Masked Possession

by Alana Delacroix

  “One of those rumors is correct.” He looked them in the eye, owning it. “I can’t shift.”

  Stephan and Tom stared at him. Like with Caro, Eric saw no pity. No disgust. Only a willingness and desire to get on with the job.

  “Was it the convergence?” Stephan asked.

  Eric nodded. “It’s… I can’t get to my masques. I can see them, but there’s a wall. I can’t break through.”

  Stephan came over and clapped his hand on Eric’s shoulder and Tom gave a small nod. There was a world of unspoken understanding in those two actions and Eric felt relief pour over him like a waterfall.

  “Right.” Stephan squeezed Eric’s shoulder in a grip that could have crushed a coconut, then removed his hand. “We’re with you.”

  Tom slapped him on the back. “You’re the Hierarch for more than your masquing. You’re the one who knows that best. It’s what you’ve been telling the lineages for years—that the ability to shift into multiple masques doesn’t define the value of the person.”

  Eric took a breath, not wanting to say that it was different to say such a thing when he could actually shift. Tom was right, after all. It’s what he did believe.

  Stephan looked at him. “We need to deal with the rumors, though. Using JDPR is obviously out.”

  “Michaela.” Eric glanced at the map projected on the wall. It lacked the shading showing Iverson’s support, but he knew that it was stronger than any of them had expected. Even if—no, when—he destroyed Iverson, he was going to have to systematically destroy his entire network. “Use her to talk sense into the moderates. The ones who have gone Iverson will believe what they want. Don’t bother with them.”

  They discussed tactics for a few more minutes, then Tom cleared his throat. “Two things.”

  “What?”

  “I think it’s possible we had a leak. Who else knew about this? Frieda?”

  “I never confirmed it, so no. She suspected, said it was common for those who survived a convergence.”

  “That may be true or not,” said Stephan. “She could have been drawing you out. Who else?”

  “Caro.” Eric stopped Tom before he could say anything. “After what happened last night, you can’t seriously suspect her anymore. Of anything.”

  Tom sat down heavily. “That’s the problem. I don’t know if that’s Caro. Do you?”

  Did he? Eric stared at his security chief. He tried to step out of himself, to look at the situation dispassionately. Definitely, it was reasonable to assume that Caro could have been replaced. However, the woman moved like Caro. Spoke like her. Even had the same sweet way of tucking her hair behind her ear and stroking it down with her hand.

  If that wasn’t Caro, then where was she?

  “Eric?”

  “I don’t know,” Eric admitted slowly. “I want it to be her.”

  “What did she have to say?” Stephan picked up a book on the shelf and randomly flipped through it. “Can she give us any information about Iverson?”

  Eric shrugged. “She said doesn’t want to talk about it.” It was both reasonable for the real Caro to say—the woman could obviously keep a secret—and also a convenient excuse for an imposter.

  “Did she say why Iverson wanted her?” Tom pressed. At Eric’s look, he threw up his hands. “Let me guess. She didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “I need more time with her.” He had already screwed up by letting Caro think he didn’t trust her. He couldn’t possibly compound that error now. He got up from the chair. “The simplest answer is probably the right one. That’s the real Caro in the room upstairs and Iverson only wanted to distract me.”

  “Then why let her go now?” Stephan asked in the same practical tone he would use to ask if there was gas in the car. “It would do more damage to you to keep her hidden.”

  It was logical, but Iverson wasn’t always driven by logic. “I need time,” Eric repeated.

  “There isn’t a lot of time left,” Stephan said.

  There was a hard silence until Tom tucked his phone in his pocket. “It’s too late now anyway, but I still recommend that Caro be kept monitored while she is here and not left alone with you or near sensitive information.”

  Eric rubbed his temple. He wanted to believe Caro was back but he couldn’t, in good conscience, say he was sure. The door opened and Cynthia delivered coffee. He looked at her pleasant face, at Stephan and Tom, then at the maps. There was much at risk.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. Quite the fucking leader he was being today.

