Chapter 12

It took a while for Caro to simmer down enough to consider actually relaxing on her mandated week off. Then she chilled out with a vengeance. Regular meals involving vegetables were the first to be abandoned. Frequent showers were next, quickly followed by changing into fresh clothes every day. Instead, she sat on the couch binge-watching shitty TV shows in a ratty pair of pajamas until her mind felt lobotomized to the point of calm.

By day five, though, she felt gross and as blobbish as a jellyfish. The human body was simply not designed to thrive on that much sloth and crap food. She dragged herself to the shower, and feeling slightly virtuous, ate a bowl of instant oatmeal. It was a start.

I need out of this apartment. Except I don’t want to bother actually getting on shoes and moving down the stairs. I need motivation. Wait a minute. She had a rain check for drinks with Estelle. It was Friday—maybe the vampire would be free for brunch tomorrow. A date with a friend would get her going. Estelle was thrilled to hear from her and happily agreed to midday drinks in Kensington Market. “If, and only if, you tell me what’s got Julien’s panties in a knot,” she said.

“What makes you think I’d know?” Caro asked innocently.

“Please. I’m a hundred years old. You can’t put one over on me. Let me put it into my calendar.” Caro heard Estelle hunting through her purse, then curse. “Or I will when I find out where that fey thief Julien’s put my phone.”

Caro hung up, feeling depressed even by this brief and relatively pleasant contact with JDPR. Maybe it was time to think about another line of work. Ugh. The mere thought of hunting for a job made her tingle, and not in a good way. She went into the bathroom to grab a hairbrush and glanced in the mirror, then looked back in dismay. God, her face looked different. Wider, somehow, her chin more prominent and about ten years older. She rubbed her eyes. No—that was her face. She must have been seeing things.

It was definitely time to get out of the apartment. She settled back on the couch. Tomorrow.

* * * *

As always, Kensington was a varied mix of hipsters, suburban kids, families, and hippies all wandering in a blissful mass around the specialty food stores and secondhand shops. A driver would need nerves of steel to take a car down those narrow streets, clogged with oblivious walkers holding bags containing silk-screened cat T-shirts or cheap guavas. These little nestled neighborhoods were one of the things Caro liked best about her adopted city and she looked around with real pleasure before turning back to her companion.

“You seriously have no problems with the sun?” Caro was now three mimosas into her brunch with Estelle and it was the second time she’d asked the question. It was overcast but warm and they sat out on the patio at Last Temptation, their tiny, dented café table—spray-painted hot pink—behind a group of graduate students who were passionately and loudly debating some obscure political theorist. The muted sunlight turned Estelle’s bare shoulders a creamy, opalescent pearl that Caro eyed enviously. Not a freckle in sight.

Estelle gave a crooked smile and held up two fingers to the waiter, who nodded and darted off to get fresh drinks. “Lucky, huh? I always thought it would suck to be one of the other kind.”

“Incredible.” Caro sat back and nibbled on the slice of mango that had decorated the rim of her drink. Two types of vampires. She hadn’t known. With occasional checks to see if anyone could hear them, Estelle had patiently explained the difference between her own clan, and those she called the lithu, vicious night beings who could eat nothing but blood. They were extreme forms of the same mutation, she said. Vampires of Estelle’s sort were not immortal, though extremely long-lived, and could eat food, though they couldn’t digest it. They could go out in the sun, but couldn’t shift into invisibility.

The waiter arrived with the fresh drinks and Estelle drained half of hers in a single sip. “I’ve often wondered if they’re envious of our freedom,” she mused. “The lithu.”

“You could ask,” Caro suggested as she dipped a tofu fry into a spicy dip.

Estelle shuddered. “No, thanks. They’re a bad combination of touchy and lethal. They like to be left alone so we stay out of their way. Luckily there’s not many of them.”

There was a companionable silence until Estelle said, “Now it’s your turn.”

Caro wriggled uncomfortably on the seat. “My turn for what?”

Estelle rolled her eyes. “You don’t get to come out, feed me a bucket of OJ and champers and not expect me to ask questions. What did you do to Julien? He’s been a monster all week.”

Caro snorted. “Not my fault. He was being completely out of line about something and got mad when I set him straight. Typical male.”

“Let me guess. It involved Eric Kelton?”

Caro kept her cool. “What makes you say that?”

“Those shoji screens in the boardroom need to be shut all the way to block the sound.” Estelle gazed at her with wide, innocent eyes.

“Oh my God.” Caro blanched. “The office heard what he said.”

Estelle nodded. “Everyone. Even that weird witch in accounting.”

“It’s not true.”

“Sure.”

“Estelle! Seriously. I’m not involved with Eric Kelton. I don’t want to be involved with Eric Kelton. He’s not my type.”

Estelle goggled at her. “Sorry. I think I misunderstood. The man is gorgeous, smart, and rich. Not to mention a supporter of almost every charity in the city. Did I mention a king? Your Hierarch? He’s not your type? Girl, he’s every woman’s type! Did you even look at those arms? That ass?”

She had indeed. “I prefer someone not quite so…” So what, Caro? Magnificent? Exciting? Who doesn’t make you think of him all the time? “Shifty,” she finished lamely. “He’s nothing but a client. An ex-client, since the work has been done, and if I know Julien, was immediately invoiced. May I also say he’s not my Hierarch.”

“Caro, no one believes Julien. We know you’re a good professional.” Estelle’s voice was soothing and Caro remembered she’d mentioned that her clan had good compulsion abilities.

“Are you voodooing me right now?” she demanded.

Estelle burst out laughing. “Haven’t heard it called that before. I was, a bit. I’ll stop.”

“Good, because nothing is happening. Eric Kelton is completely out of my league. Big shot masquerada? Rich guy? I bet he’s got half the women in town after him.”

