A Warlock's Dance

by Marina Myles

  Also by Marina Myles

  Beauty and the Wolf

  Snow White and the Vampire

  A Warlock’s Dance

  (novella)

  Sleeping Beauty and the Demon

  (coming August 2014)

  A WARLOCK’S Dance

  MARINA MYLES

  eKENSINGTON BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Marina Myles

  Title Page

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Teaser chapter

  Copyright Page

  Truth . . . lies in the depth, where few are willing to search for it.

  Goethe, Maxims and Reflections

  PROLOGUE

  Bucharest, Romania

  1885

  Giselle Swenov adjusted her bridal veil with a smile. At the thought of marrying the most wonderful man in the world, her heart beat melodiously—and as Bucharest’s leading operatic protégé, she nearly belted out a glass-shattering note, too.

  Restraining herself, she cracked open the dressing room door and stared into the chapel. Her family members wouldn’t be in attendance, but she scoured the pews for them anyway. From day one, her mother and father had disapproved of her groom. What was it they’d said? “Are you mad, Giselle? Lucian Ivanu is socially inferior—and his connection to the Dark Arts means he isn’t right for you.”

  Giselle’s pulse leapt as she glimpsed Lucian at the altar. Ironically, he looked nothing like a warlock. With flowing white-blond hair, gray eyes that reminded her of storm clouds over the Black Sea, and a knee-buckling grin, he resembled a prince ready to sweep her off her feet.

  Although Giselle wanted to stare at him all day, she shut the door before he saw her in her bridal gown. She refused to let bad luck seep into their wedding ceremony.

  “You look beautiful, my dear,” Ileana Zpda, Bucharest National Opera’s premier patron, called out behind her.

  “Thank you, Doamna Zpda,” she replied anxiously. At least Ileana was here to help, unlike her mother.

  “Come,” the elegant woman urged. “Take a final look at yourself as an unmarried woman.”

  Giselle swiveled around to survey her appearance in the mirror. Cascading golden-brown curls framed her carefully made-up face and a sense of optimism lit her eyes. She had become the bride she’d envisioned as a girl and she could hardly contain her excitement.

  “You look stunning.” Ileana Zpda stepped in beside her and met her gaze in the mirror. “But you do look a little pale.”

  “Nerves, I suppose.” Letting out a self-conscious laugh, Giselle studied Doamna Zpda. Her refinement spoke of the lofty social standing Giselle’s family wished she would reach. She winced.

  “Sit with me and have some tea,” the socialite proposed. “Tea steadied my nerves before I married my second husband.”

  Giselle swept her train off the floor and settled into a chair at a small table. While she laid her bridal bouquet in her lap, Ileana poured two steaming cups.

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Giselle said as she accepted the teacup. “But why are you being so nice to me, Doamna Zpda?”

  The woman sighed. “It broke my heart to learn that your parents have disowned you. Word spreads quickly through the opera house—and because I’m a mother hen to all my celebrated singers, I knew you’d need some moral support on your wedding day.”

  “You must be a loving mother to your own children,” Giselle said gently.

  Ileana’s expression turned icy. “I never had children of my own. I have a stepdaughter, but we aren’t particularly close.”

  “Well, I sincerely appreciate your help.” Giselle smiled. “Clasping the buttons on the back of my dress would have been impossible on my own.”

  As she sipped her tea, her entire body warmed instantly and she began to perspire. I must be more nervous than I thought . . .

  Ileana went on. “I greatly admire your vocal talent, Giselle. I also admire your extraordinary beauty. Unfortunately, I’m about to sabotage those exceptional attributes.”

  Alarm pierced through Giselle. She tried to protest but before she could speak a word, her throat burned as if she’d ingested hot coals. She clawed at it while Ileana studied her the way a snake zeroes in on its prey. Giselle tried to extend her hand, but her limbs prickled with pain. In an instant, her skin shriveled dramatically and her knuckles became hideously gnarled.

  “Poor, unknowing girl.” Ileana stood over her. “I’m an enchantress of the Dark Arts and I slipped an accursed potion into the teapot when you weren’t looking.”

  Giselle opened her mouth to scream, but no sound escaped her lips. With great effort, she crawled to the mirror like an invalid and stared at her reflection. My God! I’m a mute old woman!

  Heart stuttering, she managed to pull herself to her feet. She flung the door open and entered the chapel. All heads jerked in her direction. When she locked eyes with Lucian, he stared at her in astonishment—without an ounce of recognition.

  All hope evaporated from her body as he thundered, “Is that woman wearing my bride’s dress? Somebody find Giselle!”

  “The hag must be playing a cruel joke!” a guest accused.

  “Escort her outside,” Lucian roared to an usher.

  A burly man took Giselle by the arm and dragged her out the front door. Once he disappeared back into the church, another strong hand grabbed her unexpectedly and thrust her inside an awaiting carriage.

  Giselle quaked with terror as she stared at the enormous man hovering over her.

  “I work for Ileana.” He grunted. “She commands that you become her servant woman—until she grows tired of you and decides to turn you back to your normal self.”

  Giselle made another futile attempt to cry out.

