Chaos Karma: Hand of Fate - Book Three

by Sharon Joss

  Definitely not the kind of woman I pictured with Mel. Mel was more of a gaunt, thrice-divorced, smoky-voiced blonde kind of a guy. I wondered what he saw in her.

  Her dark eyes shone when she saw me, and for a brief moment, I felt like a rabbit facing a fox, but to give her credit, she acted thrilled to see me. She glanced down at my wrinkled culottes and practical work shoes, but didn’t react.

  “Welcome, welcome. I’m Felicity, how may I fulfill your dreams today?”

  Oh great. I wished I’d brought Mimsy with me. She would have known how to handle this woman. But after she died the first time, Mimsy just wasn’t the same. And after she died the second time, well, she wasn’t going anywhere ever again.

  “Um, Mel Moody sent me. I need a new uniform.”

  Her expression faltered. “Oh. Well dear, just bring it in and I’ll have it stitched back together in no time.”

  “Um, well, there’s no point. I tore it. It’s ruined.”

  She frowned. “A whole new outfit? That won’t come cheap, Miss…” Her eyes widened as she caught sight of my nametag, and her expression changed completely. “Oh good heavens, I can’t believe it. Mattie Blackman, right here in my shop!” She laughed and pointed to a pale lavender banner draped across the back the store. “This is so perfect! It’s fate that brought you to me, dear.”

  SPIRIT FESTIVAL HEADQUARTERS!

  BE THE ‘BELLE’ OF THE BALL!

  GET YOUR GOWN FOR THE GALA RIGHT HERE!

  She clapped her hands. “Luçien, come out here!”

  “Oh wait, no. I, I--.” I froze, unable to speak, as the most starkly beautiful man I’d ever seen stepped out from behind the purple drape. I thought he was a model. Narrow build, with close-cropped hair which showed off his angular facial structure. Against his warm café-au-lait skin, pale blue eyes with long black lashes appraised me coolly. Built like a jockey, wiry and shorter even than me, but perfectly proportioned, in a dreamy sort of way. A cat-like smile played at the upturned corners of his full mouth.

  He wore a black silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up to this elbows, and some sort of black filmy fabric that fitted him like a second skin. Pointy shoes. Italian—I’d bet my bra on it.

  I snapped my jaw shut as he came toward me. He took my hand and held it to his lips as if it were the most natural thing in the world; his eyes never leaving mine. Pure animal magnetism.

  He kissed the palm of my hand, inhaling my scent as if he were trying to memorize it. A little over-the-top, but my ego was loving it.

  “Luçien, darling, this is Mattie Blackman. We were just talking about her the other day, and here she is in the flesh. Isn’t that marvelous?”

  “Mattie Blackman. This is a pleasure. Delicious to meet you.” His lips burned like warm coals against my fingers.

  I swallowed hard and pulled my hand back, albeit reluctantly. Luçien’s eyes never left my face. I felt clumsy and out of my depth.

  Felicity hovered closer. “Luçien is my nephew. He’s a fashion designer; come all the way from Italy just to spend the summer with me, isn’t that sweet?”

  “Lovely to meet you,” I squeaked out. The three of us in that tiny shop had me feeling claustrophobic, like there wasn’t enough air in the room.

  “Mattie here is the Guest of Honor of the Spirit Festival. And we’re going to design her gown for the ball!”

  I broke away from Luçien’s captivating stare turned to Felicity. “No, ah, I’m not here for a dress. Just the uniform, please.”

  Her face fell. “Oh. You mean you already have a Gala gown?”

  I hesitated. Other than lying about it to Sheriff Reynolds, I hadn’t given the ball much thought, and at this point in my post-burned-up-apartment life, I didn’t have much of a wardrobe—much less a formal gown for the gala. I was sure that if I said no, that she’d try to sell me one of hers, and based on what I’d seen so far, her inventory was far too fussy and frumpy for my taste.

  “Now, now, Auntie; first things first.” Luçien came to my rescue. “If the Hand of Fate needs a new costume for work, you simply must make time for it. A rush job. How soon do you need it?” He stroked my hair. An odd, yet strangely intimate gesture.

