“Half-blood masquerada are rare,” Estelle pointed out. “Julien said you were a deliberate latent, too. Usually anybody who’s a half is dying to test out whether they have any powers.”
A rush of anger filled her. “Julien has a big mouth.”
“He does indeed. So spill.”
“Not much to say. My mom was a masquerada. Dad was human. He left and died, then she died.” So much pain in those few words, but Caro was used to it now.
“You miss them?”
“No.” The answer was brusque.
Estelle took the hint. “How good are you?” She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry. Too much to drink. That was rude.”
“Is it? I have no idea.” Caro emptied her glass. “Up until a few days ago I didn’t even know there were levels. I was never interested in that side of things and after my mother died, there was no one to ask. I found out about JDPR only because I found a card in her files. This whole arcana thing was a mystery to me.”
“You didn’t know about the arcane world?””Only a bit. I was basically raised as a human.”
Estelle frowned. “Wait. You’ve never taken on a masque?” She sounded astonished.
“No.” Not even with the mimosas could she bring herself to say more about how she felt about masquerada. She’d already said too much the other day with Julien.
“Wow. Don’t you ever feel you’re missing something? I think I might.”
“Never.” Caro knew her answer had been too quick.
“Curiouser and curiouser.” Estelle rose. “I’ll be right back. I need to use the ladies’.”
“For real?” Caro asked with interest.
“If I’m doing the human thing, for sure.” She smirked. “Shall I go into more detail?”
Caro made a face. “I’m good.”
Estelle winked and left Caro sitting quietly at the table, nursing the sturdy champagne flute. It had been a long time since she’d had a friend to talk to. Years, maybe. She’d been too busy in journalism school, then making her name as a reporter to have more than casual work acquaintances.
She put the glass down and watched the people strolling along the sidewalk, letting herself enjoy the gorgeous day. Unconsciously, she scanned each person as they walked by, noting their expressions and how they moved. She sighed. There was no tall man with dark hair long enough to tangle her hands into. No matter what she did, Eric was always on her mind. She looked at Estelle’s empty seat, wanting to see him so badly that it was a physical need. A couple passed, talking about the garlic-stuffed olives they’d bought from Cheese Magic, followed by a mother chatting cheerfully with her teenage daughter, who was holding a bag with a pink crinoline peeking out.
A man walked by and glanced over, meeting her eyes. He slowed for a fraction of a second before passing on. There was something familiar about him. Caro frowned. Someone she knew from Washington? As a reporter she’d met a lot of people, but she didn’t think anyone she knew casually would recognize her—losing thirty pounds and growing her hair long as its natural brown had drastically changed her appearance. Cold fingers walked down her spine as she watched him stride away. He moved like a hunter and she wasn’t surprised to see people simply melt out of his path.
The man reminded her of Franz Iverson. The realization doused her like a bucket of cold water. That was it. The same cocky but threatening strut, backed up by confidence in his vast wealth and influence, all overlain by a total lack of empathy. She remembered seeing him in court, blandly handsome and dressed in a suit with a tie that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. It was the first time she’d seen him in person and the man’s palpable aura of menace had sickened her. At least now Iverson was in jail, serving a long sentence. There was no way it could be him.
Estelle reappeared to her left, jarring Caro back to reality. “What a line. Why does the ladies’ room always have the same number of stalls as the men’s room? It’s ridiculous.”
Caro smiled, but memories of Iverson had chased the sun out of her afternoon.
Chapter 13
“It’s confirmed. It’s definitely Iverson.” Stephan walked into the library without knocking. “We’ve got a—” he stopped dead and eyed Eric with concern. “Did I interrupt something?”
Eric, dressed in only a pair of jeans, stood in front of the mirror that hung on the far wall. He didn’t even turn around. “How long have you gone without taking on a masque?”
Stephan pulled off his jacket and threw himself into one of the leather club chairs. “A while.”
Eric cursed himself. Stephan had been turned in West Africa about a hundred years before he was kidnapped and forced into slavery on a Louisiana plantation. He didn’t speak much about what he’d endured there, but Eric knew he’d been taken by rival masquerada who were jealous of his power. Once in America, Stephan’s rage that his ability had resulted in such pain meant he refused to take a masque for years. Selene helped him confront his fury.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Wasn’t thinking.”
“I know. You’re all wrapped up in yourself, classic masquerada. But since what happened to me was a long time ago, and what’s happening to you is now, tell me why you’re asking.”
Eric glanced back at the mirror. It was strange to see himself simply as Eric, rather than the raw material for a more interesting or more useful masque. The magnitude of what had happened hadn’t hit him until this morning, when he’d wanted to go out as Alex. It had been like a punch to the gut to realize that he couldn’t go as Alex or anyone but himself. No masquing allowed. It wouldn’t be for long, the medics assured him—another day or so—but it was like denying part of himself. Maybe his true self. But if those other masques were all the true Erics, then who the hell was he?
“Nothing. I wanted to take on a masque today, that’s it.” It sounded incredibly whiny now that he said it.
“Well, I’ve never had to not do it when I wanted to. Is it hard?” Stephan sounded more curious than pitying, which Eric appreciated.