  The henchman crossed his arms and shook his head. “You won’t be talking, singing, or screaming for a very long time, Miss Swenov. That should make for a quiet ride to Dantel House.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Three years later

  Night had fallen and Giselle was grateful for the shadows it cast.

  Her heart drummed as she hobbled along the quiet streets of Bucharest. It had been a long time since she’d frequented this seedy section of town—a quarter typically filled with fortune-telling Gypsies, ladies of the night, and curious customers of both. But on this rainy night the streets were empty and Giselle was grateful for that, too. She’d grown older and even more hideous during her time with Ileana. Her face formed deeper puckers, her posture had become more stooped, and her hands were coated with a vast array of liver spots.

  As she gripped her cane, Giselle’s joints cracked. She missed her beauty and youthful agility greatly, but above all else, she missed the operatic singing voice she hadn’t been able to use.

  She caught a glimpse of herself in a hotel window. I’d give anything to be as I was.

  Shrinking from the sight of her wart-marred face, she shuffled along the cobbles toward her destination. A rush of rainwater spouted from a gutter behind her and her muscles tightened. Ileana’s reach seemed to be everywhere. When the cruel witch had shattered her magic mirror in a fit of rage, Giselle had stolen away from the London home that Ileana had dragged her to recently—only to return to her native Bucharest in a paranoid state.

  Her escape had happened so quickly. But it all started when she had refused to be part of Ileana’s plan to ki
ll her stepdaughter.

  “If you don’t help me,” Ileana raged, “I’ll never restore your youth and beauty!”

  Stripped of any expectation, Giselle fled from Ileana’s clutches in the middle of the night.

  Now fear escalated inside her. Ileana used the mirror to keep tabs on me as a servant—but who’s to say she can’t locate me with alternate methods?

  Wheezing, she glanced at the businesses lining the street. At least the shop owned by Lucian’s uncle wasn’t far now.

  Lucian. Her ex-fiancé.

  With his six feet of height, two hundred pounds of muscle, and charismatic personality, Lucian would always hold Giselle’s heart. Thanks to his cool gray eyes and self-deprecating manner, he was as handsome as he was intelligent, thoughtful, and charming. Giselle had loved him passionately before her transformation and because he’d been her entire world, the day he banished her from the church was a day she would never forget.

  Needless to say, it was taking all of Giselle’s pride to seek Lucian out again.

  On this wet evening, hope inspired her every painful step. She intended to shed her elderly body in Bucharest and resume the promising opera career people claimed she was destined for. If she succeeded in gaining back her beauty, maybe she and Lucian could pick up where they left off. It would mean more to her than anything, but at the very least, Lucian was the only one who could help her, by way of his warlock powers.

  Rounding the corner, she saw that Ivanu’s Sorcery Shop was nowhere to be found. Suppressing tears, she checked the street sign.

  Paplonue Court . . . the right address.

  Panic replaced Giselle’s sense of optimism and the tears she could no longer hold back stung her cheeks. What happened to Gregori Ivanu’s shop? It seemed a clock store had replaced it—and there wasn’t so much as a notice acknowledging the former establishment.

  What will I do now?

  She needed to find Lucian and she needed to find him quickly. Sucking in a breath, she entered the clock shop and hobbled toward the front counter. Endless streams of ticking nearly drove her mad.

  “May I help you?” The man behind the counter frowned at her tattered shawl and frail appearance.

  She made a writing motion in the air.

  “Ah. Can’t you talk?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Would you like to write something down?”

  Giselle nodded furiously.

  The man supplied her with a fountain pen and paper. She wrote a note and handed the paper to him.

  He read it aloud. “ ‘Can you tell me what happened to the sorcery shop that used to be here?’ ” He looked up at her quizzically. “You mean Gregori Ivanu’s store?”

  Her heartbeat spiked. She nodded again.

  “Old man Ivanu died last year.”

  Sadness spread through her. She took the paper back and wrote something else.

  “ ‘And his nephew? Do you know his whereabouts?’ ” The shopkeeper threw her a dubious look. “Are you a friend of the family?”

  She nodded affirmatively.

  He looked relieved. Leaning forward, he said, “I’m happy to report that Lucian Ivanu came into good fortune. As you may recall, he was a determined young man who never helped at his uncle’s store very much because he wanted to be a man of society. As luck would have it, he was hired as a footman to Baron Reppart. Then the baron died suddenly. Keeled over from heart failure. Since the old nobleman had no relatives, he left everything to Lucian because Lucian saved his life.”

  Giselle’s hand flew to her mouth. Everything?

  “Scandalous, eh?” the beefy man asked. “But then the public was well aware of the baron’s eccentric way of doing things.”

  Dazed, she made no response.

  The middle-aged man continued. “Lucian Ivanu is very wealthy now. He lives in the Reppart estate on the edge of town.”

  Lucian . . . wealthy? What a turn of events! I used to be the well-to-do one while he was penniless.

