The Shifters
Page 21

And still nothing but silence from beyond the wall.
And then—finally—Ryder said, “I’ll leave her alone, brother. Just don’t interfere with my investigation.”
Caitlin felt his words like a white-hot blow. He doesn’t care, then. It was nothing serious. He was only toying with me, and Jagger knew it.
She felt as if her whole heart had dropped out of her body, felt like a complete fool, used and discarded like so much garbage.
“Right,” Jagger said. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”
“I’ll be there,” Ryder answered roughly, and then Caitlin heard footsteps, two sets going in opposite directions, quickly fading down the street.
She leaned back against the fountain, sick with betrayal—and grief.
Somehow she made her way back to Fiona’s rooms, knowing that she had to go on, to act as if everything was normal and fine. She had to make everyone think she was all right.
The table was already cleared, the dishes put away, and Fiona and Shauna were in the living room, talking, Shauna as usual prowling the room like a wild animal. She stopped in her tracks when Caitlin entered from the garden door.
“And where did you just go off to? Or should I say ‘get off’? What’s going on with you and that shapeshifter, anyway?”
Her younger sister wasn’t teasing. Caitlin could feel the sharpness of the question underneath the joke.
“Nothing’s going on with him,” Caitlin said coldly. “He has prior knowledge of the walk-ins. We need to know what he knows, whatever he’s telling the truth about, which may not be much. That’s all.”
Sensing a storm brewing, Fiona stepped in smoothly. “We need a Council meeting. I for one think Mallory is telling the truth, and we need to prepare ourselves, and root out these walk-ins any way we can.” She looked at Caitlin penetratingly as she asked the next question.
“You don’t have any reason to doubt that whatever happens will happen on Samhain, do you?”
Caitlin met her eyes, answered reluctantly. “No. I think we need to be ready for a mass possession on Samhain, if we don’t act before then.”
Fiona looked at both her sisters. “Then let’s move.”
Chapter 17
Ever since restaurateur Armand St. Pierre had assumed the position of head counselor of the shapeshifting community, shifter-called Council meetings had taken on a sumptuous elegance far beyond the usual freewheeling style of the Communities. St. Pierre owned the historic restaurant Viola’s, catercornered to Jackson Square. It had been an old Creole mansion, and now the downstairs rooms served as an upscale restaurant—closed to the public tonight—famous for its Sunday jazz breakfasts, and the upper level, with its polished cypress floors and enormous fireplaces in every room, was rented out as a banquet hall for parties. It was a perfect gathering place for Council meetings, as the upstairs had several discreet back entrances, and the entire floor was completely private, its own self-contained universe, more than big enough for the dozens of Others who gathered for a meeting of the appointed Council representatives of the various races. And the food St. Pierre provided was so excellent that not even the werewolves complained about the upper-crust surroundings.
Caitlin loved Viola’s because of its timelessness. The upstairs was like a tour through history: the stairwell where Gregorian chants played continuously, so softly, subconsciously, that it felt like a dream, like ghost music; the red-wallpapered Victorian bordello rooms with their gilt mirrors and horsehair couches, and even an Egyptian sarcophagus; and the elegant banquet halls, one room flowing into another with twenty-foot-tall doors separating them, and marble fireplaces in each hall.
When St. Pierre hosted, he demanded formal dress at the Council meetings. While there was no way technically to enforce the dress code, New Orleans residents being costume fetishists at heart, a surprising number of the Others complied, even went full-out and got competitive in their period elegance.
Armand particularly expected to see the three Keepers setting the bar in the costume department, and even Shauna, who favored jeans and tank tops, would not have denied him. If a little lace and perfume kept the shapeshifters’ high counsel happy, it was worth an extra hour spent dressing.
And despite the seriousness of the occasion, after phoning, emailing and racing around the city all day to ensure that all the Council members would be present at the impromptu summit, all three Keepers were looking forward to a party.
The MacDonald sisters, particularly Fiona, had a long-term association with the best costumer in the Quarter, Rosalyn Connor, who met the three sisters at Viola’s with some of her best vintage Creole finery.
Now Caitlin stood in one of the bordello rooms with her hands propped against the wall as Fiona laced her up into a corset. Rosalyn was handling Shauna, who muttered darkly about this part, but Caitlin loved the pretty clothes and the excuse to wear them. Rosalyn had as usual outdone herself, and the sisters’ dresses were beaded confections of silver, lilac and gold.
“Someone could try explaining to me how these instruments of torture are supposed to help us think better,” Shauna grumbled, as Rosalyn yanked her corset strings. “Cutting off the oxygen to our brains…”
“Anything that will make you talk less and listen more,” Fiona said tartly.
