by Sue Duff
Her eyes sparkled like Mediterranean waters from beneath the matching mask. The pounding in his chest was the only sign that Ian hadn’t died and gone to a blissful heaven.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said softly.
He leaned in and gave her an aromatic kiss, a rare blossom he’d discovered in the heart of the Brazilian rainforest. “No words could thank me more than the way you look at this moment,” he murmured. Tara approached. Ian drew back, stunned at how amazing she looked in a creamy silk evening gown. “Wow, you look—”
“Drop-dead gorgeous,” Patrick said. “Since when do you dress like that?”
Tara beamed. “Bazl convinced me that even working girls can look—”
“Incredible!” JoAnna cried. She appeared with the designer and other chirping women in tow. “You are an artist above all others, Bazl.” A deep rose lit up Rayne’s cheeks as JoAnna stepped up. The gaggle of women closed in asking Bazl questions about his inspiration, where he found the exquisite, striking model.
Ian would have shyfted them both out of there if he could. He wanted Rayne all to himself.
“I suppose you’re getting a taste of what she goes through with your fans,” Tara said, brushing shoulders with him.
“I only want the night to be special for her.”
“You did good, Ian. Real good.”
“How can I repay you, Tara?”
“Silly. You bought me this dress.” She accepted a glass of champagne from Patrick and they clinked glasses. “By the way, Zoe tagged along. She showed up at his shop and it was impossible not to involve her, too.”
“Do you still have suspicions about her?” Ian said.
“I’m on the fence.”
“Wow, three gowns is going to put a hole in your wallet.” Patrick grabbed a snack from a passing tray.
“I put Zoe’s on your tab, Patrick.” Tara leaned closer to Ian and lowered her voice. “I think you’re right. Bazl must have a Weir partner. Only someone with powers could have created three gowns in two days, and made the alterations to your tux.”
“Where’s Zoe?” Patrick asked.
Tara rose on tiptoes looking out across the crowd. “I lost track of her when we arrived. She mentioned something about going shopping the second we stepped in the room.”
“She’ll turn up. She always does,” Ian said.
“So I’ve noticed,” Tara said.
Bazl cupped Rayne’s elbow and twirled his finger, directing her to show off the back of the dress. Rayne complied and laughed over her shoulder at something JoAnna said.
Warmth filled Ian’s chest. Cinderella had stepped into the ball, leaving her concerns at the door. If he knew what was good for them both, he’d do the same.
JoAnna gestured for Ian to join them. “My boy, you have been holding out on me. Who is this startling creature?”
“Rayne, I’d like to introduce Isabel Stanton, the hostess of this gala. And this is Patrick’s mother, JoAnna Langtree.”
“The hall is amazing, Mrs. Stanton,” Rayne said. “Mrs. Langtree, I couldn’t wait to meet you.”
“How ever did you two meet?” Isabel said.
Rayne hesitated and looked to Ian. “She’s a student at one of the local universities,” Ian said. “She interviewed me for the school’s website.”
“Ian, you will break hundreds of hearts when this hits the news.” Isabel fanned herself.
“I’m counting on the discretion you offer all of your patrons,” Ian said. “It is a masquerade ball for a reason, is it not?”
JoAnna chuckled. “You do stress anonymity, Isabel.”
“And not a cell phone to sneak a picture. Dear boy, I may not forgive you for denying me the gossip of the year,” Isabel said.
“Your event rules have come back to bite you. No doubt what Ian counted on, all along.” JoAnna clasped Isabel’s hand. “Come, let’s you and I mingle and enjoy everyone else’s gossip. The room is swimming with it, darling.” JoAnna led Isabel away.
“Time to blend into the crowd,” Ian said, and offered Rayne his arm. She hesitated. “Bazl made some modifications to my tux,” he said. He took her feathered cuff and placed her hand on his sleeve. A slight energy drain tickled from deep in his core, but the debilitating pressure remained at large. He led them into the crowd.
Tara broke into a wide smile. “Feathers.”
