? Do you think I’m going to die? Tell me.”
The older woman looked as if she might shove her out of the way. “The Death card is about what is coming for you, brought about by the Magician. I feel it is very close now, and will come by night when shadows are at their darkest. This omen also reflects back on the past and the Empress. I think your mother was destroyed by hatred disguised as love, my dear. Now the same may happen to you and your sister. I sense a great threat, but not only for you. You see, I must pair the readings, as you are sisters. It means…” She leaned close to whisper the rest. “If you don’t leave here before the full moon, Tara will die.”
• • • • •
The man driving the black taxicab stopped a few yards outside the gates of Forever Faire, and watched as a slender, black-haired beauty embraced his older, plumper fare.
“I have to go out of town for a few weeks,” the old lady told the younger. “I’ll call you when I get back to see how your friends make out.”
The driver hid a smirk, but then, he knew that the Rowe sisters’ luck had almost run out.
Once the old lady climbed into the back of the cab, the driver adjusted his rearview mirror and performed a somewhat clumsy three-point turn. He watched his passenger look out the back window and wave at the girl. As she disappeared around the curve behind them, the old woman turned around to scowl at him.
Beck Blackstone shifted from the illusion of the mortal cabbie to his true form. “How did your readings go? Make any money?”
“I planted the seeds,” she said. Her lips stretched until tiny splits appeared. “They will water them with their fears. By the full moon they’ll grow so large that nothing will keep them under Sheridan’s wing.”
Beck watched as murky light enveloped his passenger. “And the new cloaking spell? She did not see through it?”
“This time she saw nothing of me.” Bright eyes turned the color of mud as they met Beck’s gaze. “Christine Marszalek has befriended the sisters. Perhaps when they leave, they will bring her with them. I should like that very much.”
Beck nodded. “When the time comes, I will have her set aside for you.”
“She’s half-Fae. That is how she was able to escape the club.” Plump fingers probed the halo of crimped ginger hair. They reemerged stained a wet, dark red. “Fucking cunt. Drive to the cottage, and hurry. I am already coming undone.”
Beck nodded, and turned off on a side road and followed it to a rustic little cottage surrounded by firs and pines. Clothing ripped in the back seat as Beck parked the cab in front of Louisa Hayes’s home. He rolled down his window to breathe in the smoke drifting from the brick chimney, which even now still smelled of burnt mortal bone. The scent that reminded him of the old days, when his clan could slay as many humans as they wished, and no one dared challenge them. This modern world had too many eyes and ears.
The cab’s back door flung open, and Beck watched with amusement as his fare staggered out naked. Pendulous breasts swayed as bloated hands began to tear at the placid features. Eyes, nose, and mouth sagged, then slid down from Dirk Blackstone’s blood-covered face.
As Beck watched his cousin wrestle with his hideous garment, he nodded to himself. It had been his idea to question each of the dancers at the club about the one who had escaped. One of the girls had mentioned how often the little bitch went to have her cards read, which led them to the old woman. Even under the kind of duress that drove mortals insane, Louisa Hayes had repeatedly denied knowing where Christine had gone. Then the girl herself had called the old witch, and left a message on her telephone machine, asking her to come to the faire and do a reading for the Rowe sisters.
Beck’s eyelids drooped as he remembered snapping the bones in Louisa’s fingers. It had taken seven before she told Dirk which cards to use.
“Do I amuse you?” Dirk demanded, as he worked one arm out of the lifeless mortal flesh. “Perhaps for my next foray I will don your hide.”
“Ah, but you cannot filet a faithful cousin, or any other immortal you would make your masque.” Beck climbed out of the cab and walked over to him. “Sard my ass, but even with the fat and the wrinkles that mew
ling witch must have been a tight fit.”
Dirk said nothing as he peeled away Louisa’s skin until he could step out of it naked. He kicked the boneless flesh at Beck before he strode into the cottage.
“Time to go to your reward, my lady,” Beck said.
He dragged the flaccid remains over the threshold, inside, and across the living room. With a heave, he cast the flesh into the enormous fireplace, then wiped his hands clean on the old witch’s lace curtains.
