by Jayne Castle
"I said, I'll deal with Dorning. What was the other problem?"
Frustrated and angry, she opened her mouth to argue. But whatever she saw in his eyes must have convinced her that it would be useless to pursue the issue. In the end she went with the forced change of topic.
"The Restoration Ball is the other problem," she said stiffly. "It will be held on Thursday night. Mercer and I had planned to attend."
"Don't worry," he said. "I think under the circumstances everyone will understand if you send your regrets."
"It's not that simple, damn it." She resumed her restless pacing. "You know how important the annual ball is in Resonance City. It's no different here. It's the social event of the year. Everyone who is anyone will be there. The Cadence Guild must be represented."
"You can't be serious about showing up at the ball, not with Wyatt in intensive care. If you think the scandal sheets were bad this morning, just imagine what the headlines would look like if you danced the night away while your beloved husband fights for his life."
"Of course I can't go." She gave him a repressive glare. "You will have to go, instead."
"Forget it." He sat forward and reached for a pen. "I've got more important things to do than put on a tux Thursday night."
She came to stand directly in front of the desk. "Listen to me, Emmett, you not only have to go, you've got to take a date."
The absolute conviction in her voice and face gave him pause. Tamara might be single-minded, even ruthless, but she did not do things without good reason.
"You're worried about the image of the Guild, I assume?" he asked quietly.
"Yes. Mercer and I have worked very hard in the past year to make the Guild part of the mainstream here in Cadence. You know how difficult it is to change the way the public views the organization. It took you six years to do it in Resonance."
"You don't have to remind me."
"I know the politics in this city, Emmett. Trust me on this. It is critical that the Guild is represented at the ball this year."
"I'll send someone from the Council."
"No." She flattened her hands on the desk. "That's not good enough, not now with all this ridiculous gossip about a lovers' triangle at the top of the Guild. We have to put a stop to that nonsense or at least try to contain it. The best way to do it is for you and your friend, Miss Smith, to show up at the ball looking like a besotted couple."
He meditated on that for a long moment. She had a point, he thought.
"All right," he said eventually.
Tamara subsided wearily. "Thank you." She took her hands off the desk and turned toward the door.
"Lydia and I will be there," Emmett said, "but I can't guarantee that Lydia will do the besotted thing."
"As long as everyone gets the idea that you're sleeping together, it should work. I'm going back to the hospital. The press is keeping a twenty-four-hour watch and it's vital that the reporters see that I'm sticking close to Mercer's bedside."
"Sure, good for the image," he said neutrally.
"Exactly."
She went out the door and closed it firmly behind her.
He bounced the end of the pen against the surface of the desk a couple of times. Then he reached for the phone and punched out Lydia's office number.
She answered on the first ring, sounding tense.
"Shrimpton's House of Ancient Horrors, curator's office."
"I need a date for the Restoration Ball," he said without preamble. "Tamara says we need to be there. A Guild image thing."
There was a short silence from Lydia's end of the line.
"Gosh whiz," she said finally. "I haven't got a thing to wear."
"Go shopping tomorrow. Get whatever you need and tell the shops to bill me. If they give you any trouble, have them call this office."
"Maybe I could rent a dress. I know there are shops that rent gowns for special occasions."
For some reason that irritated him. "You are not wearing a rented gown to the Restoration Ball."
"Why not?" she said persuasively. "It's the logical thing to do. It's going to cost a bundle to buy a designer dress and all the accessories. It's not like I would ever be able to wear the gown again in this lifetime."
"Forget it. Buy the damn dress and whatever you need to go with it."
"You sound upset. Are you upset?"
"I'm not upset," he said through his teeth. "But I am way too busy to waste time on this argument."
"Okay, okay, I take your point." Her tone was soothing now. "I guess it would be kind of tacky to show up in a rental gown."
"Yes, it would. Very tacky."
