Dark Destiny: Book One of the Destiny Novella Series (Destiny Novellas 1) (10 page)

“Well, yeah, my hope is the heroes in the cop cars will save the day just as he does something stupid. That’s the point of all the wires, right? To make him incriminate himself? Get him to say or do something?”

“
Say
something is fine.
Do
something is not fine.”

“Bennett, we don’t have much of a choice.” Lily looked at the clock on the mantle and sighed. “We need to go.”

“This is so gross,” Poppy muttered as Dahlia helped her into her gloves and messed with her hair for the briefest of moments before handing her the matching mask. “I didn’t even have time to shower or anything.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Dahlia said as they left the room. “This isn’t even close to a celebration.”

The masquerade ball was held in one of New Orleans’ oldest and grandest homes, a few miles away from Bennett’s family home. It was everything a party of that sort should be—glittering lights, beautifully dressed guests with masks that were works of art, subtle music wafting from inside—and as Lily approached the front gates with her sisters, her stomach was in knots and her breathing was shallow. What her broken ribs didn’t prohibit, the tight lines of the bodice did. Her mask itched just enough to be irritating and she regretted that it obscured her peripheral vision.

She wondered if Bennett, sitting down the street in a prototypical unmarked police surveillance van, could hear her heart thumping through the tiny microphone nestled inside her bra. The one piece of comfort she now had on her person was a small square of fabric hidden in her pocket that contained Lady Chamonix’ single strand of hair. She’d grabbed it last minute on the way out of the house. She figured it was kind of morbid, but she needed all the help she could get to keep her courage in check. If Chamonix was with her, even a little bit, it helped in a weird way.

“We look like Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather,” Poppy muttered as they approached the footman at the front gate of the gothic old mansion.

“I like to think we have a little more sense three stupid cartoon fairies,” Dahlia murmured.

Lily shook her head. “Not much. We’re walking into the lion’s den like a bunch of dumb sheep.” They didn’t have a choice, though, and she knew it. “Remember everything we talked about, and don’t do anything to attract his attention. We’ve all got our phones, right? And don’t touch the ear piece, it’ll make you look like cops.

“Lil. Give us a little credit.” Dahlia paused for a moment and her mouth quirked in a smile, and Poppy chuckled. “The good detective says you need to relax,” Dahlia told her.

“So not fair I can’t hear anything,” Lily murmured and approached the footman at the wide front doors with a smile. She handed him her card, which he examined, and then she said, “This invitation also covers my two sisters.” She gestured to the girls as he frowned and began shaking his head.

Poppy stepped forward and lay a hand on his arm. “How silly of our sponsor to have forgotten our names,” she said softly with a smile that ought to have been able to charm anyone into anything on its own merits. That she had a push behind the smile was an added bonus and Lily wondered how her sister had gone through her young life without abusing it to its fullest.

The footman slowly nodded and grinned at her. Dahlia pulled on Lily’s arm and the two moved ahead as Poppy thanked the man and took his hand in a gentle handshake.

“These are not the droids you’re looking for,” Dahlia murmured to Lily as Poppy caught up to them in the grand foyer. “Works every time.”

“What do you mean, ‘every time’?” Lily asked as Poppy threaded an arm through hers. “How often do you guys use that?”

“Not often.” Poppy glanced at her, lips quirked. “But we do need to get moving. Won’t be long before he wonders what the hell happened to him.”

Lily shook her head, a reluctant smile of her own finding its way to her mouth. “You’ve grown up a lot since I moved out, Poppy. Here’s hoping I never get on your bad side.”

“Whatever. I don’t use it on family.”

“That we know of,” Dahlia scoffed.

Lily scanned the crowd as they followed a stream of people entering a set of French doors just ahead. The light inside was significantly dimmer, and as they entered the large ballroom, they paused for a moment. The center of the floor contained couples that danced, the colors of their costumes making for a spinning display even in the muted light. Others lined the walls of the room, laughing, flirting, tipping their wine glasses together and snagging hors d’oeuvre from passing waiters. If not for the downright bizarre array of some of the ensembles—the occasional implied personae of werewolves and vampires—it might have been a scene from a bygone era.

“Oh look,” Dahlia whispered. “A witch. How charming.”

Lily nudged her. “Behave.” She took a breath. “Ok, if he’s watching for me, he knows you’re here now. Be careful.”

Poppy squeezed Lily’s arm and Dahlia looked at her for a long moment with a nod before the three separated, as agreed upon beforehand. The girls would circle the perimeter and Lily would wander and make herself visible. She shook her head at a passing server as he held out a tray of wine glasses and moved slowly forward, subtly casting her senses forward to get a feel for the general aura.

The resulting slam was not unlike the time she’d learned to drive a standard transmission. She’d lurched forward and stalled multiple times before finally managing a smooth shift from one gear to the next, and as she reined her senses back in now, she tried again. She filtered through the mass of crazy colors that clashed together and made the room into some kind of macabre rainbow, and dimmed them so that she dealt with the feel of the room, rather than the visual.

That wasn’t much better, and she focused again as she walked, imagining turning down the dial of an old radio—like the one she’d had growing up, the one her mother had told her to envision when she’d first begun teaching Lily how to control aura perception. As the room became more manageable, she allowed herself one tiny breath of satisfaction and hoped desperately her mother was watching, that she was proud. She was in control of her gift for the first time in over a decade and wasn’t hating it.

She swallowed as she felt the emotions of the people who crowded in around her. It was worse when she brushed up against them and she held her breath as their sensations washed over her in an intense mix of despair, anger, hope, excitement. Someone bumped her and caught her arm, laughing as he stammered an apology.