“It’s about time you found something other than the air-freshener kisses,” Patrick said.
They stepped out onto the dance floor. Ian’s confidence wavered when Rayne faced him.
“Are you sure?” She looked at the other dancers around them.
“There’s only one way to find out,” he said.
She placed her hands at his shoulders. Her power drain gripped his core in a tight fist, but didn’t squeeze. He pressed his hands across the feathers at her back waist and clenched his jaw when the draining force tugged on his core. It stopped short at crushing it. Ian managed to keep his features relaxed and turned them onto the dance floor, counting off the seconds before the pressure, or the core energy drain, grew too great and he’d have to let her go.
Rayne’s beating heart thrummed in rhythm with his. Her perfume swirled in his head. Intoxicated, he hungered to pull her against his chest and kiss those forbidden lips.
“I never dreamed that one day I’d be in your arms.” She studied his face. “You’re in pain.” She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip on her back.
“It’s nothing,” he lied.
“Ian, please. I love you for trying, but don’t make me hurt you.”
“I can handle a bit of discomfort now and then, testing our limits, if it means moving a step closer to you.”
Her eyes glistened. “I love you,” she whispered.
It balanced on the tip of his tongue. A sliver of effort was all it would take to give it a voice. Ian’s mouth postured to spill the words, but a need to hold back, like countless times before, put a stop to it before he could release those three simple words in return. He gave her a heartfelt smile and leaned in close while inwardly chastising himself for giving into his fear that they’d never be closer than this.
“Here’s to an unforgettable night,” he murmured.
{14}
Milo and Nemautis finished the last of the dinner dishes and put them away. “Would you like some dessert?” Milo asked.
“Your wonderful meal has more than satisfied my needs for tonight,” Nemautis said.
Milo opened the freezer and removed the stack of frozen meats. He pulled out his hidden contraband. If Dr. Mac found out he’d ignored the prescribed diet restrictions, there’d be hell to pay. He scooped a generous amount of ice cream into a bowl and settled on the barstool.
Nemautis eyed the sugary mounds.
Milo scooted the bowl toward him, then got up from the barstool and walked around the kitchen island to fix himself another. “Should I scoop out a few more?”
“The others went to retrieve their coats to head out for an evening stroll.”
“Will you be joining them?” Milo asked.
“My legs prefer to be raised rather than lowered by the end of the day. I hope to decipher a few more pages in the book before I retire.” Nemautis stuck a generous scoop in his mouth. “Hmm, I don’t believe I’ve ever had this flavor. What is it called?”
“Heart disease. But I prefer to think of it as heaven on a spoon.” Milo stood on the opposite side of the island and savored every mouthful. He debated starting a load of laundry before an early bedtime with his latest cop thriller.
Shadows flitted across the shiny surface of the refrigerator. A flash of light brighter than the sun robbed Milo of his sight. A deafening explosion knocked Nemautis off the stool and he landed hard on the kitchen floor with a groan. The room shuddered. The last thing Milo remembered was shattering glass . . .
{15}
Jaered found the conference room and stepped inside. There were a dozen round tables surrounded by empty cha
irs. A podium stood at one end. The room was bathed in a warm light. Buffered music and muted sounds drifted down from the masquerade ball overhead.
Yannis stood next to a table with his arms crossed over his chest. A sheen of sweat came off his bald head. It clashed with the expensive suit. He peered at Jaered with impatience. “You’re late.”
“I’m here now. Where’s Donovan?”
“Hopefully on his way,” Yannis said. “I haven’t heard to the contrary.”
Jaered pulled out a chair one table over and sat down. Yannis had arrived a week ago as Donovan’s new executive assistant, sent by Aeros to keep an eye on the serum production. His father’s spy hadn’t wasted any time infiltrating the company records. It was only a matter of time before Eve’s connection to Donovan and the company was discovered. Jaered had insisted on tonight’s meeting. He was running out of time to get his hands on a sample and to sabotage the rest without getting caught.
