by RJ Blain
“Who gave you pills?” The Wicked Witch of the West surprised me by grabbing hold of my shoulders in a firm grip. I dropped my handkerchief. Unable to control the widening of my eyes, I stared at her.
Why would my mention of pills spook the woman so much? “Concierge? I was going to call Sammy, but…” I shrugged.
“No calls,” the woman finished for me in a murmur, letting me go. Before I could stop her, she stooped down to fetch my handkerchief, pressing it back into my hand.
“Thank you. Damn, though, they’re strong.”
“You’re really allergic to dogs?”
“Well, yes.” I drew a deep breath. The drugs were messing with my sense of smell. “Why couldn’t I have been allergic to cats? I didn’t think there’d be dogs, so I didn’t bring my pills or my inhaler.”
“Inhaler?”
I was glad for the mask. I could feel my eyebrows inching their way towards my hairline. The Wicked Witch of the West was worried about me, even after our little scuffle over Mark’s money? Had Mrs. Livingston been testing me, or was there another reason she was so concerned?
My drug-addled brain offered me no answers.
“For my allergies.”
“Not for asthma, then?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m all sorts of healthy, unless there’s a doggie around. Not so much then. I wish he’d warned me.”
“He didn’t know. Why don’t we go sit in the lobby? We’ll come up with a plan.” Mark’s mother grabbed my elbow and dragged me out of the reception hall. The strength of her grasp surprised me.
“Plan? What plan? What for?”
“To win that wolf, of course. I’ll take the animal, you get the cash. Deal?”
I tried to hide my surprise. Why did she want the werewolf? I struggled to keep my composure. Why couldn’t she win the wolf on her own? I shook my head to try to clear it of the fog preventing me from thinking coherently. “Oh. I don’t need the money, though.”
“You don’t?” The old woman’s tone turned suspicious.
“Ma’am, with all due respect, I told you I don’t need Mark’s money. I don’t need free offerings, either.”
“You’re wearing a multi-million dollar necklace my son swears he didn’t buy you, and you don’t need the money?”
Glaring while red-eyed from allergies wasn’t a sufficient deterrent. The Wicked Witch of the West ignored my displeasure. She dragged me across the lobby. I couldn’t shake free of her hand or even slow her down. She didn’t stop until we reached a bench.
Accepting my temporary defeat, I swept my skirts out from under me and sank down onto the cushion. “I pay off my credit cards every month, I assure you.” I worked my fingers under my mask and pinched my nose. Breathing out of my mouth tickled the back of my throat. The almost drunken feeling of the medicine’s influence eased a little. “This little thing?” I gestured to my necklace. “I’ll donate it to charity after I pay the bill.”
“To charity?” Once again, the witch sounded surprised. “But why?”
At the rate I was going, I was going to surprise the woman to death. I wasn’t sure if Mark would be upset with me or not if I did.
“Cinderella can’t attend a ball without a necklace. That’s all. Why keep something I’ll never wear again?” It didn’t hurt I’d paid less than a million for it once I had finished swindling the manager of the jewelry store. “And anyway, I never said it was real.”
“It looks real enough to me. You might be able to fool Mark, but you can’t fool my eyes. Tell the truth. Did you steal it?”
“You’re pretty quick with your accusations, Mrs. Livingston. Did you select Mark’s betrothed through a hundred page application including a full disclosure of her finances?”
The witch stiffened, glaring down at me.
Bullseye.
“Just answer the question,” she snapped.
“I solemnly swear I did not steal or borrow my necklace.” I sneezed so hard that lights danced in front of my eyes. “Why do you want that wolf?”
My question earned me another glare. “That’s none of your business.”
Mark was going to kill me. But war had pretty much been declared between us. In-laws weren’t supposed to like each other, anyway. “Then how, why, and where I got my necklace is none of your business.”
“How dare you!”
“What? Expect you to be my equal? Oh, how terrible of me.”
