The Fool

by Liz Meldon

  “Okay, first of all,” she snapped, unwilling to be walked all over for the umpteenth time this week, especially by someone who was more of a casual sex buddy than an actual friend, “that image was horrifying. So thank you.”

  “I’ll do it, Dels. He’s a prick. Don’t work with him anymore.”

  “Second of all,” Delia continued a bit more forcefully, “I don’t see what’s wrong with following up on a lead like this. Vamps will be there regardless of whether or not Claudia is, so maybe I’ll be able to take someone else down.”

  “Alone?” He was smiling again—she could hear it in his stupid, sexy voice. “Look, I know you want bigger cases, but this isn’t going to get you any favour.”

  “I’m not looking for favour. I’m looking for respect.”

  His sigh said it all. Kain liked her, sure, but he didn’t respect her as a hunter—there were only a few in the league who did. Being at the bottom sucked.

  “Delia, I respect you,” he said softly, almost gently, “but this is just…it’s not a strong lead to take. The other guys’ll take the absolute piss out of you if they knew you fell for it.”

  “Well, they don’t have to know then.” She fell back on her couch and reached for her laptop, yanking it open with more force than necessary. “Besides, if humans and vamps are together, something’s bound to go wrong. They should probably have a hunter—”

  “Security will be tight for the night,” he countered. “If the vamps and humans are willingly commingling, I doubt anyone who doesn’t want to be a bloodbag will end up becoming one. I think it’s nothing more than a bit of shady business going down under the guise of a fucking garden party. Probably end in an orgy. Some people really love that kinky vamp shit—”

  “If it’s shady,” she argued, pointedly ignoring the sex part, “then maybe the league should be involved—”

  “No one was even assigned to the event,” he told her, cutting her off harshly. He’d clearly reached the end of his patience with the conversation. “If the higher-ups don’t think it’s worth investigating, let it go. Come get pissed with me and the boyos.”

  She opened her mouth, ready to give another half-hearted attempt at a good argument, then pressed her lips together when an email alert caught her attention. As she opened it, she listened to Kain slurp his drink in her ear.

  Hugh had sent the invitation. There it was, sitting in her inbox: an invite to an exclusive human-vamp event, one that none of the other hunters were working, where the head vamp might be making her Harriswood debut.

  “No thanks, Kain,” she said at last, her resolve no longer wavering. “Have fun.”

  “Oh, Dels, don’t be a silly cow—”

  “This silly cow will let you know if she gets a good look at Claudia,” she snapped. “And she’s going to look damn fine in…” Her eyes flicked to the invitation’s dress code requirements, and she squinted. “…formal attire.”

  He snorted. “Right. Is anything in that closet of yours even remotely formal? High school prom dress doesn’t count for adult things.”

  “Goodbye, Kain.”

  She heard him call her name as she pulled the phone away from her ear and hit the disconnect button. Tossing the thin rectangle aside, she exhaled deeply and ran her fingers through her hair. Despite Kain’s protests, she couldn’t stop the little bubble of excitement from growing in the pit of her stomach. This was going to be her night—the night she finally showed that she was worth more than surveillance duty and paperwork and unimportant vamp arrests.

  Unfortunately, some of her giddiness faded when she realized that she did, in fact, lack anything even remotely formal. Rooting through her closet, which was just as cluttered as her one-bedroom rental, she discovered that her lone black dress had deodorant stains across the skirt area, probably from trying to drunkenly pull it over her head at some point. And the rest of her outfits were bar clothes, at best.

  Plus, she had no mask.

  Grabbing her purse, she slipped on a pair of flats and made a beeline for the door. The garden party masquerade bullshit started at nine tonight, and every minute she wasted fussing over an outfit was a minute less of preparation for the mission.

  This was it. It was her time to shine, and she wasn’t going to fuck it up.

  T W O

  For fuck’s sake.

