A Warlock's Dance

by Marina Myles

  “Your guests are arriving, sir,” Lucian’s valet said.

  He nodded. “I’m ready for my shirt, Taur.”

  The manservant helped him slip on a superb garment crafted from Italian silk, followed by a jacket made from the same material. Taur had a first name of course. It was Serghei, but taur was the Romanian word for “bull” and Lucian had taken to calling his valet by his fitting surname. One of the wisest and most amusing crewmembers at the Bucharest National Opera House, Taur had quickly become Lucian’s friend. Thus, he’d been Lucian’s first choice for a valet.

  Outspoken and almost as wide as he was tall, the comical fellow wasn’t one’s typical manservant—but Lucian’s money gave him room to do nearly anything he liked.

  After Taur swept a few specks of invisible dust from Lucian’s shoulders, he began to fiddle clumsily with his master’s necktie. “Are you nervous about your engagement party, sir?”

  “We’ve been friends for a long time, Taur. I’m sure you can tell me how I’m feeling.”

  “I think you are very nervous,” the valet replied.

  Taur was right. And the sound of the party guests moving about downstairs stirred Lucian’s anxiousness even more. His wedding to the lovely Elisabeth Dalinsky was set for January and he was supposed to make the formal announcement at tonight’s party.

  Typically, he wasn’t impatient with Taur but as his thoughts shifted to Elisabeth, Lucian pushed the valet’s hands away and finished securing his cravat. With lavish, ash-blond hair and eyes the color of milk chocolate, Elisabeth was beautiful, well-bred, and impeccably connected. The perfect debutante.

  Yet Lucian didn’t know if he was quite ready to commit to marriage . . .

  As if he’d read Lucian’s mind, Taur said, “Miss Dalinsky is a fine choice, sir. If you like the meek type.”

  Lucian shot Taur a look of contempt. “Thanks for the support.”

  “Anytime, sir.” He stepped back and surveyed Lucian’s appearance. “Now you’re ready. Well, at least you’re dressed.”

  Lucian patted his friend’s arm, then tugged on the bottom of his jacket. Giving his reflection a final glance, he remembered the boy he used to be—a ruffian who panhandled in the streets of Bucharest—a lad who ran himself ragged by working three jobs at a time.

  Too bad I couldn’t use my warlock powers then, Lucian thought.

  The truth was, his powers weren’t meant to make things like money appear. Nor could they cause people to fall in or out of love. Or predict the future. His powers were limited to casting spells meant to reverse other, malicious spells.

  Of all the irritating limitations. Lucian glowered. He sauntered over to a secretary bookcase and lit a cigar.

  His Uncle Gregori, from whom he had learned his talent, claimed that reversing spells was a fine art. Unfortunately, Lucian hadn’t come close to perfecting it. He’d only reversed one spell—which went horribly wrong. When a thirteen-year-old schoolboy came to him, the boy claimed to be suffering from a terrible skin disease. The boy pleaded with Lucian to reverse the hex cast by an angered classmate. Lucian agreed, but the incantation he spoke accidentally turned the boy into a bird. Following the transformation, the bird crashed, broke its wing, and died.

  The tragic debacle stole away Lucian’s desire to attempt any and all magic. In turn, he swore off his sorcery powers—and he remembered the moment well. It was the same day Giselle Swenov disappeared from his life.

  Giselle. Saying the name—even in his head—still pained him. He had loved her as if the world were ending . . . as if his entire existence relied on her infectious smile. But their love and their marriage plans had crumbled like ancient plaster, leaving him scarred.

  Lucian puffed ferociously on the cigar before he poured himself a dose of brandy. He never knew what had happened to Giselle . . . why she hadn’t shown up on their wedding day. He’d come to the conclusion that her affluent parents got to her. They desperately wanted to prevent Giselle from marrying a boy on the fringe of poverty. And they were even more desperate to stop their daughter from marrying a sub-par warlock.

  Ashamed at his lack of pedigree and wallowing in self-pity, Lucian renounced his powers without a glance back.

