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 you add in that spotter near the docks, I think it’s all covered.”
He examined her with steely eyes. Ah. Suddenly Caro understood. He was trained to protect Eric and here she was, blithely planning the deaths of his boss’s masques. It must be hard. In the interest of effective collaboration, she’d try to be more understanding.
“It’s covered.” She smiled reassuringly. “It’ll work.”
No answer except for that same icy stare. Asshole. Her commitment to being sympathetic went out the window. The phone rang and broke some of the tension: Julien, now well enough to add a few more tasks to Caro’s lengthy to-do list.
The day was intense, hectic and, Caro admitted as she sipped from her cold cup of coffee after Stephan and Asshat Tom left, one of the best she’d had in a while. Her sneakers lay abandoned under her desk and she leaned back in her chair with her feet propped up. The busy and challenging hours had flown past, and she hadn’t felt this pleasantly drained since she’d left the Post.
The work also distracted her from thinking about the craziness that had been her morning at Eric’s house. She deliberately blanked out the sheer weirdness of being in someone’s mind. The arcane world was strange and odd things happened.
Being with Eric, though. Not any masquerada, but the Hierarch. Go big or go home, Caro. Okay, they hadn’t had sex. Maybe they had. Did it count as sex? Her entire body lit up at the memory of his touch so it sure felt like something, even though it happened in someone else’s mind. She sighed. That must be a new definition of mindfuck.
It had felt—right. More than right. She made a face and drank the rest of the coffee. She had to get a grip before she tricked herself into thinking that it meant something. After all, Eric Kelton was a lot of things. Arcana. Immortal, or close enough to it. A big-name masquerada. Scratch that—a masquerada king. A client. A man so far out of her league that he might as well be living on a different planet. She should treat this as one of those lovely random fantasies that occasionally sweeten the day and be vigilant about keeping it in not-actually-going-to-happen land, where it belonged. Nevertheless, her face burned as she lingered on the memory. Was he thinking about it as she was? He’d kissed her hand. What did it mean?
“It means nothing. It was nothing,” she whispered. Stop acting like a teenager obsessing over your crush’s every word.
“What’s nothing?” Estelle asked. The vampire stood at the door of Caro’s office, her pale skin set off by the dark red lipstick covering her bee-stung lips. Sleek black hair curled forward onto her cheeks.
Caro forced herself to smile. “A problem I was figuring out. Turned out I was worrying for no reason.”
“Oh. Do you want to come out for a drink? We can go to that little place around the corner. You look like you need a break.”
It sounded good but night was coming. There was no way that she could risk it. “Can I get a rain check? I need to finish a few things.”
Estelle shrugged. “Sure. For that Stephan guy? God, he was hot.”
“Stephan?” Caro tried to remember him in detail. He was tall and muscular and she guessed he was good-looking. She hadn’t noticed.
“Are you joking? Dude was like a male model. I didn’t know men like that actually existed in real life.”
“I guess he’s attractive,” Caro said doubtfully. Maybe he was, but she hadn’t felt anything beyond