Night Veil

“I’ve decided to wait—just not a good idea. Leo was right.” I looked up at him, a faint smile on my face. “It’s too dangerous.”



“The day I’m right around you women is the day hell freezes over,” Leo said. He glanced out the window. “And it looks like it has. I’d better get back outside to shovel the walks again. I feel like crap, but it has to be done.”



“Let me do it,” I said. “I need the exercise.” Truth was, I just wanted to be alone for a while. “Peyton, would you mind watching over the fort? Call me if anybody comes in and I’m still on shovel detail.”



“All right,” she said, frowning. “Cicely . . . are you sure you’re all right?”



I nodded, vigorously, forcing a smile to my lips. “Yeah, I’m fine. Good breakfast. Thanks to the cook.” As I pushed myself to my feet, I noticed Leo watching me, a thoughtful look on his face. I engaged his stare, feeling altogether too hostile, then turned away.



Grabbing the snow shovel, I headed out the front door. The cold took my breath away, but I cautiously began scraping the snow off the steps leading to the walk, making sure to scatter rock salt to melt the underlying ice.



Myst’s winter had hit and hit hard. A good two feet of snow blanketed the front yard, but where we were shoveling the walk, we’d built snow banks over three feet high. I slid the edge of the shovel under the layer of white and began to scoop it away. Too bad we didn’t have a damned snowblower, I thought. I should ask Regina for one. She’d probably buy it for us.



As I scooped shovelful after shovelful of snow away and tossed it on the ever-growing pile, I began to calm down. Breakfast had been difficult, but this was no different from the scams we’d run on the men Krystal attracted. All it came down to was playing a part. And I’d developed into a pretty good actress over the years. I’d had to learn—that was how I won my 1966 Pontiac GTO in a game of street craps. Bravado and bluffing was what it was all about.



After a while, the cold settled into a gentle numbness and I worked silently, clearing the sidewalk. The sound of a car made me stop, and I leaned on the shovel, watching as a long black limo eased down the cul-de-sac. It crept toward me, and I waited, a tingling racing down my fingertips. As the limo stopped, easing into the driveway, I caught my breath. Myst’s people didn’t drive, as far as I knew—they hadn’t assimilated into society that far. Or at least I thought so. And it was daytime, so it couldn’t be the vampires.



The door opened and a lean, wiry woman stepped out of the car. She looked yummanii, but the sense of magic tingled around her. She was one of the magic-born. As she swept up the sidewalk I’d just cleared, I found myself tensing.



Watch what you say, watch what you do. Ulean’s warning came sharp and clear.



I gave a gentle nod.



“You are Cicely Waters?” The woman’s voice was husky. She wore an ankle-length dress, almost Victorian in nature but made from a warm purple jersey. Over the top, she was wearing a white fur coat, and her hands were swathed in ivory gloves made from brushed suede. And she was carrying a briefcase that looked like it had been fashioned in the early 1900s.



“Who wants to know?” I didn’t mean to be belligerent, but her nature put me off. She had a nosy energy about her, and my instinct was to head inside and lock the door. But she wasn’t vampire, she wasn’t Fae . . .



“I am not here to play games. I’m Ysandra Petros, from the Consortium, and you’d better answer me quickly if you have any wits about you.”



Oh crap. The Consortium. Had they gotten wind of Myst? Geoffrey’s warnings came rushing back as a swell of panic rose up. I had to get her inside. We couldn’t chance her sensing something from the Golden Wood.



“Come in. Yes, I’m Cicely. Please, let’s get out of the cold.” I hastened her inside and showed her into the living room—the parlor now being a place of business. “I’ll be right back. Would you like some tea?” Without waiting for a yes or no, I hurried into the kitchen, yanking off my coat and gloves and tossing them on the table. A spark of good luck: Everybody was still gathered around the kitchen table eating.



“Trouble with a capital T. We have a member of the Consortium out there. Chatter, don’t you dare come out. I’ll handle this—we have to hustle her out before she finds out about Myst. Geoffrey warned me about the Consortium and on this, I trust him fully.”