  Taur barreled over and rested a hand on Lucian’s shoulder. “You must forget about Miss Giselle.”

  “You read my mind again.” He let out a laugh. “Are you sure you’re not the blasted warlock, Taur?”

  Grinning, the valet shook his head.

  “I’m trying my best to push Giselle from my mind.”

  “Glad to hear it, sir. And while I’m happy you’re abandoning your disgraceful ways,” Taur said, “I wish you were marrying for the right reasons.”

  That was Taur, Lucian thought as he downed the brandy. Always to the point. But did the man know anything about love? For me, real love exists only with Giselle. If she hasn’t come back to me by now, she probably never will.

  Damn it to hell. Lucian knew he’d never love another woman as much as he had loved her, so why try? He was tired of being alone. Even if he felt nothing for Elisabeth, at least she would keep him warm on a cold Bucharest night.

  Giselle heard Lucian and his valet exit the bedchamber. Heart stuttering, she hid behind the door as the two men strolled by her.

  As they descended the main staircase, she shambled to the landing and looked down. Lucian’s wide shoulders and snug-fitting trousers made her heart drum. As had the sight of him without his shirt. With a muscular chest dusted with blond hair and slim hips that accentuated his broad shoulders, he looked like the pictures of Apollo, the Roman god of the sun that Giselle had seen in schoolbooks.

  Of course, Giselle felt guilty about peeking into Lucian’s bedchamber, but she’d hoped to catch him alone.

  So, he is engaged to be married. The news flushed anguish through her.

  She slowly re-traced her steps to the rear stairwell. Admittedly, Lucian still made her pulse speed and her womanly desires flare, but that was irrelevant. What was he going to think when he saw a hunched, wrinkled woman approach him? He probably wouldn’t care about her anymore. Besides, Miss Elisabeth Dalinsky was in the picture now. Giselle hadn’t met the girl, but she hated her almost as much as she despised Ileana Zpda.

  It took her a long time to reach the bottom of the stairs. Her energy depleted, she huddled in the shadows of a long-case clock and stretched her gaze to Lucian. He stood just inside a magnificent ballroom paneled in oak. The music was louder now as the party came into full swing.

  What if he throws me out again?

  The possibility prompted Giselle to inch behind a panel of curtains. Unsure how to confront him, she took a moment to plan her next move. Meanwhile, a conversation captured her attention.

  “Do you really think Lucian will go through with it?” A man’s voice penetrated the music.

  “I would,” another man replied. His voice was more nasal than his comrade’s and it made Giselle cringe. “Have you seen Elisabeth Dalinsky?”

  “She’s beautiful. But I had the honor of seeing Lucian’s ex-fiancée perform at the Bucharest National Opera House.”

  “Are you talking about Giselle Swenov?”

  “Yes,” the first man replied. “In February of ’84, she sang an aria from Don Giovanni. She sounded like an angel and looked like one, too. There was something special about her—and I can see why Lucian fell for her desperately.”

  “Whatever happened to her?”

  “It’s a mystery,” he replied. “But I think she was scared off by Lucian’s reputation.”

  “Reputation? Are you saying he’s a lousy reprobate?” The man with the nasal voice suggested.

  “ No. What I mean is, it’s rumored that Lucian potters in black magic. That he’s a warlock.”

  “Of all the bizarre things . . .”

  I wasn’t scared off by Lucian’s connection to the Dark Arts. Giselle scowled. Furthermore, I sang “Faust” that month.

  Refusing to listen anymore, she pus
hed aside the curtain. A waiter blocked her way. “We have an intruder!” he shouted urgently.

  In an effort to escape, Giselle stretched her cane out too hastily. As she tried to lean on it, it slipped from her grasp and she landed on the cold, marble floor. Her vision went hazy. Amid the commotion that ensued, she was vaguely aware of Lucian kneeling before her.

  “My God,” he whispered. “You’re the same woman who burst into the church on my wedding day.”

  She raised her hand to his face without thinking. To her surprise, he grasped it. She proceeded to run her thumb over the cleft in his chin, as she’d always done. But, as if he’d received an electric shock, he pushed her hand away.