Lily shuddered even as she smiled and tried to casually extract her arm. “It’s ok, no worries,” she said to the man who had already had a few too many glasses of wine. He also was hoping desperately to get lucky before the night was over, that his wife wouldn’t find out he wasn’t at the bar watching a game.

She felt it all, read him like a book, and knew it was because she’d cast her senses out, looking for it. She firmly withdrew her arm and moved out of his reach, allowing the crowd to swallow him up behind her. “I think I need a shower,” she muttered. “And some sort of memory blocker.” Her mother and Mimi had never told her the extent to which she’d be able to read another person. Maybe they hadn’t known.

Lily looked through the crowd to the ornate, gothic designs painted on the walls and the huge indoor trees that extended upward toward the ceiling which was open to the second floor. She looked for Dahlia and Poppy, wanting just a glimpse, but saw only strangers laughing, spinning, everyone behind a mask that not only maintained anonymity but released customary inhibitions.

A sense of foreboding crept upon her and she looked down as thick, black tendrils snaked their way around her feet and slowly inched their way upward, wrapping around her waist and across her chest, settling on her neck as she turned, her hand at her throat. The sensation was heavy, toxic, and she looked for the source as a man walked toward her with slow, measured movements. The tendrils extended from him and pulled her subtly forward as he approached.

He was easily a head taller than she was, dressed completely in black from mask to shoes, in a suit that fit his form to perfection. As she drew inexorably closer, she saw the chiseled lines of his face, the olive complexion, the full lips that lifted in a small smile that showed perfectly white teeth. He looked like a model, maybe no more than thirty years old, and when he finally stood mere inches from her, she was forced to tip her head up to see his eyes, which were a startling silver in color.

With an effort, she mentally shook free of the dark tendrils and brushed her arm as if traces of them still lingered. He tipped his head slightly to the side as if in assessment and held out his hand. “I believe this dance is mine,” he said, and she recognized the same smooth voice she’d heard on the phone.

And it’s on,
she thought, placing her gloved hand in his and feeling a chill shoot through her arm and settle tight in her chest.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Othello,” Lily said through tight lips as she completely withdrew into herself again and shut out all aura reading. She knew what he was like—it wasn’t as though she had to probe him to discern his true nature. “I wish I could say I find it a pleasure to finally meet you.”

He smiled as he guided her to the center of the ballroom and swung her around, pulling her close with his right hand at the small of her back, his left holding hers in a traditional stance; she mentally blessed Dahlia for having the foresight to secure the wire lower. She was cold, so incredibly cold.

“My, but you do have your gifts,” he said, his mouth near her ear as they began to move. “I underestimated the strength of your reading abilities—I hardly had to look for you. It was as though you called out to me. In another life, we might have suited quite well.”

The disparity between his body and soul was jarring. How was it possible for such an appealing outer shell to house such a cold, dark interior?

“Where are you from?” she asked, swallowing. Her lips were dry and she suddenly wished for that glass of wine. She had to get him talking and all she wanted to do was run for the door. “I can’t place your accent.”

“I was raised in Romania.” He smiled at her; for all intents and purposes, he was just a nice guy at a party. She met his silver gaze and couldn’t contain the shudder that swept through her.

“Ah, but you are uncomfortable.”

“You did try to kill me.”

“Such a nasty opinion you have of me.”

“Attempted murder is a little off-putting, wouldn’t you agree?”

His smile was fleeting, then, and didn’t reach his eyes. “But we are here for bigger purposes. The dress is lovely, of course, and almost does justice to the body wearing it.”

“Yeah, if you can get past the bruises and cuts on my shoulders and face.”

“You are upset. As was I, when I realized you had not come alone.”

“My sisters enjoy a good party.”

He looked at her for a very long moment, squeezing her right hand so slightly she wondered if it was unintentional. She managed a tight smile. “Actually, I knew I would need their help with this quest of yours. They have abilities I lack.”

“Let us get to the heart of the matter. You have the talisman, I should hope?”

Lily took a breath. “We thought you might enjoy helping us look.”

He didn’t miss a step, kept his movements smooth and uninterrupted, but there was a stiffening at his core and her heart jumped into her throat.

“I rather thought my instructions to you were perfectly clear.”

He frayed her one last nerve and she felt her temper snap. “Ok, Othello, here’s the thing,” she spat out, both furious and mortally afraid. “I am still recovering from being nearly blown to bits, and I am exhausted. My aunt is in a coma, you’ve threatened my family, and you gave me all of forty-eight hours to find something that even you have been unable to locate. So forgive me if I’m a little slow. My sister was able to dig up a good possibility today but we need more time. So you either give us that or you can rot in hell.”

The eerie silver eyes were cool, assessing, and when she stopped moving and tried to leave him in the middle of the ballroom he tightened his fingers on her wounded hand, bending her wrist. Her knees buckled from the pain and he tightened his arm around her waist to keep her upright. She sucked in a gasp and called upon everything holy to help her avoid vomiting.

“We are not finished,” he said.

He had relaxed his grip on her hand, but the pain still radiated through her arm. “Do that to me again and not only can you forget your stupid talisman, I’ll turn you into a freaking soprano,” she hissed at him.

Othello laughed, the sound smooth and deep. And cold. She shivered again and closed her eyes, wishing desperately for Bennett. He was warmth and light and turned her to a puddle of mush. The contrast between him and the
bokor
was stark.

“Enough of your stalling,” he finally said, all traces of the smile gone. “What has this sister of yours discovered?”

Lily slowly inhaled and blew out her breath, looking for the best of all possible answers. Tell him too much and he might look for the talisman in the graveyard himself. He then had absolutely no reason to keep them alive. Or maybe she could convince him of their use to him, buy them time. But unless the matter was finished, and soon, she and her sisters would be looking over their shoulders forever.