  A flood of images flashed through my mind, none of which were appropriate. Part of me lusted after him to do it again, but another, more distant part of me wondered what the hell he was. His lifeline, or what I could see of it, was a muddy brownish grey. Not human, although I had to admit I hadn’t felt this attracted to a man since I’d met Rhys. And whatever he was, Luçien Bold was no djenie.

  I forced my attention back to Felicity. “My next shift is Thursday night. Could I get it by then?” I hoped I’d brought enough cash to pay for it.

  She thought for a moment before relenting. She gave me a beatific smile. “But of course, dear—on one condition. You simply must allow me to dress you for the ball as well.” She waved her hands at me. “Everything—from panties to pinafore! You leave it all to me, dear.”

  Oh geeze. I hadn’t really given any thought to what my participation in the Spirit Festival entailed. I’d lived here all my life but never attended a single one—it was just something for the tourists. I knew the opening ceremonies and gala would be held on the grounds of the amusement park, and that there was the parade that ran down Third Street during the middle of the week. The chamber of commerce already had posters up all over town, and local press always gave it a big write-up.

  Now the big event was looming, I realized the cost of new duds would probably vaporize whatever money I had set aside for a deposit on an apartment, and then some. It was too late for me to back out—I’d given my word, and the posters already had my name on them. It was part of the whole Hand of Fate package I’d signed up for.

  I took a second look at the shop’s inventory. If I had to buy a dress, this would be the last place I’d look for one. Way too pricey and Felicity was the person who’d created those tacky flimsy costumes for Mel. I could only imagine what kind of ruffled horror she had in mind for me. “Well, I--.”

  Luçien gave me a slow grin. “I can promise you’ll be more than satisfied with the results.”

  “And don’t worry about the cost, dear. Think of it as a gift from me to you.”

  The weight their expectant faces got to me. How could I say no? It wouldn’t kill me to support a local business.

  “Okay, but I don’t want anything too fancy. No ruffles.”

  “Of course, dear.”

  Two hours and a couple of pin jabs later, Felicity had taken my measurements and pinned several different swathes of brightly colored silk around me. I kept telling her I wanted something classic, but she kept talking about pick-ups, gussets, and ruching.

  “And don’t worry about the color, dear. Trust me; you’ll be the belle of the ball. I know exactly what I’m doing. Just remember to tell everybody where you got your dress, eh? You can pick up your new uniform on Thursday.”

  I took a deep breath and told myself that this was the perfect solution—a win-win for everyone. Everything would work out just fine. “Thank you. That would be great.”

  CHAPTER 6

  He leaned into me; his hypnotic blue eyes drained my will to resist as they stole the strength from my limbs. Naked and aroused, Luçien Bold lay on top of me, kissing me, easing me out of my shirt with deliberate slowness. His kisses burned my lips, my skin, everywhere he touched me. Part of me wanted him to hurry up, while somewhere in the back of my head some other part of me was thinking that this might not be a good idea. Like maybe I’d feel guilty in the morning, but not caring because I couldn’t quite remember why.

  I tried to push him away, but couldn’t seem to move my arms.

  My body thrummed to his touch and I noticed my bra gone too. I gasped the feel of his bare chest against mine. He reached for the zipper of my jeans—

  Thwhack! “Again, Missy.”

  Cripes! I was back in Master Foo’s studio. My face burned with embarrassment. Not only because I had
been dreaming of Luçien, but it felt like I’d been cheating on Rhys, and worst of all, the disgusted frown on Master Foo’s normally placid face had me thinking that perhaps he had an idea what I’d been dreaming about.

  This wasn’t the first time I’d had this dream. And even after Master Foo’s rude awakening, it still didn’t feel like a dream. My skin still tingled and throbbed where Luçien had touched me. After such an abrupt awakening, I sure wasn’t in the mood for meditation anymore.

  Master Foo tapped me on the chest with this bamboo stick. “Physical practice is only a small part of Qhua Bei. Tell me, why are you here?”

  I glanced around the studio and realized that Henri had already left. “I’m sorry, Master. I haven’t been sleeping well. How long was I out?”

  “The practice of meditation is not sleeping, but mindful awareness. It is the practice of attention and concentration. A discipline which, once mastered, will foster greater focus, mental acuity and a sense of physical and mental wellness. You seem to prefer dreaming to mindful awareness. So I ask again, Mattie Blackman—why are you here?”

