All her shoes. As far as he could tell, when she stood up, she carried in her arms every pair that she had brought on the trip.
As she caught sight of him, she muttered, “I’m so behind. I thought I was going to wear either the midnight blue dress or the silk pantsuit, but now neither one seems right, and I can’t make up my mind!”
She threw her armful of shoes on the floor beside the bed.
He walked up behind her and put his arms around her. Her body vibrated with tension. He tightened his grip on her. The hot curlers hampered his desire to put his mouth in her hair, so instead, he put his mouth to the hollow where her neck met her shoulder.
“You’re wound a little tight there, lover,” he murmured.
“Yeah, sorry. I’ve downed a bucket of coffee today.” She leaned back against him. “All of them are going to be here, Dragos—all of them under our roof.”
“I know.” He pressed a kiss against her warm skin.
“Has that ever happened before?”
“No, it hasn’t. We’ve had a majority of leaders at functions and meetings before, but not every head of state in the continental U.S. at once.”
She gave a reluctant chuckle. “You could have told me a reassuring lie. I’m sorry I’m being such a flake. I was fine until about fifteen minutes ago, and then I dissolved into this big ball of nerves.”
“You’re going to be amazing tonight,” he told her. Pia didn’t have a fancy political science degree, but she had good instincts about people, so he asked curiously, “I meant to ask you earlier but forgot—what did you think of Johnson when you danced together?”
The tension in her body eased somewhat. “You know, I liked him. Of course we didn’t talk about anything very important, and I know he’s known for being charming, but still he seems to have a core of real decency. He didn’t try to disguise his scent, and just the fact that he asked me to dance says that he has a moderate stance to us—not only the Wyr, but also the Elder Races in general, I think.”
He nodded slightly, while still maintaining contact on her skin with his mouth. “That’s been my impression too. I think he’s genuinely concerned about the outbreaks of violence that have occurred over the last two years, and he wants to work together to minimize the risk of further violence in the future. And another positive—neither he, nor his wife, are participating in the Right to Privacy movement.”
“It sounds like you had a productive day today,” she said, reaching back to stroke his cheek.
“We did, I think.” He lifted his head to consider the outfits strewn over the bed. “Wear the midnight blue dress. The blue almost matches your eyes, and I like how you look in it.”
She let out a big sigh that sounded relieved. “I should let you pick out all my outfits this week. It’ll save me a lot of time.”
He grinned. “As long as I get to pick out your lingerie too, you’re on.”
“Okay, but you’d better hurry,” she muttered. “I mean it. I’m going to be downstairs in twenty minutes. Other people can afford to be late, but not the hosts.”
Obligingly, he turned to the dresser that held her intimate apparel. As he did so, his gaze fell on the small boxes on the nearby table. He asked, “By the way, what are these boxes?”
She threw a glower at the boxes as she rushed to the vanity table to pull out the hot curlers. “They’re antihistamines for my rash.”
“So it hasn’t disappeared yet?”
“No,” she sighed. “Maybe it will be gone by tomorrow.”
He pulled out a dark blue bra and matching panties, relishing the feel of the silken material. Later, he would take these off her after she stepped out of that shimmery dress. At the thought, his cock stood at attention, but she was right. He didn’t have time to indulge the urge.
Later, he promised himself.
Turning around to offer the lingerie to her, he asked, “Have the antihistamines helped any?”
“Sort of. The itching is a little better, at least so that I can ignore it when I’m busy, but the rash hasn’t gone. I called Dr. Medina, but she was in an emergency, so if the rash isn’t gone by morning, I’ll call her again.” She snatched the lingerie from him, pulled off her dressing gown and dressed swiftly.
He had to look away from the luscious sight of her tucking her full, pale breasts into that sexy bra. Focusing on her leg instead, he frowned at how much skin the dark red rash covered. “Call her anyway, even if the rash calms down. I want to know what she has to say.”
“Okay.” She shimmied into the dress and put her back to him. “Zip me up?”
“With pleasure.” He helped her with the zipper and placed a final kiss at the back of her neck. Then he changed into a clean suit, a darker one more suitable for the evening, and as they left the bedroom, the dragon surfaced again in his mind.
He had once been much more feral, but age had taught him how to appreciate the more delicate aspects of warfare conducted over a well-cooked meal.
Because he had no doubt of it—while some of his guests tonight would be more moderate and open-minded, other guests were definitely waging war against him.
Tonight was his best chance to study them in order to discover the best way to defeat them.
If that included destroying them in the process, well then, so be it.
* * *
As the first of the guests arrived in a flurry of greetings, for the dozenth time that day, Pia did another mental head count of everybody attending.
The humans attending were the president, vice president, their respective chiefs of staff, the Senate majority and minority leaders, and the speaker of the House, along with all their spouses or plus ones.
On the Elder Races side—and even though Isalynn LeFevre was human, as head of the witches demesne, she counted personally and politically as one of the Elder Races—all seven of the demesne leaders were present, along with their spouses or plus ones.
Neither the Elder tribunal nor any of the members of the Supreme Court were involved in this week’s talks, just those involved in active governance.
