Inquisitor (Witch & Wolf Book 1) (6 page)

No one else was in the kitchen.

I took the paper and left.

~*~

I avoided the reception hall. Without proper lights, I didn’t want to even try reading what the scrap of paper from the wine bottle said, let alone the contents of the envelope. With the moon at its peak, the allergy medication wasn’t going to last long. I could already feel the last remnants of the fog in my head burning away. So long as I stayed as far from the other werewolf as possible, I’d be okay. I hoped.

I found a quiet hallway, pulling the envelope out of my purse. I gave it a shake. Something heavy shifted in it. I tore it open and a silver coin embossed with a stylized letter “I” fell onto my palm.

My blood ran cold in my veins. I knew the mark. It was one I had never wanted to see again. A business card fluttered to the floor.

I shivered as my eyes locked on the mark of the Inquisition. The silver numbed my hand through my glove. Once, I had been a secret of the Inquisition, locked in a cage until they needed me to hunt down a witch or wolf. Red flashed before my eyes, like fresh blood spraying from new wounds. I shuddered, swallowing back bile.

I didn’t want to remember when my name had been Inquisitor.

It was a long time before I managed to dump the coin into my purse. Still shivering, I stooped to pick up the fallen card.

The Keeper of Secrets wears no mask.

The message offered me nothing but more questions. Was the Keeper of Secrets a part of the Inquisition? There hadn’t been one, so many years ago when I’d been forced to kill for them. Why would a message be left with a coin stamped with the symbol?

I dumped the coin and the card in my purse and turned my attention to the note that had been taped to the bottom of the wine bottle.

Traitors are punished.

I crushed the note in my fist. I should’ve known. The evidence of the Inquisition’s presence had been right in front of me the entire time. Only the Inquisition would bring a werewolf to a place like the Plaza and use him as a prize, disguised as a normal animal. Only an Inquisitor could pull off a murder in such a large crowd, disguising it to look like a game.

Caroline had been a scarlet letter, all right. She’d worn the truth for all to see, and like an adulterer in the past, she’d been killed for her crimes. Worse still, her death was used as the amusement of others.

Her letter, however, had been W.

Witch.

My fear chilled me. Did Mark know about the Inquisition? I wanted to doubt it, but Mark was involved with the organization of the party. I hoped against it. The Inquisitors liked their secrets, and kept them even from family when they could. I had that much going for me, at least. The Inquisitors liked their secrets enough that unless the Wicked Witch of the West learned the truth, I was probably safe. He could’ve pulled off the party without knowing about the Inquisition, if he acted on behalf of his mother.

I shook my head, pushing my fears aside.

Nothing changed the fact I was engaged in a pissing contest with a witch at a party reeking of the last people on Earth I wanted to be near. I closed my eyes, rolling the paper into a tiny ball. The narrator’s voice haunted me.

I wondered if he knew just how right he was. If the Inquisition learned I existed, I’d end up like Caroline: Cold and dead.

Traitors were punished. No one left the Inquisition and lived.

Except me.

I was in a lot of trouble.

It was a lot easier to ignore Caroline’s death once I suspected her of being part of the Inquisition. They were fire, I was gasoline, and the instant they learned I had been one of them, they’d burn me. But that’d only happen after they learned everything they could from me.

There wouldn
’t be a whole lot left of me to burn once they were finished with me.

Caroline had it easy. One moment she’d been alive. Then,
bam!
Like a gunshot in the dark, she was gone. The Inquisition wouldn’t show me such kindness. The fortunate died when they were tortured for information.

If I didn’t die during their interrogations, they’d laden me with silver, take everything they could from me, set me on my own kind, and then finish me off. They’d pit me against wizards, witches, and wolves, and wouldn’t care in the slightest if I made it back alive.

If
I made it back,
if
they thought I was of no more use to them,
then
they’d burn me at the stake.

A death like Caroline’s was far, far better. Quick and efficient. That was the best I could hope for, if they discovered the truth.

All in all, I was in a lot of trouble. The mask I wore made sense, if the party was hosted by the Inquisition. They had the black werewolf in the throes of the full moon at Halloween. If he escaped from his silver cage, the enchantments on the mask would be enough to prevent him from trying to change
me
into a werewolf. I was a prime target for a wolf in thrall. I was, to appearances, young. I was also unmated. So close to winter, if he didn’t already have a mate, the black werewolf would have been on the prowl for one, and he wouldn’t care if she were human or otherwise. The ritual needed to transform someone from human to werewolf wasn’t something that most werewolves could perform on an unwilling subject. The victim had to agree, in some form or another. Had the Inquisition forgotten that fact?

Of course, the Inquisition didn’t know I was already a cursed beast fighting the moon’s call.

I sniffled, rubbing my gloved finger under my nose. Their precautions saved me from being revealed. With one wolf in thrall to the moon, even my control would falter. While I had never forced the ritual to transform someone into a werewolf on anyone, if I were going to, it’d be on a night like tonight.

The shiver started in my shoulders and made its way right down my spine.

With another full-body shudder, I shook my head and tried to purge all of the what-if questions rattling around in my head. I couldn’t set the wolf free if I got caught by the Inquisition.

I pivoted on a heel and stomped my way back towards the lobby. I considered throwing the slip of paper away. Under the disguise of taking more allergy medicine, I ate the clue. Luck had never been a real friend of mine, and the last thing I needed was the Inquisition figuring out I suspected what was actually going on.

I could pretend I hadn’t found the clue. Nothing in the rules stated I needed to present the evidence. All I had to do was find a way to set the black wolf free.

Taking a seat at an empty sofa, I let the silver coin fall between the cushions. The business card, however, I kept, stashing it among my credit cards. Then, I waited.