  “Ah, well, I need to learn self defense. Rhys thought--.”

  He poked me in the chest again. Harder, this time. “No Missy. Why. Are. You. Here? Why do you come to me this week? Every week? I am a teacher. What do you want to learn?”

  Million-dollar question and I didn’t have an answer. This was not the first time he’d asked me this, but I got the feeling that it was probably the last. He was giving me a way out, if I wanted it. And last week, I would have been glad to quit, but now, for some reason I didn’t want to. And I suspect he would accept nothing but bare honesty from me.

  “I don’t know, exactly—wait, no,” I didn’t want him to poke me again. “I mean you’re going to think this is crazy, but I think I’m supposed to be here, only I just don’t know why. But I think I’ll know it when I learn it.” I couldn’t meet his eyes.

  His expression didn’t change, but he left the room, and when he came back, he handed me a palm-sized ten-minute hourglass and told me I could come back to study with him when I could close my eyes for ten minutes without falling asleep. Sheesh.

  * * *

  Lou Scali wouldn’t tell me why Mayor Brunson had paid him to follow his cousin, Wiley Willy, so on Wednesday, I called his office. After putting me on hold for a couple minutes, his secretary, Jenna, told me he couldn’t be disturbed at the moment, but to stop by the Mayor’s office after I got off work.

  Since we both work at the Picston City Hall, this was easy to do. At the end of my shift, I parked my three-wheeled patrol scooter in the lot and took the elevator up to the fourth floor. I’d been to the Mayor’s office only once before, to get my picture taken with him for a commendation I’d received. The Mayor’s suite consisted of a reception area, with a half-dozen cubicles for staff, and then a set of double doors leading to the Mayor’s inner sanctum. Today, the doors were wide open. Looked like everyone had already left for the day. Brunson looked up at me as soon as I walked in.

  “Hey, Mattie, good to see you.” He gestured to a chair opposite a cherry wood desk as large as my bed. He looked tired, but his handshake was firm.

  “Thanks, I just had a quick question--.”

  “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for breaking the news to my aunt.” His lips trembled and his expression turned to anguish. Clearly, the stress of Willy and Marjorie’s deaths had hit him hard.

  He wiped his mouth and tried again. “She was like a mother to me. Practically raised me. I know I should have been the one to tell her, but I just couldn’t.”

  “I understand.”

  The role of Mayor was bigger to Jim Brunson than his own identity. He’d given up his personal life to serve his community, and he put his responsibility to the people of his community above his personal life. Jim Brunson had no wife or children. His constituents, both human and the paranormal, meant everything to him. He’d been outed as a paranormal during the election, but had managed to eke out a win anyway. By all accounts, he was generally thought of as a good Mayor, and the first to take a softer stance on the topic of the rights of Alternate Individuals. While the paranormal community gave him their admiration and support behind the scenes, he had no illusions that the priorities and sensibilities of his human constituents had to come first.

  “I’m sorry about Willy.” The image of Wiley Willy’s jerkified corpse came back to me. “Hard to believe he’d been walking around just a few hours earlier. It doesn’t make sense. Why did you hire Lou to follow him in the first place?”

  If anything, Brunson just looked sadder. “You’ve got to understand. He wasn’t just my cousin. He was—we were as close as bothers. He was younger than me, and always the wild one. He was still in junior high when I graduated and went on to RIT on a scholarship. I didn’t have as much time for him, and I know he resented it. He starting hanging out with a rough group. Got into trouble. He dropped out of school—he never did finish. By the time Aunt Marjorie asked me to do something, he was in pretty deep with a bad crowd.”

  Brunson took a deep breath and got up to stand in front of the big picture window, which looked out downtown Picston. “After more than a few false starts, he got into music. He’d always played bass guitar. Then he started singing. He joined a couple of bands, and then he started up his own. The music seems to turn him around.

  Brunson turned back to me, his hands in his pockets. “He was really good, you know. Had a couple of agents snooping around, trying to get him to move to New York, but he wouldn’t. I think he didn’t want to leave Marjorie and maybe, to a lesser extent, me.” He gave a rueful grin. “I like to think I was part of that decision, too. Because after he started up Wiley Willy and the Rogues, he came into his own, and we were tight again.”

