Well, there was nothing for it. All she could do was attend the masquerade and hope she wouldn’t be too dense to see her own future. With another sigh, she turned from the mirror and plodded down the stairs. While the idea of dressing up and attending the yearly masquerade should have enthused her, she found a combination of hopelessness and dread forming a knot in her stomach instead. After all, their guesses that the clock meant tonight could be off. And so many people showed up, Mr. Right could stand only a foot away and never even see her. There were too many what ifs in play for her liking.
As she walked out the door of the shop, she narrowly missed colliding with a customer trying to enter Custom Crafts. Without looking at them, she muttered a soft, “Sorry,” and quickened her pace. Anya strode to her car, chiding herself the whole way. “You need to pull yourself together before you go tonight, or you might make such a fool of yourself that the perfect man will think you are the perfect idiot.”
Chapter Two
Hunter froze as he entered the shop, then looked around wildly. For a moment, just the briefest of seconds really, his instincts screamed that what he searched for was at his fingertips. But, as quickly as he’d experienced the sensation, it disappeared. Maybe ya imagined it, lad. It’s easy, when ya want something with all yer bein’, to misconstrue things.
“Merry meet,” a voice called from the back. “I’ll be out to help you in just a moment.”
“Take yer time,” he replied, glad to have a few moments to gather himself. He’d heard of the twin sisters and their genuine powers. Especially the one who could scry. She rivaled the talents of witches three times her age. And word was, these girls didn’t cost clients an arm and a leg either—sometimes quite literally.
The shop was quaint, though he’d expected it to cater more to the wild ambitions of humans who hoped to be more than they were. The windows in the front allowed sunlight on various potted plants, many of them kitchen herbs that also held various spell casting properties. The section to the left displayed an entire wall with see-through containers holding polished stones and crystals of all shapes and sizes. Everywhere he looked, basic needs for true witchcraft filled shelves and tables, and none of it looked like cheap knock offs.
Witches were an interesting bunch. As long as you didn’t piss them off. Hunter spared a moment to pray to Gaia he never did. Goddess only knew a dear friend of his suffered such consequences even now.
“Hello tall, mysterious, and handsome,” a voice crooned.
He turned to study the woman who gave him a slow head-to-toe sweep herself. She was stunning, to say the least. Long, auburn hair that reached her waist accented hips which led to long legs. Her body wasn’t model-slim, nor was she necessarily overweight. Instead, her body seemed composed of healthy curves and enough cushion here and there for a man to hold on to without fearing he’d snap his woman in half. In short…perfect.
Yet none of the instincts within him demanded he do more than assess and admire.
“Greetings,” he finally said when she’d finish her appraisal of him. “Would ye be one o’ the lasses who owns this shop?”
The delight that lit up her face when he spoke nearly made him wince. It was the Scottish brogue that thickened his words. Ladies went mad for it. Shame he held no desire to bed the lass. She was the visual stuff of dreams, even if her soul didn’t call to his.
“I am. My name’s Amber. What’s yours?”
“Hunter.” He offered a formal bow, which she responded to with a light curtsy. The small gesture on her part ramped his respect for her by a great deal. “I come to ye in need o’ help.”
Amber raised an eyebrow. “If you’ve come as far as I think you have, then I doubt what you want is on this floor. What services were you looking to procure?”
Her words erased any doubt that he’d come to the wrong place. True to her witchy nature, she was very perceptive. “I am in need o’ a scrying, if’n ye will. I can pay enough to make it worth yer while.”
She frowned, and his stomach dropped like he’d been flung off a cliff. Amber wasn’t going to do it. Hunter prepared himself for the polite refusal to come, even as he wondered what he’d done to deserve it.
“My sister is usually the one who does them. She’s far better at it than me. But she won’t be back for awhile yet, and we’re going to a…party tonight. I can’t guarantee answers, so we’ll try, but if I don’t manage to find anything useful, you don’t have to pay. Is that okay?”