"I mean, everyone knows that the clothes are a big part of the whole Restoration Ball scene. It's always televised. Everyone will be watching at home. The media will film all of the guests as they walk into the Hall on that long red carpet and there will be pictures in the papers the next day. I can see where it might look bad if it leaked out that the new Guild boss's companion for the evening wore a cheap rental."
"I'm glad we're clear on that issue," he muttered.
"Maybe I can find something nice on sale."
He made a fist around the pen. "If it's on sale, it's because no one thought it was good enough to buy at full price, right?"
"That's one way to look at it. But I'm sure I can find something that will do."
"Damn it, Lydia—"
"I just don't want you to get stuck for the cost of a very expensive gown, that's all," she said quickly.
"I can afford it."
"I know, but it's the principle of the thing."
"The principle of the thing? What the hell is that supposed to mean? We're talking about a dress. I'd like to know just what kind of principle is involved here."
"It's not like you and I are married," she said very coolly. "As you pointed out, we're involved in an arrangement. I don't feel right about letting you buy me a lot of expensive things. Don't you understand? There's a name for women who accept costly gifts from men."
He went very still, aware that something inside him had just gone stone cold. An arrangement. Well, it wasn't like he was in any position to deny it. An arrangement was exactly what they had.
"If it makes you feel any better," he said, working hard to keep his voice even, "I'll put the dress down as a business expense and let the Guild reimburse me."
"Don't be ridiculous. You can't pass off a fancy ball gown as a legitimate business expense."
"Sure I can," he said grimly. "I'm the boss here, remember?"
There was a lengthy pause.
"You're angry," she said.
"Lydia, I'm out of time and out of patience. Get the damn dress. Look at it this way, you'll be doing me a favor." He rubbed his temples. "By the way, I'm going to have to call off our dinner date this evening. I'm sorry but I've got a hunch I'll here until at least eight or nine. I'll just go on back to my place."
"What will you do about dinner? Eat at your desk?"
He hadn't given the problem any thought. "Yeah, probably."
"I've got a better idea," she said firmly. "Come to my apartment when you're ready to pack it in for the day. Fuzz and I will hold dinner for you."
"You don't have to do that."
"We don't mind."
"Thanks," he said. The part of him that had gone cold thawed a bit.
When he hung up the phone a short time later he felt as if he'd had a couple of cups of strong rez-tea. The prospect of going home to Lydia tonight would fortify him for the long afternoon ahead.
Chapter 10
AT TEN MINUTES after nine that evening, she heard him open the door with the key she had given him a couple of weeks earlier. Every time he walked into her apartment this way she got a fizzy sensation in her chest followed by a little tingle of panic. She had never given any other man the key to her apartment.
"There he is, Fuzz." She put down her notebook. "Go tell him hello. I'll pour the wine. He's going to need a drink."
Fuzz tumble
d off her lap and drifted eagerly toward the door. Lydia hurried into the kitchen, yanked the jug of white out of the refrigerator, and poured a sizable amount of the contents into a tumbler.
Carrying the large glass in one hand, she followed Fuzz into the hall. Emmett had dumped his briefcase on the floor and hung his jacket in the closet. When he saw her, he paused in the act of unfastening the top buttons of his black shirt and gave her a wry smile.
"I warned you I might be late," he said.
"No problem." She handed him the wine and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. "The salad is ready and the ravioli will only take five minutes."
"Sounds good." He kissed her back and then he took a long swallow of the wine. When he lowered the glass, he looked amused. "I must be in pretty bad shape tonight. Even this stuff tastes good right now."
"Maybe you're finally developing a cultivated palate." She turned and started toward the kitchen. "How did it go today? Aside from finding out that you have to put in an appearance at the Restoration Ball, that is. Any news on Wyatt's condition?"
"Still in intensive care but holding his own, according to Tamara. She says that they've got him so loaded up with meds and painkillers that he sleeps most of the time. When he is awake, he's very groggy and incoherent. The hospital is restricting visitors to family only."
