all yours, but he’s a masquerada. You don’t even know that’s what he looks like in real life. He also seems dedicated to his job.” Caro stretched and felt her vertebrae pop alarmingly.
“Doesn’t matter what he looks like in real life, as long as he can look like that some of the time. It’s fun dating masquerada. You never get bored, you know? Always something new to try. That is, if they’re able to get over themselves. They can be snooty bastards.” Estelle pulled out a jeweled compact and pouted into the mirror. “I love this red.”
“You’re like a parody of a vampire.”
“I know.” Estelle looked delighted. “Hiding in plain sight. Who do you think started the goth trend anyway?”
“No way.”
“Zombie walks? Halloween? All arcana, girl.” The vampire winked, then pulled on her gigantic Prada sunglasses. “Anyway, don’t stay too late and set the alarm when you go. You’re the last one.”
Caro waved goodbye and turned to her computer. Two more things to tie up and she was done for the day. As she began typing, the phone rang. She answered it without checking the caller ID.
“Caro speaking.”
“Caro, it’s Eric. Eric Kelton.”
Her heart thumped hard, and she couldn’t speak.
“This is Caro Yeats?”
Pull it together. He’ll think you’re a nut. “Yes, sorry, you surprised me.”
“Of course. I wanted to check in with you. To make sure everything was in place.” Eric’s voice was deep and rich and Caro realized her eyes were shut. In a moment, she was back in that dark room, stretched out with him, skin on skin. No, Caro, come on!
“I’m finalizing some confirmations and we’re set,” she managed. “Stephan has all the details.”
“I spoke with him. The work you’ve done is impressive. Julien is lucky to have you.”
She tried to laugh naturally and was morbidly aware she probably sounded like a twit. “I’ll pass that on to him.”
“I’ll do that myself.” There was a long pause. “There was something else I wanted to discuss, about this morning. What happened.”
Caro picked up a pen and twirled it around her fingers. When she was a journalist, she had forced herself to develop an easy comfort with silence. People hated silence, and often would rush in to fill in the gap. She had gotten some of her best quotes that way. Now, the pause continued so long she wondered if he was still there, but decided to wait him out. Her mind’s eye pictured him the way she’d seen him as she left—shirtless, his smooth hard chest rippling with toned muscle and the blanket draped over his shoulders, begging to be pulled off. She felt the heat rise off her skin when she remembered how that body felt pressed against her, and in her.
Finally he spoke. “The convergence. When you appeared in my mind.”
She still didn’t speak.
“Dammit, Caro, are you even there? This is hard enough.” He sounded both frustrated and amused.
Caro gave in. “I’m listening.”
“I’d like it to stay between us,” he said. “I should have mentioned it before you left. Not the actual convergence, although it’s important that stay confidential. I refer to the more, ah, private experience.”
She bristled. “I didn’t broadcast it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It was an unfortunate occurrence,” Eric said easily. “I apologize and assure you it won’t happen again.”
There. She knew it had meant nothing. Caro was torn between hurt resentment and cynical amusement at his assurance that there would be no future interludes in a mystical cavern located in his mind. Finally she settled on a neutral answer: “Okay.”
“Okay.” He sounded relieved. “Good.” There was a long pause before he spoke again. “What happened—that’s never happened to me before.”
Now she was intrigued. “That’s the first time you experienced a convergence?”
He laughed wryly. “You usually don’t survive long enough to have it happen twice.”
Caro remembered how he had collapsed. “Can this happen to any masquerada?”
There was a pause. “You don’t seem to know much about us, for someone who works with arcana. And must be arcana herself, to work at JDPR.”
She went immediately on the defensive. “Masquerada aren’t the only group I work with.” She wouldn’t respond to the implicit question about her heritage and knew enough that he wouldn’t ask outright—it would cross arcana etiquette.
He laughed. “No, but we do think we’re the most important.” There was a small note of self-deprecation in his voice.
He was right, now that she thought about it. She remembered the many little digs she’d heard about masquerada from other arcana. She’d never bothered to probe too deeply into the reasons behind it, happy to have her own biases confirmed. In fact, it was strange how little she knew about the arcane world at all, despite both working in it and being a half-blood. It could be denial, or it could be a nasty indication of how much she had changed from her former self, when she was Lynn Butler, ace reporter. Julien had hinted that she shouldn’t ask too many questions about the inner lives of the clients. Her real value, he’d indicated, was her human-world perspective. Lynn would have taken the hint as a challenge and learned everything she could about vampires, weres, masquerada, mers and the rest.
Look at you now, a little voice mocked. Working in an impossible world that most people don’t even know exists and taking it for granted.
A little spark rose in her. The hell with that. Fuck Julien and his hints. She wasn’t going to stay as that half-dead, incurious woman. That was over.
She’d corner Estelle later to learn about the bloodsuckers. Today, she was going to learn about masquerada.
“Why is that?”
“Why are we self-centred as hell?”
“I wouldn’t have phrased it like that. But yes.” Being on the phone gave her a sense of intimacy. It was the two of them, focused on each other’s voices and words. No distractions.
“It’s a good question.” A long pause. “If you ask some of us, it’s because we have a natural superiority to the other arcana. The weres are barely one step up from animals, mers are flighty, and the fey can’t be trusted. Vamps feed on blood, which is disgusting. I could continue.”
She drummed her fingers on the table. “You can’t possibly believe that.”
“No, but unfortunately many of my people do. I think it’s because of the nature of our culture. Masquerada spend a large amount of time seriously assessing their place and status, and your status is directly related to your masquing ability. The stronger the better.”
“Why?”
He laughed. “You tell me. Every arcane group has its own way of determining status. For us it’s masquing. For the weres it’s physical strength, although many of my people could match a were in a fight. You can’t deny it happens with humans.”
“No, but…” she paused. There was no but. Eric was right. Power and strength drove humans as well as masquerada. “You’re right.”
“Naturally.”
They both laughed. There was more to learn, though. On to the next question.
* * * *
By the time Eric hung up, he felt as though he’d been put through a wringer. Three minutes through the conversation, it was as though Caro had flicked a