  In one gallant swoop, Lucian scooped Giselle off the ground and marched into the library with her. While he kicked the door shut and twisted the lock, Giselle rubbed her throbbing temple. Her body trembled as he set her on the divan in a gentle motion and looked down at her with his hands on his hips.

  “Madam, I know you are hurting,” he said. “I shall summon some tea and a doctor in a moment, but right now I want to know who you are and why you are here.”

  Giselle put a gnarled hand to her throat. She shook her head.

  “So that’s it?” He cocked a brow. “You refuse to talk?”

  She mouthed the word “no”.

  “All right.” He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her his total attention. “Then talk.”

  Her head hurt from her fall, but it didn’t hurt enough for her to ignore the way he looked. His eyes gleamed like polished silver and shone with curiosity. And though his hair was cut shorter now, when he raked the front of it back with both hands, something sparked inside her. Giselle remembered what it felt like when he’d touched her with those hands—when he had caressed her face and her . . .

  She sat up straighter. With much effort, she made a writing motion in the air.

  “Oh, I see.” Lucian’s expression changed. “I apologize. You can’t talk.”

  She managed a crooked smile. When he winced at the sight of her teeth, she wanted to scurry away and hide. She knew she was hideous. But he was being kind and it was imperative that she seize this chance to tell him who she was.

  Lucian walked to a Chippendale desk in the corner and brought back a fountain pen and a slip of his stationery. When he handed them to her, Giselle ran her fingertip over the ornate crest bearing his name.

  As she set about writing a note, he crouched down and studied her face.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “It’s Taur, sir. Can I be of service?”

  “We are perfectly fine in here,” Lucian called out.

  “Sir, the guests are getting restless. And Miss Elisabeth—”

  “She needs to wait, as well,” Lucian thundered. “I’ll be out in a moment.” He continued to look at Giselle strangely. Her nervousness built. Does he recognize me? But that was impossible, wasn’t it?

  Before she finished writing, a startled expression lit his face. “Wait a minute.” He rose and strode to the desk again. Picking up an oil lamp, he brought it close to her face. After a pause he gasped. “Your eyes, madam.”

  She widened them on purpose and her limbs tingled with hope.

  “I’ve only known one person with one green eye and one brown eye,” he said.

  She nodded as tears sprang to the eyes he’d described.

  “And the way you touched my face just now . . . Christ. Is it you, Giselle?”

  She heaved forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. Sobs convulsed her body. She had cried many times since she’d been taken under Ileana’s control, but this was different. This was an outpouring of self-pity and lost love—the worst combination in the world.

  While she sobbed, Lucian set the oil lamp down and hugged her. Finally, he removed her hands from his waist and sunk onto the divan beside her. She could see tears well in his eyes, too.

  “I’ve missed you so,” he said softly. “What happened to you?”

  Sucking in a breath, she handed him the note. Confusion darkened his stare as he read it. “Ileana Zpda?” he asked. “But she was the opera house’s most generous patron.”

  Giselle nodded. She looked down at her spotted, disfigured hand in his smooth one. It didn’t seem fair that he’d maintained his youth and good looks—or that their relationship had been so patently sabotaged. It wasn’t fair.

  Lucian’s strong nostrils flared. “And you say she turned you into this?” He seemed repulsed. Then again, how could her appearance not repulse him?

  She was grateful that Lucian recognized her. Now she had to get him to reverse Ileana’s spell.

  “Can you tell me what happened to you the day we were to marry?” he asked, wiping away a tear.

  Fingers shaking, she scribbled another note, describing the chain of events.

  The sound of Lucian’s fist pounding the settee made her jump. “Why would Ileana do something like that?” He took in a breath. “The woman is pure evil. And the worst part is she seems to be highly schooled in the occult.”

  Giselle clutched his arm.

  “You must be terrified of her.”

  She dipped her chin in affirmation.

  He took her hand from his arm and patted it, as one would pet a wounded animal. “I can’t believe your beautiful voice is gone, Giselle. I’ve missed it tremendously. Your talent could have opened heaven’s gates.”

