Inquisitor (Witch & Wolf Book 1) (3 page)

Ladies didn’t snort. They didn’t snicker, either. I smiled instead. “Of course not,” I lied. “What can I say? Pretty impressive for a cheap knock-off, isn’t it?”

If I told him the truth, I suspected he’d try to find out where I had stolen it from. When he found out I hadn’t stolen it, he’d spend the next several months trying to figure out where I’d gotten the money to afford it.

“You never cease to impress me. So, who are you?”

“The love child of Cinderella and Dorothy, of course. Who else could I be?” I lifted my skirts enough to show off my red heels. “Ruby slippers and everything.”

Mark stared at my feet. “Please tell me you didn’t mug Dorothy for her shoes.”

“Oh, Mark. Don’t be silly. That’s far too much work. I bribed her using your credit card.”

His laughter drew the attention of both the werewolves and guests loitering in the lobby. “You little bitch.”

“That’s no way to speak to a lady,” the trembling voice of an old woman scolded from behind me.

I think it was to my credit that I didn’t jump, whirl around, or grow a tail. I did, however, make a mental note to put my back to the wall as soon as I could.

I turned around.

The Wicked Witch of the West grinned at me. Green eyes stared down the length of her beaked nose, complete with several warts. Her pale skin matched Mark’s, the candles giving her a jaundiced appearance.

My eyes widened.

I couldn’t really feel the woman’s power, not like some Jedi playing with the Force could, but my heart skipped several beats before fluttering in my chest. I felt
something
, though, and it made my insides shiver.

I hid behind my fan. “A good All Hallow’s Eve to you, Great Witch,” I murmured.

“And to you, child. Mark, baby, won’t you introduce us?”

Mark bobbed his head, and the plumes of his costume wreathed his face. “Mother, this is my girlfriend, Allison. Allison, this is my mother.”

If I remembered correctly, the woman wasn’t Mark’s real mother. She had died when he was little. I glanced at him, but he was too busy staring at his mother to notice me. I settled on an oldie but a goodie.

I curtsied. “I’m charmed, Mrs…?”

“Livingston. But please, call me Olivia.” The Wicked Witch of the West focused her full attention on Mark. “Such a charming girl. Why haven’t you brought her home sooner? You should be ashamed of yourself, boy.”

“I—um—I mean, we’re both busy people, Mother. It’s hard to get away from work,” my friend mumbled.

If my eyes widened any more, they were going to pop out of my head. Mark, a man capable of wearing a peacock costume in public, was afraid of his
mother
?

“Allison,” Mrs. Livingston purred. I fluttered my fan and turned my attention to the witch. “However did you meet my son?”

“He kept failing his calculus tests in college, ma’am. One of my professors begged me to help him pass.” I grinned behind the shield of my fan. “He’s hopeless with numbers.”

The old woman cackled. “So you appreciate math? How rare. I feared he’d never get a degree. He’s always been more interested in other pursuits.”

I glanced at Mark. He paled. He never divulged the nature of his income to me, providing receipts and bills using numbered inventories instead of named line items. Did his current work relate to those other pursuits?

Interesting.

“He does well enough. He’s smart enough to keep me around.”

That earned me a hair-raising cackle.

Some people, like me, wore costumes or put on masks for Halloween. Others took them off.

I knew one thing for certain: I didn’t want to test Mark’s mom. Werewolf or not, I doubted I’d come out as the victor. I had learned early on there were always bigger, smarter, and stronger predators out there. Or, as the case likely was, a more powerful witch. It was a rule. Power balanced power. If that balance was disturbed, there’d be an Inquisition.

I smiled, nodded, and conceded defeat.

With luck, the woman wasn’t aware of that fact. I don’t think she realized I’d seen through her lack of a mask. At least I hoped not. I wanted to live to see the morning.

Somewhere in the hall, a clock chimed nine.

“Ladies and gentlemen, ghouls, zombies, and vampire lords, distinguished members of the fae courts, demons, devils, haunts and specters, witches of renown and lovely princesses! Welcome,” a deep voice boomed from hidden speakers. The crowd hooted and clapped. “May this All Hallow’s Eve prove terrifying.”

A cold wind gusted through the room and the candles went out. Startled cries rang out, followed by the titter of nervous laughter.

“It was a dark and stormy night,” the voice rumbled, pausing in the overly-dramatic fashion favored by far too many of the wealthy.

“Really? Does it get any more cliché than that?” I muttered. Thunder boomed from the sound system, and lights flashed overhead.

“Hush, child,” Mark’s mother chided.

“The mists of the ether world part, for just this night, allowing mortals and immortals to mingle. Will you gamble your soul away to a devil in disguise? Will you join the Wild Hunt? Will you dance beneath the light of this full moon and join the creatures of the night?”

The silence sent shivers racing through me. I drew deep, long, and steady breaths to smother the need to answer the full moon’s call. The darkness made the desire worse.

The night was for wolves, and it was for me.

I clasped my hands behind my back. No tail. I hadn’t changed. I wasn’t going to change.

I kept telling myself that until some of the tension flowed out of my muscles.

“When the light pierces the darkness, prepare yourselves, revelers of the night. This All Hallow’s Eve is a night for masks, a grand masquerade of men, monsters, and beasts. Some among you may vanish to reappear as something more—or less—than you once were. Tonight is a night for mystery. Enjoy, and do not believe your eyes, for they may deceive you.”

A single candle illuminated the darkness. Shadows twisted away from the candelabras as they were lit.

Mark was gone.

For some reason, I wasn’t terribly surprised. I fluttered my fan in front of my face to hide my frown.

“That naughty boy needs punished,” the Wicked Witch of the West said. Then she cackled.

