That sort of thing wasn't my forte, and I hardly had time to design them anyway. Fumbling through my closet, I cursed. I had to find a dress, get my hair done up fancy, and pack spells. In addition, I was pretty sure I couldn't show up in sneakers, and I couldn't find my heels. "Moonlight madness."
I only had one dress. I hadn't asked if the party was formal or semi-formal. Unzipping the dark periwinkle silk from its garment bag I declared, "Semi-formal it is." A long evening gown would have given me more places to hide spells, but I didn't have time to shop for one.
"How am I going to get the levitation spell to fit inside high-heels?" I pawed through the bottom of my closet. At some point, I probably owned heels that went with the dress, but I had no idea where they might be. I did find an old, extremely dusty backpack, but no heels.
Sighing, I sat back. "And I bet no one will appreciate it if I show up covered in garlic bulbs either. This gets better and better. Only a half-wit would show up anywhere near Sheila the witch."
My dress didn't come with pockets. That meant sewing in flat pockets against the liner and carrying a sheath strapped to my thigh. I had to have spells. Luckily spells was a favor I didn't mind asking of Matilda.
She was the queen of stink bomb spells. Some were of her own making, some she bought from other sources to make sure she had the best inventory around. I couldn't ask for a better way to spread false auras.
I called her and told her to expect the invitation to the party. "I also need some spells."
After I gave her a list of what I thought would help, she said, "Stop on by. I'll have my very best ready!"
"Okay, I'll be over in about an hour, maybe two."
On the way to her place, I stopped at Wal-Mart and bought the best heels I could find. There were two walk-in places nearby for hair; I picked the closest. The new hairdo wasn't the best I'd ever looked, but it wasn't the worst. At least with my hair pulled up on my head, the scab and bump were hidden.
When I got to Matilda's she had spells galore laid out on the glass counter. She locked the door behind me and waited for my reaction.
"Excellent." I gave her a thumbs up and began loading up one of everything. "I don't want your aura on too much of anything."
She reached out to touch one. "Are you sure? I can always use the business."
"Not this business you can't."
"You aren't using this on a vampire, are you?" Her eyes went wide, and she reached out to grab my arm. "I got your message to Patrick. Are you telling me that he isn't leaving you alone?"
"Good to know he got the message. Unfortunately, someone is still looking for a good witch. I don't know if it's a vamp or not. Either way, no, this stuff isn't for a vamp. I'm beginning to think a vamp would be easier than what I'm dealing with. Trust me when I tell you that you don't want your aura on all this stuff." Sheila might still be breathing, but she was a blood-sucking creature either way.
"Worse than a vamp?"
I nodded. "Yeah, way worse."
Questions churned across her face, but instead of prying, she said, "Sit. Where did you get that hairdo? Don't go back to that place, ever."
She disappeared into the back and returned with a small suitcase.
"Uh, Mat--"
"Don't worry, I know you don't want to look like me. I don't know why, but I know it." She fluffed at her hair and batted her eyes before laughing at my dismay. "Your hair is pulled back too tight." She tugged at it delicately with a hair pick. "It makes your eyes scrunch. You look like Ms. Roman; you just gotta stand up straighter and get a ruler."
I laughed. It was in Ms. Roman's first grade class at recess when Matilda first showed her skills as a witch. She created the perfect illusion that the class bully was a billy goat--one which was promptly chased by a group of kids who were no longer afraid. Even back then she hadn't cared that she wasn't a normal. Now especially, she didn't care. Matilda put on the show, and the rest of us could barely keep up.
She busied herself around my face, pulling, tugging and re-arranging. When she was done, out came the make-up brushes. "You should wear a touch of purple around your eyes. It would bring out that green in your left."
"Eye shadow makes me look like a lizard. My grandmother told me so."
Matilda rolled her eyes. "Well, yeah, green eye shadow would do that."
"I don't need to enhance that color anyway. It makes me look strange."
