Chapter 31

Eric stormed back into the house, holding a hand up to stop Stephan as he moved forward with a piece of paper. “Whatever it is, it can wait for ten minutes.”

His second-in-command side-eyed a look at Tom. “Ah, okay?”

Up the stairs. Eric passed the library, his heart constricting at the thought of Caro on the sofa, smiling at him. Into his bedroom, where the memories weren’t any easier. On the floor lay a book that had spilled from Caro’s bag and been forgotten. He picked it up and opened it without thinking. Flattened from the pressure of the pages and faintly yellowed was a short news clipping dated from six years ago and bylined Lynn Butler.

It was true then. Why else would she keep that unless she was Butler? Roommates didn’t keep each other’s books. He had been fooling himself. Caro was an investigative reporter. She’d come up to Toronto for a story. No wonder Tom couldn’t trace her. She would have known all the tricks.

The clipping fluttered to the floor as he dropped his head into his hands. Tom was right after all. What a fool he’d been. For so long, he’d been alone. Obviously too long, if he could be played easily. How much of what she’d told him had been false? Had any of it been true?

It was going to drive him insane to think of this. Better to chalk it up to a bad decision. Forget Caro—no, Lynn—ever existed.

A soft knock sounded at the door. “Eric?”

He hadn’t avoided convergence and le vide for centuries without learning focus. Eric took a deep breath and pushed Caro to the side of his mind. “What?”

“Tom wants another practice with the swords.”

This is what he needed, to work himself into exhaustion. “Get them ready. I’ll be in the training room in ten.”

“Will do.”

“Stephan? Get the boxing gear out as well. Might as well be prepared for some hand-to-hand.”

“Got it.” Stephan’s footsteps thumped down the hall and Eric passed a hand over his face. Time to come back to reality.

Tom waited in the cavernous training room, two members of his security team with him. Eric raised an eyebrow in query.

The security chief didn’t pull any punches. “I still don’t think you should use your natural self, but if you’re going to, you need to be prepared.”

“Iverson forfeits if he shifts during the fight,” Eric reminded him, trying to concentrate on the issue in front of him. Not on Caro. There would be time for that later.

“I don’t think he will. What I think will happen is that he’ll choose a form that will be faster, stronger, and have more endurance than your current, core self.”

Eric winced. That hurt.

Tom noticed. “I won’t apologize. Soft words won’t gain you a victory but truth might.”

“Agreed. Continue.” Tom was right. Even though Eric was more talented than almost all masquerada, so was Iverson. His enemy would be stupid if he didn’t choose the deadliest masque he could.

Iverson was a lot of things, but definitely not that.

“To test your endurance, I’m going to rotate with Mai and Amit. We’ll come at you one at a time, but we’ll come at you strong.”

Eric nodded. “Understood.”

Tom handed him a padded protective vest. “Get this on. Let’s get started.”

The next hour was hell on Earth and Eric was grateful for every second of it. Attending to the fight took his complete attention. As promised, the three came at him, each one determined to give the best they could. After a brief moment of awe at how well-trained and skilled his security staff was—maybe he could send Tom a bottle of his favorite Scotch to congratulate a job well done—Eric felt as though he was fighting for his life.

Which would be happening soon.

By the end of it, Eric was still standing as Stephan did a slow clap from the sidelines. “Incredible,” he exclaimed.

Eric would have answered, but he was too busy trying not to pass out. Tom checked them all over, pausing at a few of the slashes on Eric’s vest. “Any one of these might have lost you the challenge,” he said seriously. “Watch your defense.” Then he gave Eric a clap on the back and handed him some water. “That was some excellent fighting, Eric.”

They cooled down and Eric dismissed Tom’s security team, thanking them for a good fight. “Our pleasure, sire,” Mai said, scowling as she rolled her shoulder. “A good workout.” They disappeared out the door.

“Give me the boxing gloves,” Eric said. His plan was to work himself into exhaustion so his sleep wouldn’t be haunted by images of Caro.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tom warned. “You need to give the muscles a break.”

Tom was right, but fuck it. Eric needed to punch something, hard, and for a long time. He held out his hands, and Tom gave him the gloves with a sigh. “Ten minutes, and that’s it,” he said.

Eric ignored him and walked over to the punching bag. The first impact felt good. Really good. He got into a rhythm that would have been relaxing had a voice in his head not kept time with a chant that went, Sucker, chump, sucker sucker, chump chump.

He had to admire the woman, he supposed. She’d played him good. A hell of an actress. He’d even believed that it was the first time she’d taken on a masque. No wonder she was good at it. Here he flushed, feeling like a fool.

“That’s enough.” Tom’s voice was only a murmur at the edge of his consciousness as he pounded the bag. “Eric! Enough!”

The security chief’s holler brought him back to himself. Tom and Stephan stared at the maroon bag, which sported several fresh slits along its length.

“Eric,” Stephan said carefully. “Is there something you’d like to tell us?”

“No.”

Stephan eyed the bag again. “I see. We noticed Caro didn’t come back with you. Will she be coming later?”

“No. Tom was right about her.” That was all they needed to know. “She’s not with Iverson—at all—but she’s not who she claimed to be.”

