by Sue Duff
Several minutes in, Patrick signaled, but Ian hadn’t felt any symptoms. Patrick had found a man choking on a piece of food. Ian went to help but a guest announced he was a doctor and pushed in. He stopped the man’s agony with the Heimlich maneuver.
Zoe fell in with Rayne. On their first pass, Ian caught Zoe mutter, “Lose something, like your date?” She nudged Rayne when she and Ian ignored each other for the second time. “Lover’s quarrels are a bitch, aren’t they?”
Ian ended up at the entrance to the room without further incident. Patrick found him and Tara. Rayne joined them after giving Zoe the slip.
“Maybe they took off,” Patrick said.
Ian perused the room. “We’re thinking two dimensional.”
“Of course.” Tara turned around. “The range of the Curse can be—”
“Any direction.” Ian looked up. “He wasn’t above me.” The room towered more than two stories high with stained-glass windows in the rotunda.
“We’ve ruled out around you,” Patrick said. Everyone’s eyes fell to their feet. Patrick groaned. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”
Ian rushed out and headed down the hall with the others following. He paused with his hand on the stairwell doorknob. “Patrick, take Rayne back inside. Tara and I will go from here.
“Don’t shut me out, Ian. I can help,” Rayne said.
“He’ll likely have a guard, maybe two with him,” Ian said. “It’s one thing to be lost in a crowd. I won’t be able to protect all of you in an empty hallway.”
“It’s about time you see me as an asset,” Rayne snapped. “Not someone to be protected.”
“She is the Sar zapper,” Tara said.
“Or, we can just drop this,” Patrick said. “Maybe it was a false alarm, a short in your chest hairs or something.”
“You know I can melt your kneecaps,” Ian said.
Patrick grimaced. “It’s the champagne.”
Ian took a second to judge Patrick’s sobriety. “You should return and cover for us.”
“Be saddled with my mother and Isabel when you don’t show up for your performance? I’ll stick with the superhero squad.”
“Then everyone take a deep breath and relax. We’re just checking this out.” Ian led them down the stairwell and slowly opened the door to the floor below. He peered down the hall. It was empty. “These aren’t hotel rooms.”
“Looks like they’re small conference rooms,” Patrick said.
“The room on the left, about midway, would be about where I stood in the ballroom.”
“If he’s still around, you can’t go any farther,” Rayne said.
“I’ll go.” Tara pushed ahead.
Patrick stopped her. “If the Curse triggers, you’ll need to be with him. Rayne and I should check it out.”
Patrick’s right, Ian realized. He needed to take a step back from react mode and think this through. He could be walking into a trap. “Intel only. Be careful.”
Patrick threw his arm across Rayne’s shoulders. “Follow my lead, I have an idea.” He led them toward the room. A tray piled with discarded dishes sat on a small round table in the hall. Patrick paused long enough to grab an empty wine bottle.
“You don’t need a weapon,” Ian said.
Patrick waved him off from over his shoulder and stopped at the door. A moment later, he opened it and they entered.
{18}
“Hey, sweetie,” the man slurred.
Jaered’s face shot up at the familiar voice. Patrick stood in the doorway, waving a wine bottle. Unsteady on his feet, he twisted about, playing out some kind of drunken act. Jaered’s heart clawed at the inside of his chest. She was in his arms.
“I think we gave everyone the slip.” Patrick raised the bottle to his lips.
“Not everyone,” Rayne said.
Why? Jaered’s thoughts spun out of control. What made them come in here?
“I claim this room for the intent of defiling this woman.” Patrick thrust the bottle at Yannis. Kurt slipped his hand under his jacket and took a sideways step, blocking the door.
“Uh, I didn’t sign up for an audience,” Rayne said.
Jaered should have turned away, but looking like she did, he couldn’t peel his eyes from her. Voices blended into the background as Jaered was transported back to when his life offered immeasurable happiness as long as he was in Kyre’s arms. He looked down and pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. She didn’t just rise from the grave and walk into the room. Her paral, Rayne Bevan, did.