  The other two men nodded. “Nor do we,” Tom said. “Detention may be safer.”

  Eric sighed. “Let me think about it.” If he was wrong, he would completely destroy any chance with Caro. How sure was he? “What’s the second item you had, Tom?”

  “The defie.”

  The words dropped like concrete. “I’ve got no choice,” Eric said. “I have to do it and I have to do it like this.”

  “I don’t like it,” Tom said flatly. “I think Iverson knows and he’s got something planned.”

  Eric laughed without humor. “Something other than masquing into a huge monster?”

  “Unfortunately. Be on guard for tricks.” Tom thought. “I want to double your practice time today. We’re going to work on speed.”

  “Fine.” Speed was good. Suspicion was good.

  Eric looked at his friends as if through a fog. God. If that wasn’t Caro, who was it? And what had they done with his woman?

  * * * *

  What Iverson meant by getting Caro ready meant having some stranger come in to remove her bonds, feed her, and rub her down so that her muscles were supple. It had felt like the preparation of a sacrifice, which she supposed she was. Julien sat in the corner and watched her with hot eyes, no doubt trying to figure a way to slime out of Iverson’s command that he keep his hands to himself. She ignored him. When Iverson returned, he had an outfit that would have fit two football players. He sent Julien out as Caro’s stomach flipped. “How big do I need to be?”

  “Big.”

  “I don’t know if I can shift to a man,” she hedged. Eric had said only a few could.

  “You’re a half-blood so you probably can’t. Do a woman version.” He sounded like he didn’t care. “Do it now. Get used to that masque.”

  He passed her a photo and she stared at it, wondering if she had to do anything different to be a male. She glanced down at her groin and flushed. What about, ah? God, she wished she could ask someone. Iverson interrupted. “Go dickless,” he said crassly. “You’re fighting, not fucking.”

  Asshole. Caro ignored him. She kept the image of the man in her mind and began to imagine it. Was there a way she could communicate with Eric? As she pondered this, Iverson came and grabbed her, fingers digging into her arm, to lift her up from the chair. “I know what you’re thinking,” he whispered in her ear, so close she felt sick. “You’re wondering if you can keep a freckle or the color of your eyes so he’ll know you.”

  He released her and she stumbled back. “I’m going to be watching.” He crossed his arms, the muscles bulging at the seams of his tapered suit. “If you fight any less than I expect or try to speak to him, I’ll shoot you both. You do anything to me when you’re in this form before the match, I hurt you and give you to Julien, then kill Kelton after I humiliate him in the ring.”

  She refused to look at him so he grabbed her face and forced her to meet his emotionless gaze. “Are we clear?”

  “Clear,” she gritted out.

  He slapped her hard enough to snap her head back. “Now do it and quit wasting my fucking time.”

  She gathered herself and took a final look at the photo. Blond crew. Blue eyes. Broken nose and broad, Slavic-looking face. Neck like a tree stump. Got it. She began to build the masque in her head, thinking of every bodybuilder she’d
ever seen a picture of, each video game soldier and every UFC fighter, and mixed it with some Andre the Giant. When she released the shift, it was incredible. Her body felt as though it was expanding, and she could feel the bones and muscles stretching. When it was done, she knelt with sweaty hands pressed against the floor, panting, and her clothes destroyed. Quickly, she dressed in the loose black pants and shirt Iverson had brought.

  Everything was strange. She was a man and it felt wrong in every way. Her body was angled instead of curved. She couldn’t even put her damn arms flat against her side because of the huge pads of muscle. Thank God she hadn’t put in the dick. Dealing with that bouncing around would have sent her screaming. She lurched around, constantly feeling off balance. It was as though she was wearing a suit of flesh over her real body. Iverson tracked her progress with increasing interest. “Remarkable. Half-bloods are an abomination but you’re quite skilled. I might keep a few of your kind for laboratory testing.” He glanced at his watch. “You’ve got thirty-six hours to get used to that body.”