“You’ll never take my Mark. I do think we’re quite done here, aren’t we? That wolf is mine, Miss Ferdinan. I recommend you stay out of my way.”
I could have stayed quiet and avoided adding fuel to the flames, but I couldn’t resist smiling. “Last time I checked, Mrs. Livingston, Mark was a free man. Should I find out otherwise…”
The drug-induced fog in my head cleared a little under the heat of my anger. I sat straighter and clasped my hands on my lap, lifting my chin to meet her stare.
“You’ll do what?”
I paused for drama’s sake. The witch recoiled a step. “I’ll destroy you,” I said in as calm of a tone as I could muster.
The Wicked Witch of the West’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. I think she believed me.
When I didn’t say another word, the old woman cleared her throat. “Prove it, then. Win the wolf, and I’ll believe in your sincerity.”
I glared at her until she stormed away. “Fine,” I called out to her departing back. Mrs. Livingston halted, but didn’t turn around. “If you really want to dance, we’ll dance,” I finished with a dignified sniff. “I hope your wits aren’t as antiquated as your appearances.”
She waved her hand in acknowledgment of my words. I muttered curses, uncertain of who had won that round.
Just what had Mark gotten me into? If I lived through the night, I was going to kill him in the morning.
At least I had a reason to try to win a wolf I didn’t even want.
~*~
When it rained, it really poured, and none of my powers as either a werewolf or a two-bit witch could change my luck. Mark was gone, likely hiding right under my nose among the costumed figures, laughing at my misfortune. Caroline’s body had also disappeared.
I didn’t want to think about who had taken her corpse away or what they intended to do with her. Without knowing what killed her, I’d have to start making guesses.
At least I knew a few things. She hadn’t been shot or stabbed. I doubted the Plaza would’ve been happy if a game stained their floors with blood. Had Caroline been strangled? That seemed unlikely.
I hadn’t smelled her fear, and her expression had been too peaceful for so violent of a death. I hadn’t heard anything suspicious in the hall, either. A fight wouldn’t have gone unnoticed, even in the dark.
How else were people murdered? I propped my chin in my hand and hummed. The medicine definitely wasn’t helping me think.
Oh. Medicines. Drugs. Poisons. Caroline had drunk wine not long before her death. Had she been poisoned then?
I shivered at the implication. Had her death been some random murder? I didn’t want to believe it. Wolves hunted for a purpose: To survive, to eat, and to win mates. Only humans were capable of such pointless killings of their own kind.
Random murder wasn’t likely, not at such a party. There were too many things that could go wrong. No real hunter would rely on luck alone to down their prey.
I wanted to pull at my hair from frustration. Instead, I rose to my feet, making my way to the concierge.
“Are you feeling any better, ma’am?” the man behind the candlelit counter asked. Unlike the rest of the staff I’d seen in the building, he wasn’t wearing a costume. His suit was pristine, and his black hair greased back.
“Much, thank you. Where’s the kitchen?”
If my request startled him, he didn’t react beyond pointing and giving me directions. I thanked him.
I made it all of five steps before a wave of anxiety swept through me. Something tugged at me, took hold of
my heart, and squeezed. Each breath burned in my lungs. I staggered a step, but kept walking towards the hallway. The deep tone of a bell rang in my ears. I lowered my head and squeezed my eyes closed.
The shadows hid how I faltered. I shuddered.
The wolf howled.
Realization slammed into me. The full moon had reached its peak. Its call resonated with my heart, and my bones ached with the need to change, but I was powerless to answer.
Ice stabbed at me where the mask touched my skin. A sneeze tore through me, and the desire to transform ebbed. Warmth replaced the mask’s chill.
The wolf howled again. I halted and listened to his sad song. His was a cry for freedom, a vocalized desire to join the hunt.
My throat tightened. I’d lived for so long as neither wolf nor woman that I didn’t know where one began and the other ended.
I wanted freedom too, but not to hunt. I’d been hunted for long enough.
