Disenchanted

by A. R. Miller

  “Allow me.” Rey kneels in front of me; hand firmly on my ankle, he slides on the first shoe.

  “So it’s true,” says Lorelei from behind him, “you are a princess in disguise.”

  “Yeah,” Rey grins as he stands. “We’ve been keeping her hidden in the tower until tonight.”

  “Ha, ha, ha, you guys are all sooo funny.”

  “Come, darlings, I have a party to oversee.”

  We follow our sashaying hostess to the stairs leading to the upper deck. A palette of sunset colors offset by filmy fabrics give the illusion of walking in the sky. An ice sculpture of a mermaid stands as focal point on a table containing finger foods, with no signs of melting even in this heat. Small groups of revelers seem to have staked their claims near the champagne fountain, barely leaving room for the help. I grab a glass from the tray held by a shirtless waiter who appreciatively looks me up and down.

  “Yummy.” Nyssa practically purrs as she gives him the same sort of look, taking it a step further with a finger down the chest.

  Lorelei playfully swats at Nyssa’s hand. “Now, now darling, it is going to be a long night. Pace yourself.”

  Bubbles find their way through my nose and I start coughing. Why is it people always wait until you take a drink before saying something funny, or shocking?

  Lorelei floats off to mingle leaving our little outcast group stranded in a sea of icebergs. I expected a chilly reception, but the silence that descends when they see me is a little too unnerving. There are a lot of dropped jaws and whispers behind hands to go along with the staring. Rumors are flying, nearly tangible.

  Then again, maybe I’m not the reason for their shock and silence. The crowd parts, spotlighting the two most beautiful people at the party. That’s saying a lot considering all the pretties surrounding me. Unfortunately, I know one of them and he’s the last person I wanted to deal with tonight. Okay, not the last. The Collector would be tops on that list, but Var Royd pulls a tight second. Making it worse, he and his companion are walking toward me. The smile on his face lets me know, he knows, I saw him. No escaping by pretending I didn’t see them. Damn.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  His date is probably the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. The kind of beauty that inspires poetry, paintings, hate, jealousy, inadequacy and the desire to rip her face off. Ouch, where did that come from? It’s not as if I want the man, do I? No time to dwell on it now.

  “Mr. Royd,” I say, trying to hold my composure in check as the golden couple approach. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your lovely date.”

  His eyebrow shoots up and I could kick myself hearing the venom lacing my words. He so is going to misinterpret that.

  “Miss Fey, let me introduce my sister, Vanadís.” He might as well have said, I win from the look in his eyes.

  “A pleasure, Miss Royd,” I say, wanting to wipe imagined filth from my hand—gods forbid I sully her perfection—before extending it to her.

  Her laughter is like a million tiny bells as she takes my hand and pulls me into a tight embrace. Somehow, I manage to keep from spilling bubbly down her perfect back. The same loved feeling that I got from Royd at our first meeting flows over me. “No one calls me, Miss Royd, it’s Vana.”

  She releases me to the point of only holding my hand, perfect lips drawn into a frown as she gives me the once over. Talk about feeling like a bug under a microscope.

  “You are not quite what I expected.”

  “Um...okay,” I reply, not sure what to say, or if I should say anything at all.

  “To hear him,” she nods in Royd’s direction, heat highlighting his cheekbones as he glares at her, “talk you are the most beautiful thing that walks the earth.”

  The silence is damn near as crushing as the weight of everyone’s eyes on me as they wait for my response. Whether it’s out of shock, or lack of quick wit, I manage to keep my mouth shut. I know I’m not beautiful, or even pretty. Exotic, or unusual might be better terms to describe me. Still, I can’t help the bitterness that coats my tongue when this gorgeous woman reminds me.

  “Not that you are not attractive, my dear, in your own way.” She gives my hand a brief squeeze and smiles, like that’s going to make it all better, before letting go.

  Gods help me, but this woman stirs emotions like a blender, creating a smoothie combination no one in their right mind would order, but you drink it anyway. Worse yet, you like it and want another.

  “You must forgive my sister’s lack of,” says Royd, glaring at his sister who smiles indulgently, “tact.”

  All I can do is shrug. What the hel can I do? Anything I say will make me look childish and catty. Dara and Nyssa flank me, Rey at my back, a comforting hand on my shoulder.

  She laughs again. “Your friends are quite protective, are they not? Do not worry, I will not harm her.” Something in her tone threatens a much at the end of that sentence.

  Slender fingers toy with a chunk of raw amber that hangs from a golden chain. She lets it drop between breasts usually only seen after surgery. Tilting her head to one side, the corners of her generous lips curl upward ever so slightly.

  I shiver, there’s something cold and calculating in those pretty blue and gold eyes, almost predatory. Okay, no almost about it, I feel like the rabbit right before the raptor sweeps in with its nasty talons.

  Giving myself a mental shake, I drag my eyes away from that all-encompassing stare, clearing my throat. “I don’t want to keep you.”

  “Oh, you are not keeping me, darling, but there are others who demand my attentions. We shall speak again soon.”

  Wrapping her hand around Royd’s arm, she bares perfect white teeth in what would seem a smile, but it’s more like a challenge. A challenge for what I’m not sure. Hopefully, not the attentions of her brother. Eww, that thought is just too sick for words.

  He gives me one last burning glance as she leads him away, sending shivers down my spine. Fear? Anticipation? Don’t know, don’t want to.

  Dara motions to the pair’s escorts; I’d been too blinded by the golden beauty to see earlier. Brand and Rand hanging just on the fringe turn to follow them. Brand acknowledges us with a brief nod; Rand gives his patented icy stare. I suppose having that kind of wealth means having bodyguards in public situations. Not my problem, the money that is, but they might come in handy fending off the stares that return with the departure of the golden twins.

  “Screw it,” I whisper, lifting my chin, staring right back at them.

  This isn’t high school and I’m not the different kid in the class anymore. So what if my Talents are scary? There are lots of others here with Talents just as scary. Gregori Falen stands not six feet away. What could be scarier than a vamp who writes children’s books? What about Philip Monroe out there shaking his groove thing on the dance floor? Incubi can be fun, but there’s always that nasty morning after affect.

  Snagging another glass from a passing waiter, I head off to the buffet, friends trailing like little ducks. Let them stare. I was invited and I intend on having fun.

  My mouth waters with all the artfully arranged temptation along the L–shaped table. Balancing glass and plate, I stalk my prey. Chocolate fountains and fruit, salmon and cream cheese pinwheels, delicate puff pastry with its crab filling and the pièce de résistance—stuffed mushrooms. The heavens are shining down on me and my obsession with edible fungus. I fight the urge to take nothing, but ‘shrooms, after all there are so many tasty little treats that deserve a place on my plate.

  During my little foraging excursion I end up separated from the others. Not sure how it happened, but it’s not as if I need someone to feed me. I can handle that just fine on my own. Finding a quiet corner is next on the agenda. Not that the deck has any corners, but that doesn’t stop me from finding a quiet spot where I can watch the party without everyone watching me stuff my face.

  “How many times do I have to tell you darling, they are like mules, there w
ill be no shadow spawn from their joining.”

  “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.”