His mask was in his hands.
She tilted her face from Patrick’s puckered lips—and froze. The second her attention locked on Jaered, her throat lifted and bulged with a swallow.
Jaered shook his head, ever so slightly. With everything he had, he willed her not to show recognition—not to address him—not to approach him.
Both of their lives depended on it.
{19}
The mysterious Sar, the one that had rescued Ian in Oregon, sat off to one side hunched over with his forearms resting on his thighs. He wore a tux and a mask was dangling from his fingers. Rayne’s heart skipped a beat, and her chest denied her air. I’m a ghost who was never here, he had said, and swore her to secrecy. The price for saving Ian’s life.
Warning flashed in his eyes. She turned her face, and focused on everywhere else but him.
A bald-headed man wearing an expensive gray suit got up from the table. “I suggest you take your partying elsewhere.”
Rayne took note. Zoe’s grandmother spoke in the same dialect.
The bald man gestured to someone behind them. “Kurt.”
Rayne glanced in the ghost’s direction. He gazed down at his mask with indifference. Large hands gripped their shoulders from behind and shoved them out the open door.
“Hey, watch it, buddy,” Patrick shouted to the man the size of a boulder. The door shut in their faces. Patrick grabbed her arm and they hurried down the hall to join the others.
“Anything?” Ian said.
“Two guys at different tables, one of them hunched over looking bored. A King Kong of a brute standing guard at the door.” Patrick said. “There was a lot of tension in the room.”
Ian brushed his finger across Rayne’s feathered sleeve. “You okay, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Fine.” She cradled her arm. She didn’t dare look him in the eye.
“Anything we can go on?” Ian asked while giving her a curious stare. “Names, tattoos, accents?”
“One of them spoke with a Baltic accent. Ukrainian may-be,” Rayne said. “He was at the table. The big guy at the door was named Kurt. He took orders from the Ukrainian,” Rayne added. “I didn’t see anything else.”
“How could you miss the lip on that other guy?” Patrick said.
Ian stiffened. “What did you say?”
“I think the bored guy came from the party. He wore a tux and had a mask,” Patrick said. “But he sported a lip like he’d been in a fight. Someone nailed him, and good.”
Ian stared at Patrick, then took off down the hall. Confusion delayed Rayne from following. By the time she caught up to him, he was almost to the door. “Ian, wait!”
Click. The door opened a crack. Rayne ducked into the woman’s bathroom across from the room, and the others rushed in behind her.
Ian pushed open the door, giving them a slim view of the conference room doorway. Voices emerged in the middle of a conversation. “. . . fed up with the delays. Kurt, where the hell is Donovan?”
“I’ll check the bathroom,” Kurt said. He crossed the hall and opened the door next to the woman’s bathroom. He dis-appeared inside. A second later he returned. “They’re not in there. Maybe he took the boy to his suite upstairs.”
“Yannis, track down Donovan so we can finish this,” the ghost said. He returned to the room and shut the door as if irritated.
“Kurt, check upstairs. I’ll cover the main floor.” Yannis and Kurt separated. Th
e bald man walked down the hall in the direction of the stairwell. A second later, the door banged shut. In the opposite direction, a ding and then the swish of an elevator door in the distance.
Ian opened the bathroom door and headed for the conference room.
Rayne bolted out and grabbed his feather-insulated sleeve. “Ian what’s gotten into you? The Curse wasn’t triggered by anyone here. There’s no Duach,” she hushed.
He hesitated with concern splashed across his face. “Rayne, I think you have a stalker. Whoever it was jumped me when I went to check out your house yesterday. I never got a good look at him, but he took a blow to the face.”
Patrick and Tara joined them. “The purple-lip guy?” Patrick asked.
Rayne’s head spun. What was the ghost doing at her place?
“Stay here, I’m going to check it out.” Ian opened the door and burst into the room.