I lifted my head and headed towards the kitchen. Like some fairy godmother, the Wicked Witch of the West hadn’t provided me with what I wanted or what I had bargained for.
She had, however, given me what I needed. Hopefully I wasn’t selling my soul to some devil in disguise for the chance to set the black wolf free.
~*~
The kitchen wasn’t the bustling hive of busy bees that I expected. Someone dressed up like a raccoon scurried about, emptying a dishwasher. A blonde-haired ballerina in a pink tutu refilled wine glasses. Covered trays of hors d’oeuvres waited on every available counter.
A plain wooden box rested next to one of the trays with a stack of letters inside. I stepped into the room, dodging the edges of the counters.
The raccoon noticed me first. It gestured to the box with a gloved hand before returning to work.
A clue, then? I took an envelope from the box and shoved it into my purse. The ballerina smiled at me when I approached. She poured another glass of wine and set it on a waiting tray. I watched as she poured several more glasses before setting the emptied bottle into the sink next to her.
Dracula glided into the kitchen with a tray of empty glasses. I got out of his way. Like a well-oiled machine, the raccoon relieved him of the tray, and the ballerina gave him a new one laden with wine.
Caroline had drunk wine from the table. Even if Dracula, the raccoon, or the ballerina had poisoned a glass, it didn’t account for anything more than a random, senseless killing. I had a clue, but I doubted it’d guide me to the woman’s actual killer.
“What type of wine is this?” I asked.
The ballerina dimpled at me. “It’s a Château Margaux from Bordeaux, ma’am.”
“Can I see one of the bottles?”
“Have fun,” the woman replied, turning back to her work. I picked up one of the bottles and looked at the label. It was written in French. I rolled the bottle between my hands before checking my white gloves. No stains.
I checked the bottom. A small piece of paper was taped to the glass. I glanced over my shoulder.
No one else was in the kitchen.
I took the paper and left.
~*~
I avoided the reception hall. Without proper lights, I didn’t want to even try reading what the scrap of paper from the wine bottle said, let alone the contents of the envelope. With the moon at its peak, the allergy medication wasn’t going to last long. I could already feel the last remnants of the fog in my head burning away. So long as I stayed as far from the other werewolf as possible, I’d be okay. I hoped.
I found a quiet hallway, pulling the envelope out of my purse. I gave it a shake. Something heavy shifted in it. I tore it open and a silver coin embossed with a stylized letter “I” fell onto my palm.
My blood ran cold in my veins. I knew the mark. It was one I had never wanted to see again. A business card fluttered to the floor.
I shivered as my eyes locked on the mark of the Inquisition. The silver numbed my hand through my glove. Once, I had been a secret of the Inquisition, locked in a cage until they needed me to hunt down a witch or wolf. Red flashed before my eyes, like fresh blood spraying from new wounds. I shuddered, swallowing back bile.
I didn’t want to remember when my name had been Inquisitor.
It was a long time before I managed to dump the coin into my purse. Still shivering, I stooped to pick up the fallen card.
The Keeper of Secrets wears no mask.
The message offered me nothing but more questions. Was the Keeper of Secrets a part of the Inquisition? There hadn’t been one, so many years ago when I’d been forced to kill for them. Why would a message be left with a coin stamped with the symbol?
I dumped the coin and the card in my purse and turned my attention to the note that had been taped to the bottom of the wine bottle.
Traitors are punished.
I crushed the note in my fist. I should’ve known. The evidence of the Inquisition’s presence had been right in front of me the entire time. Only the Inquisition would bring a werewolf to a place like the Plaza and use him as a prize, disguised as a normal animal. Only an Inquisitor could pull off a murder in such a large crowd, disguising it to look like a game.
Caroline had been a scarlet letter, all right. She’d worn the truth for all to see, and like an adulterer in the past, she’d been killed for her crimes. Worse still, her death was used as the amusement of others.
Her letter, however, had been W.
Witch.