“Hah-hah.” Shauna pulled away from Rosalyn and adjusted her bosom, unperturbed. She glanced in the mirror, and Caitlin could see she wasn’t displeased with what she saw; the golds and reds of her gown made her exotic coloring shimmer.
“Thanks, Roz. You’re a miracle.” Shauna kissed the costumer’s cheek quickly, and escaped the room.
Fiona had finally finished Caitlin’s stays and tied them off, tucking the strings into the bodice. “That was too easy,” she said to Caitlin, frowning. “You’re not eating, are you?”
Rosalyn was pulling the silver dress off the form that had held it. “Girls in love don’t eat,” the irrepressible costumer quipped, and Caitlin felt herself redden. Luckily Rosalyn had already dropped the dress over her head, so no one could see the tears springing to her eyes.
He doesn’t want me. It’s just a job. She swallowed and forced a scoffing tone. “With a shapeshifter? Not in this lifetime,” she retorted, her voice muffled under yards of gossamer fabric.
Beyond the dress, there was a suspicious silence. Caitlin felt hands tugging the gown down over her corset and petticoats, and as her head and shoulders emerged, she caught a glimpse of Fiona giving Rosalyn a significant look.
Rosalyn snatched up a velvet shawl and said loudly, “That Shauna—she left behind the most important part. You can button the dress for Cait, can’t you?” she said to Fiona, and promptly headed for the door, tossing a “You look beautiful, baby,” over her shoulder as she bustled out.
Caitlin’s eyes narrowed. “I know you two are up to—” Then Fiona turned Caitlin toward the mirror, and Caitlin fell silent as she saw herself in shimmering silver. It was a stunning dress; she felt as beautiful as she’d ever felt in her whole life.
“It would be a shame to waste all that gorgeousness tonight,” Fiona remarked, as she started to do up the buttons.
“Are you pushing me toward a shifter?” Caitlin demanded in disbelief. “I swear, that vampire has fried your brain.”
“I’m not pushing anyone anywhere,” Fiona demurred.
Liar. But I’m just not like you. No one will ever feel that way about me.
“And don’t call him ‘that vampire,’” her sister added, with a coolness that made Caitlin pause. Fiona so rarely lost her temper that Caitlin knew to be very careful if there was even a hint that she might.
“Sorry,” Caitlin muttered, and turned away, tucking her gris-gris bag into the bodice of her dress.
Fiona sighed. “Caitlin, we work with Others. We will always work with Others. But even if we didn’t, are we really serving anyone by thinking of them as Others to begin with? We share the planet with them. We share this city with them. We want the same things—music, good food, good times. Happiness. Love.” She paused.
“I know you’ve been hurt,” she continued carefully, and her hands were gentle as she continued to button the dress up Caitlin’s back. “But you could have been hurt just as hard by a mortal. We fall in love, we make mistakes—that’s life. We’re all doing the best we can.”
Caitlin found her throat aching, tears pushing at her eyes.
Fiona laughed softly. “It’s scary, isn’t it?”
Caitlin nodded, unable to speak.
“Every day since I met Jagger, I’m scared to death,” Fiona said, but she was laughing as she spoke, her happiness evident.
Choked up though she was, Caitlin was able to laugh with her.
Fiona hugged her from behind.
“This shifter—you may not think so, but he cares about you. He sees you.” She paused, glanced in the mirror at their dual reflection, and continued wryly. “And you’re not always the easiest person to get.” She stopped again, then continued slowly. “But I think he does. And sometimes love is about someone who is willing to see you—and love you despite everything.”
Caitlin’s emotions were roiling, and she didn’t trust herself to speak. Fiona was almost never wrong. Could she possibly be right, now?
Fiona had reached the top button, and now she smoothed down the back of Caitlin’s gown with a satisfied look in the mirror.
“All I want is for you to be happy. And you’ll never be happy without someone who’s your equal—and who loves you. That’s all I’m saying, and I’ll stop now. It’s all about love.”
The sisters were silent, looking at each other in the mirror, through a shimmer of candlelight—and tears.
Ryder milled in the throngs of Others crowding the elegant rooms of Viola’s, experiencing a heady rush of memories, all the reasons he had always loved New Orleans.
For someone who had lived almost two centuries, the city was an intoxicating mix of the old and the new. Ryder’s nostalgia and his hunger for new ideas were equally satisfied and stimulated by the mix of styles, foods, music and attendees at this sumptuous party. Armand St. Pierre was a superlative host. No surprise. Beings who had lived through several generations became adept at culling the most intriguing, lavish, stimulating, daring trends of each era and combining them to create multilayered extravaganzas of visual, sensual, auditory, olfactory and gastronomic sensations.