Matilda smiled. "And that would be bad, how?" She spun around, demonstrating the true definition of strange. "You'd get more customers!"
"I'd get more trouble. I don't want to be recognized tonight at all, never mind with something so memorable. Trust me. There's a big bad witch out there, and I don't want her to know about me."
"Turf wars?" She didn't mean to pry, but she couldn't contain her curiosity.
I shook my head. "Voodoo. Blood spells. Bad news." Most witches were distrustful of other witches at best, feuding at worst. Matilda was a rare fit in the middle because she had carefully cultivated a reputation for not only selling wares of other witches, but keeping identities a secret. Sheila was outside all of us, in a class of her own. She was rogue, playing a normal and dabbling in stuff no sane witch would admit to. I gave Matilda the highlights without mentioning that the witch had taken a piece of me.
Matilda was silent while she took in my story. The makeup brush faltered a bit when I described the number of amulets Sheila had in her safe.
When I finished talking Matilda said, "This woman is going to bring the normals down on all of us, isn't she?"
"If we live through her spells."
Matilda gave my shoulder a worried squeeze and then handed me a mirror.
I took a quick glance and then did a double take. I almost didn't recognize myself. "Wow." Wavy strands of dark hair floated around the sides of my face. My forehead was no longer prickling and protesting against being pulled backwards. The former bun had transformed into some sort of piled mass of curls.
"I don't like the purple." The eyeshadow did indeed cause the green flecks in my left eye stand out. "It's got to go."
I started to rub at it, but she stopped me. "Okay, okay. But let me do it. We'll go with plum and browns."
With a few strokes, she redid my eyes.
I checked again. I looked…elegant. Fancy. Good enough that my own sister would have approved. I smiled. "Thanks, Mat. You're a genius."
"I know." She wagged a brush in warning. "I'm not sure changing the eye shadow is enough to really disguise you, you know."
"I'll be careful."
She gave me a look. "From the sounds of it, I had better be too."
I nodded. If accusations started, Matilda was an easy target. Everyone knew her, witch and normal alike. Witches were a finger-pointing lot with half of them pretending they weren't witches, a quarter of them in denial and most of them socially unable to mix with either normals or non-normals. The paranormal community was accustomed to being chased and maligned. They would be more than happy to turn over one of their own, especially if it took the heat off the rest.
I gave Matilda a big hug. "Do watch your back." I thanked her again for making me beautiful and headed back to my house to finish the transformation.
* * *
Dressing for the party took longer than I planned, but then, I wasn't that used to stuffing flat packages inside my dress and checking for lumps.
Before I left, I moved the cactus pot to indicate to Lynx that I needed to talk to him. I owed him an apology. He was a good employee…and friend. I couldn't afford to have a tantrum over his other business deals.
Looking at the invitation and directions as I drove, I realized that the party was at a private residence. For some reason I had expected it to be at the grand ballroom at La Posada or one of the other classy resorts. Instead, it was out on the southeast part of town where mansions dotted the mountains.
I found county road sixty-seven easily enough, but forgot to pay attention to the letter after the county road. I
started on plain sixty-seven, which had nothing in common with the directions. I finally realized that I needed county road "sixty-seven f."
Even once I found "f," I went up two driveways without knowing where they would end before I found the right one.
My arrival was somewhat later than "fashionable." Luckily, according to the invitation, it was a "night to celebrate art, dancing and fine wines," rather than a sit down affair where I would have had to make a bad entrance.
A short Hispanic caterer answered the door. There were about ten other individuals dressed in the same black and white uniforms handling doors, trays of appetizers and drinks. Unlike the bar the other night, no one was bumping and grinding before taking one of the long-stemmed glasses.
Musicians were set up in the living room. Not a band mind, but musicians. There was a lady playing solo on some sort of renaissance horn instrument. It was a real horn, one that looked like it belonged on a cow. The only other instrument I recognized was a dulcimer. Happily, the music was picked up by hidden mikes and pumped through the mansion's sound system rather than giant speakers. It wasn't bad music, but a little eerie.