  “So why did you hire Lou?”

  “There was something wrong. He started looking bad. He wasn’t eating and I don’t think he was sleeping very well. I recognized the signs from before, and was worried. I thought--.” His mouth trembled and he struggled for composure.

  ”Take your time.”

  “I thought he was in trouble again. One of the band members quit and they hired a guy from Buffalo. He had a big following and Willy thought it would help the band, but I thought he was a bad influence. I was afraid Willy was going to, ah, end up in trouble again. That’s why I had Lou follow him. I wanted to know what was going on.”

  “And did he find out anything?”

  Brunson shook his head. “It was too soon to tell. But I think Marjorie knew. Did she tell you?” His eyes filled with tears and he turned back to the window.

  My heart went out to him. “She didn’t say anything about that, but she knew why I was there. Before she, um, passed, she said some things that I didn’t understand. I thought you might know what she was talking about.”

  His expression became guarded. “What did she say?”

  “She said to trust the vampires. Does that make any sense?”

  He stiffened. “You must understand. I loved Aunt Marjorie, but she had a good many friends in the vampire community. She was absolutely blind to their utter lack of any redeeming qualities. They’re vindictive, petty, and jealous of--.” He stopped himself. “Let me just say that their whisper campaign against me very nearly lost me the election. You cannot give any credence to anything she said about vampires. They cannot be trusted.”

  Sheesh. Hard to believe his opinion and Marjorie’s were so far apart. “She mentioned a woman named Neldene.”

  For the merest second, he gaped at me like a fish caught on a line, but immediately recovered. “Never heard of her. Probably one of Aunt Marjorie’s cronies.”

  As Luke would say, I felt a disturbance in the force. Mayor Jim Brunson had just lied to me. “Really? She said something about Neldene designing the dresses for the Festival.”

  “Nope. Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell.”

  Another lie.

  “Hey,” he brightened. “Are you ready for
next week? Did Enzo get hold of you?”

  Enzo Obote is Mayor Brunson’s former campaign manager, and chairman of this year’s Spirit Festival. The men have been best friends since college and are as different as, well, black and white. Brunson is a quiet and reserved, while Enzo electrifies a room just by walking into it. He’s a high energy guy, president of the Picston Chamber of Commerce, and runs his own design firm, Mojo Boogie. Of the two of them, Enzo is by far the more likely to be a political animal, but he prefers to work behind the scenes, and he’s good at it. He managed to get Brunson elected as New York’s first paranormal Mayor, in spite of being outed as such in the middle of the campaign.

  “Pretty much.” I counted off my responsibilities on my fingers. “Opening ceremonies Monday evening at the amusement park. I help you cut the ribbon and pose for pictures. Wednesday is the parade—I guess we’re supposed to be at the assembly point in the Lakeshore Bank parking lot at 11:30am.”

  The City of Picston wanted me to wear my uniform for both the ribbon-cutting ceremony and the parade. Such is small-town politics. It was Shore Haven’s Festival, but Picston’s contributions wouldn’t be overlooked. Lucky me, I wouldn’t even have to take the day off. All I had to do was smile and wave to the crowd as we drove by in a posh Cadillac convertible. Not a bad gig.

  I shrugged. “And then the Gala on Saturday night…” I forced a smile. “All set.”

  The moment stretched between us. “You got a dress yet?”

  “Why does everybody keep asking me that?” Enzo had been particularly insistent.

  “I take that as a no. Get your ass in gear, girl. You’ve got this whole town in the palm of your hand during Festival week. If you don’t look good, we don’t look good. Lot of outsiders coming in here to see just what kind of person the new Hand of Fate is going to be. Madame Coumlie was strong. She kept the riff-raff in line, and everybody had a good time. But you’re an unknown. Some paranormal folks will be looking at Shore Haven as some kind of place to set up their own fiefdoms. You’re the one who will set the tone for the whole community. If you’re too weak, they’ll think they can move in and take over; too strong and they’ll think we’ll be ripe for change. You’ve got to be like, ‘Welcome, fans. Have fun, spend your money, and mind your manners, ‘cause we don’t accept anything less.’ You’ve got to look the part.”