Shaded Vision: An Otherworld Novel Read online

  “So that’s how you got away.” I thought for a moment. “But if Feris used teleportation to sweep the other Tregarts away, he’s going to be drained.”

  “Not necessarily. If they traveled only a short distance it won’t be nearly as debilitating as the spell’s effect on me. And remember, he’s demon. I’m Fae. They have stronger constitutions.” Shamas let out another long breath. “I don’t know why he’s here, but now that he knows I’m around, he’ll try to wreak revenge for what he sees as my betrayal.”

  I played with a napkin, wanting to be up and after the rest of the demons, but that was pretty much a bust. “What vendetta was he on? What could he have wanted to do that made you defy him? Refusing a demon is pretty much tantamount to a death warrant, especially if you’ve enlisted his help.”

  I couldn’t quite connect the dots. Shamas wasn’t stupid. He had to have known refusing Feris would cause a violent reaction. And if he was so desperate to work magic, then wouldn’t he have taken on any task?

  “I don’t want to say.” Shamas set his lips. I remembered that pout from childhood. Shamas had gotten his way far more than once by playing a pout.

  “Tell us, Shamas. We need to know. It might have something to do with why the Tregarts are here.”

  “All right. I’m tired of hiding. But you’ll hate me.” His gaze flickering away, he blushed and hung his head. “Feris was planning to lead a group of sorcerers up to Y’Elestrial, where they were going to attack the grove of the Moon Mother.”

  Camille gasped, her eyes flaring with anger. “Shamas, how could you?”

  “I couldn’t. Before I ran, I sent word to your order, Camille, and warned them. I made sure Feris knew I’d ratted him out, as you say. I wanted him to know the attack would be useless. By the time he and his crew arrived, Derisa would have mobilized an army. So he never bothered staging it. I was headed home to lay low for a while. But Feris got his revenge. He told Lethesanar I was a spy. She believed him, and it almost cost me my life.”

  I glanced over at Camille, who was staring at him coldly. This would be a hard one for her to forgive. Even if he’d ultimately chosen to do the right thing, the fact that he’d studied with a mortal enemy of her goddess might be enough to mark him forever in her heart.

  “Thank you for telling us.” I caught sight of the clock. Nearly one thirty. “Crap—we have to get home! Iris is going to go stark raving crazy unless we get there to help.” For once, the demons would have to wait. Especially since we had no clue where they’d gone.

  Camille slowly moved past Shamas. He reached up for her hand as she passed, but Smoky grabbed his fingers with his own and squeezed. Shamas grimaced, pulling back and shaking his hand. He was lucky it was still attached to his wrist. Morio smacked him on the head—gently, or at least as far as we were concerned—as he followed behind them. Shamas stared at the three of them as they left the room.

  Chase sidled a look over at me, but I gave him a slight shake of the head that read, Let matters be. He picked it up, turning his attention to Shamas.

  “Come on, dude…we need to get back to headquarters after we make sure nobody else was hurt.” He clapped a hand on Shamas’s shoulder, leading my cousin out. As they neared the door, he turned back to me. “Thank you, Delilah. Thank Camille and her men for me, too. We needed your help today. We’ll see you tonight, at Iris’s wedding.”

  As they left, I sank down next to Shade. He stretched out an arm and I leaned into it, resting my head on his shoulder. He kissed me lightly on the forehead, and I melted into the luxury of knowing that he was there for me. Even in the hardest of times, Shade would be with me.

  “I take it your sister’s going to be pretty upset for a while?”

  I nodded, my face still pressed against his shoulder. “Um-hmm. As kids, Shamas and Camille were really close. For a while, Menolly and I thought they might grow up and marry, but then we realized that there was no way they could, not with Camille’s half-human blood. I think…I think that she was a little in love with him. And I know he was, with her. But they grew apart and then he disappeared into Court and Crown life, and she joined the YIA.”

  “Star-crossed lovers?”

  Shrugging, I pushed myself up and let out a long sigh. “No, not really. Maybe. She never talks about him in that way. But I know it hurt her when he cut us off in favor of the nobility. Anyway, let’s get going. Camille and I need to stop and pick up Iris’s wedding gift and her cake. You go home and help out there.”