My next observation was that if Tino used illusion candles in his restaurant, they didn't work very well. I recognized White Feather from across the room. Despite the dark suit replacing the casual polo from the other night, there was no doubt it was he. His jacket fit nicely, the black herringbone pattern offset by a smooth white shirt underneath. Instead of a tie, the shirt had a notch at the neck forming a tiny vee.
Very handsome. Very classy. He looked my way. His eyes moved away and then back, but I was fairly certain it was the look of a man appreciating an attractive woman, not of recognition.
It didn't take me long to spot Harold. At this point in his life he was a diminutive man, the curve of his back making him look far older than he was. His little balding head bobbed up and down as he talked to another suit. Like a first-time convict, every few seconds his eyes flicked nervously around the room.
I doubted he would recognize me, which was for the best. Not only did I not want him clinging to me, I didn't want him watching me all night. On the good news front, the appetizers were dynamite. The shrimp roll I grabbed was stupendous. There was also no sign or feel of Sheila.
Just before I headed to the open French doors that led to a garden, I caught a glimpse of White Feather again. He looked right at me, but his eyes turned politely away when I caught him staring. A part of me sighed. It would have been very nice to be at this party for fun, rather than work.
Outside, stairs wound up to a second floor balcony. At eight o'clock, most of the stunning view was probably gone, but I was tempted to climb upstairs and look.
There was still no Sheila, no bad vibes anywhere. The music could very well be imparting peace and tranquility, helping my mellow mood. A lot of old songs and instruments had such magic, especially if the musician was any good.
Artwork was displayed on almost every wall, and most of it was for sale. I checked out three piñatas that hung strategically around the room. Their bright colors made great party decorations. Given their placement they were probably part of the artwork for sale. An elaborate display of a burro with attached cart hung near the fireplace. Large paper maché fruit and vegetables looked as though they had rolled from the cart and landed perfectly piled on the fireplace's carved wooden beam.
I stood close enough to the group inspecting the scene to look like I belonged to someone.
As I turned around, I nearly ran into White Feather. He caught and steadied me. "Dance with me," he invited, tugging me from the crowd. His warm hands on my shoulders guided me to the dance floor before it occurred to me that I had never answered, not verbally anyway.
"Lovely evening," he whispered into my ear. The music was slow, background noise. "Not as lovely as you, of course."
Luckily he was holding me close enough that he couldn't see my blush. "Oh. Thanks." We were in a waltz embrace, but instead of a relaxed hand on my back, he held me in a solid hug, my chin sideways so that my nose wasn't pressed into his shoulder.
He pulled away enough to look into my eyes. "Is Merlin here tonight?"
I sucked in a quick breath. I don't think he was certain who I was, but trapped in his arms, he felt the quick tension, the swell of my breasts as I held my breath for that little bit too long.
He smiled triumphantly. "Or did she only send her beautiful messenger?"
I should have been angry at the trick, but the real game was still in play. Of course Merlin was here, but he didn't know that I was Merlin, and I wasn't about to tell him. I lifted my chin, and smiled. "You're not supposed to use one dance partner to snag another, you know."
His teeth flashed. "Wouldn't dream of it. But I am curious, of course." His eyes swept the room, but instead of returning to mine, he looked far away. "I thought it would be best to pester her about the identity of the werewolf. You," he looked back down and smiled. "Look too good to spoil with business."
Another compliment. Flustered, I looked away.
Spinning me gently, he added, "When I saw you here, you fit in so well, it took me a while to figure out why you were familiar. It never occurred to me that Merlin would have such above-board associates." His shoulders shrugged lightly, taking me with him, my arm gently shifting against his chest.
"Merlin wouldn't fit in here very well." The hunched over disguise, bulbous legs and walker would get me quickly redirected to the senior citizens bingo nightclub.