Hope blossomed as quickly as his despair died. Finally. A chance to see if he could track down his mate…if she even existed. He’d lived so long without the other half of his soul that he knew the weakness that plagued his kind would take hold soon. If he didn’t find his mate within the next few months—maybe a year—he’d die…alone.
“I am amenable,” Hunter responded.
Amber smiled at him, and he suffered a moment of regret that his instincts weren’t indicating her. She truly was a beautiful creature. “Let me lock up the shop so we aren’t interrupted. Shame, I’d love to be saying that with a different meaning, but I have a feeling what you’re here for isn’t me.”
At his inquiring look, she blushed a tad. “I’m sorry. I’m not as good with people as my sister. I’m far more blunt than Anya.”
“I am nae…insulted by yer words,” he managed.
Amber locked the door and flipped the sign to closed then pointed at the stairwell that ran up the side near the cash register. “The scrying materials are up there. What is it you’re wanting to find out, anyway? You don’t have to tell me, but knowing will help me focus and an answer will be far more likely.”
He followed her up the stairs, trying to calculate how to present his quest without sounding like a fool. “I seek my mate.”
The witch whirled to face him as she reached the landing. Her mouth formed a surprised O, and her hand fluttered against her chest. “Is she lost? Has she been kidnapped? What happened?”
Hunter couldn’t help the chuckle her words elicited. “I have yet to meet her. I wish to, but canna if I don’ know where she is.”
A visible expression of embarrassment swept over her features. “I’m sorry. Anya always says I’m too rash and quick to speak or act without thinking.”
“Is she the level-headed one then?” he asked, curious about the absent sister.
“Mhmm. Here we are.” She indicated a vanity with a mirror. The piece looked antique, and even he could feel the remnants of magic that clung to the furniture like a second skin.
“Cleansing and protection?” He doubted they’d leave active magic of any other kind on a device they used regularly, but he asked to be sure.
Amber smiled at him before nodding. “Do you practice?”
“Nae.” He grimaced at his choice of words. “I can sense, but not cast.”
She looked like she wanted to say more. To ask what he was, perhaps. Supernatural creatures generally could sense magic, and quite a few were even addicted to the feel or influence of it. His ability to sense magic wasn’t exactly uncommon, but it did mark him as not quite human. Of course, if you wanted to split hairs, neither was she. Not completely, at least.
Instead, she gave a curt nod of understand before answering, “Yes. It’s a protection spell that keeps it from being a two-way mirror. We have no enemies, but there’s always the off chance someone could decide they want to be a peeping Tom, so it’s best to keep the mirror’s abilities contained.”
Hunter gave a grunt of approval, but decided to leave it at that. He’d done enough talking and didn’t feel like giving this witch any clues into what his true nature happened to be. Very few people understood his kind, and most of those ran screaming. He certainly didn’t want to scare away the witch who he hoped would save his life.
“So I need one of your hairs, and for you to light the candles while thinking of what you are trying to discover. This way the mirror will tune into you. I’ll basically be the battery that makes it turn on. If the godde
ss is willing, we’ll find your mate.”
Without hesitation, he plucked one of the long hairs from his head and handed her the strand while making a note to snag it back before he left. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her… That wasn’t true. Hunter didn’t trust anyone.
“Oh wow, your hair actually is white. I thought maybe you’d glamoured it,” Amber said as she laid it on the vanity’s surface. “I like it. The color suits you, somehow.”
He clenched his teeth and refused to respond. Poor lass had no idea the minefield she was stepping through, and he’d be damned if she’d suffer for it. “Do ye have a flame to light the wicks?” he asked, changing the subject.
But she wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze fixated on the swirling surface of the mirror that appeared to contain a moving, living mist. Hunter froze and stared at it as well. Would this be it? Would it finally show him the one thing he desired above all else?