The Wicked Witch of the West found me some twenty minutes later, with a sweet smile on her face. “Are you feeling any better, child?”

I sneezed. Grabbing my handkerchief, I dabbed at my nose. “I’ll live.”

For now. It was a subject up for debate. Either the allergies would do me in, or I’d stuff my foot into my mouth and ruin over a hundred years of hiding.

“I would have made better arrangements had I known.”

I had to give the old woman credit. She was really good at the dual good guy and bad guy act. I hadn’t lived as long as I had without being able to play the same game. A werewolf like me played well, or died. That was how things had been and would always be. I matched her smile with one of my own. “Mark couldn’t have known.”

“You’re right. He couldn’t have known. Why, he’s probably tearing apart the hotel looking for clues right now.” There was an unfriendly edge to Mrs. Livingston’s smile. “You’re beneath him. If you weren’t, he’d be here with you instead of trying to win on his own. He’s playing you, girl. You’ll never be fit to become his bride.”

I met her eyes without changing my expression a bit. She recoiled as though I’d struck her. I wondered how I would’ve reacted if I had really been Mark’s girlfriend, having learned of his betrothed. Unhappy, I decided, was at the top of the list. I had plenty of reasons to frown, but rich women hid their displeasure behind venomous grins.

“Mrs. Living—”

“What are you filling my girlfriend’s ears with, Mother?” Mark called out from across the lobby.

I kept smiling, but like Mrs. Livingston, I let it turn sour.

Mark froze in midstride.

“Allison?”

Two could play hardball, and I wasn’t about to lose everything to the Wicked Witch of the West. It was like I’d been thrust into some real-life romance novel, complete with every cliché I could think of. In our little game of cats, mice, fake fiancées, and evil step mothers, the existence of Mark’s betrothed wasn’t a secret, not anymore. It was, however, a part of the game women played in high society. To fulfill my favor to Mark, I had to play by the rules of a game started hundreds of years ago in royal courts across the world. “Your charming mother was just about to tell me about your fiancée.”

Horror paled Mark’s face. He stared at his mother before turning to me, mouth partially open.

I’d seen deer trapped in the glow of headlights look more responsive. Instead of rising from the chair, I sat straighter, hands clasped on my lap. I wasn’t going to burn bridges.

Pulverization was more up my alley. It’d hurt both of us less that way, in the long term. “Weren’t you, Mrs. Livingston?”

The Wicked Witch of the West stared at me with her lips pressed together in a thin line. “Indeed.”

Smiling was starting to make my jaw ache, but I didn’t relent. “What’s her name?”

“Victoria,” Mark choked out, as though her name was forced from his throat. He coughed and ducked his head until the plumes of his costume hid his face. “Her name is Victoria.”

That caught me by surprise. Well, well, well. It seemed Mark’s fiancée and I had something in common, although Mark didn’t know my
real name was Victoria. I let my smile falter. “When were you planning on telling me?” I snapped.

Mrs. Livingston’s eyes focused on me before she turned to Mark. “That is something I want to know too, Son.”

“I didn’t want you to find out this way, Allison. I… I had planned to… I mean…” He fell silent, staring down at me with wide eyes.

“Is that all I am to you?” I let my words serve as both hammer and nails to the coffin of a relationship doomed to failure from the start. If Mark hadn’t anticipated such a dispute, it was his fault for being blind. I did feel a little guilt as I pressed on. “Am I just some toy you can discard when your fiancée comes calling?”

“She is not my fiancée!” Mark snapped, shaking his head so hard several of his feathers came out. “I never agreed to marry her.” He sank down at my feet, resting his hands on my knees. “You have to believe me, Allison. I’d never betray you. Not for all of the money in this world. Not for any reason. You’re the one I want to marry, not her. I’ve never even met her.”

The Wicked Witch of the West sucked in a breath. “Marcus Alexander—”

Mark interrupted his mother with a jerk of his hand. Then he turned back to, taking hold of my left hand. “Allison Malinda Ferdinan, please marry me.”

I don’t know where he had pulled the ring out from, but he held it up to me with a trembling hand. A single diamond caught the candlelight.

It twinkled.

My eyes burned, but I didn’t cry. One day, he’d stare at the true love of his life with wet eyes, and the girl in front of him wouldn’t be me. But, I had promised to play his game. There was nothing but the truth in his gaze.

Had he been serious about proposing all along? It’d be like him, creating an illusion so the truth of his sincerity could become something truly powerful.

Any other girl would’ve been flattered. Too bad I wasn’t her.

I wondered how much it would hurt him when, as had happened tens of times before, I vanished to become someone new, someone he’d never see again. Would it hurt him as much as it would me?

Time wasn’t kind to werewolves. It didn’t let us forget.

Not trusting my voice, I sat perfectly still. The dip of my chin was as close to a nod as he’d get, although it wasn’t the yes he hoped for. Mark smiled as he slipped the band over my gloved finger.

The cold, tiring touch of silver seeped through the thin material. I stared at the ring and shivered. It wasn’t just a piece of jewelry, but it was old. Old silver, forged and reforged again, carrying with it an age almost as great as mine.

It hurt, but the white material didn’t blacken. It was pain I embraced, because I deserved it for the betrayal I would soon commit.

A clock counted the midnight hour.

I really was Cinderella, but I didn’t have glass slippers, and there’d be no happy ending for us.

~*~

No one said a word, and the silence was suffocating. I alternated between holding my breath and pretending I wasn’t trying to gasp for air. Sneezing and sniffling weren’t options, not when I was pretty certain any sudden noise or motion would set the mother or son off.