White Feather laughed, a rumble in his chest. "I don't suppose she would, now that you mention it. I guess that is why she has other people to be her eyes and ears. I didn't know they would be so," he looked down at me again, "exceptional."
The impish light in his eyes drew me out. I ignored the hint for information about Merlin. The music drifted through me like a spell. Perhaps it was the smell of him, all male, steady and firm, but I had an undeniable urge to snuggle closer.
He hadn't left much room even if I had the temerity to encourage him.
We finished that dance and the next one. The next selection was taken over by a short man playing what looked like a miniature organ with bags attached. We either had to start hopping around and clapping with everyone else or stop dancing.
White Feather reluctantly let me out of the hug, but kept my fingers for a moment longer. He brushed them lightly with his lips. "You're a good dancer."
"Uh--mmm." I caught his eyes and then looked away bashfully.
"I'll claim you again when the music slows back down."
Every nerve ending tingled, and it wasn't from the wizardry that I had felt the other night. Maybe better than magic, it was just the man that made it so. "Sure," I said lightly, watching him walk away.
I might have stood there like an idiot the rest of the night had Sheila not made her appearance. Not that she made an obvious entrance. Professional that she was, she wore a dressy designer suit rather than a gown. Her white hair was done into a neat coif. I had thought her hair might be platinum blond, but I could see now that she had prematurely grayed to a perfect snow. Makeup announced an intellectual rather than emphasizing the feminine side of the woman. I thought her nose still looked hooked.
"Hmph." Perhaps I had risked coming here for nothing. Such a paragon wasn't likely to throw herself at Harold, nor was she likely to tolerate Harold drooling on her in public.
Socially perfect or not, she made my skin crawl. I had to hope she didn't feel any such reaction to me. I prayed that whatever she had used to trace me in the canyon had burned itself up. If it were a hair from my head, she would have saved some. If it were merely cloth from my backpack or clothing, I had burned all traces. She should have nothing of my aura left with which to sense me. Shouldn't, absolutely shouldn't.
I shivered.
She started making rounds, shaking hands, smiling and moving through the crowd. I edged outside to the garden where she would be less likely to sense me. Even if she carried an amulet--I tu
rned back. With dismay, I noted her necklace.
Frantically, I searched the crowds for Harold. His reaction would tell me if the amulet was designed to control him. If not, it could easily be for someone else in the crowd. There were a lot of hopeful politicians in attendance and a few of the real thing. I recognized the mayor, at least one guy I thought was in the state legislature and a very popular radio announcer.
My hand instinctively reached for my own throat. There was no reason for her to constantly wear a beacon in the hopes of finding me in every crowd. Especially here. I had burglarized her home, not met her at a soiree.
I didn't see White Feather until he was right in front of me. Good trick too, considering I was halfway behind a rather fabulous sculpture of a cougar and its cub. The garden was lit, but mostly by dim, porcelain luminarios. The candles lined the walls, the staircase and a single bagged light sat on each wrought iron table.
"You wouldn't be avoiding the next dance, would you?" he teased.
I spared him a quick glance and a half-hearted smile. "Not at all." I tried for a nonchalant tone, which was ridiculous considering he had caught me peering out from behind a piece of artwork.
Sheila moved through the crowd, patting shoulders and chatting. I didn't dare take my attention off of her, although she didn't seem in danger of coming closer or going upstairs out of sight. Where was Harold?
White Feather's attention followed mine back inside as he tried to ferret out what held my avid gaze. "You wouldn't happen to be here on business?" He leaned against the adobe-covered staircase.
"Of course not."
"Not here for fun," he guessed anyway. "I wonder what could be so interesting to Merlin." He cocked his head and scanned the crowd again. "Could it be that she won't tell me the name of the werewolf because he belongs here? Is she protecting someone with political power?"
Under Witch Moon (Moon Shadow Series) Page 15