  The cell door slammed behind him. Knowing that Eric’s life depended on how well she could drive this new masque motivated Caro. She walked around, then tried to jog. Stretched. Punched. It was like doing a cardio class with no music.

  Slowly she acclimatized to it, but she wasn’t happy. This was nothing like when she’d taken on Maria’s masque. This giant’s masque was a bundle of nebulous instincts and impulses, seething under the surface of her skin like ants. She wanted to run, then punch the wall. Then sleep. It was like being stuffed inside a toddler.

  The door unlocked and Julien came in and put down a platter of food, before stopping dead. “Merde, you’re huge.”

  Caro smirked and walked over. She grabbed him by the throat, picking him up as though he was a rag doll, then shook him as he gibbered, his eyes bulging. She didn’t say a word, just reached down and squeezed his nuts until he squealed. Then she twisted them in her hand, feeling the soft flesh crush under her grip as Julien tried to scream through the chokehold.

  “Put him down.” Iverson’s voice cut through the intercom.

  “You said I couldn’t touch you.” Caro’s new voice was deep and rumbly. “Not him.”

  “Mmm. Technically correct. Let me amend that. Touch no one. Julien, get out of there.”

  Clutching his ruined groin with one hand, Julien crawled out the door with a wounded whimper that made Caro smile. He didn’t even pause to pilfer something, which meant he was hurting. Her lips widened, the entire masque shaking with pleasure.

  The food was welcome, a huge meat-and-potatoes meal that her new masque inhaled. After, she walked around more, finally feeling more comfortable. Getting used to moving had the benefit of taking her mind off Eric and her multitude of regrets and fuckups. All her thoughts were now focused on actions. Walk, bend, punch. Walk, duck, punch, kick. Over and over.

  * * * *

  Tom might be right. There was something strange about Caro, Eric thought. She had come out of her room in the morning dressed in a tight tee and jeans that seemed a little loose. She looked gorgeous as she lifted her face for Eric’s kiss and flicked her tongue against his lips.

  It felt good—but did it feel like Caro? Something was missing, but she was also traumatized. Was it him? Her?

  It was enough to freeze him where he stood. He watched her carefully during breakfast but her manner was identical to the Caro he knew. She asked for grapefruit, then neatly cut and segmented the fruit before adding a bit of sugar, the same way she had before. She was smiling, which he took as an improvement over the previous day.

  “I emailed work and told them you wouldn’t be in.” Eric buttered some bread. “Estelle wants you to call her. I told her about Julien.”

  “Thanks. I will.” She shrugged. “Since I quit, I don’t think they’d care if I showed up, though.”

  Caro would usually be all over him about overstepping his boundaries. He looked up in time to see her add milk to her coffee exactly as he remembered—two carefully poured spoonfuls and one brisk stir.

  He would keep Caro close today. Watch her. She ran her hands through her hair and pulled it back with a band that she had around her wrist. With intense relief, Eric gazed at her smooth, flawless throat. At least she wasn’t Iverson.

  He was being paranoid. Caro was different because she’d had a horrifying experience because of him, and after a huge fight that they hadn’t even discussed.

  “I thought I’d read in the corner as you work,” she said, with a little catch in her voice. “I kind of don’t want to be alone.”

  “Of course.” His voice sounded cold even to him.

  Caro’s lips tightened. “You don’t believe it’s me, do you? Still don’t trust me? Need me to prove myself again? Fine. The second time we met, Julien couldn’t make the meeting here. I had to come alone.”

  Julien could have told anyone that, Eric thought. Then he glanced over. Caro had picked up a pen and was twisting it in and around her fingers in the way she always did. It was a gesture so her that he couldn’t believe he’d doubted her.

  “Caro. I believe you.” The words came from his soul and she watched him for a moment before smiling.

  They went into the library and Caro glanced around. “What’s all this?”

  “Reassessing some of the security jurisdictions in the city.”