“No,” Eric lied. “It’s not long now.” He reached over for the shirt that lay draped on the table in front of him. “Report.”
“We have another sighting of Iverson. One of Tom’s team saw him at the Oasis last night.”
Eric quirked an eyebrow. “The Oasis? The burlesque place?”
“Burlesque is having a revival. Feathered fans and everything. It’s popular with the statics right now.” Stephan had a faraway look in his eyes. “Takes me back.”
“How do you know it was Iverson?”
“It was a new masque, but our contact was close enough to hear. He was with a brunette woman but the place was too dim to get a photo without being obvious. She called him Frankie.”
“Frankie?” Eric frowned. “I can’t believe he allowed that. Is that it?”
“Our man also identified his scar when Frankie’s scarf slipped. The crescent on the side of his throat was visible, you know he never shifts that out.”
That was true. As the blood pumped out, Iverson had sworn revenge for the wound Eric had given him. Not for the first time did Eric regret not making it deeper. Like right through his neck.
“He’s definitely consolidating his power, Eric. We’ve been monitoring the police scanners. This is a calm city but crime’s starting to rise again. Same drill as Washington. Small stuff now. Petty crimes and targeted to statics.”
“He’s in direct violation of the Law.”
The last arcane war had been centuries ago, and had led to the establishment of the Law, the treaty that forbade any arcana from interfering in human politics or other institutions. The Law forced the arcana into a secret life, living in tandem with the humans who remembered them only in stories. Compliance was monitored by Pharos, a secret pan-arcana group responsible for upholding the Law and keeping peace in the arcane world.
“Hard to pin
it on him.”
“It won’t stay like that for long.” Eric tapped his fingers on the table. “What about the knife?”
“Almost forgot. Here.” Stephan passed over the knife, now in a new leather holster. “It came back clean. No poisons or anything on it.”
Eric pulled the knife out of the sheath. It shone like a new coin and when he touched the edge, it felt sharp enough to cut glass. “No more bloodstains,” he noted absently.
“Guess you’ll have to put them back on.”
That sounded good. Eric strapped on the sheath. “Did Tom brief all our field teams and patrols?”
“They’re prepped but it’s going to be too much for them soon. Mai was injured last night. We got her to the medics before she bled out.”
“Mai?” Eric snapped to attention. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“She’s fine, almost healed. Tom’s with her now. You know Mai. She told me and Tom to keep our goddamn mouths shut and not bother you.” Stephan checked his notes. “We found four bodies around her. Incapacitated and now in detention.”
“Mai’s good,” Eric said proudly. “The problem is, even she can be outnumbered. Partners on patrols from now on and everyone’s to shift once every two hours in case they get a bead on us.” There were strong masquerada on his security team, each one able to maintain multiple masques.
“I’ll tell them. Also, I’ve been talking to Evie.” Evie was their data hound. The way the woman could pore over streams of what were to Eric completely unrelated data and come up with viable predictions was incredible. In another age she’d be considered a seer.
“What did she say?”
“She says there is a crisis node coming.”
“What the hell is a crisis node?”
“Like a point of no return, is how I understood it. Things building and needing to suddenly release. Or something like that. You know how Evie explains things.”
Yeah, he knew how Evie explained things. Whenever she came into his office, Eric listened for form’s sake, knowing that he’d be lost after the first sentence. At the end, when she peered at him through her black-rimmed, now-fashionable-again glasses, he’d always congratulate her on her insight, give full approval, and leave it at that. He groaned. “Did she say when? Give any details?”
“She said she needs more input.”
“What does that mean?”
Stephan rubbed his temples. “She told me, but I was goner about a microsecond after she started talking. I told her to use any resource she needed.”
“Good man.”
“She’s got Paul helping her.”
Eric perked up. “Paul?” Paul was one of the most introverted masquerada Eric had met. A brilliant analyst, Paul was almost physically unable to hold a casual conversation. Eric didn’t think he had ever even looked a woman in the eye.
“I saw them working together late last night,” Stephan gossiped. “He was smiling.”
The two men beamed at each other like successful matchmaker grandmothers. Then Eric turned somber. “Did Evie say Iverson was going to move soon?”
“She said there was a good chance.”
“She did?” Eric said doubtfully. “That doesn’t sound like something Evie would say.”
“It isn’t something Evie would say. It’s a paraphrase. Evie actually said there was a probability ratio of 94.6 per cent given certain parameters and conditions. I think.”
His phone rang. An unknown number, but instinct told Eric to answer. Perhaps it would be Caro. Stephan stood close, listening intently.
“Hello, old friend.”
Eric stared at the phone in disbelief. Franz Iverson. It was like him to pull this kind of a move. He was a huge fan of theatrics. The message was clear: Eric was so stupid that he would miss Iverson’s efforts if he wasn’t pointed in the right direction.
“Franz.” Eric kept his voice pleasant, knowing this would irritate the man more than out-and-out hostility. “I heard you were out. Prison food getting to you?”
“It was a new experience that quickly became boring. You know all about being boring, Eric.”
“I certainly know about being bored. Thanks for the knife.”