  Ashamed, she looked away. In a world of privilege, singing had been the only thing she had accomplished on her own.

  Curse Ileana.

  The enchantress had become Giselle’s friend underhandedly—to best discover how to hurt her. But what pained Giselle more now was the fact that Lucian was about to marry someone else.

  Moments ago, he claimed to his valet that he hadn’t forgotten her completely. It made her wonder why he’d recognized her tonight and not in church. She wrote the thought down and handed it to him.

  Embarrassment shadowed Lucian’s expression. “I didn’t look closely at you that day, Giselle. I had you thrown out of the church without giving you a chance to explain.” He paused. “I suspect you’ve encountered similar prejudice since then.”

  Torment twisted her face. I have.

  “No doubt people draw away from you,” he said. “A far cry from how you were treated before your transformation.”

  His words described the last three years of her life to perfection. If he understood her pain, perhaps he’d agree to help her.

  She penned something else.

  After Ileana does away with her stepdaughter, she plans to return to Bucharest permanently. She instructed me to ship her belongings—including her book of spells—to Dantel House.

  Giselle passed it to Lucian, whose brow furrowed.

  “Do away with her stepdaughter? You mean murder her?”

  Giselle nodded and wrote, Ileana is jealous of her beauty, as she was of mine.

  “Ileana is more dangerous that I thought.” He paused. “So that’s why you’re here. You want me to try and reverse your spell?”

  She folded her hands together. Lucian shot her a doubtful look and squared his shoulders. “So much has changed since our wedding day, Giselle. I’ve changed.”

  Her heart missed a beat. She didn’t like where this was going.

  “When you didn’t show up at our wedding ceremony—as your former self, I mean, something inside me died,” he said. “I became . . . hardened. Of course, I don’t expect pity. But damn it, I lost faith in love. And in myself.”

  Giselle watched him spring off the divan and pace before her.

  “When my uncle died,” he went on, “I buried my ring along with him and gave up my warlock powers.”

  You buried your ring? Giselle’s body went cold. Lucian needed that ring if he wanted to perform any sort of spell reversal. He had told her so when his uncle had given it to him.

  She wrote another note. We must get the ring at all costs.

  He read it, then tossed
it angrily aside. “You want me to desecrate my uncle’s grave? I was a lousy warlock, Giselle. The one spell I performed went terribly awry, so you’re asking the wrong person for help. What’s more, I have no desire to go back to what I was!”

  Dejection stung her like a blast of frigid air. She didn’t know Lucian anymore—nor did she think he knew himself.

  Despite her best effort not to, Giselle began to cry again. She was about to plead for his help one last time when there was a soft knock at the door.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Who is it?’ Lucian roared.

  “It’s me,” spoke a shy voice. “Elisabeth.”

  Lucian trekked to the door, threw over the latch, then returned to Giselle.

  The portal creaked open and Giselle wiped away her tears. In glided Elisabeth Dalinsky. Small and impeccably coiffed, the girl moved forward reservedly.

  The more Elisabeth padded across the room, the more Giselle wondered if the girl lacked confidence. With enormous brown eyes, a pert nose, and a mass of glossy blonde curls, Elisabeth was beautiful, but her downcast stare gave away the fact that she was incredibly meek.

  Do men really find women of that sort attractive?

  Elisabeth reached the divan, smiling sweetly. “What’s the delay, Lucian?”

  Lucian stood and took his fiancée’s hands. Giselle watched Elisabeth whisper something in his ear.

  “I know our guests are waiting,” he said sternly, “but you mustn’t interrupt me.”

  What? Giselle thought. Had he become a boor? The old Lucian would never have spoken to a woman like that. She was beginning to think his wealth had turned him into something ugly.

  “You’ve been in here forever,” Elisabeth replied gently. Then she turned an eye to Giselle. “Who is this vagrant woman?”

  “She’s not a vagrant, Elisabeth.”

  “Who is she, may I ask?”

  Lucian’s face went red. After he gave Giselle a look that said “forgive me,” he grinned charmingly. “This is my great-aunt Nina.”