  Apparently “formal attire” really meant formal formal attire. Delia tapped her toe on the sidewalk, arms crossed, clutch in hand, as she watched masked partygoers trickle into the Banesview Hotel. Some wore elegant headpieces constructed of feathers and sequins, while other women’s hair had been woven and fluffed and braided—styles that would probably need a team of people to undo once the night was over.

  Earlier that evening, Delia had almost thrown her dark brunette waves up in a ponytail, slicked back and high, because she thought it looked clean and simple. However, her hair was big enough to obscure her face should the need arise, so she’d left it loose instead and pumped up the volume, spending way more time in front of the bathroom mirror than she’d wanted to.

  But it wasn’t just her hair’s blandness that made her stand out from the rest. As she drew nearer, her figure-hugging, low-backed green midi dress with its little capped sleeves made her look like she belonged on the arm of a businessman at a cocktail party, not at a masquerade garden party-thing. The other women wore gowns, for fuck’s sake. Gowns! Big skirts, tiny waists, rich and bold colours as far as the eye could see. They were all stunning creatures in their own right, and it bothered Delia that, as she approached, she couldn’t discern vamp from human.

  Who would have thought masks actually hid one’s identity?

  Perfect.

  Delia licked her lips, her gaze bouncing from group to group, couple to couple. She shouldn’t have arrived alone—no one else had. So, not only did her outfit make her stick out like a sore thumb, but she was officially the creepy loner who arrived in a cab instead of a limo.

  At least her mask suited the event. She wasn’t surprised when costume shops across the city were out of most masks that weren’t of the cheap paper or plastic variety. Delia considered herself lucky, therefore, that the boutique where she’d purchased her dress—at a discount price, thank god—had a handful of masks left in stock.

  Of the few that were left, Delia had opted for a lacy black one that wrapped across her face like a large rectangle. It tied snugly around at the back of her head, and she’d been able to hide the strings under her hair. To anyone else, it was like she’d draped a slip of soft lace across her face, hiding everything from the top of her forehead to the point of her smallish nose.

  The longer she bemoaned her outfit choices, the more suspicious she might look. After all, everyone who arrived at the Banesview headed straight for the grand front entrance. Sighing, she breathed out her anxiety, her stress, and threw her shoulders back. Time to look like she belonged.

  A hotel employee in a tux and basic black mask beckoned her over as she approached the double-doored entrance, and she immediately went for her clutch to produce her invitation. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught another couple being asked to do the same by a second attendant on the other side of the doors. Their invites, however, were on beautiful thick paper—it looked gold in the overhead lighting—with ornate calligraphy. Delia’s, meanwhile, was on the cheap, thin paper she bought from the corner store at the base of her apartment building, and the lettering had big stripes of colour missing because her printer was running low on ink.

  The man studied her invitation with a raised eyebrow, and she offered a shy smile.

  “I think I was a bit of an afterthought,” she told him, keeping her voice gentle and girlish.

  That seemed to change his tune pretty fast. He nodded and handed the paper back to her, which she folded and tucked back into her clutch—where it sat nestled against a silver stake that extended into a foot-long vamp-killing tool at the push of a button. It had pierced a few hearts in its day, though not as many
as she would have liked.

  “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Lyle,” the black-masked fellow remarked, giving the fake name on the invitation.

  She offered a timid head bob in return.

  Once she was through the doors, her heels clacking noisily on the pristine marble floor, she shook off the weak persona, growing a few inches taller with her shoulders back and head up high. Vamps loathed simpering idiots, and human snobs weren’t more inclined toward them either.

  The Banesview Hotel was a stunning piece of local architecture. Old as the town itself, its façade retained its classic features, while the inside was redecorated and refurnished frequently to keep up with modern tastes. High ceilings, marble floors, white sculptures; Delia felt like she walking into a Roman bathhouse. It wasn’t to her style, but then again, she wasn’t exactly the type of guest places like the Banesview hoped to attract.