  “What about the demons?”

  “Until tonight’s over, the demons can fucking eat my dust. Today is Iris’s wedding, and nothing is going to put a stop to it. She’s waited a long time for this day…I won’t let anything else interfere.”

  “Come on, babe. I’ll walk you out to the car.” Shade draped his arm around my shoulders and as we headed toward the door, all I could think of was that I really, really wanted a vacation.

  Chapter 8

  Smoky took Morio home through the Ionyc Seas, and Shade traveled on his own. Camille and I stopped in the women’s bathroom on the way out to clean up the best we could, then headed toward our first stop: The Scarlet Harlot.

  The shop was originally owned by Erin Mathews, an FBH. But when she’d been targeted by Menolly’s sire, Menolly managed to turn her before she died and now Erin was essentially Menolly’s middle-aged daughter. Tim Winthrop had bought out Erin, and he ran the lingerie store now.

  On the way there, I waited to see if she wanted to talk about Shamas, but she just stared out the window. After a few minutes, she cleared her throat.

  “I hope Iris loves her gift. And those damned demons better not put in an appearance tonight. Nobody’s messing with Iris’s wedding.”

  “No…they probably won’t. Tregarts can’t break through our wards.”

  “Asheré could—he was a powerful sorcerer.” Once again, an edge of fear tinged her voice, but then she paused and took a deep breath. “You’re right. They’d be fools to show up when all of the Supes are going to be there. Iris invited at least a hundred people.” Camille hung her head, her fingers worrying the material of her skirt. “Why’d he do it, Kitten? Why did he have to do that?”

  I pressed my lips together. There was no answer. None that Shamas hadn’t already given us. After a moment, I let out a short huff. “He was stupid. Impulsive. He probably didn’t think. I don’t think he meant to hurt you. I doubt that ever crossed his mind.”

  She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, I guess. At least it tells us something about one of the Tregarts we’re facing.”

  I didn’t want to ask, but I had to. “Do you love Shamas?”

  “What?” She jerked around, staring at me like I’d grown another head. “No. I mean…not now.” Flustered, she stumbled over her words. “Let me start again. Okay, yeah, I did. Many years ago, when we were younger, before I realized that Mother’s blood meant I’d never be able to marry him. And while I’m most comfortable with a poly relationship, when it comes to Court and Crown, mistresses take second place. And I never settle for second. But now?” She shook her head. “I care about him. I love him—as a cousin. But am I in love with him? No, that ship sailed and sank a long time ago.”

  She gave me a slow smile. “Chase is worried about a familial connection that’s so long-stretched it’s barely existent. He would freak about the connections made back home. So, let’s talk about something else.”

  “Good idea. I’m tired of blood and fighting. I want one evening when we can just have fun, let go, and not worry.” We reached the Scarlet Harlot—a block or so away from Camille’s bookstore—and I veered into an open parking spot. Every time she was in the car, Camille was able to conjure up a parking spot. I always considered her a good-luck charm when it came to shopping.

  We hopped out of the Jeep and slammed the doors, heading into the shop. Tim was behind the counter. We hadn’t had a chance to really chat with him in ages, and he looked good. Tim had let his hair grow till it was sho
ulder length. It was curly and gave him a pretty-boy look. He was wearing a black tank, black leather pants, and a silver belt. When he saw us, he put one hand on the counter and swung over the top.

  “You’ve been working out, dude. Look at those abs. I can see them under the shirt.” Camille pressed her hand to his chest and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. I crowded in for a kiss, too.

  “I’ve been putting in spare time at the gym as a personal trainer, as well as doing website work on the side. Jason’s shop hasn’t been doing as much business lately, so we can use the extra money.” He tousled my hair. “Still love the hair, girl.”

  Winking at him, I hopped up on the counter to sit while Camille meandered around the shop. She spent a fortune here, on bustiers and lingerie. I’d bought a few bras and panties from them but felt out of place in lace and satin. But this time a leopard-print bra caught my eye. It was microfiber, which would be comfortable, with just a hint of black lace.

  Tim grabbed it out of my hands and unfurled a measuring tape. “You need a bra fitting, my girl. I doubt if you’ve ever been properly fitted.”

