ones, that momentary lapse of confidence was sometimes enough for them to lose control of the masque completely, a devastating show of weakness as well as a serious breach of the Law if it occurred near humans.
After stripping down, Eric gave himself a critical look in the mirror. When he became a masquerada, he had kept his original human appearance as his core self: dark wavy hair, brown eyes, and skin that was naturally tan. Some decided on a new masque and never looked back, leaving their original physical selves for slowly disappearing memory.
He turned away from the mirror with the suit draped over his arm. The usual fission of eagerness at taking on Alexander’s masque was edged with a new sense of danger. It was stupid to shift into a possibly converging masque. He knew it. Shit, everyone knew it. If there was a masquerada Ten Commandments, that would be number one. He forced himself to shrug it off. The fear was a challenge and Eric never backed away from a challenge. It was why he was the Hierarch.
Time to take on the masque. The first step was the most crucial and he steadied himself with three deep ritual breaths. Exhaling, he concentrated on the image he wanted, a combination of Alex’s physical appearance and his presence. Eric thought of this as the who-ness of the masque, that almost indescribable sense of a person. His muscles flowed into Alexander’s taller and bulkier form like sliding through sunlight. In seconds it was complete. The next step was a thorough examination to make sure everything was as it should be. Body: two inches taller and twenty pounds heavier with thick muscles. His hair was reddish, offsetting a British pallor and piercing sapphire-blue eyes.
Stephan came in and looked at the Alex masque with narrow eyes as Eric finished knotting his tie. His lips tightened and Eric waited for the lecture about how he shouldn’t have shifted if he was close to a possible convergence. Instead, all his lieutenant said was, “Alexander leaves by the north exit.”
“Right.” Multiple masques took some serious logistics to remain undetected. After all, what were the chances that a businessman, an old woman, and a comic-book guy all lived together in the same house?
Stephan changed quickly to become Alex’s assistant, lightening his skin and eyes and turning bald with a touch of stubble. “The car’s waiting. Let’s go.”
* * * *
The phone rang as Caro finished her first round of morning emails. It was Jenna, a mermaid who, in her human form, was also one of Japan’s top models. “I’m sorry, Caro darling,” she drawled. “You know I hate bothering you.”
Caro liked Jenna, but like all merpeople, she never did anything quickly, including getting to the point. There was no rushing her either; she’d simply wait until Caro finished, then take up exactly where she had been interrupted. After talking about the weather, her latest job, and the divine seaweed udon she’d had last night, Jenna finally mentioned the problem—a photo shoot in Osaka and a possible sighting. “I couldn’t help it,” Jenna apologized. “The water there was beautiful. It had been so long since I’d had anything but bathtubs. I had to swim, Caro honey. Had to.”
Caro sighed. The mers were lovely to deal with, but they lost all self-restraint when they went near the ocean. Lakes at least didn’t seem to have the same irresistible allure.
“Not a problem,” Caro assured her. “I’ll get a team over. We’ll do the movie plan.”
“Is that the one where they pretend to be location scouts and have someone dress up like a mermaid to swim around in the water?”
“Exactly. Esther Williams style.”
“Thank you, honey. I won’t do it again. I promise.”
Caro made some soothing, I-believe-you noises. This had been Jenna’s twelfth call. The last time they’d faked a manatee sighting.
It took a little while longer to get Jenna off the phone, but within twenty minutes, Caro had briefed JDPR’s Asia field team and asked Estelle to set up the equipment and flights to Osaka. They wouldn’t worry about permits, she decided. Timeliness was more important than total authenticity. That finished, she allowed herself a brief pat on the back. It might not be the world’s most meaningful job, but at least she could find pleasure in doing it well.
Then she remembered Julien’s emergency meeting and groaned when she caught sight of the time. It had already started. Julien hated people to be late to any meeting, but to be late for one with a client was the ultimate crime. Would it be better not to show up at all? She briefly pondered the idea before deciding it would probably send Julien into apoplexy. She slid the killer heels back on her tender feet, grabbed her notepad and pen, and headed for the boardroom.
The shoji screens that surrounded the room had been soundproofed, so the hallway was dead silent except for the clicks of her heels. As Caro was about to pull open the screen, her colleague Robert walked by, papers in hand. “Aren’t you the lucky ducky today?”
“What?”
“Love the shoes. Perfect choice.” He winked and strolled on.
Most warlocks had the sartorial sense of a horse, but Robert had exquisite taste—he was in charge of all their style accounts—so a compliment from him was high praise. It gave Caro a little extra lift to her spine as she prepared to walk into the room as confidently as she could, despite her unease. It was too bad the thought of meeting any masquerada caused her to get this stupid anxiety. You’re going to have to beat that if you want to stay working here, she admonished herself. You can’t go around running away from mommy issues your whole life. Be a professional. You don’t trust masquerada? Doesn’t matter. You don’t have to trust them. You’re not in a relationship. You’re here to do the work.
On that note, she slid open the screen.
* * * *
Eric wasn’t listening to Julien what’s-his-face blather on about his theory of risk and issue management and the value of his brand equity, whatever that meant. The man was a smug bore. He telegraphed this thought through raised eyebrows to Stephan, who simply shrugged, the boardroom lights glinting off his bald head.
“The issue at hand is more than…” The screen slid slowly open to reveal a small woman holding a notepad. Julien paused and flushed red. “That is, we need to look at a multi-faceted, multi-phasic approach. Caro, nice of you to join us. Finally.”
Eric stopped listening as his attention focused completely on the woman—Caro—who now strolled into the room, wearing shoes so sexy he nearly forgot to breathe. Her chestnut-brown hair was pulled back in a low bun, accentuating high cheekbones and warm brown eyes. A black skirt pulled tight against her ass when she bent to pick up a dropped pen, showing off soft curves. Eric’s mouth went dry, and his palms sweaty.
Caro. The unique name suited her. What was she? JDPR dealt solely with arcana and had only them on staff. Masquerada? Unfortunately not—he would have been able to sense her as one of his people. Not a vampire. There wasn’t a hint of fang. A succubus? She certainly had the appeal for one.
Caro glanced around the table and he could have sworn that she steeled herself before looking closely at him. Intriguing. This was new, and definitely not how people reacted to him. Eric was used to a deliberate examination, regardless of who was doing the looking. Masquerada were rabid about testing new acquaintances to establish comparative status. Even in the human world, his technology company was big enough that he had to constantly deal with people who wanted something from him—jobs, money, deals. Caro’s obvious discomfort, even distaste, was unusual.
Not to mention that he was in his Alexander masque. Women loved Alexander.
Julien rushed through the introductions and Stephan jumped on the break to deftly pull the conversation away from Julien’s jargon-speak. “This is all interesting, but I’m not sure investing in a long-term reputation management plan is for us right now,” he said. “We need something more immediate.”
“How immediate?” Julien asked.
“Within days.”
There was a brief pause but Julien was too