A child’s squeal came from down the hall. The door opened a second later. Kurt, Donovan’s goon, looked between Yannis and Jaered then stepped to the side. Donovan entered. He wore a tux and carried a small child on his shoulders. The smiling boy wore Spiderman pajamas and clung to the CEO’s head by his ears.
“What’s with the kid?” Jaered said.
Donovan set the child on a nearby chair and handed the boy a stuffed dinosaur. “My business,” was the man’s only response.
Donovan’s smug expression put Jaered on the alert. Some-thing wasn’t right. He looked at the boy with brewing questions.
“Pee-pee, Daddy,” the child said before Donovan could sit down. He slid off the chair, clutching the dinosaur and reached toward his father with wide arms.
Donovan scooped him up and turned toward the door. “Looks like nature calls,” he tossed over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Kurt remained next to the door as if daring us to leave.
Yannis and Jaered exchanged glances. Jaered’s concern morphed into irritation. The CEO had delayed handing over a sample for more than a week. Jaered’s patience was running thin.
{16}
The banquet table offered bite-sized hush puppies, andouille sausage, and massive shrimp. Rayne didn’t know where to reach first. A waiter offered her a mint julep, but she declined.
“Well?” Tara asked from beside her. “Was it worth it?”
Rayne would never forget the love she’d found in Ian’s eyes. “And then some.”
Tara popped a black olive in her mouth. “I want to bring some of this back to Milo,” she said, grabbing a plate.
“They have plenty of plastic bags at the entrance,” Zoe said from across the serving table. The pile on her plate resembled a pyramid. She ran her hand down her black, silky hip. The formfitting dress was striking, and showcased her ample bosom, but Zoe’s awkward movements spoke how out of place she felt in it. “I keep reaching for my cell. Hell, even if they’d let me keep it, no pockets in this nightgown.”
One of the party guests cut into the banquet line next to Zoe. He didn’t have a plate with him. “Where have you been all my life?” The deep voice was directed at Zoe, but the face aimed at her chest. The smirk on his face spoke conceited, and his silver head of hair screamed old enough to be her father.
A wicked smile spread across her roommate’s face. “Really? You think that old cliché will work on my generation? Get some new material, or start shopping in the right decade.”
Tara’s snicker ballooned into laughter. It earned more than a few stares. Rayne and Zoe ushered her away from the table when it verged on the hysterical. Milo’s collected treats rolled off Tara’s plate like breadcrumbs dropped in the forest.
Tara quieted and brushed at a tear worming its way down her cheek. “You sounded like my sister.” She swiped at her nose with the back of her hand.
“Wow, the ice queen thawed,” Zoe said.
Someone tapped a microphone and blew into it.
“Is it time for your performance?” Rayne asked.
“I think the auction is first, then us.” Tara dabbed at her face with Zoe’s napkin. But we should find the guys.”
With the sea of black tuxes and satin masks, Rayne knew better than to lead the way. Tara and Ian might not have re-kindled their channeling ability, but Tara was still connected to him in other ways. They soon caught up with the men. Patrick was getting cozy with a striking woman dressed as a Grecian warrior.
Ian abandoned him and joined the girls. He brushed Tara’s cheek affectionately. “It’s nothing. Patrick’s drunk,” he said.
“Why would I care?” Tara stuck Milo’s sole surviving appetizer in her mouth and vigorously chewed.
JoAnna grabbed Rayne’s arm from behind. A young wom-an, not much older than her midtwenties, accompanied Patrick’s mother. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet my godchild. Carlene Donovan, this is the lovely Rayne, Tara, Ian, and—” Her lips pursed upon spying Patrick’s conquest. “—my son, Patrick.”
Carlene leaned in and offered her hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you all.”
“This is my roommate, Zoe,” Rayne said.
“Who?” JoAnna asked.
Rayne turned. Zoe was a few yards back, flirting with a waiter. Zoe wasn’t used to her short hair. She kept twisting her finger around an imaginary strand and broke into a snorting laugh at something he said.