The color drained out of Rhiannon’s face, and both Peyton and Leo let out little gasps. Chatter frowned, but said nothing, and Kaylin sat there with a smirk on his face. He slowly pushed himself to his feet.



“I can be useful in this matter,” he said.



“Are you insane? You’re bound to a demon. Doesn’t the Consortium feel it necessary to bind demons or something like that?” I stared at him, wondering if he’d gone bonkers.



He shrugged. “Perhaps they do, but I am not so easily read, not by magic-born and not by yummanii. Trust me on this, as you trust Geoffrey. Tell her I’m your husband.”



Without a clue as to what to do, I nodded. “Then make a quick pot of tea and bring it in, please. I offered her tea for some godawful reason.”



I washed my hands, then hurried back into the living room, where I found Ysandra sitting primly in one of the chairs. She glanced up at my entrance.



“I’m sorry. My . . . husband“—the word rolled oddly off my tongue, but for some reason I had the feeling Kaylin knew what he was doing—“will be in with tea in a moment. Please, to what do we owe the honor of your visit?”



Though her visit was anything but an honor, there was no good way to ask her to leave without catastrophe. I’d told Geoffrey the truth when I said I knew about the Consortium. They were a powerful community, and one in which I did not wish to be embroiled. But it looked like I wasn’t going to get my wish. At least not right now.



“Heather Roland owns this house?”



“Heather’s my aunt, and she’s away on a sabbatical. My husband and I are staying with my cousin, Rhiannon, who is Heather’s daughter. We’re house-sitting.” The mixture of truth and lies rolled out one after another, and I prayed she didn’t have a truth spell handy.



“I see. Is Rhiannon available? I’d like to talk to her, as well.” Ysandra blinked, and it was obvious her request was a demand.



I cleared my throat. “Of course; wait here, please.” I hurried back into the kitchen, where Kaylin was finishing up the pot of tea. “She wants to see Rhiannon as well. I told her that you and I are married and house-sitting with Rhia, because Heather’s away on sabbatical.”



Rhiannon, still pale, nodded, and followed Kaylin and me back into the living room. She motioned for us to put the tea on the coffee table and graciously reached out to shake Ysandra’s hand.



Kaylin nodded, giving the woman a short bow, then sat after Rhia and I positioned ourselves on the sofa. “Miss . . . ?”



“I am Madame Ysandra Petros. You must be Rhiannon Roland?”



Rhia nodded. “Yes, you’ve met my cousin Cicely, and this is her . . . husband, Kaylin Chen.”



“Ma’am,” Kaylin said, pouring the tea. “Sugar, milk, or lemon?”



“Lemon. Thank you.” Ysandra accepted the cup and sniffed the steaming beverage, smiling for the first time since she’d arrived. “Tea does a body and soul good, with the horrible weather we’ve been having.”



“What can we do for you?” I asked, after giving her a moment to warm her hands on the china cup.



“There have been rumors of strange activity in this area—odd magical happenings. And we’ve not heard from one of our members in a long time. Marta Vekos. I stopped in at her house but nobody’s home and so I thought I’d come over to ask Heather what’s going on.”



Ysandra seemed to relax a little, but I knew better than to be caught off guard. She was taking in every nuance. I could tell because she was doing exactly what I’d trained myself to do while growing up. Uncle Brody’s rule number fifty-four: Become hyperaware of your environment. The skill had kept me alive more than once.



I put on a sad face. “Marta was killed by wild dogs a couple of months ago. At least the police seem to think there’s a pack of wild dogs on the loose. She left me her business. If you’d like to see what I’m doing with it, we can go into the parlor.”



A flash of pain echoed across the woman’s face. “Marta is dead?”



Rhiannon nodded. “Yes, and the Thirteen Moons Society has fallen apart. She was the heart and soul holding it together. A number of the elders moved on. Her daughter, Anadey, and granddaughter took over her house.”



We were dancing with the devil, but at least we knew it.