Which would not include him, Lydia thought. Officially he was no relation to Mercer Wyatt. She wondered if it bothered Emmett that he could not claim the right to see his father in a time of crisis.
He followed her into the kitchen and lounged against the door frame. Fuzz scampered up onto the counter beside him and looked hopefully at the pretzel jar.
"I assume you saw the headlines in the tabloids this morning," he said.
"Sure did." She tried to keep her voice light as she rezzed the burner beneath the pot of water. "All that stuff about a lovers' triangle at the highest circles of the Cadence Guild certainly made for some exciting reading."
"It's pure ghost-shit. You know that."
She concentrated on opening the bag of ravioli. "I know it, but a lot of folks are going to be thrilled to believe the worst. The tabloids are hinting that you had a motive for trying to kill Wyatt. They're suggesting that you came here to get revenge against him because he stole Tamara away from you."
"It'll all blow over eventually."
"Uh-huh." She dumped the frozen ravioli into the boiling water.
"You're really worried, aren't you?" He took a step forward, caught her chin with his thumb and forefinger, and brushed his mouth across hers. His eyes softened. "Don't worry about the tabloids, honey. They can't do us any real harm."
"I'm afraid they'll try you in the court of public opinion," she said, anxious for him to understand the danger. "If they make you look guilty, the police might begin to wonder if there's something to the gossip. The last thing you need is for the cops to start investigating you as a suspect."
"I appreciate your concern, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead. "But this isn't the first time I've had to worry about stuff like this. Don't forget, I was a Guild boss for six years in Resonance. I know how to handle the press."
"Famous last words."
Emmett spent an hour on paperwork after dinner and then fell into her bed with only a mumbled "good night." He was sound asleep when she came out of the bathroom.
She climbed in beside him very carefully so as not to awaken him. It wasn't easy because he took up a large portion of the bed.
Fuzz blinked his baby blues from the foot of the bed, yawned, curled into a ball of lint, and went to sleep.
She lay awake for a long time, studying the shadows on the ceiling. She thought about the anonymous phone call she had made that afternoon, the one to a reporter who worked for the Cadence Tattler, and she wondered what the headlines in the newspapers would look like in the morning. It was a long time before she got to sleep.
Chapter 11
Two newspaper vending boxes flanked the entrance to Shrimpton's House of Ancient Horrors. The one on the right belonged to the Cadence Star. Lydia picked up a copy of that paper first. The headline was commendably restrained, as befitted a family newspaper. New Guild Chief Takes Command.
Lydia breathed a sigh of relief and moved on warily to the box on the left and peeked inside. There were only a couple of copies left of that day's issue of the Tattler. She was forced to conclude that the headlines plastered across the cover in type that was at least two inches high probably explained the brisk sales.
New guild boss has mystery mistress.
The smaller headline underneath read, Will London Bring Her to the Restoration Ball or Keep Her Hidden Away in Secret Love Nest? The accompanying photo showed a picture of Emmett getting out of his Slider in front of the Guild office tower.
Lydia reluctantly shoved some coins into the slot and took out one of the remaining copies. A flashy amber-colored Coaster pulled up to the curb with a flourish just as she started to walk toward the front door of the museum. The hood and tail fins of the vehicle were decorated with flames the color of green ghost light.
The door of the Coaster slid open and Melanie popped out. She leaned down to blow a farewell kiss to the man at the wheel. The pose caused her short, stretchy red skirt to ride up so high in back that the lacy edge of a pair of black panties was revealed.
"Thanks for a great evening, Jack." She spotted Lydia and waved. "Well, good morning, Mystery Mistress."
"Hey, is that her?" The door on the other side of the Coaster opened. Jack climbed out and grinned across the low roof of the Coaster. Sunlight glinted on a tiny, faceted crystal set in his left incisor. "Introduce me, Mel."
