Disenchanted (25 page)

“Not always true. There have been instances where mules—”

“Too few to worry over.”

What the...? The voices, Royd and his sister—or it sure sounds like them—filter through the giant potted palms to one side of the buffet. I know it’s wrong, but it sounds like they’re talking about me. I mean really, shadow spawn? Isn’t it only fair I listen?

Whatever he says is too low for me to make out, leaving me wishing for vamp, or therian super hearing. Carefully balancing my plate and glass, I take a step closer to their ferny screen. Bending over the table to
examine
a few of the other delicacies in hopes no one blows my cover.

“What is the harm in her dallying with him, besides to your pride? Let them have their fun. She will lose interest when the desire to have a child takes her. After all, you fixed it so he will have more than a difficult time visiting her and I highly doubt she knows how to slip boundaries. If she does it, it’s purely by accident. Problem solved.”

As those words cause the floor to shift under my feet I almost miss my cue to vacate the premises, nearly spilling my hors d'oeuvres. Juggling, plate and glass, I continue the pretense of studying the table, but feel her eyes on me and slowly turn my head. She smiles before turning to follow her brother, letting
me
know
she
knows I heard.

What the hel did that exchange mean? Was she talking about Vereinen and me? How much did they know? What’s up with the mule talk? And children? Having children is not something I’ve ever had a desire to think about, let alone do. I don’t like having my reproductive system discussed as if I’m a brood mare.

I’m glad my companions have taken off for parts unknown and everyone else seems to be ignoring me. The last thing I’m in the mood for is conversation after what I just heard. Part of me wishes I could jump ship and another reminds me I can’t swim. Gods, even my internal voices have a twisted sense of humor.

Along the rail, there’s a padded bench and I decide it’s as good a place as any to take up a solitary residence. Setting the glass at my feet, I concentrate on forgetting what I heard. No use ruining a perfectly lovely snack. Plucking the smallest of the mushrooms from the plate, I pop it into my mouth. Shroomy bliss envelops me and I lean back, closing my eyes to enjoy.

Something brushes the corner of my mouth and across my lower lip. Crystal tinkles and wetness splashes across my foot. The plate of yummy treasures is no longer on my lap, but splayed across the floor. My pole dancer heels slide to the right and I topple into a hard, strong arm that stops my descent to the floor. The low rumble of laughter emanates from the attached chest and I jerk upright.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

“Glad you find this funny. You not only made me waste a plate of food, but a glass of champagne. That’s two crimes in one, alcohol abuse and the murder of perfectly innocent ‘shrooms. Not to mention, the blow to what little dignity I have left.” Hiding behind the removal of splattered champagne and munchies that coat my skirt and legs from the knees down, I take a deep breath. So much for avoiding him.

“You were enjoying your treat so much I did not think you wished to waste any of it,” says Royd, holding a cream–covered fingertip toward me. He shrugs when I pull back and slips the finger between his lips. “Very tasty.”

No need for a mirror, I know from the burning in my cheeks, my face is bright red. Snapping his fingers, three of the shirtless waiters appear. Two clean up my mess, another hands me a fresh glass.

“Thanks,” I mumble. Quickly looking away, not wanting to fall into that gold and blue gaze and the thoughts I know lurk behind it.

He stands and holds his hand out. “Shall we walk?”

I ignore the offered hand and he lets it drop as I rise on jellified legs. Placing a hand at the small of my back, he steers me along the deck. Glancing over my shoulder, there’s no sign of the recent crime, not even the tiniest of slivers have escaped the cleanup. Dang, wonder if those boys do salons.

“Are you enjoying the party?”

“I was until you made me commit shroomacide.”

Flips and flops in my stomach that have nothing to do with the motion of the water take up residence as he chuckles.

“I will fetch you another plate.”

“I’m not hungry anymore.”

We stop at the side of the deck and he grasps the rail, lowering his head. Taking a deep breath, he straightens and turns toward me. I try not to flinch and fail as he places a hand on either side of my face, forcing me to look him in the eye. “Sometimes one must be cruel to be kind.”

I don’t know what prompted the statement, but it pretty much sums up the man. I swallow hard, waiting for the pressure of his hands to increase until my head pops. Instead, his head descends, catching me in a mind–whirling, knee–knocking, pulse–thumping lip lock.

“Get a room.”

Royd frowns, only increasing my appreciation of Rey’s timing.

“What is it, Therian?”

“Brand requests your presence and I thought I’d keep an eye on Keely while you have your little powwow.” He wiggles his brow and Royd glares at him.

“See that an eye is all you keep on her.” Without a second glance, he stalks off, leaving me with a laughing hyena in fox’s clothing.

“Um...how many have you had?”

“Aww, it was all in fun,” he says, holding out his hand. “Let’s join the party.”

Rey is usually not so forward with his teasing, except with us, who know he’s only joking. Chalking it up to one too many glasses of bubbly, I let him lead me into the throng of socializers.

“Having a good time?” he asks, snagging a couple of glasses from a passing tray.

I shrug, taking the offered drink. “As good as anyone would have, considering the circumstances.”

His brow wrinkles, “What do you mean? Mr. High and Mighty giving you a hard time?”

“That doesn’t help, but—”

Off to the side, I hear a familiar voice that stops me cold and I turn. Not more than twenty paces away from me stands Rey—my Rey—chatting with a blond bombshell. Mouth open, I look from one to the other.

“Who are you?”

The furrow in Rey number two’s brow deepens and his eyes change from confusion to anger. He grabs my arm, sending the glass crashing to the floor. “Damn it.”

