Masked Possession. Alana Delacroix

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СКАЧАТЬ didn’t remember ordering anything lately, but that wasn’t unusual. Late night online shopping had led to some of his most treasured purchases, such as a room fan shaped like a pineapple. It helped keep some surprises in his life.

      Stephan pushed the door open. “It’s almost nine, so Julien D’Aurant will be here shortly,” he said. “Do you think he’ll have something good?”

      Eric fell into the one of the chairs and stretched. It had been a long, fitful night of ominous dreams. He’d finally gotten out of bed at four in the morning to go for a run in the hopes of calming himself and restoring order to his increasingly chaotic thoughts. His mental state fluctuated between intense desires to play video games or bake scones or going to networking events—all traits from his masques that should come out only when he was in them. The exercise had helped but he knew time was running short.

      Taking on Alex’s masque yesterday had been a mistake.

      “As long as it’s fast.” Perhaps Julien would bring Caro. One of Eric’s dreams had featured her straddling him, her face shadowed and eyes shut in ecstasy. That had been the only bright spot of the night.

      Stephan walked to the window and gazed out onto the street. “Was it worth it, taking on so many masques that you brought yourself to this point?”

      Eric didn’t bother pretending he didn’t understand. Nor could he resent the question. It was valid. He’d wanted to show he could do it, but there was another, darker reason. “It was,” he said simply. “It got me through le vide.”

      Le vide. An extra few hundred years of living could pull a number on mental well-being. Masquerada dreaded the touch of that chilling emptiness almost as much as they feared convergence.

      Stephan examined him with sharp eyes and nodded. “Okay, then,” he said, and mercifully left the subject alone. “I wish you would consider letting me call in Frieda Hanver.”

      “You know how I feel about Frieda.”

      “She’s skilled in convergence and owes you allegiance, despite what happened. I think we can trust her.”

      “You do?”

      “Trust her now,” Stephan amended. “She’s been on excellent behavior since the High Council’s punishment.”

      Eric considered this. Frieda. Absolutely she was skilled, one of their best healers. She was also an incredibly talented and manipulative liar.

      “She’s been doing a special study of convergence lately,” Stephan said. “There’s no one more knowledgeable in North America.”

      Tom pushed open the door, his large hand swamping a delicate porcelain cup. The smell of Darjeeling wafted in.

      Eric nodded a greeting. “What do you know about Frieda Hanver’s latest doings?”

      “Not hearing much about her, these days,” Tom said immediately. “She’s keeping a low profile, concentrating on her work. She’s well-connected with the old lineages.”

      “Trustworthy?” Eric asked.

      Tom thought about this. “It depends on what you were trusting her with. She takes her healer vows seriously. She’s good at what she does. You can never guarantee it, but it looks as if the punishment put the fear of God into her. I’ve used her to help injured team members.”

      “You have?”

      “She fixed Amit’s back when he fell from the wall practicing in the Throne Room recently.”

      “You practice in the Throne Room?”

      “We do drills everywhere you are on a regular basis.”

      Eric glanced at Stephan. “Fine. Keep her in mind and do some background work to see if there’s anything we can get from her research without bringing her in. The fewer people who know about this the better.”

      “Understood.”

      Eric picked up scissors and began to cut through the tape on the package. Tom frowned and put his teacup down on a shelf lined with books. “What’s that?”

      “Not sure. Came this morning.”

      “Stop.”

      When Tom spoke in that tone, even Eric listened. He paused and glanced up. Tom’s eyes were as steady on the package as a predator’s that had sighted its evening meal.

      “Sire. Put the scissors down and move away. Slowly.”

      Stephan came to full attention as Eric did as Tom ordered. “What is it?”

      Tom didn’t move. “Could be nothing. Could be something. Eric, Stephan, out in the hall.” He followed, then pulled the door shut and barked an order into his phone.

      “We’re going to leave and let my team work.” Tom angled his head down the corridor.

      “Agreed.” Eric led the way out and down to the main security command room, which was reinforced and protected. On the way they passed a team of hazmat-suited and body-armored masquerada. Tom put out a general order to all the staff to head to the basement. The three men stood silently for a minute when they reached the command room.

      “That package had something to do with Iverson?” Eric cursed himself for being careless.

      “Might be. There were no courier marks on the package. Better to be cautious. I increased our security. There’s still nothing concrete, but it looks like it’s true that he’s back and active.”

      “Assume it’s true.” Eric checked the security video of the library but all he saw was people moving purposefully around. “Even if it’s nothing, there’s something going on in the city under his direction.”

      Tom’s phone beeped and he picked it up. “Understood.” His eyes stayed vigilant, but he relaxed somewhat. “Eric, we can go up.”

      “Is it safe for the staff?” Stephan said. At Tom’s nod, he sent the all clear signal.

      Back in the library, the security team stood in a small knot around the desk, murmuring quietly. They moved aside when the three men entered.

      “What the hell is that?” Stephan stared at the open box in astonishment.

      “It’s a knife, sir.” Eric thought it might be Mai, but it was hard to tell through the helmet she wore over her head. “A bloodstained knife.”

      “Whose blood?” Stephan demanded.

      “Iverson’s.” Eric knew this blade, with its familiar notch on the hilt and the engraved E on the pommel.

      Stephan’s eyes flickered over it. “Jesus. Don’t tell me.”

      “It’s my knife, the one I used to slice his throat.” Eric glanced up at the security team. “Thank you. Take the knife and check it over. I want it back.”

      Getting the hint, the team saluted and left the room with the knife and the packaging. Eric waited СКАЧАТЬ