Slowly, a vision surfaced, and his heart sank. A white horse reared, neighing a silent challenge at the world. Bile filled his throat, and he glanced at Amber, fearful of what she might say. If the frown on her face indicated anything, he wouldn’t get the chance.
Against his will, his eye returned to the mirror, but the horse no longer filled the surface. An ornate grandfather clock emerged, but the face appeared odd. It took him a moment to realize the numbers were adjusted at slightly off angles to compensate for a thirteenth hour.
“Damn it.” Amber passed her hand back and forth a few times over the mirror’s surface. “Damn, damn, double damn.”
Her annoyance with the scrying mirror caused him to pause just as he was about to blurt out his apologies and offer to leave.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, turning to him. “I can’t get it to reset. Like I said, Anya is the resident scryer and she uses this thing the most.”
“But I can see—” he started to say.
The witch shook her head, cutting him off. “It’s not your vision. It’s…” She hesitated, as if uncertain whether to impart whose. “This is for my sister. She used it just before she left, and I guess she didn’t turn it off.”
Hunter studied the images as they circulated on the mirror again. This time, when the horse appeared, he truly studied it. Miniature water droplets sprayed off the horse as it reared, which would have been lost in the mist if one didn’t know to look for them. But he did, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt the vision was his.
Amber placed her hands on his chest to gather his attention before she pointed across the room. “Could you give me a minute? I’ll do a full cleansing and see if I can get the mirror to work for us.”
He obeyed but knew it would make no difference. Perhaps her sister had known of his coming and already prepared the scrying? To calm his mind, he scanned the shelf in front of him and paused as his gaze landed on a photo. Two identical women stared back at him, yet he could tell them apart as easily as noon from midnight. The one on the left smiled broadly, her features lit up and a mischievous sparkle in her eye. He knew without a doubt she stood behind him, busying herself with the scrying mirror. The other twin—Anya—stared at the camera with an almost fearful reserve. Her lips twisted in a shy smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He’d seen those eyes before. Outside the shop. They’d sent him an apologetic glance while she bumped into him as she rushed out.
When he’d felt the connection.
The instincts inside of him rousing like a hunting dog at the sight of quail, but he had to be sure.
Taking advantage of Amber’s preoccupation, he searched his surroundings and nearly laughed aloud at the ease with which he found Anya’s room. Her sweet scent permeated the air, and he took a hesitant step in, afraid it would be for naught. That his hunch would turn out nothing more than a desperate man’s delusion.
Two strides across the room he found exactly what he searched for. He picked up her hair brush…and the instant the strands within touched his fingertips, his knees nearly gave in.
“Hey, come on out. Anya is a really private person, and I don’t think she’d like a stranger in her bedroom. The mirror is ready for us to try again,” Amber said from behind him.
“There’s no need,” Hunter answered. “I’ve found her.”
Chapter Three
Anya adjusted her mask one last time before she stepped into the portal. It was a strange sensation to walk through one. The magic surrounding her reminded her of cool water lapping at her skin. On instinct, Anya glanced down to see if her dress was wet when she made it to the other side. The green folds of her ball gown, trimmed in gold, swayed around her without a drop of water. It was a good thing, too. These ball gowns were damned expensive, and they’d only rented them for the night.
“Have I ever mentioned that I think it would be fun to have sex in a portal?” Amber grinned at her, the scarlet of her lips accented by the red feathers of her mask. Her hair, glamoured to appear black instead of the natural pale blond strands that framed her face, accented the vivid color and screamed horny vixen…at least in her opinion.
Anya shook her head, trying not to laugh at the stares they were receiving from her sister’s comment. “No, but I’m not sure I wanted to hear that either. Now go on, you silly cardinal. Fly about and have some fun while there is still time. We’ve only a couple of hours before the clock strikes.”
Her sister hesitated, gaze flitting around the room and their fellow guests. “Are you sure? I don’t mind sticking with you.”
Surprised by Amber’s response, Anya scanned the room herself. An emotional guard surrounded her twin, which worried her more than a little. Was someone here Amber didn’t want to see? Did she know of some danger lurking amidst the other attendees? Surely she would have informed Anya if that were the case.