I shivered. “Indeed.”

“M’lady,” the deep voice of the narrator murmured at my side. An old man, bent and crooked, held out a glittering mask. “You are to wear this.”

I stowed my fan in my purse and took the mask. It was designed to cover the eyes, nose, and forehead. White ribbons hung from each side of it. The style was plain, but hundreds of clear jewels studded its surface.

“Oh, how lovely. Let me tie that into place for you, dear girl.”

I was really starting to feel like Dorothy, except she had a loyal dog to keep her out of trouble. Good girls wanting to please future mother-in-laws cooperated, I reminded myself. I turned to let the witch tie the mask in place.

The satin lining was warm against my skin. As the Wicked Witch of the West secured the ribbons around my head, I felt a faint tingle.

A good girl wanting to please a future mother-in-law who was likely a witch did not react to the presence of magic. I waited until the woman finished tying the mask in place before I turned around.

“How does it look?”

“You’re beautiful, child,” Mrs. Livingston said, patting my cheek.

Her touch numbed my face.

“Enjoy your evening, m’lady,” the old narrator said before stepping away to disappear into the shadows.

For some reason, I doubted flippancy was going to work with Mark’s adoptive mom. I swallowed back the need to be sarcastic, retrieving my fan. “Mark didn’t tell me much about the party,” I admitted. “He just said to come in costume.”

I fluttered my fan.

“Oh, you’re in for a treat, darling. What better for a party than a little horror and mystery with a chaser of the spooky and fantastical? How like Mark. He always did like his surprises.”

“It’s part of his charm,” I murmured.

I was definitely planning some horror for Mark in the very near future for getting me involved with his witch of a mother.

“Come, dear. Let’s get out of the entry.”

I smiled because it was expected of me, clasped my hands in front of me, and followed the old woman into the shadowed room.

~*~

The mask was definitely doing something to me. I felt way
too good for someone stuck with Mark’s mother, forced into acting like his girlfriend without the satisfaction of having the relationship and its perks. To make matters even more unnerving, I was aware of the full moon rising, but the need to transform and embrace the night wasn’t there.

Had the witch detected what I was? Like my wolfish nature, I tried to smother any signs of my other abilities. Out of sight and out of mind was what I preferred. Sometimes, years went by without me remembering that I, like the Wicked Witch of the West, was something more than a regular woman. I kept my talents on a very short leash, so others wouldn’t notice me.

What did the mask do? Something like that took time to prepare. There were rituals. Sanctifications. Each stone required purification. Was it meant to protect me from the things Mrs. Livingston and her circle of witches knew would be at the party?

Mark couldn’t have known about my nature. Then again, I never had suspected, not even for a moment, that his adoptive mother was a
witch.

Did he know? It was possible he didn’t. Witches weren’t like werewolves.

They didn’t have a tendency to bare their fangs and start howling at the moon. They didn’t, to my knowledge, think of members of the opposite gender as food or mates during the winter, either. I held my breath, waited for my lungs to burn, then released it in a slow sigh.

The air reeked of perfume, sweat, wine and other spirits.

Without the mask, I would’ve managed somehow. Some wolves, like me, learned to control themselves. Most wolves had their pack to help them when the need to change grew too strong to resist.

I didn’t have that. I doubted I ever would.

Once a rogue, always a rogue.

I closed my eyes. Why would they give me a mask that could tame my nature and hold my instincts at bay?

I shivered.

“Don’t like the dark?” the Wicked Witch of the West cooed.

“I’m surprised nothing’s jumped out at us yet,” I replied.

“Don’t worry. The frights won’t happen until the lights come back on.” I felt Mrs. Livingston draw closer. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and said, “I helped set it up.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Just wait until later. We’ve barely begun.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a refreshment table, is there?” Vodka probably wouldn’t impress Mark’s dear mother, but I’d take anything to help dull the edge of my nervousness. I kept smiling. I suspected I’d keep on smiling until my face hurt and my expression froze into place. “Water would be fine.”

“Oh, child. We can do much better than that.” The witch cackled. She led me to a secluded corner of the room. A table surrounded by candelabras waited, covered in wineglasses and cocktail shooters. “Come, then. I guess Mark doesn’t talk about the family much, does he?”

“Some,” I said.

“Oh?”

“His birth mother died when he was little.”

“He actually told you that?

I blinked at the surprise in the old woman’s voice. “Well, yes. I think he said he was five or six? Kindred spirits, I guess. I never knew my mother.”

“Oh, child. I’m sorry. I guess you would understand him a little, then.”

“He doesn’t talk a lot about his family,” I admitted.

Neither did I, but unless the witch asked, I wasn’t going to give her my life story. Not when I couldn’t guess which one of us was older at a glance.

“He doesn’t. Did he tell you anything about his mother?”

Maybe it was due to the mask, maybe it was due to the sad tone of her voice, but I blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Chocolate chip cookies.”

“What?”

“She made him chocolate chip cookies.”

The Wicked Witch of the West picked up one of the glasses of wine, handed it to me, then took one for herself. I sniffed at the red liquid, which looked a little too much like blood for my comfort. It tasted cloyingly sweet.

A woman in a red gown glided to the table, edging away from Mrs. Livingston in the same cautious fashion of someone escaping the striking range of a hissing cobra.

“Caroline, I’m so pleased you could make it,” the Wicked Witch of the West crooned.

I’m not sure which one of us shuddered harder. Mrs. Livingston stared at the front of the girl’s dress. Pale sequins forming a W across her chest gleamed in the firelight. I fluttered my fan so I could catch the young woman’s scent. Relief left me weak in my knees.