“Oh, way more than that, but don’t sell yourself short. I saw how he looked at you when he came in. It was like you were a tasty hamburger and he was starving.”

Caro made a face, though her heart leapt. “I’m not into him,” she lied.

“Really?” Estelle wore an expression of polite disbelief.

“It doesn’t even matter,” Caro said. “I don’t date masquerada. Ever.”

Estelle slapped the table, making their drinks dance on the surface. “Don’t be prejudiced. And who said anything about dating? Go have some fun. It’s not like Eric Kelton would be looking for anything else.”

“What do you mean?” The question was out before Caro could stop it.

“Your man isn’t the commitment type. So I hear, anyway. Hasn’t had a long-term relationship in decades and he never dates anyone but masquerada. Not sure about halfs.” Here she nodded as if in recognition of Caro’s heritage.

“Wow. Really?” Although she knew Eric was nothing but an unobtainable fantasy—plus, she reminded herself, she had a no-masquerada rule—disappointment still lanced through her. The, uh, interlude in his mind had affected her more than she liked to admit. Even though he’d called it an unfortunate occurrence.

If it was unfortunate, what was with that look he gave her in the office? Dude was messing with her head.

“Of course, then you’d have to deal with the usual masquerada I’m-the-best stuff.” Estelle wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know where they get off thinking they’re better than vampires, that’s for sure.”

“You don’t?”

“Fine. I’m exaggerating. All arcana think they’re amazing so we hate that masquerada are definitely at the top. There’s more of them, for one, and they’re organized. Smart, too. But they know it.”

“Annoying.”

“You got it. Anyway, if you don’t succeed there, you’ve always got Julien.”

“What do you mean?” Surely Estelle was kidding. Please let her be kidding.

She wasn’t kidding. “Julien’s got a thing for you. He wasn’t pissed about you dating Kelton because the agency would suffer. He’d probably offer you naked on a silver platter covered in Cheetos if he thought it would get more business. He’s jealous.”

“There’s nothing to be jealous of,” Caro protested weakly.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” The vampire drained her glass. “That doesn’t matter because, to Julien, it’s only what he thinks that matters.”

Caro buried her head in her hands. “I don’t need this.”

“Agreed, so let’s not waste time talking about him. Tell me about you.”

Caro took another sip of her drink. “What do you want to know?”

“Half-blood masquerada are rare,” Estelle pointed out. “Julien said you were a deliberate latent, too. Usually anybody who’s a half is dying to test out whether they have any powers.”

A rush of anger filled her. “Julien has a big mouth.”

“He does indeed. So spill.”

“Not much to say. My mom was a masquerada. Dad was human. He left and died, then she died.” So much pain in those few words, but Caro was used to it now.

“You miss them?”

“No.” The answer was brusque.

Estelle took the hint. “How good are you?” She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry. Too much to drink. That was rude.”

“Is it? I have no idea.” Caro emptied her glass. “Up until a few days ago I didn’t even know there were levels. I was never interested in that side of things and after my mother died, there was no one to ask. I found out about JDPR only because I found a card in her files. This whole arcana thing was a mystery to me.”

“You didn’t know about the arcane world?””Only a bit. I was basically raised as a human.”

Estelle frowned. “Wait. You’ve never taken on a masque?” She sounded astonished.

“No.” Not even with the mimosas could she bring herself to say more about how she felt about masquerada. She’d already said too much the other day with Julien.

“Wow. Don’t you ever feel you’re missing something? I think I might.”

“Never.” Caro knew her answer had been too quick.

“Curiouser and curiouser.” Estelle rose. “I’ll be right back. I need to use the ladies’.”

“For real?” Caro asked with interest.

“If I’m doing the human thing, for sure.” She smirked. “Shall I go into more detail?”

Caro made a face. “I’m good.”

Estelle winked and left Caro sitting quietly at the table, nursing the sturdy champagne flute. It had been a long time since she’d had a friend to talk to. Years, maybe. She’d been too busy in journalism school, then making her name as a reporter to have more than casual work acquaintances.

She put the glass down and watched the people strolling along the sidewalk, letting herself enjoy the gorgeous day. Unconsciously, she scanned each person as they walked by, noting their expressions and how they moved. She sighed. There was no tall man with dark hair long enough to tangle her hands into. No matter what she did, Eric was always on her mind. She looked at Estelle’s empty seat, wanting to see him so badly that it was a physical need. A couple passed, talking about the garlic-stuffed olives they’d bought from Cheese Magic, followed by a mother chatting cheerfully with her teenage daughter, who was holding a bag with a pink crinoline peeking out.

A man walked by and glanced over, meeting her eyes. He slowed for a fraction of a second before passing on. There was something familiar about him. Caro frowned. Someone she knew from Washington? As a reporter she’d met a lot of people, but she didn’t think anyone she knew casually would recognize her—losing thirty pounds and growing her hair long as its natural brown had drastically changed her appearance. Cold fingers walked down her spine as she watched him stride away. He moved like a hunter and she wasn’t surprised to see people simply melt out of his path.

The man reminded her of Franz Iverson. The realization doused her like a bucket of cold water. That was it. The same cocky but threatening strut, backed up by confidence in his vast wealth and influence, all overlain by a total lack of empathy. She remembered seeing him in court, blandly handsome and dressed in a suit with a tie that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. It was the first time she’d seen him in person and the man’s palpable aura of menace had sickened her. At least now Iverson was in jail, serving a long sentence. There was no way it could be him.

Estelle reappeared to her left, jarring Caro back to reality. “What a line. Why does the ladies’ room always have the same number of stalls as the men’s room? It’s ridiculous.”

Caro smiled, but memories of Iverson had chased the sun out of her afternoon.