“Sis?” she asked, trying to keep the worry from her voice.
As if sensing the disquiet she caused, Amber beamed her the fakest smile Anya had ever seen in her life. “Sorry. Never know who else here can empath like you. So many delicious men to beg a dance from. How will a lady ever know where to begin?”
“I’ll let you know when I ask an actual lady,” Anya teased.
Amber huffed for a moment in mock hurt, then wiggled her fingers in departure before taking off for the largest group of males. Anya had no doubt she’d probably dance with at least half of them before the night was over. Knowing her sister was capable of taking care of herself, Anya made her way to the nearest champagne waiter.
After giving the him a smile, she reached for the single glass on the tray, only to watch as a hand shot over the top of her head and snatched it. Surprised, Anya turned around to confront the offender. There were plenty of waiters around, and no shortage of glasses, which meant little to no reason for anyone to be rude or desperate enough to grab the glass. Her words died on her tongue as she stared at the offender.
What she noticed first was not the glass of stolen champagne he held out to her, his stark white hair, nor his charismatic smile. No, what she noticed first was his mask. Or, more to the point, the white sequined horses rearing on either side of his face. An embroidered decoration? Surely these weren’t what the horse in her vision meant.
“I… Why did you do that?” Anya eyed the man warily, uncertain of how to handle the situation.
“So I could be servin’ it to ya, my pretty peacock. That, an I wanted a reason to get yer attention. Did it work?” The man grasped her gloved hand, lifted it with gentle pressure, and wrapped her fingers around the delicate stem of the glass.
Anya liked his voice. It was rough, masculine, and held the hint of Scottish brogue that made even the most mundane words sound exotic. She took a moment to size him up, trying to get a feel for him as a person. Sure, she could reach out with her empathy and pry, but she didn’t want to be rude to a man trying his damnedest to charm her. His tuxedo, a pale blue trimmed in silver, perfectly emphasized his broad shoulders and tied in with his hair color. She wondered if he used glamour to change his appearance, g
iving him white hair that fell like gentle waves of foam. His eyes, rimmed by the black mask, were ice blue. The lower half of his face remained free of his mask, and his skin looked somewhat pale. Try as she might though, Anya couldn’t tell what creature he was. Not vampire, they had a certain feel to them. But something old worlde for certain. Something which attracted her.
Feeling encouraged, Anya sipped the champagne and tried not to stutter. “Hello, I’m—”
“My dance partner for the evening, I ken.”
She tilted her head, knowing he couldn’t see her raised eyebrow beneath the mask. “Well, aren’t you cocky?”
“Perhaps I’m better at following the rules than yerself.” He chuckled as she ducked her face, trying to hide the flames that crawled across her cheeks. “I would love to learn yer name, but I canna hear it from your lips until the bells chime the thirteenth hour. Until then, may I call ya Lady Peacock?”
How could she have forgotten the rules? She’d attended the Midnight Masquerade several times, and never before had she broken one of the two golden rules. No harm could be done while at the event. No identities could be given until the thirteenth hour. So simple. Anya’s caressed the peacock feathers that adorned her mask in a self-conscious gesture. “My sincerest apologies. You can call me that, but what shall I call you?”
He seemed to ponder her question a moment, his eyes searching the far wall. Anya fought the sudden urge to lean against his chest. To tuck her head under his chin and close her eyes. Since when did she get urges like that? It frightened her that it seemed more and more reasonable as she envisioned following through with it. She was grateful when he spoke at last. His words took her mind off the idea of clinging to him like a wet kitten seeking shelter from the cold rain.
“Master Hunter.”
Anya couldn’t help grinning. “You don’t look like a predator, and master is a tad archaic, don’t you think? Or BDSM-y. You don’t look like the whips and leather type either.”
Under the Mask: A Multi-Genre Collection Page 8