So there were fourteen and fourteen. Then there was the security staff, but they didn’t count in terms of making sure glasses were refilled and seating arrangements at the dinner table.
Big and stately though the mansion was, it didn’t have the sheer space or capacity to hold the high numbers that the White House could, and after some discussion and negotiation, most of everybody’s security details awaited them outside, while each couple was allowed one person indoors, which made thirteen extra bodies to account for as a total head count.
Dragos and Pia’s security didn’t factor into that number, for their security staff was also the waitstaff. They threaded through the guests, offering hors d’oeuvres, wine and mixed drinks with polite smiles and watchful, smiling eyes. No expense had been spared for this evening. Five hundred dollar bottles of wine flowed like water, and only the highest quality liquors were offered to those who chose to partake.
When someone—Pia didn’t catch who—suggested they open the large French-style doors and enjoy the unseasonably warm evening outside, Dragos moved to open the doors up and people spilled out onto the wide terrace.
In anticipation of doing just that, earlier that afternoon, when they were sure the weather was going to hold, Pia had worked with the staff to set out tables covered with white cloths, bouquets of fresh flowers and candles. After the doors had been opened, Bayne walked from table to table, lighting candles, until the terrace and the half-acre of manicured gardens were lit with sparks of soft, golden light.
Sipping with moderation at a glass of French Bordeaux, Pia circulated too, joining conversations briefly with small clusters of people before moving on to the next, while her gaze kept roaming constantly to make sure everyone was getting his or her needs met.
Aside from polite smiles and the most basic greeting, she avoided the vice president and her husband altogether—she wouldn’t be able to change the Coltons’ minds ab
out anything, and she felt no need to engage with them. Thankfully they were Dragos’s problem, not hers, and while she was happy to work to support him in what he did, she wouldn’t change places with him for the world.
After the first forty-five minutes, the tight knot between her shoulder blades started to ease. Relations between humankind and the Elder Races might not be improved after this week, but that wouldn’t be because of any fault in this evening.
At least she devoutly hoped not. Because, as Dragos would say, night’s not over yet.
Then Gennita, the head chef, appeared in the open French doors and said discreetly in Pia’s head, My lady? When would you like for us to serve?
How about in fifteen minutes? she replied.
Very good. I’ll put the soufflés in the oven now, and we’ll be ready. Gennita slipped away.
Pia could hear a high, constant buzzing in her ears, which was incredibly annoying. She didn’t know if it was from nerves or the antihistamines, but she had no time for either. Abruptly, she set her glass of wine aside on one of the small tables, turned and came face-to-face with Tatiana, the immaculate, chic and—at least to her—rather frightening Light Fae Queen.
“I’ve always envied Dragos this property,” Tatiana told Pia, as she sipped a glass of sparkling wine. “Dragos certainly made all the right decisions at the right time when he bought the land and hired the architect. Now, of course, the place would sell for tens of millions of dollars—not that he’s in the market to sell it, of course. But if he ever is, do get in touch with me, won’t you?”
The Light Fae Queen wore a backless dress the deep, rich color of claret. It emphasized her golden skin, hourglass figure, and the dark curling hair she had pinned high at the back of her head. Secretive shadows seemed to flicker in her lovely, famous eyes, or perhaps that was just the effect of the night breeze on the nearby candles.
There were actually only twelve attendees on the Elder Races side, as Tatiana’s only companion that evening was the captain of her guard, Shane Mac Carthaigh. Or was he her plus one? He was certainly doing double duty that evening, but Pia wasn’t sure how to categorize him socially.
The Light Fae Queen showed not a single hint of discomfort at the evening’s gathering, either in her beautiful, composed face or in her scent, while Pia felt circles of damp sweat soaking in her dress under her arms.
Envying the other woman her poise, she told Tatiana, “We’ll be sure to let you know, if he ever decides to sell. I think I’ve stuck my head in every room and closet now, at least once, and everything is this beautiful. The attention to detail is everywhere.”
“I can imagine.” Tatiana studied her. “You interest me, young woman. You have a very interesting story that you’ve chosen not to share with the world. Dragos must see something very special about an herbivore of unknown nature. I always thought if he were to mate, it would be with one of the long-lived predators.”
Pia slid a wary sidelong glance at the other woman. Instead of indulging in polite pleasantries, the Light Fae Queen had zeroed in on one of the Cuelebres’ most touchy subjects.
Instead of getting more nervous, however, Pia suddenly relaxed. Both she and Dragos had been dodging questions like that from theWyr for the last eighteen months, and while she used to fumble much more in the beginning, by necessity she’d had to learn to grow a thick skin about the topic.
She gave Tatiana a smile. “You know, I would have thought that too, but it’s funny how things work out. Speaking of which, I’ve been meaning to ask you—is Captain Shane your plus one, or your bodyguard for the evening?”
“Does he have to be one or the other?” Tatiana’s smiling gaze met hers over the rim of her champagne flute.
“In reality, of course not,” Pia told her. “But for dinner plans, yes, I’m afraid he does. Will he be joining us at the table?”