"Sure." Melanie swept a hand out with the air of a magician. "Lydia Smith, meet Jack Brodie. Jack, this is the Mystery Mistress herself, and I am happy to tell you that she will be at the Restoration Ball. I know this for a fact because she asked me to help her pick out her gown. We're going shopping this very afternoon."
Jack ducked his head. "An honor to meet you, ma'am. When we saw the papers this morning Mel told me that she not only knew who you were, she actually worked in the same office with you. I didn't know whether she was just putting me on or what."
Jack seemed pleasant enough, Lydia thought, and he was certainly very good-looking. He was turned out in typical, swaggering, ghost-hunter style-lots of rugged khaki and leather. He wore a chunk of amber in his belt that was big enough to serve as a hood ornament for the Coaster. A lot of male ghost-hunters seemed to think that people equated the size of their amber with the size of another portion of their anatomy.
"Thank you," Lydia replied. "A pleasure, I'm sure."
"Wait'll I tell the guys down at the Guild Hall that I met the boss's, uh, lady friend, in person. They're all real curious about him, you know. Heard about what he did while he was in charge of the Resonance Guild. Lotta guys are a little worried, to tell you the truth."
Lydia clutched the Tattler. "Why in the world would they be worried about Emmett?"
"Well, they say he's not what you might call a big supporter of some of the old Guild traditions." Jack glanced both ways along the sidewalk, leaned over the roof of the Coaster, and lowered his voice. "They heard that he turned the Resonance Guild into some kind of damned business corporation."
"Jeez," Lydia murmured. "What a concept."
"Yeah, weird, huh? Course, London's here now, not in Resonance, and things work a little different in Cadence. We still got Guild law and Guild tradition in this town."
Lydia gave him a thin smile. "Good to know the old ways haven't been forgotten by the Cadence Guild."
"No, ma'am, that's for sure." Jack rechecked the sidewalk to make certain no one else was within earshot and lowered his voice a little more. "Speaking of tradition, I heard a rumor that Mr. London might have to handle a real Council challenge at the confirmation meeting on Thursday afternoon."
She had no idea what a Council challenge was, Lydia thought, but she did not like the sound of it.
> "A Council challenge?" she repeated carefully.
"Yeah." Jack's eyes glinted with anticipation. "Never seen one, myself. Haven't had one of those since Mercer Wyatt took over thirty years ago. Should be interesting."
Alarm bells clanged loudly.
"What is a Council challenge, Jack?" Lydia asked.
"It's an old tradition that dates all the way back to the founding of the Guilds. Any member of a Guild Council can issue a challenge to a boss. If the challenger wins, the Council has to choose another leader. The guy who beat the boss usually gets the job."
Lydia frowned. "I take it this challenge thing is not a multiple-choice quiz?"
"No, ma'am." Jack chuckled and then did another quick survey of the vicinity. His voice went down to a raspy whisper. "It's a full-on hunter duel."
Lydia went ice cold. "Duels between hunters are illegal."
"Sure. But small duels go on all the time. You know how it is. A couple of guys drink a little too much Green Ruin and decide to go into some dark alley and see who can pull up the biggest ghost. Nobody pays much attention unless someone gets fried real bad and turns up in an emergency room. Then there's an investigation and a few hands get slapped, but that's about it."
"So typical of the way the Guild handles things," Lydia stated.
Jack either did not hear her or else he failed to pick up on the sarcasm.
"Now a Council challenge duel is different," he said. "It's not like an ordinary hunter match."
"In what way?"
"Well, for one thing, it's held at a secret location somewhere deep underground. Hell, been so long since they used the old dueling grounds, I doubt if anyone but the Council members even know where they're located."
"I see."
"The other thing that makes a Council challenge duel a little different from your average Saturday-night back alley burn-fest is that you're talking about a match between two of the most powerful hunters in the whole damn Guild. Nobody gets that high in the organization unless he can melt amber."