My fear chilled me. Did Mark know about the Inquisition? I wanted to doubt it, but Mark was involved with the organization of the party. I hoped against it. The Inquisitors liked their secrets, and kept them even from family when they could. I had that much going for me, at least. The Inquisitors liked their secrets enough that unless the Wicked Witch of the West learned the truth, I was probably safe. He could’ve pulled off the party without knowing about the Inquisition, if he acted on behalf of his mother.
I shook my head, pushing my fears aside.
Nothing changed the fact I was engaged in a pissing contest with a witch at a party reeking of the last people on Earth I wanted to be near. I closed my eyes, rolling the paper into a tiny ball. The narrator’s voice haunted me.
I wondered if he knew just how right he was. If the Inquisition learned I existed, I’d end up like Caroline: Cold and dead.
Traitors were punished. No one left the Inquisition and lived.
Except me.
I was in a lot of trouble.
Chapter Four
It was a lot easier to ignore Caroline’s death once I suspected her of being part of the Inquisition. They were fire, I was gasoline, and the instant they learned I had been one of them, they’d burn me. But that’d only happen after they learned everything they could from me.
There wouldn’t be a whole lot left of me to burn once they were finished with me.
Caroline had it easy. One moment she’d been alive. Then, bam! Like a gunshot in the dark, she was gone. The Inquisition wouldn’t show me such kindness. The fortunate died when they were tortured for information.
If I didn’t die during their interrogations, they’d laden me with silver, take everything they could from me, set me on my own kind, and then finish me off. They’d pit me against wizards, witches, and wolves, and wouldn’t care in the slightest if I made it back alive.
If I made it back, if they thought I was of no more use to them, then they’d burn me at the stake.
A death like Caroline’s was far, far better. Quick and efficient. That was the best I could hope for, if they discovered the truth.
All in all, I was in a lot of trouble. The mask I wore made sense, if the party was hosted by the Inquisition. They had the black werewolf in the throes of the full moon at Halloween. If he escaped from his silver cage, the enchantments on the mask would be enough to prevent him from trying to change me into a werewolf. I was a prime target for a wolf in thrall. I was, to appearances, young. I was also unmated. So close to winter, if he didn’t already have a mate, the bl
ack werewolf would have been on the prowl for one, and he wouldn’t care if she were human or otherwise. The ritual needed to transform someone from human to werewolf wasn’t something that most werewolves could perform on an unwilling subject. The victim had to agree, in some form or another. Had the Inquisition forgotten that fact?
Of course, the Inquisition didn’t know I was already a cursed beast fighting the moon’s call.
I sniffled, rubbing my gloved finger under my nose. Their precautions saved me from being revealed. With one wolf in thrall to the moon, even my control would falter. While I had never forced the ritual to transform someone into a werewolf on anyone, if I were going to, it’d be on a night like tonight.
The shiver started in my shoulders and made its way right down my spine.
With another full-body shudder, I shook my head and tried to purge all of the what-if questions rattling around in my head. I couldn’t set the wolf free if I got caught by the Inquisition.
I pivoted on a heel and stomped my way back towards the lobby. I considered throwing the slip of paper away. Under the disguise of taking more allergy medicine, I ate the clue. Luck had never been a real friend of mine, and the last thing I needed was the Inquisition figuring out I suspected what was actually going on.
I could pretend I hadn’t found the clue. Nothing in the rules stated I needed to present the evidence. All I had to do was find a way to set the black wolf free.
Taking a seat at an empty sofa, I let the silver coin fall between the cushions. The business card, however, I kept, stashing it among my credit cards. Then, I waited.
The Wicked Witch of the West found me some twenty minutes later, with a sweet smile on her face. “Are you feeling any better, child?”
I sneezed. Grabbing my handkerchief, I dabbed at my nose. “I’ll live.”
For now. It was a subject up for debate. Either the allergies would do me in, or I’d stuff my foot into my mouth and ruin over a hundred years of hiding.