“It was careless of you to leave it lying there for anyone to pick up, Eric.”
“What do you want?”
Iverson laughed. “Come, after all these years you even have to ask? Your time’s up. All this playing nice with the statics is over. Weaklings. Sheep.”
Eric frowned. This was more than gunning for his job. “The Council won’t like to hear that.”
“You think I give a shit what the Council thinks? Those assholes are obsolete. However, I think you might be surprised, Eric. Not everyone is as big a fan of statics as you. Not at all.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Eric was already tired of Iverson’s arrogance.
He could hear the man’s shrug through the phone. “We could call it a sense of fair play.”
“We could, but we both know that’s not how you work.”
“Efficiency. I’ve been watching you, Eric. You’re tired. Losing confidence. That’s why you fuck around pretending to be many others. You are searching for novelty in a desperate attempt to avoid thinking about who you are. Who you are not.”
Eric felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. “When did you turn shrink?” he asked, keeping his voice uninterested.
Iverson snorted. “Christ, a kid could see through you. I’m giving you a chance to step down. I’ll take you on and I’ll win, but I’d rather not waste the resources.”
“Fuck you.”
“Suit yourself, Eric.” Now Iverson sounded uninterested. “Enjoy being Hierarch for a little longer. I think that’s about all you have left. And when you go, the Law will finally get the quick death it deserves.”
Eric shut off the phone and relayed the conversation to Stephan. The lieutenant sighed and ran his hand over his eyes. “Looks like Evie was right. Now will you tell the High Council?”
“No.”
“No. Why not? Did you hear what he said about the Law?”
“I did, and he’s full of shit. No one in their right mind would destroy the one thing that’s given us peace from the humans.”
“I still think you should tell the Council. At least Michaela Chui. I hear she’s Pharos.”
“I heard the same but she wouldn’t say even if she is. I’ll tell the Council when they need to know.”
Stephan slumped in his chair. “And that’s not now because why?”
“Because Iverson’s not winning, that’s why,” Eric said coldly. “We’re going to hit that fucker, and hit him hard.”
Stephan’s tired face split in a wide smile. “You got a plan?”
Eric snorted. “That is my plan. We’ll move in ten days. Get everyone ready. We’re taking down every masquerada in the city who’s not with us. We’ve let this stupidity go on long enough. Iverson’s not taking my city or my people or my fucking throne.”
“Yes, sire!” Stephan turned away and began barking commands into his phone.
Chapter 14
The sun was shining when Eric arrived at his office. It was a gorgeous Sunday morning, perfect for doing absolutely nothing except sitting and watching the world go by. How long had it been since he’d allowed himself to do something like that? Eric wondered. Years. Maybe decades. He was always working.
Because when he worked, he didn’t have to think about how lonely his life was, or what it had become.
Fuck it. The work would always be there, more than he could finish in several masquerada lifetimes. Agreements, treaties, petitions. Walking that eternal fine line that would keep his people safe and strong, and still secret from the statics. He fought back a yawn. It had been a late night as they had worked until their plans to deal with Iverson were so
lid. That son of a bitch.
The hell with Iverson. He was going to go for a walk and he was going to enjoy it.
Instead of hustling down the stairs, he lingered by the window. That morning the medics had decided he should avoid masquing for another few days, but when he’d pressed them, they’d admitted it was mostly for safety’s sake. There was no real reason he couldn’t shift and he wanted to, desperately. He’d been crafting a masque in his head all week and was dying to test it out on the street. An older man with a huge potbelly. He loved the idea of the potbelly hanging over his belt, a thin line of graying hair under the navel. Shit, the clothes. He didn’t bring anything that would fit. Fine, for the first go, he’d do no belly. Keep it to a soft pudginess.
He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths. Then doubled over with dry heaves, sharp pains shooting through his chest.
That wasn’t right. Maybe he did need more rest. He’d never experienced anything like that before. Cautiously, he closed his eyes again. This time, the nausea rose but he managed to restrain himself.
For a moment, anyway, until he realized that something was wrong.
The cavern in his mind, the visualization he used to shift into a masque, was there. The masques were all there, including the one he’d just created, as round and appealing as he’d imagined. There was no way to reach it, though—it was as though the cavern had been sealed off behind an impenetrable wall of diamond. He couldn’t enter. Instead, he stood on the threshold, frozen and sick as his hands skated over the slick surface and panicked thoughts flew through his mind.
Push. Break through. It was impossible. Alarm rose and his eyes flew open. Back in the safety of the office, he took deep breaths and tried to talk himself through what had happened. Frieda had implanted the idea in his mind. It was a physical response to the convergence. He’d been stressed. Maybe the medics were right and he did need a couple more days. There was nothing the matter.
Yeah. Give it a day. Some rest would make everything right. That’s all he needed to fix this. He wiped the sweat off his brow and decided to go for that walk right now to refocus his mind. Worry wasn’t going to help. In seconds, he was at the bottom of the stairs. A cool breeze came off the lake and he automatically turned toward it, deciding to head along the lakeshore toward the Humber River. There was a raised boardwalk that would take him right along the beach.
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