As Eric turned away, he saw the two men share a concerned glance. He must have truly made a spectacle of himself in front of his entire staff. Maybe he should feel lucky Caro had decided to tell him the truth now.

Yeah, right. He mopped his chest and neck with a towel. Time to change this conversation. “Any news?”

“What we expected.” Stephan grabbed some water and drank. “The Council will send a witness for the challenge, but we’re not sure who. I assume Michaela Chui. Cynthia had a Council team clean up the throne room.”

“How’s it look?” Council teams were neutral and combatants were not allowed to see the venue once it was prepared, or know details about how it looked. They would see it at the same time, when they met.

Stephan knew Eric wasn’t asking about the layout. “Good.” Meaning: It was prepared properly.

“Did they open up the viewing galleries?”

“They did,” Tom said with disapproval.

“You still don’t like it.”

“No. Iverson wants an audience and we’re giving it to him.”

Eric tossed the towel into the laundry. “I need this victory to be unequivocal. If it was limited to the two of us and the witness, there would always be the shadow of a doubt. This way, the victory will be clear.”

“We have Kevlar mesh up and it’s going to be well guarded,” Tom said. “At least no one will be able to interfere.”

“Good. Michaela said some of the Council are openly supporting Iverson. Talk to her about names and make sure we have security detailed to them.”

They discussed some minor details, then Eric dismissed them so he could shower and change. As the hot water washed off the sweat and relaxed his muscles, he rolled his shoulders and thought about what was to come.

He refused to think of how the room would be set out. To imagine it was futile at best, and unsafe at worst, as he would unconsciously pattern his actions based on a false expectation of the environment. Instead, he let his mind walk through the ancient ritual that would precede the fight.

Or tried to. Too bad all he could see was Caro’s anxious and triumphant face as she finally told him the truth.

God, how gullible he’d been. All the clues that he’d refused to let himself see. Tom’s suspicion—misguided, but ultimately correct. The questions she’d asked him. Then she’d dangled Iverson in front of him as her attacker, feeding right into his obsession. Was it possible she was working with Iverson, as Tom had supposed? No. That was too much. He refused to believe that.

She’d been livid when that Patricia had spilled the beans.

Patricia. There was something weird about that one. Why had she wanted to hurt Caro?

A cold sweat overcame him. Caro knew he couldn’t shift. What would she do with that information? Would she tell Iverson? A woman that callous, who had played him like a lute, was capable of anything. Would she report on masquerada for the Post? He shuddered at the thought of a news story outlining the existence of the arcane world, then came to his senses. That was at least never going to happen. Humans who read premium content newspapers would consider themselves much too sophisticated to believe in ghosts and monsters, at least openly.

He got out and toweled off. He should inform Stephan and Tom about Caro’s alter ego, so they could make sure she hadn’t been able to break into their key systems. Eric almost snorted at the thought of himself as a meth dealer. After all the effort he’d put in to get that out of his main cities. Nice to hear that had worked out. Christ.

After pulling on a pair of jeans, he called Tom and Stephan in. It took only a minute to outline what he’d learned. The two men goggled at him in disbelief.

“She’s Lynn Butler?” asked Tom.

At the same time, Stephan said, “That’s impossible.”

“Yes,” Eric said to Tom. Then he turned to Stephan. “Why impossible?”

“It doesn’t make sense.” Stephan paced around the room. “Why would the Post send a star reporter to Toronto—in a different country—to investigate a relatively small drug network? They’ve got plenty of drugs in their own city.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tom said promptly. “She lied about who she was to get access to the Hierarch, for whatever reason. I don’t like that it’s at the same time this stuff with Iverson is going on. It’s too coincidental and I don’t believe in coincidences.” He was visibly restraining himself from a heart-felt I told you so and Eric could hardly blame him.

“Tom’s right,” Eric said. “She can’t be trusted. I want all teams to be alerted. She can shift, remember.”

“Don’t you think we should try to verify her story?” asked Stephan. “I can’t believe it.”

“Why?” Eric asked. “She made it clear what she wanted and she made it clear that she was leaving.”

“She knows a lot about our operations,” Tom mused. “We can’t let that information get out.”

The implication was clear but Eric couldn’t bring himself to sign her arrest warrant. She might have lied to him, and she might have betrayed him, but…Caro? The ache in his head was killing him. “We are going to leave her alone. No one is to touch her.”

“I—” Tom shut up fast when he saw Eric’s expression.

“No one is to touch her. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sire.”

The two men filed out, leaving Eric alone. He glanced at the bed, thinking that he should rest. The medics had given him a comprehensive plan detailing how he should be living each hour until the challenge fight. Eating (menus already provided to Cynthia), resting (exact amount of time) and training (including stretches) were all described. Too bad there wasn’t a slot for wallowing in heartache and self-pity.

What was the matter with him? Women had lied to him before. Frieda had taken on his masque, and you couldn’t get a bigger violation among masquerada. In the past when he’d discovered perfidy, he’d felt nothing but simple anger. Not this agonizing bone-deep pain.

Caro had been different, he admitted. She had been unique. He had trusted her. Wanted her. Loved making her laugh.

Loved her?

Now she was gone. It was goodbye but he couldn’t bring himself to say good riddance.