  I stared at him. “What’s to fit? You find one that holds your boobs and bingo…”

  “No bingo. Now raise your arms, out to the side.” He measured me around the bra band and then around the breasts. “What size do you usually buy?”

  Frowning, I tried to remember. “I think a thirty-six B.”

  “You take a thirty-four C.” He flipped through the leopard-print bras and brought one out. “Go try this on. Meanwhile, I’ll get Iris’s present out of the back for you.”

  I slipped back to the dressing room and tried on the bra. Damned if Tim wasn’t right. Suddenly my breasts looked more upright and curvy. And the bra fit a lot better. Heading back into the main room, I saw Camille holding up a gorgeous cornflower blue peignoir. It was perfect for Iris.

  “That’s gorgeous,” I whispered. The lace was hand-stitched, and it was made of sheer silk. “Iris will love it. So will Bruce, for that matter.”

  Tim nodded. “I’ll gift wrap it. Did that bra work out for you?”

  “Yeah. In fact, I’ll take a few more in this size.” While he took the lingerie in back to wrap for the wedding, Camille showed me the garnet and black bustier she’d found for herself. She added it to my pile, along with four pair of black cotton panties. By the time Tim returned, I’d found four more bras and a jungle green chemise. I didn’t normally like sleeping in anything but sleep shirts, but it was too pretty to pass up.

  “Are you and Jason coming to the wedding?”

  Tim laughed as Camille pulled out her wallet to pay for everything. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’ll be there with bells on. Or something equally appropriate.”

  “During the reception, let’s try to carve out a few minutes to talk about when to hold the Supe Community meeting. I guess we’d better do so as soon as possible.”

  “I was thinking about the evening of the seventeenth? And Vampires Anonymous has volunteered their meeting hall, with protection included. We can use the phone tree to let people know. What do you say about eight p.m.? I can start the wheels going this afternoon.”

  Camille gave me a long look. I inclined my head. “The vampires to the rescue. Sounds good. Go ahead. Meanwhile, we have a couple more stops to make, so we’d better get going.”

  As we left the shop, Tim was already deep into calling the leaders of our phone tree. There would be a lot of buzzing lines this afternoon.

  Second stop: a little out-of-the-way boutique that sold the most gorgeous crystal I’d ever seen. We’d ordered a set of cut cobalt crystal dinnerware, for when Bruce and Iris had their own house. Once we were sure it was all intact, we waited while the shopkeeper wrapped the boxes in gorgeous linen paper with an elegant ribbon. After we carried them out to our car, we were off to pick up Iris’s wedding cake.

  As we pulled into a corner parking spot three shops down from the Ambrosia Bakery, I had a sixth sense—an uneasy feeling. I paused, getting out of the car, to look around.

  A glance up and down the street showed nothing out of the ordinary. Groups of passersby shopping, huddling against the chill of the rain and damp as they hurried by. A cluster of guys in tight jeans and thick jackets loitered on the corner against one of the poles that stretched over the road, holding the streetlights. But the looks they gave us were the same we got anywhere. We had quit masking our glamour most of the time, now that people were used to us, and Camille’s outfits and my height always drew notice.

  Camille looked at me, questioningly. I shook my head. “Must just be my nerves.” I motioned to her and we hustled past the Thai restaurant on the corner, then past a small consignment shop to the bakery next door.

  As we pushed through the door, a bell rang and the clerk waved. We’d come in with Iris when she put in the order, after she and Bruce had discussed what they wanted.

  They had opted for a three-tiered wonder in white, with elegant roses of blue and silver cascading down the sides. The bottom and top layers were chocolate, with the middle layer vanilla. The frosting was a smooth fondant over vanilla butter cream, and the filling between layers was a chocolate framboise ganache. The smell that filled the bakery set my stomach to rumbling.

  “We’re parked three spots down; I’m not sure I trust myself with carrying that to the car,” I said.

  “No problem,” Mariah said. “Let me get Jorge to help you—we’ve got a cart and can make certain you get it to your car intact.”

  Jorge came out. He was about twenty, muscled and buff, and looked altogether adorable in his Ambrosia Bakery apron. He grinned at us as Mariah loaded the cake onto the wheeled cart.