I open my mouth, but before I can make a sound, he strokes his fingers across my lips and they clamp shut. Holding his arm around me like a vise, he pulls me toward the stern. I try dropping against him—dead weight is harder to move—but something compels me to keep walking upright.

“Stupid bitch,” he says, leaning in close as he tugs me along. “Keep it up and I’ll kill you right here.”

Like that scares me. Kill me here, or kill me later, either way I’m dead. Here there’s a chance of someone helping me. Seeing as the little bastard took away my power of speech, I try grabbing anyone within range, but I can barely move a finger, let alone lift my hand. He mutters something under his breath and sneers at me. I don’t know what he did, but everyone looks right through me, as if I were made of glass, or worse I don’t exist.

Between the compulsions and what I suspect is a cloaking spell, I’m screwed. About the only thing that can save me now is if I were telepathic. I remember that night on the dance floor when Brand touched my mind. Was it a fluke? Only one way to find out. I concentrate on one word. Help! Hoping someone, anyone hears me. The party continues around me without even a ruffle, leaving me empty, desperate and terrified.

Once we’re away from the others, he drops the glamour used to impersonate Rey, probably the Talent stolen from the morph. How in Hel’s Realm is he able to use it?

He gives me a shove and luckily, some of my muscle control has returned. I land painfully against the rail, clutching at it as I look over the edge into the deep, dark lake. The lesser of two evils—psycho, drowning, psycho, drowning—which do I choose? Not an easy decision, or one I’m prepared to make.

Taking a deep breath, I turn to face possibly the last person I’ll ever see. Not a pleasant thought. His skin is pale and not in a good way. It has an almost yellowish hue, like someone who’s been, or is sick. We already knew he was sick in the head, but this adds something new to the equation. Maybe I can use it to my advantage, not that I have much of one at present. There’s something familiar about him, but I just can’t put two and two together and come up with a coherent answer. Who can blame my brain for not focusing on anything except being scared shitless?

“What do you want?” Not original I know, but like I said I’m not firing on all cylinders.

“What do I want? What do I want?” he asks pacing back and forth in front of me.

Who does this guy think he is?
De Niro
?

“I want what was denied me by my loving parents.”

He stops just inches from me, the heat and wretched smell of his breath against my face. The smell, like the sallow tinge to his skin, isn’t right. I notice the dark shadows beneath his eyes and a rash along his neck and cheeks. Without doubt, there’s something physically as well as mentally wrong with this guy. I don’t have to be a doctor to see that much.

Swallowing back the bile that climbs its way up my throat, I stand up straight, lift my chin and stare him in the eye. I may be terrified, but I’m not just going to roll over and let him do whatever it is he has planned for me.

He shakes his head and laughs. “I should thank you. Not only did your salon supply the missing element, but it drew attention away from me on to you.”

I bite my lower lip, holding back any comments that might leak out.

“Sure, at first I was pissed off that the cops thought a stupid hairdresser could pull off something so complex.” He pauses, watching as my jaw tightens. “Oh, don’t be angry about it, we both know you never could have come up with a way to gain and use the Talents of others.”

“Whatever.” It slips out before I can stop myself.

He laughs and begins his pacing again. “Then I realized with their attention on you, I was free to do as I pleased as long as everything pointed to you.”

“Explains why you kept choosing clients from my salon, and stole the pages from the appointment book.”

“Ooo, you are smarter than you look.”

The sarcasm in his tone is undeniable and pissing me off.

“But your free ride ended when my salon got closed down. Too bad, so sad.”

His hand connects with my face and my head snaps back. That’s going to leave a mark. I’ve got to learn to keep my mouth shut. Fortunately, it was an open handed slap instead of a punch, or I’d be on my knees, or over the side.

“Doesn’t explain why you tried to break into my apartment.”

“Would have succeeded if that bitch vamp would have stayed asleep like she was supposed to.”

“But why?” I try to keep him talking, hoping one of those wandering couples will stroll over this way.

He shrugs, reaching up to scratch at his neck and face. “The challenge. Your salon was already my playground, I just extended it to include your home. I wasn’t interested in your Talents.” A sinister little smile plays at his lips, sending a chill down my spine. “At the time.”

A pendant swings free from his shirt, triggering how I know him. The coffee shop with Jenny, the greasy little scumbag I thought might be her pimp. Jenny was in on it, I remember her wearing the same necklace. I feel the floor move under me, or maybe it’s just the boat rocking in the waves.

He reaches out and strokes the cheek he’d abused just moments ago. I yank my head to the side.

“Oh, don’t be that way, I’ve seen the men come and go from your place. Did you have to make a little cash on the side after your salon got closed down?”

That does it, he pushed me too far, I spit in his face. Having never done that before I’m rather pleased, I manage to hit him with something. I brace myself waiting for another hand to the face, but he just laughs.

“Is that the best you can do? I’m about to tear you to shreds so I can have your Talents and you spit at me? Guess the rumors were right. You don’t have control over your power.”

He was right. I can’t just turn it off and on, I don’t know how. Concentration is the key and right now, there’s no time to give it the old college try. Glancing over my shoulder as he takes a step, reaching for me, I make my decision about the lesser of two evils. Swinging myself over the rail, he makes a move to grab me. Luckily, he misses. Or not.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

When I finally hit it, the water feels like cement. Pain radiates from every pore. The cold steals my breath. Gasping for air, I only manage to suck in mouthfuls of water. Gagging and choking, I flounder around, trying to remember what Nys said about treading water. Relax was rule number one, but it seems I’ve broken it.

Something soft and warm crushed against my lips, held tight against something silky smooth and firm, rocking back and forth. I hear words, but they don’t register, again, something crosses my lips. Stroking, I don’t want it to stop, I try to tell it not to, but it does. Words again, this time one stands out.