  Her pulse racing, Giselle scribbled a “thank you” and exited the clock shop. As she made her way to the outskirts of the city, she could hardly believe what she’d heard. Years ago, Lucian worked part-time at his uncle’s sorcery shop, but he’d also been employed as a stagehand at the Bucharest National Opera House. The day Giselle sang her first aria on the theater’s enormous stage, their eyes had locked—and their fates had been redirected. He broke the rules of convention by waiting for her outside her dressing room and by boldly introducing himself as her biggest fan.

  Because she knew Lucian was special, Giselle’s heart broke when her snobbish family hadn’t approved of her union with him. Lucian was a good man. In fact, he was all man. Not some flouncy nobleman with a limp handshake. He’d swept her off her feet with fascinating stories about his heritage and his talk of magic. In turn, she’d fallen head-over-heels for him—lost in the silvery pools of his eyes . . . entranced by his sincere touch.

  And he had loved her back. In fact, Lucian had claimed he loved her enough to raise himself to the social level her family required. Giselle convinced him it didn’t matter. She suggested they marry, against her family’s wishes. Hence, their modest wedding arrangements had been organized and paid for by Lucian’s Uncle Gregori.

  Unfortunately, all of Giselle’s dreams had been crushed to bits by Ileana’s wicked spell—and by the fact that Lucian hadn’t recognized her in the church. She’d expected their love to extend beyond normal boundaries . . . well, at least, beyond physical appearance. Sadly, it hadn’t—and the disappointment had struck a crushing blow.

  Giselle reached Saint Anton Square on faltering legs. Before her transformation, she used to move with grace and assurance, but no longer.

  As she struggled to catch her breath and push her leg pain from her mind, she noticed a constable entering the square.

  I may be an innocent old woman, but I probably look out of place here.

  The constable confirmed her assumption by waving his police stick in the air. When he called out to her sternly, Giselle shuffled behind a building and hid herself in the shadows. Lungs constricting, she waited until the constable gave up his search.

  She clutched a hand to her chest to slow her heart’s incessant beating and continued on. After what seemed an eternity, she reached the highly affluent district of Cotroceni. Taking no notice of the tree-lined parks and spectacular estates, her gaze landed on two houses in the distance. One was the official residence of Romania’s Crown Prince. The other was the Reppart mansion.

  Overwhelmed that her ex-fiancé made his home next to royalty here on Bulevardul Geniului, she hesitated. She was extremely nervous to see Lucian again, but he was the only person who could help her.

  Heading toward the block-long house, she heard music from the elegant home fill the frosty night air. As she moved even closer, she studied the enormous structure in the heavy downpour. With an ostentatious façade fit for a king, the house boasted rows of neoclassical columns and bas-relief designs worked in gold leaf on its stunning architecture. Surrounding the entire mansion was a tall iron fence topped with pointed spires. And lining its circular driveway were polished coaches and horse-drawn landaus jockeying for position at the house’s entryway.

  So Lucian was having a party. To celebrate what? Giselle wondered. His privileged lifestyle?

  She decided it didn’t matter. All that concerned her was getting Lucian alone.

  While she never pictured Lucian ever setting foot in a place like this, she, on the other hand, had been inside Baron Reppart’s house. Her days of attending lavish parties and social soirees were long gone, yet she recalled the mansion’s layout. At gatherings such as this, Giselle knew there would be a bustle of activity at the servants’ entrance. If there was a break in the stream of people coming in and out, a person might slip in unnoticed.

  Leaning on her cane, she teetered around the carriages transporting Lucian’s guests. In the inky shadows, she grasped the hood of her cloak beneat
h her chin so that she’d be better camouflaged. When Lucian’s footman was occupied with a guest, she slipped through the front gate and hobbled toward the rear of the house.

  Following behind a stream of vendors carrying cases of champagne and wheels of cheese, she gradually reached the servants’ entrance. She crouched behind a cart as the burly men stopped to check in with the housekeeper at the back entrance. Her stomach clenched.

  She’d hit a roadblock.

  How can I bypass this checkpoint? Defeat swelled inside Giselle—until she had an idea.

  Glancing at a champagne crate stuffed with straw, she lifted one of the bottles and threw it against the house. The stern-faced housekeeper came running out, followed by several servants and vendors. Acting quickly, Giselle snuck inside and hurried along a corridor. Up a rear flight of stairs she went, her arm aching from the exertion of throwing the bottle.

  When she reached the landing, she sucked in a breath. Rows of doors lined the hallway. The sight overwhelmed her and she nearly turned around, but then a pair of voices filtered out of an opened door at the corridor’s end.

  One of the voices was Lucian’s.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lucian Ivanu stood in front of a gilded mirror and raised an eyebrow at his reflection. He’d recently shorn off his long hair—and he had to admit the short crop looked decent. Smoothing a few flyaway strands and eyeing the impressive furnishings that surrounded him, he was struck anew by how he’d come up in the world.

  Then the realization brought a frown to his face.

  People had begun to describe him as distinguished, sophisticated, respectable, yet he’d discovered that being a man of society was damned disappointing. He had become lonely and a bit paranoid—drowning himself with drink and busying himself with available women. Two and a half years into his inherited fortune, he decided that he ought to start acting like a nobleman. That’s why he was getting married.