Ysandra let out a soft sigh. “So that’s why my summons went unanswered. Anadey has little love for the Consortium and would not have notified us.” After a momentary pause, she added, “Marta was a good friend of mine. She will be sorely missed. But seeing that you inherited your business, you are responsible for taking the appropriate actions. All magical businesses must be registered with us, and the owner must join the Consortium.”



Oh hell. Then I remembered: Marta had belonged to the Consortium. Apparently, I was also expected to become a member. What the fuck were they going to do once they discovered I was half Cambyra Fae, and working for the vampires?



“And what about Mystical Eye Investigations? Do you run that, as well?” Ysandra gave me a long look.



I slowly shook my head. “Marta’s granddaughter does. We decided to join forces, so to speak.”



“Then she must become a member of the Consortium, as well. I will leave you both the necessary forms. You must fill them out and send them in with the appropriate fees, and then when we summon you, you must stand before the CCC to win final approval to obtain your licenses.”



“CCC?”



“Consortium Chamber of Commerce. We control all magical businesses of any note. Since Marta did not pay her quarterly tithe, the CCC sent me to find out why. Now I know.” She opened her briefcase and took out two packets of paper. “Here are the forms. You have one month to fill them out and mail them back to us. We will contact you after we’ve gone over them.”



She finished her tea and stood, her hand shading her eyes. “I wish to pay my respects to Marta’s daughter, but I’m pressed for time. Please convey my sympathy. Marta . . . she and I went way back. We roomed together at the Conservatory when we were in school.”



And right then, Ysandra ceased to be a terror and suddenly became a very humane, if magic-born, person to me. I looked in her eyes and saw the glimmer of tears, and realized that everything else—all the brisk business and nononsense part of her persona—had paled compared to losing an old friend.



I reached out and pressed her hand. “I’ll let her granddaughter know. We’re good friends, and I’ll make sure she passes on the message.”



“Marta’s daughter, Anadey, was always sour about the Consortium. I understand she might not want to hear from me, but my sympathies are there if she wants them.” As Ysandra started to gather her things, she paused. “Oh, and you’ll be starting the Society up again, of course.”



“Say what?” I stared at her. “Why would I do that? The Society disbanded with her death.”



“You inherited her business, and therefore you inherited her place as elder. Since the Thirteen Moons Society disbanded, it’s up to you to choose up to twelve other members and bring it back to life—with a new name, of course. That goes with being the witch chosen to watch over any particular village or town.”



“I’m confused. What do you mean, chosen?”



“Marta was chosen to lead the Society, and her business was not only to sell magical potions and charms, but to watch over New Forest. She knew that by choosing her successor, she would automatically pass on the position. Usually it would be a direct lineage, but since her daughter chose not to involve herself with the Consortium, apparently, you were her choice. I’m surprised she didn’t choose your aunt, but she must have had her reasons. Heather was always Marta’s right-hand woman.”



“My aunt . . .”



“Mother is so busy with her studies that she had to bow out of the Society for now.” Rhia spoke up, her voice steady and calm. “And the Society never recognized me, so I was not a viable candidate.”



Ysandra gazed at her, silent for a moment. “Yes, we never understood Marta’s position on that. You will be accepted if Cicely chooses to include you in her roster.”



And with that, she headed toward the door, briefcase in hand. “Get me those forms as soon as you can. I’ll be in charge of your applications, so mark them to my attention. It was nice meeting you, and you, too, Kaylin. You make a lovely couple. Since you’re married, you’ll have to provide me with a copy of your marriage certificate so it can be recorded. All partnerships by members of the Consortium are on record, whether they be poly or monogamous.”



Before we could respond, she swept out into the frigid air, down the steps, and her dark sedan glided up the street again.



I stood there, gaping at the door. “What the fuck do we do now?”



Kaylin laughed from behind me. “Get married, I suppose.”



As we gathered back around the kitchen table, I accepted a cup of tea from Kaylin, who had returned the still-full pot back into the kitchen.



Rhiannon brought the others up to speed while I gulped down the scalding drink, supplementing it with a piece of cold toast.



“We have to keep them from finding out about Myst, and yet we’re supposed to join their little club?” I shook my head.