Masked Possession. Alana Delacroix

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СКАЧАТЬ to keep the arcane world a secret after all, Caro reflected. What normal person would admit to believing it?

      Chapter 2

      “We’ve got a problem.”

      Eric Kelton stood looking through the elegantly mullioned, bulletproof windows of his library to the street below. A line of bicyclists were taking advantage of the lovely spring morning and he could hear the faint, tinny rings of their bells, occasionally interrupted by a car’s horn or some random insults. He’d fallen in love with this graceful street of large Victorian houses and it still lifted his spirits to see humans busily going about their lives.

      He stretched and joined his lieutenant, Stephan Daker, at the ornate desk. As usual, neat piles of paper covered its surface. “We’ve always got problems,” Eric said.

      “True. That’s why you get the big bucks, sire.”

      “Don’t call me sire.” The formality that came with being a Hierarch was one of the things that drove Eric nuts and Stephan knew it. Naturally, he took every opportunity to rub it in.

      “Yes, sire.”

      Eric ignored that one. “I’m dealing with something personal that’s a little complicated now. How bad is this other trouble?”

      “Bad,” Stephan announced. “But since you mentioned it, let’s talk about your other issue first. I noticed something this morning and I think you can shed some light on it.”

      He moved to the bank of monitors on the other side of the long room. Eric followed warily, watching as Stephan turned them on. Each broadcast a familiar face—all were Eric’s current masques. On the screens, the images Stephan had captured showed them wearing identical smiles, or making matching gestures.

      Dangerous similarities that meant something was very wrong.

      “You know,” Eric said finally.

      “I know now. You should have told me.”

      “I’ve got it covered.”

      Stephan banged the desk with the palm of his hand hard enough to make the monitors jump. “Dammit, Eric, you’re converging!”

      “The hell I am.” The denial came too quickly and too harshly. In response, Stephan pointed at the monitors. He didn’t have to say a word. The proof was there.

      Convergence. Every masquerada’s nightmare. Eric ran his hand through his tangled hair. He thought he’d hidden it, but clearly he’d done a piss-poor job. Then he swallowed hard at the thought of convergence. It wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let it happen.

      Stephan glared at him with barely concealed fury. “You have no right to put yourself in such danger,” he rumbled. “When were you going to tell me? When you were curled up on the floor with four heads? I told you five masques were too many at one time, even for you.”

      “It’s not a big deal.” Eric deliberately kept his eyes away from the monitors. “I’m nowhere near a convergence. I can handle it.”

      He could, too. He was four hundred years old, for God’s sake, and he’d created more masques than he could remember. Those hundreds of masques provided enough practice to keep any masquerada in check. The ones Stephan had pulled up on the screen were simply his latest creations.

      He was still in control. In complete and total control.

      Stephan jabbed his finger at the screens. “Refresh my memory. I could have sworn you created these masques to be completely different.”

      Eric glared at him. “What’s your point?”

      “My point is that they’re acting like goddamn clones!”

      A brisk rap sounded at the door and Thomas Minor, Eric’s head of security, came in. Even here, in the safety of Eric’s main house, he remained fully armed and, as usual, scanned the room as soon as he entered.

      “Tom, come over here and tell us what you see.” Stephan nodded at the screens.

      Tom gave the images on the monitors a quick glance, then paused and frowned as he examined them more intently. “You should have told us, sire,” he said after a long silence. “You know what this means.” His hand rasped as he ran it over the dark stubble covering his head.

      “Well, Eric?” Stephan demanded.

      His lieutenant and security chief looked at him expectantly. Shit. Eric grimaced. That he resented they even suggested there was a problem was bad news. Masquerada needed to keep some emotional distance from the masques they took on—his defensiveness was a strong indicator that he had dug himself in too deep. Stephan and Tom had both warned him not to take on any more masques but he’d insisted on pushing himself to the limit, then over it.

      It was time to man up and deal.

      “It’s possible that I have unconsciously become more attached to these masques than is wise,” he allowed. “It is also possible I took on more than I should have.”

      “And?” Stephan prodded.

      “I can fix it.” Eric shrugged. “I will fix it.”

      Stephan bit his lip, clearly fighting a strong urge to ask the obvious question: So why haven’t you done it yet? Instead he tossed over a little gray-and-yellow rectangle.

      Eric picked it up. “What’s this?” What appeared to be high-quality paper stock was actually thin plastic. A business card.

      “The man who’s going to solve your problem.”

      “Julien D’Aurant. JDPR.” Eric rolled his eyes. “You want me to see a PR guy?”

      “He came highly recommended. The vamps used him when they had a rogue.”

      “What’s he going to do, write a press release for me?”

      “They do more than PR. They’re problem solvers.” Stephan folded his huge arms across his chest and leveled an unblinking stare at Eric. The silence in the room grew heavy until Tom cleared his throat uncomfortably.

      “Ah, sire? I think Stephan has a point.”

      “Stop calling me sire.”

      “You are one of the Seven, sire,” Tom said respectfully. The Seven were the ruling Hierarchs of the masquerada nations.

      Eric frowned. Sometimes respect for the position got in the way of what he needed to hear. “Not in this room. Here I need honesty and realistic assessments.”

      His head of security nodded. “Okay then, Eric, I think you are royally fucking up by not dealing with the possibility of convergence seriously and immediately.”

      “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Stephan said with approval.

      Tom plowed ahead. “A possible convergence is a security issue and needs to be dealt with,” he said. “You could be incapacitated at any moment.”

      Eric looked at the business card that was now СКАЧАТЬ