“Carlene’s mother and I go all the way back to my college days,” JoAnna said. “Alise and I were best of friends at Yale.”
“Is she here?” Rayne asked.
“In spirit only,” JoAnna said and clasped Carlene’s hand.
“She passed away last year,” the young woman offered.
“I’m sorry. I lost mine a couple years ago.” Rayne felt an instant solidarity through shared sorrow.
“Carlene has the most precious son. How old is Bryant now?”
“Almost three.”
“Where did Richard wander off to?” JoAnna glanced about.
Carlene’s tone turned guarded. “A business meeting. I don’t expect him back for another hour.”
“Men can’t seem to separate work and pleasure.” JoAnna regarded Patrick with scowl. “While others . . .”
“JoAnna,” Carlene grabbed the woman’s arm. “Let’s find that quiet spot to catch up, shall we?”
JoAnna patted her hand. “Of course. We won’t want to miss Ian’s performance later.” The two women excused them-selves and headed for the main doors.
“How about one more dance?” Ian extended his elbow to Rayne.
She shook her head. “Ian, you’re still pale from the first dance. You might be able to hide the pain, but I know I’m draining you.”
“The feathers in my jacket are acting like insulation. My core is overheating. That’s all.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Ian.” She gazed at the couples on the dance floor, touching, many entwined in an intimate embrace while moving as one to the slow melody playing from the stage.
Ian leaned in, gesturing to give her a kiss. With a moan, he pulled away and pressed a clenched fist to the center of his chest. Rayne stepped back. “It’s not you,” Ian said through gritted teeth.
Tara pushed in and threw an arm around him. She ushered Ian toward the open doors and onto the outside deck. They didn’t stop until they were deep in the shadows at the end of the patio. Ian leaned heavily against the stone railing and shed his jacket while Tara loosened his tie.
Rayne hung a couple feet back. “What happened?”
“The Curse,” Ian said. He handed Tara his mask.
Patrick caught up to them. “I knew you’d go solar with all that feather insulation.” He grabbed the nearby stone lion’s snout and steadied himself. “Boy, do I need to clear my head. Bubbles and I don’t mix.”
“Patrick, it was the Curse,” Tara hissed.
It took a full second for his stupor to lift. His eyes flew open. “That means—”
“A Duach Sar is here,” Ian said. “Some
one, at the party.”
“Did you see anyone having a reaction in there?” Rayne asked.
“There’s hundreds of people,” Patrick said.
“The Curse lifted when I came outside. He must still be in there.” Ian rubbed his chest.
“Not tonight. Not here.” Patrick raked his fingers through his hair. “What are the odds the Duach will just ignore the Curse and go away quietly?”
Ian didn’t respond. He didn’t know if he could.
{17}
Ian made up his mind. He headed for the ballroom doors.
“Wait, if you go in there, you could trigger the Curse.” Patrick blocked his path.
“I’m counting on it,” Ian said. “Tara, go on stage and scan the crowd from there while I walk through the room. I need you to be my eyes.” He squeezed her arm when she gestured in protest. “Go.”
“What can I do?” Rayne said.
“I want you and Patrick to wander around the crowd. If anyone reacts, signal Tara on stage.”
“Every man in here is wearing the same thing. How are we going to identify him?” Patrick said.
“He’ll be in as much pain as me.”
“What if he’s not alone?” Patrick said. He looked at Tara. “Most Weir Sars have guards with them, right?”
“Ian, they’ll come after you,” Rayne said.
“I should be far enough away and lost in the crowd. Tara will come to my rescue.”
Rayne didn’t look any more convinced than Patrick. “I’ll be all right, go,” Ian said. “Go.”
Ian acknowledged Tara when she made it to the stage. She went about like she was helping to set up for the auction. He walked the room like a grid, eliminating sections as he went. The fluid crowd was a challenge. Many of the guests hung together while others wandered toward the dance floor or the food line. Isabel diverted his attention for a couple of minutes to ask about last-minute details for his performance.