  “Hold on,” I said. “Give us six of those cupcakes, please.” I glanced at Camille. “Chocolate?”

  “Yeah, with the thick frosting.” Her gaze was glued to the window of the case. “They should last us till we get home.”

  As Mariah boxed up the cupcakes—each with a thick topping of icing and multicolored sprinkles—Camille handed her the credit card. Once she signed the receipt, Jorge followed us out the door, back to the car, cautiously pushing the cart with the boxed cake inside.

  As we neared my Jeep, I slowed. The guys on the street corner were staring at us, as if they were waiting. They made no move, though, so I tried to shake off the feeling that something was about to go down. But as we neared the side of the car, I stopped, a sick sense of shame sweeping over me. Camille let out a little gasp.

  Across the passenger’s door, bright red graffiti spelled out Go Home, Faerie Sluts! A wash of embarrassment swept over me—the same shame I’d felt when I was a child and we’d been tormented because of our half-human heritage—but then I slammed it down. I wasn’t that little girl anymore. And I wasn’t taking this lying down.

  The smell of the paint was fresh. I glanced at the men on the corner again. One of them gave me a snide grin, and I knew—I knew sure as I knew my own name—that he and his posse were responsible.

  Camille followed my gaze. “What should we do? Kick a little ass?” She stood ready to take my lead.

  “No, but I am calling Chase. I’m not going to wait here, though. I don’t want a confrontation. Not today. Just avoid brushing against the paint. Jorge, can you please transfer the cake into the back of my Jeep?”

  “Those motherfuckers do this to your car?” Jorge sputtered, his expression angry as he loaded the cake and cupcakes into the back of the car.

  “Leave it alone, Jorge. I don’t want you hurt.” I didn’t want him involved—didn’t want the Ambrosia Bakery to be a target—so keeping an eye on the men, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Chase’s number.

  “It’s not right, miss. Not right at all.”

  “No, it isn’t, but right now, the most important thing to me is getting Iris’s cake home safe and sound. So please, Jorge, go back in the bakery. The cops may come to talk to you, but I don’t want you out here. Please?”

  “I don’t wan
t to leave you two out here alone.” He scuffed the ground. “You girls going to be okay?”

  “We’ll be fine. I’m calling the cops. Now go.” As he headed back toward the store, cart in hand, Chase answered the phone.

  “Chase, can you get a car down here to the corner of Vine and Wilder? Someone just tagged our car with hate speech—bright red spray paint. I’m going to send you a couple pictures of who I think did it. And of the Jeep.”

  “Stay there—don’t engage them. I have a car on the way.” Chase’s voice took on a worry that I hadn’t heard in a while.

  “We won’t, but we have to get home for Iris’s wedding, anyway. We’re running late. And I’m afraid if we stay, we may actually get into a rumble because frankly, if I have to stand here one more minute, I’m going to whale ass on these SOBs.”

  I punched the End Call button and held up the phone, taking a clear shot of the jokers on the corner. They shuffled when they saw me taking their picture and began to head the other way. Like all bigots, they were cowards inside. That, and our reputation preceded us, apparently.

  I then took pictures of the Jeep and sent all of them to Chase’s cell phone. Afterward, I motioned to Camille. “Get in. We’re leaving.”

  But before we could pull out, Shamas came screeching into the spot in front of us. He leaped out of the car. By now, a small crowd had formed as several parties came out of the restaurant and stood around to gape.

  Shamas took one look at the car, and his usually pale cheeks flared with color. I pointed out the receding figures who were now a block away.

  “You take off, we’ll deal with them,” he said, motioning to the squad car where his partner, Thayus—a man with skin as dark as Trillian’s and hair just as silvery-blue—sat. “Go on. And drive safe.” He held the door open for Camille, so she wouldn’t get tagged by the fresh paint. She gave him a faint smile.

  I got behind the wheel, cupcakes all but forgotten, and started the car. “We’re not telling anybody at home yet. I’m not casting a pall over Iris’s day. I’ll just park so they won’t see the door of the Jeep and while everybody’s busy setting up for the wedding, I’ll come out and wash the paint off. If I can.”