  She wandered over and examined the map closely. “What are the colors?”

  “Where we’ve got our forces set up.”

  “You’re blue and Iverson’s red?”

  “Yes.” He stared at the board. There was an uncomfortable amount of red highlighted.

  “Oh.” She gave him a look that had him instantly hard despite his reservations. “Are you busy with it?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  As Caro strolled over, Eric’s phone beeped. Cursing the timing but knowing that he couldn’t ignore it, Eric saw that it was Michaela. When Caro nodded, he took the call, wandering out to the hall. Not being able to shift meant that he was pacing all over the damn house to try to get rid of the excess energy.

  The call was easy enough. Michaela confirmed the travel arrangements. “Nothing new on the support side,” she told him. “A few are waiting to see what happens.”

  “When this is over, I’m going to take steps to make sure that the old lineages are brought on board,” Eric said thoughtfully. “It’s like they don’t understand this is a new world. The human population has skyrocketed. We need to work with this, not under some old assumptions of dominance. We’d get exterminated. These days the Law protects us more than it does humans.”

  Michaela laughed. “Good luck. I know you’re persuasive but that’s going to take decades.”

  “We might not have decades. What does Pharos say about the vamps?”

  “Your council here thinks it’s a rumor.” She evaded the Pharos comment. “In fact, I floated the idea that we should get together for a talk with the vamps and it was like I’d suggested that they all marry ghouls.”

  “That’s a relief, at least.” One less thing to worry about.

  He ended the call and headed back to the library as a loud thumping noise and cry of pain came out through the hall. Caro. She must have become dizzy and fell. He sprinted down the hall and slammed open the door.

  Then he stood there. Caro and Tom faced each other across the couch, both armed and with faces filled with rage.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” Eric took a step inside. Neither looked away.

  “I came in and she was on your laptop, Sire.”

  “I wanted to check my email! Then he attacked me.”

  “Why’d you take the gun, then?”

  “You pulled a gun on me for no reason. Did you think I was going to wait for you to shoot me?”

  “Enough.” Eric moved cautiously into the room, keeping
them both fully in his sight. There was no point in telling them to put down the guns. They hated each other.

  “Sire, she is an Iverson spy.”

  “Fuck you, I am! You never liked me. Never trusted me.” Tears began to flow down Caro’s face as it crumpled. “I never did anything to you.”

  Eric focused on her voice. There it was. There was something there. Keep her talking. “Caro, you know that’s not true. It’s his job.”

  “He took it too far when he got the gun. Too far.”

  There. Voice cadence was the hardest thing for a masquerada to master and the unwary could give their core selves away by a simple misplaced sound or rhythm. It often happened in times of high emotion—a masquerada would regress back to their common intonations.

  Like now.

  Frieda.

  Not Caro. It was Frieda.

  “What have you done with Caro?” Eric’s voice was ice.

  Before he could blink, she fired a shot at Tom and turned to him. “Dead.” Her smile was triumphant.

  “Down, sire!” Tom leapt up from the floor and sprang toward Frieda.

  Eric threw himself to the side and the bullet hit the wall behind him with a dull thud. She flew past, dodging Tom’s fire, and flicked her wrist as she ran. A glimmer of silver flashed in the air as she disappeared through the door.

  Eric cursed. The blade she’d thrown had grazed his thigh and immediately, his muscle began to seize. Stephan appeared a moment later as Tom shoved him out of the way in pursuit.

  “Caro just— What the fuck, Tom? Sire!” He began bellowing security alerts and medic requests.

  “That’s not Caro. Frieda. It’s Frieda. She says Caro is dead.”

  Red alerts began blaring around the building. In moments, a medic arrived to check Eric’s leg. “We need to run some tests. There was something on that blade.”

  Eric said nothing. His chest felt crushed, making it difficult to breathe. All he could hear was Frieda’s fury. That hideous word. Dead. Caro, dead? It was impossible but why else would Frieda have been here? How did she know so much about Caro?