“I would offer some manner of mortal prayer,” he said. “But you were a pagan. Perhaps you will be reborn as a cow in some land where fools worship them. Not that there would be much difference.” Air shifted around Beck, and for a moment he smelled the thick, warm perfume of blooming flowers. “You think to haunt me?” The light from the window dimmed as his anger swelled. “Begone, old woman. You have served your purpose.”
The flames in the fireplace roared up, while outside snow began to pelt the windows. The smoke from the burning flesh wafted in his eyes, forcing him back, and then the fire vanished. Beck went still as he saw a burst of warm pink light. But when it faded, all that remained of the old witch had crumbled to gray ash
“So you possessed a few drops of Fae blood,” he murmured, nodding in agreement with himself. “They are burnt away now, along with the rest of you.”
The storm outside cleared as Beck sat in the old woman’s overstuffed chair and waited. The little house smelled of blood and death, but so did everyplace they went, eventually. Having a cousin who could wear human flesh like clothing could be a messy business, but this time it had allowed Dirk to pass through Forever Faire’s bespelled boundaries.
“It would be useful if we could all masque ourselves with mortal hides,” Beck called out, and heard Dirk snarl something in response from the bath. He went into the kitchen where they had first questioned and then butchered the witch, which now resembled a small slaughtering pen. He picked up the mound of clothing Dirk had shed before slipping into the old woman’s skin. “Then the rest of the clan could cross the faire’s boundaries, and get our changeling.”
His cousin emerged a short time later, now dripping wet from the shower as he snatched his clothing from Beck.
“She is mine, Cousin. Mine alone. Forget that, and I’ll have your head as my footstool.”
Beck offered him a mocking bow, and found himself slammed against the nearest wall.
“You know all I want is a quiet corner, Jarek in chains, and a sharp blade,” Beck managed to croak. Despite the massive fist around his neck he grinned at Dirk. “’Tis a shame you cannot wear him. Not that there will be much left when I am done.”
“So you say.”
His cousin released him. Beck staggered back and massaged his throat, as Dirk roughly pulled on his clothes and boots.
“Set fire to this hovel,” he said. “I want no trace of our work left for that mad cock Sheridan to find.”
Without waiting for an acknowledgement, his cousin stalked out, leaving Beck to start the blaze.
A deck of the old woman’s tarot cards still lay on the kitchen table. He grinned as he picked them up and took them to the fireplace. One by one, he lit them and dropped them around the cottage. By the time he’d lit the final card the place was burning merrily around him. Beck placed the last flaming card on the old woman’s chair, and frowned as he saw the picture of a grinning skeleton on a horse staring up at him. Suddenly he remembered that Louisa had done something strange when she’d showed Dirk the Death card. She had stopped weeping, and closed her eyes a moment before his cousin had snapped her neck.
“You knew you were going to die,” Beck muttered as he watched the card curl up and blacken. Fear constricted his throat. “What more did you know? What did you see in those bloody cards?”
Flames engulfed the chair, but when their smoke reached his nose, Beck smelled the flowers of an eternal spring. He spun around, and saw the fireplace filling not with flames but blooms made of soft, pink light.
“Fuck you and your witchery, you old hag.”
He turned on his heel and walked out to the cab where his cousin waited. Someday there would be no limit to the mortals he would kill. Someday he would kill enough to build a house from their bones. Someday…
“Why are you grinning like that?” his cousin demanded.
“I think I know how to get all of us into Forever Faire,” Beck said, his tone placid. “We will need more bikers. Many more bikers.”
“My father refuses to send more men,” Dirk reminded him.
“Not our clansmen.” He started the engine. “Mortal bikers.”
Chapter 8
“HAVE YOU SEEN Tara?” Kayla asked Christine as she delivered the last platter of burgers to the dining hall buffet table.
“Last I heard, she went to run up a few more tablecloths for the feast tables.” Christine scattered a handful of cherry tomatoes over a large salad, each landing in precise, evenly-spaced spots on the mixed greens. She glanced up and frowned. “You’ve already checked the costume tent, huh?”
“She probably went back to the lodge to take a shower.” Kayla felt something stir the hairs on the back of her neck, and gritted her teeth. She didn’t have to look to know who was causing it. “So what are you wearing tomorrow night?”
