Masked Possession. Alana Delacroix

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      Stephan nodded as he took notes. “Anything else?”

      “The Hierarch can’t leave this house as any of the affected masques.”

      “That’s fine,” Eric said. The mere thought of masquing at all made him feel ill. He needed to come to grips with it himself.

      Caro gave Stephan a few more rapid instructions about possible flight times. “I need to get in touch with our field crews.” She shut down her laptop and slid it into her bag. “Stephan, I’ll call you by noon.”

      She gave Eric a quick, confused glance as she nodded farewell but that was it. He didn’t push her. She would need time to think about what had happened, as did he. She was already on her phone as Tom and Stephan walked her out.

      * * * *

      When Stephan returned alone, Eric was lying on the sofa, staring at the wall. The lieutenant didn’t beat around the bush. “Tom doesn’t trust her. He’s doing a background check. She must have some masquerada blood.”

      “Maybe.” It would make a lot of sense if there was some in her background. There were definitely statics walking around with an ancestor’s indiscretion hidden in their cells. Although most would never be affected, the masquerada line occasionally ran true.

      “What the hell happened there? Is it true?”

      “It happened,” Eric said. He didn’t want to think about the convergence and how he had come close to losing himself. Instead, he wanted to think about how good Caro felt against him, and the soft feel of her hot tongue on his skin.

      “Those masques are dead to you now,” Stephan said roughly. “You nearly converged. Christ, you did converge. You’re lucky as hell you’re not sitting there with six legs.”

      Stephan was right. He couldn’t deny it. “Okay.”

      “You can’t change into any of them again. I want the medics to check you over. No masquing at all until they give the go-ahead. None.”

      Eric nodded. “Fine.” No problem there—he was in no particular hurry to live through that again. It had been sheer luck that Caro had been there to ground him.

      “This needs to be kept quiet.” Stephan started to pace the room. “If Caro talks, we’ll be in real trouble. Iverson won’t hesitate to use this as a weapon against you.”

      “I know.”

      To Iverson and his followers, strength lay in the shifting ability. It wasn’t only them, either. Almost every masquerada believed the same thing. Those who could shift into multiple masques were automatically given a respect not accorded to those who could not, even though the ability was one masquerada were born with and was usually hereditary. Since the type of masques one could take on couldn’t be changed through hard work or practice, Eric found this class structure deplorable and unjust. He’d spent years trying to combat it. It was slow work.

      If it got out that he couldn’t shift…there would be problems.

      He sighed. At least that wouldn’t happen. He could still take on masques. All he had to do was take a few days off. The medics could be trusted to keep silent and so could Caro. He knew it. Then he caught sight of Stephan’s frown. “What now?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “You’ve got the worst poker face imaginable. Give me the rest of it.”

      Stephan looked resigned. “You won’t like it,” he warned.

      “Jesus, spit it out.”

      “I’ll say it one more time. Frieda has experience with convergence. She’s a registered healer and they take a vow of patient secrecy.”

      Eric nodded. Stephan probably had a point. “As long as she doesn’t take this as a willingness to enter a personal relationship.” Not again.

      “I’ll make it clear it’s professional and consultative only.”

      Eric rubbed his head, too tired to argue. “You win. Call her in.”

      “She must be a masquerada,” Stephan said.

      “You know she is.”

      “Caro, not Frieda. How else could she do that? Get into your mind like that?”

      “I have no idea.” Could she be? He hadn’t felt a thing from her, none of that subtle energy that helped masquerada identify each other.

      “Tom will find out. I’m curious myself.”

      “Me too,” Eric murmured.

      Though perhaps not for the same reasons.

      Chapter 9

      Back at the office, Caro called Julien, who celebrated her success by audibly retching before muttering an excuse and tossing the phone onto a table, where the clatter of its fall was mixed with the sound of his vomiting. She made a face, hung up, and spent the rest of the day in a chaotic flurry, connecting with the field teams, figuring logistics, and doing a vast amount of troubleshooting. Stephan and Tom arrived in the afternoon with the items she’d requested, and they walked through the plan several more times, testing it for weakness and filling in the gaps.

      Standing to grab herself a coffee, Caro looked down at Stephan’s notes and was astonished to see his words flowing across the page in a gorgeous copperplate script. “That’s your usual writing?”

      Stephan nodded and held up a pen that she saw had an old-fashioned nib. “I type when I need to,” he said. “I enjoy writing by hand.”

      “When did you learn? That looks like something I’d see in a museum.”

      He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a comment on my advanced age?”

      “Don’t be ridiculous.”

      “I’m joking, Ms. Yeats. I was a slave in the south and when I escaped, I got myself a tutor. This was her hand.” He squinted at the pen. “She’s long dead, but I kept the style of writing to remind me of her.”

      “I’m sorry.” The two words seemed inadequate. Caro remembered the many figures she’d seen in Eric’s mind. Like Stephan, Eric must have experienced tragedies without count.

      Stephan shrugged. “Longevity has its ups and downs. Now. What about the second mer team?”

      Caro knew a dismissal when she heard it and came back to the table. They worked for another hour. Then Caro glanced up after sending a flurry of emails. Tom stared at her with an unreadable expression.

      “Is there a problem?” she asked. The security chief had been watching her closely for most of the day and it was getting on her nerves.

      “No, ma’am.” Tom’s voice was tight.

      Who said ma’am these days? It made her feel like an old lady. Maybe it was a deliberate attempt to throw her off. “Are we missing something in the plan?”

      “If СКАЧАТЬ