{20}
The room was empty. “Where is he?” Ian said.
Patrick shrugged. “He must have gone out the service en-trance.”
“Or shyfted,” Ian said, remembering the surprise attack at Rayne’s.
“What are you all doing in here?” JoAnna stood in the open doorway clutching Carlene Donovan’s hand. Patrick’s mother appeared to have shed her festive self. The woman’s shoulders were rigid. Concern erased whatever youthful glow her makeup had given her. Her voice held an edge.
“Ian was stretching his legs before his performance,” Patrick said. “What are you doing here?”
“We found a quiet place nearby to visit and catch up. Come, return before Isabel tears out her wig. The auction will wind down soon and you need to get prepared.” JoAnna left with Carlene.
Ian grabbed Patrick’s arm. “What do you know about Carlene Donovan?”
“Not much. My mom talked more about her mother, Alise. I know Mom was devastated when Alise died.”
“Why, Ian?” Tara asked.
“Because she’s Carlene Donovan, and her husband wasn’t at the party because of a business meeting—”
“And this Donovan disappeared on them,” Rayne said.
“About the same time the Curse was triggered.” Patrick looked like he’d taken a blow to the gut. “This can’t be happening. Not someone my mother knows.”
“We need to get back,” Ian said. “Keep an eye out for lip guy. He might have returned to the party.”
“Ian, if Donovan’s the Duach Sar,” Rayne said, “And he joins the party, you’ll be a sitting duck up on stage. If the Curse strikes, no way can we hide you from that.”
“I know,” Ian said, fighting to keep his panic in check. “I know.”
{21}
Music rose from the speakers, and the tables closest to the stage quieted. The rest of the room soon followed suit.
Tara pirouetted on stage holding rods trailing long silk fabric. The material matched the pearl-colored gown that Bazl designed for her.
“Did you create something new for the act?” Patrick asked Bazl from across the table.
“I don’t snip and tell,” Bazl snapped his fingers.
“You will if I’m writing the check,” Patrick said.
Tara swung the poles. The fabric lifted as if kites caught in the wind. They swept across the stage like billowing clouds while she danced in rhythm to the music. A hush fell over the room.
Patrick scooted his chair closer to Rayne. “Do you know what they have planned?”
She shook her head, focused on Tara’s graceful ballet with her silk partners. “Relax, Patrick, or your mother’s bound to notice.”
“Brand-new illusions with no rehearsals, half of Northern California high society in the room and,” he reached for his champagne glass, “my mother has a front-row seat for when Ian crashes from the Curse at any minute.”
“Where is he?” Rayne glanced around. “You’d think Donovan would have shown by now.”
The music built to a crescendo as Tara’s dance brought her to the center of the stage. She turned around; slow at first, then faster and faster. The material spun overhead like two sweeping helicopter blades. When she came to a stop, the fabric settled, swirling around her and covering her from head to toe.
“Isn’t she breathtaking,” Bazl said.
The last of the sweeping material came to a rest on the stage. A second later, it unfurled at her feet as though caught in a circular wind. The shimmering cream fabric pulled away revealing black silk underneath. To Rayne’s astonishment, black shoes and tuxedo pants emerged.
The audience erupted into thunderous applause when the final piece of fabric fell away and Ian stood holding the poles out at his sides. He spread into his killer smile. Whistles and shrieks drowned out the fading music. Ian bowed.
“Now that’s what I call an entrance,” Isabel said, clapping wildly. “Bravo!” she shouted.
“Genius,” Bazl said and fanned himself.
“Wow, where’d that one come from?” Patrick slowly clapped.
Rayne recognized nature’s influence on Ian. It was a co-coon.
Ian shot a fleeting glance in Rayne’s direction. She shook her head. He addressed the crowd. “It’s been a while since I took the stage. Hopefully, I’m not too rusty.”