“Only the latest fashion for serving wenches.” Christine whipped off her apron to reveal the white linen blouse, black leather bustier, and full red skirt she wore. She turned from side to side. “What do you think? Doesn’t it shriek ‘Tug on my laces, Hot Stuff?’”
Kayla’s gaze shifted to Colm, who stood talking with one of the cooks. “I don’t think he’s a tugger, honey.”
“I see someone who is,” her friend said, and nodded past her. “If mine doesn’t work out, can I have him?”
“Sure,” Kayla said. For a moment she wondered if throwing Christine at Ryan would actually get him off her back, until a startling surge of jealousy raced through her. “I’ve got to get the horses bedded down for the night. See you later.”
Pulling down the cap that went with the squire costume Tara had made for her, Kayla walked quickly out of the back of the tent. She made it halfway to the barn before Ryan stepped in front of her.
“You cannot outrun me. My legs are twice the length of yours,” he said, eyeing her hose-clad thighs. “Hiding will not work, either. You leave a trail of your scent as well as your life energy wherever you go. I have played this game of princess and monster for sevenday now. I will not permit you to win it again.”
So he knew she’d been avoiding him. “We call it hide and seek now. What do you want, other than everything you’re not going to get?”
As a group of vendors passed them Ryan took her hand and led her to a more secluded spot between two tents. “I know you wish Tara to be safe, but as long as she is here, the Blackstones will not leave. Neither of you can go beyond the faire grounds while they are here, or you will be taken.”
“Haven’t we been over this?” She realized she was still holding his hand, and pulled it away. “We won’t step foot outside the gates.”
His lovely, sexy mouth tightened. “This is a stalemate, Kayla, but it will not remain so. The Dark Fae are not only powerful, they are resourceful. Eventually they will ferret out a way to breach our boundaries.”
She silently agreed with everything he said, and hated herself for it. “So what do you suggest we do? Call in the National Guard? They can’t see them.”
“Wallace believes the Blackstones are tracking you by the curse that cloaks Tara.” He stepped closer, and before she could back away, he caressed her cheek. “It is too powerful and well-cast to be removed, but we can make it weaker.”
Although his touch made her want to fling herself into his arms, Kayla forced herself to focus on his words. “By separating us.”
Ryan nodded. “There is a Fae clan whose leader is indebted to me. I can arrange for him and his kin to take Tara, and move her somewhere far from Forever Faire.”
That he’d even consider such a thing made her blood boil. “No.”
“They are kind, good people, and will safeguard her against the Dark Fae,” he assured her, “until such time as we can defeat the Blackstones. Once she is away, you and I will–”
“Shut up.” She shoved him as hard as she could, which was the same as trying to push over a brick wall. “You think I don’t know what you really want? You and me, alone here in our little medieval love nest, without Tara to spoil things. Well, it’s not happening, Ryan. You’re not sending my sister anywhere. But I’ll tell you what: first thing tomorrow morning, we’ll leave, together. As for you and I, we’re done now. Stay away from me.”
So angry she could barely see straight, Kayla left him and ran to the barn. Once inside she slammed the door behind her, falling back against it and beating her fists against the old wood until she saw every horse in the barn staring at her.
“Sorry, I’m– Sorry, guys.”
She rubbed a hand over her hot face and retreated to check that she had all the gear she would need for tomorrow night’s show. As she passed each horse, they stretched out their necks, trying to nose her. Surrounded by saddles, blankets and bridles in the tack room, Kayla felt calmer. She switched on the light, and surveyed the wire racks of show accessories. She might as well start pulling and organizing things now.
“Send Tara away, my ass.” She jerked down a handful of blankets and sorted through them, picking out the colors that would complement the Winter Feast’s theme of white and blue. “Why don’t we just kill her? No more changeling, no more issues. Isn’t that the perfect solution?”
The door to the tack room suddenly opened with a squeal of hinges, and a shower of tiny white stars cascaded down to bounce around the floorboards. Ryan stepped inside and kicked the door shut before he finished transforming.
“We are not done,” he told her, his eyes glowing so brightly his gaze seemed to burn into her head.