“He would be welcome to, as far as I’m concerned, but I think he would prefer to stand guard.”
She inclined her head in thanks. “That’s what I needed to know. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go make a slight adjustment to the table.”
“Of course,” Tatiana replied. “You’re on duty too, this evening. Everything is lovely, by the way. I do hope we get a chance to chat further sometime this week.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Pia told her. As she left the other woman on the terrace, she muttered soundlessly to herself, Not if I have anything to say about it, we won’t.
The Light Fae Queen was too curious about things that didn’t concern her, and she didn’t appear to have any compunction about pursuing them. Pia had fended her off for now, but she didn’t have any doubt that Tatiana would circle back around to the subject if it suited her to do so.
Irritably, Pia went in search of someone to flag down to tell them about the place setting, but either the waitstaff were outside with most of the guests, or the kitchen staff were racing madly about, putting final preparations on the salmon soufflés that would be served as the first course.
Or, in Pia’s case, a vegan spinach soufflé. While Pia had no idea how to cook one, apparently there was such a thing.
After a few moments, she gave up. It would be quicker and easier if she just took care of things herself.
In any case, she could use a few minutes alone. She felt tired, strung out from all the coffee she had drunk earlier, and the buzzing in her ears was driving her crazy.
She stepped into the dining room and paused to admire the long table, decorated with runners of fresh white roses, and beautifully set with antique bone china, polished silver and cut crystal Italian glasses. Long white candles would be lit just before guests came in.
After dithering over which place setting to pull, she gently gathered up a setting in the middle of the table on the side nearest the entrance to the kitchen. Everything—crystal, china so thin she could see light through it and the silver—was original to the building of the house, kept in perfect condition, fragile and irreplaceable, so she held the pieces with nervous care.
Instead of spreading the other place settings out and disrupting the balance of the table, maybe they could find something decorative to set in the empty spot. There might be more of the white roses in the kitchen, or maybe a candle.
Hell, at this point, she didn’t care. They would throw something in the space.
Standing there, with her hands filled with bone china, silverware and crystal, her impetus ran out, while her thinking grew confused and jumbled.
The . . . there was a cabinet in the butler’s pantry. . . .
No, that butler’s pantry was in their home in upstate New York. Not in this house.
She blinked down at the pretty, foreign pieces in her hands. She couldn’t remember where anything went.
“This doesn’t matter,” she muttered grimly, as the wheels in her head ground to a halt and refused to move. “Solve it and move on.”
Someone in the kitchen would know what to do with the place setting. They could take care of it after they dealt with the soufflés. For now, she could just shove it in a closet somewhere.
There weren’t any closets in the dining room, so she hurried out into the hall. There was a rear closet in the hall, in an area near the kitchen, that held a built-in, hidden secretary desk where historically the housekeeper had kept household records. At least her tired brain remembered that much. It would do for now.
As she came within a few feet of the closet door, she smelled blood.
Fresh blood.
Which made no sense. There were doors opening and shutting all over the house, and in any case the meat dish wasn’t going to be served until the third course. Why would the scent of blood linger in this quiet nook of the hallway?
Propping the place setting carefully under her arm, she opened the closet door, and flicked on the light as she stepped inside.
Oh, well, there was the fresh blood. Quite a lot of it, spilled in a massive puddle on the floor.
It came from the lacerated throat
of Mr. Colton, the vice president’s husband, who sat against the farthest wall in an ungainly sprawl, his head leaning far to one side. His white shirt was soaked in the blood that had pooled on the floor.
She blinked down at the wet, sticky pool of blood she stood in.
Then she set the place setting gently, oh so gently on the narrow secretary desk.
Mr. Colton still looked surprised. She wasn’t sure her legs were going to support her for much longer. The buzzing in her ears grew louder.
Dragos, she said telepathically.
Yes? Where are you? His mental voice sounded far away. I thought you were outside with us.
I was, she said. But now . . .
How exactly does one break the news to her husband that she’s standing in a closet with the dead body of one of their dinner guests?
Something’s come up, she told him. You’d better come inside.
Chapter Eight
I’m in the middle of something. He sounded impatient. Is the house on fire?
She considered that. Metaphorically, in a way, it was, with one of those sneaky house fires that smoldered in a tucked away corner but would blow their lives apart in, say, the next half hour or so.
The world wobbled, and she grabbed at the back of the chair that was tucked tight against the desk. She could feel Mr. Colton’s blood beginning to soak into her shoes.
She didn’t want to contaminate the scene any more than she already had. Swallowing hard, she eased one foot out of a shoe and stepped backward, out of the closet. As soon as she felt balanced enough on her bare foot, she stepped out of the other shoe.
Pia?
Yes, she told him. The house is actually on fire. In a manner of speaking.
Even as she said it, she heard voices as people approached.
“ . . . you are asking the wrong person to explain human behavior, Jered,” Niniane said. “Out of all of us, Pia’s the best to ask—she’s the one who lived as a human for so many years. I’m sure I saw her come this way a few minutes ago . . .”
Oh gods. Conflicting impulses careened inside.