The music grew upbeat. He held up one of the poles and draped the material like a curtain. He turned it to the ivory side. When he flicked it with his finger, it grew stiff. He let go and took a step back. The material stood as erect as a painter’s canvas.
Bazl shrieked in delight and clapped.
“I’m going to need some help tonight,” Ian announced.
He pulled a thick black marker out of his inside pocket and quickly sketched an outline of a life-sized body on the surface. Ian spun the canvas around displaying the dark silk side, then turned the drawn image back to face the audience. He stepped to the side and extended his hand toward the canvas.
The crowd gasped when the drawn arm moved like an animated cartoon and its hand reached toward Ian. The moment they touched, the canvas turned to loose cloth and collapsed onto the stage floor. Tara stood grasping Ian’s hand. The room swelled with applause.
“I give you the lovely, Tara.” The audience applauded. Ian tossed another glance at the empty chair between Rayne and Carlene.
“If only it were so simple,” Carlene said. “To just . . . vanish.”
JoAnna clasped her hand. “But it is, darling. You simply need the right person to ask for help.” Patrick’s mother gazed at Ian on stage as if deep in thought.
Neither woman had been themselves since they’d left to talk about whatever concerned Carlene. Rayne sat brooding, wondering if she could find out more about their conversation, without coming across as rude or prying.
A shout came from the back of the room. Ian cracked a joke at the inebriated man’s expense. The crowd laughed. Rayne looked over her shoulder at the group choosing to stand behind the tables. She scanned the faces for any sign of a man headed their way.
Behind the crowd, someone in a tux was walking toward the ballroom doors. Rayne stared, focused on getting a good look each time his profile bobbed in and out between heads. Her throat tightened. He had a swollen lip.
Rayne’s common sense screamed for her to stay put. She bolted from her seat.
Patrick threw panicked eyes at her. “He’s here?”
“I’m just checking. I’ll be back.” She navigated chairs and tables, then pushed her way through the wall of people.
The ghost exited the crowd and headed for the main door, but paused and tilted his face to the side. Rayne hesitated, certain that he would turn and see her, but a heartbeat later he continued. When he reached the door, he exited without looking back.
By the time she stepped out, the hall was deserted. Her heart sank. Laughter and loud applause rose behind her.
Click. A door closed at the end of the hall. Rayne sensed someone watching her. She looked over her shoulder. A tuxedoed man wearing a devil’s mask and red cape had his back to the stage. He lea
ned against the portable bar counter with a drink in his hand and appeared to be watching her. The costume’s facial expression sent a shiver across her arms. She hurried down the hall and approached the door, but stole a peek from over her shoulder. Whoever the devil was, he didn’t follow. Rayne pushed down on the handle and stepped inside a dimly lit room.
The ghost stood facing her as if waiting. He thrust out his hand. The door shut behind her. “Why are you following me?” he said in a harsh voice.
“I’m not,” she retorted.
The snicker on his lips ruffled her temper. “You intended to come into the men’s bathroom.”
Too late, she saw the commodes along the wall behind him.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m attending the party,” she said.
“You’re here, with him.”
The grievous tone piqued her curiosity. “Who are you?” His silence riled her. “Why did you attack Ian?”
“I didn’t.” His smug expression bordered on amusement. “I was searching for something. He was in my way. I moved him.”
“You’re the one who’s been following me.” She took a step toward him. “Did the Syndrion send you?”
“I’m neither Pur, nor Duach,” he snarled.
Rayne shook her head. “All Weir are one or the other.”
“Only those born on Earth,” he said.
She took a step back, and then another. “But if you’re not from—”
He was on her in an instant. Rayne pressed up against the wall. The ghost hovered, keeping a few inches distance. Brilliant blue eyes softened behind his mask. His fingertips floated down the length of her arm on an invisible current of air. “He touched you . . . here.” His fingers lightly brushed her forearm. He stared at her with interest. “I’ll be damned, feathers. You touched him. How?” When she didn’t answer, he ventured a guess. “His jacket, something inside, a lining.”