  Tonight the hotel wore a mask just as intricate and beautiful as any of its guests. Rich velvety fabrics hung from columns, the edges frayed with gold. Everything was lush and rich, dripping with decadence, jewel tones as far as the eye could see. The entrance hall was impressive, certainly, but according to the signage in front of her—the letter-work matching that of the invitations—the party was being held elsewhere.

  She smiled at the woman standing next to the sign with a tray of champagne-filled glasses. Her black dress fit to a T and her mask matched those worn by the invitation-checkers outside.

  “Thank you,” Delia said as she accepted one of the long-stemmed glasses, the bubbly liquid tickling her nose when she took a quick sip. It was strong, undoubtedly expensive, and she made a mental note not to have more than a single glass all night. If necessary, she could dump out the flat champagne and take a new one for the sake of appearances.

  “Enjoy the evening, miss.” The woman’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, noticeable even with the mask. “If you will require assistance at sunrise, please let one of the staff know as soon as you can.”

  Delia arched an eyebrow, though her lace covering probably distorted her surprise. Apparently there was no hiding what tonight would entail—this was definitely a vamp kind of party.

  “Thank you,” she finally managed, her ears perking at the approach of more guests on her heels, “but that won’t be necessary for me.”

  The woman nodded, then turned her attention to the incoming partygoers. Intrigued, Delia wanted to stay and watch their interaction, see if she could pick out the vamp patrons a little more easily, but then thought better of it. She had a vampire head honcho to hunt and kill; all the other bloodsuckers were inconsequential for now.

  The main event was held in the hotel’s ballroom, a space undoubtedly used for countless wedding receptions and galas over the years. She was met with the sounds of unobtrusive music and the buzz of dozens of conversations met her as she approached, and for a few moments, Delia loitered by the entryway to get a feel for the place.

  They’d decked it out similarly to the entrance hall—with jewel tones and gold—decadent to the last detail. Waiters traversed the crowd with a tray of drinks in hand, mostly champagne, and there was a small table by the bathrooms with a surprisingly meagre spread of pastries and snacks.

  Delia pursed her lips as she nursed her drink, none of the crackers and cheese seeming appealing to her churning stomach.

  Drink in one hand and clutch in the other, she wandered the perimeter of the room, trying to root out any familiar faces—and failing miserably. Many wore intricate masks, obviously altered and made more grand since the initial purchase, making it downright impossible to get a good read on anyone. She huffed irritably, then took another small sip of her bubbly drink.

  How was she supposed to find Claudia in this mess? Delia barely had a solid picture of the head vamp in her mind anyway, and the masks made things all the more complicated. The majority of the descriptions said the woman had red hair—so at least Delia had somewhere to start.

  But then again…maybe she should have listened to Kain. Maybe this was a mistake.

  Nibbling her lower lip, she leaned against a pillar as her gaze continued to wander the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, a figure approached. A man. Dressed in more frills than she was, his mask was outlined in gold, barely hiding a too-big nose.

  “And why is someone so beautiful here all by—”

  Delia fixed him with a glare, soundlessly venting her mounting frustrations with nothing more than a look. He swallowed hard, swirling his drink around in his glass, and then took the hint and left. Hiding a smirk, she returned to her surveillance. If she’d wanted to fend off guys, she would have gone to the bar with Kain.

  Unfortunately, Big Nose wasn’t the last of the costumed men to accost her that evening. While she tried her best to socialize with groups of people who seemed welcoming enough, guys wandered up like clockwork, spouting corny lines, offering to get her another drink, asking her to dance. If she’d attended for social reasons instead of professional, she might have taken up one or two of their offers; instead, they were nothing more than a distraction, and she treated them as such, waving them off before drifting away to a new look-out point and a new cluster of masked people to chat with, all the while hoping she might get a better read on who was a vamp and who wasn’t.

  “You look bored.”

  The observation came two hours into the night, just as Delia reached the bottom of her first drink. She’d abandoned socializing for a bit, preferring to watch guest interactions from a safe distance off to side. With a scowl, she turned on her heel to stare down the idiot who made the comment, only to find her glare losing some of its venom when she spotted him. Lounging against the wall, the man was dressed simply in a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a pair of pressed black trousers. He might have looked like the hotel staff had it not been for the expensive watch and the gold and purple mask. Little bells jingled with the slightest movement, and she realized he’d chosen a jester’s mask for the evening.

  Who voluntarily decides to be the fool at a masquerade ball?

  At least she wasn’t the only one who missed the boat on the whole formal formal shtick.

  Delia raised an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”

  His overwhelming handsomeness didn’t excuse rudeness. Delia wasn’t bored. She was working, like a serious vampire hunter who…was sick of watching rich idiots get drunk. And mildly frustrated with, well, everything.

  Pushing himself off the wall, the stranger strolled toward her, oozing casual and collected like it was his job. She tried not to let her stare linger on the sharp cut of his jawline or the tousled effect of his dark hair—or the broadness of his shoulders and the taut muscularity of his arms. Tall but not excessively wide. Physically fit without being off-putting.

  “I apologize,” he offered, a hand on his chest as he bowed a little. “You look beautiful, fair creature. Fairest of all the fair creatures this night—”

  “Oh my god, okay,” Delia said with a slight groan, rolling her eyes as he straightened up. His smirk did not go unnoticed. “I’d rather be bored than whatever that was.”

  His mask covered almost all of his face, stopping just above his lips. The dull gold hue of the part covering his face made his eyes stand out: bright blue, almost unnervingly so. Delia’s first thought was that they were the eyes of a vamp, and her defences shot up immediately.

  “What’s your name, fair creature?” He held out his hand for her to shake, and Delia quickly tucked her clutch under her arm.

  “Delia,” she said as she slipped her hand into his larger one, surprised at its warmth. Vamps were cold—frigid like the dead. Diseased, supposedly, with a sickness for which there was no cure. He was definitely human, but unfamiliar to her, even with the mask—not one of the local elites who made the front pages of tabloid rags every other week, that was for sure. “And yourself?”

  His grip tightened. “What is the purpose of wearing masks if we expose ourselves, Delia?”


  She yanked her hand away when she realized she’d been played. Lips pressed together irritably, Delia turned and refocused on the masquerade guests.

  Moments later, a presence hovered dangerously close, well inside her personal bubble, and she flinched when he tucked her hair behind her shoulder.

  “But you can call me the Fool if you wish.”

  His words caressed her as he spoke, but she held firm, refusing to shy away from him—or show just how much he affected her. Skin littered with tiny bumps, her heart was suddenly racing.

  “Fool?” Pride surged at how steady she managed to keep her voice. “I can work with Fool.”

  She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t sent him slinking off with a withering stare and a few curt words like all the other men. After all, he wasn’t much smoother than the guys who’d already approached her, and while his outfit was the least embarrassing so far, his mask was probably the most obnoxious. Every slight shift he made, the bells hanging around his face jingled, grating her already fraught nerves.

  “Answer me this…” he murmured, still quite close, his breath dancing over her skin.

  While many of the others had overwhelmed her with pungent cologne, the Fool wore something a little more subdued, and Delia resisted the urge to turn and bury her nose in his neck to experience the full effect of it.

  “Why are you here…alone? I can’t imagine you struggled to find an escort.”

  The eye-roll came almost naturally now. Every guy had commented on her being by herself, like it was some great crime not to stand there with a man. Just as she was about to express how fucking stupid she found his question, a flash of flaming red hair caught her attention. Claudia: a statuesque vamp with impossibly vibrant red hair, according to most. Delicate features belied the monster hiding beneath. In all the stories, she was sweet like honey, luring her victim in—hunter and innocent bystander alike—and then striking when they least expected it.