Keeper(83)

“This is so cool.” Maggie was gingerly prodding her new face with her fingertips.

Ty checked the clock on the wall. “We should go.”

I sucked in a deep breath. There was no turning back now.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”



There was a slight breeze coming off the Savannah River, and the low-hanging Spanish moss swayed back and forth like a flag. It wasn’t cold, but I was shivering just the same. The planation home in the distance looked like something out of Gone with the Wind, with its wraparound porch and tall, wide columns. The place was illuminated with the golden hue of candlelight, and the air around the house seemed to twinkle like fireflies. It was chilling how something so picturesque could cloak such evil. It reminded me of Lily of the Valley—lovely, yet deadly to all who came near.

I clutched Ty’s arm and tried to focus on keeping myself upright in my heels, the brick walkway an adequate distraction from the dread that threatened to choke me.

The sidewalks leading up to the main entrance and the lush front lawn were cluttered with people in formal wear. Laughter filled the air, and I reached up to make sure my mask was still in place.

There was every variety of dress and fabric, all in varying colors with matching masks. Small pockets of guests were laughing and mingling among themselves, but the majority of the line waiting to enter was eerily somber. It reminded me of a viewing at a funeral.

At the door, several men in tuxedos stood guarding the entrance. They were checking each guest’s name against the master list of guests.

“Warlocks,” Ty whispered in my ear. “Training with the Master.”

Our first obstacle.

I ground my teeth, feeling my nerves crackle under my skin.

When it was our turn at the door, Serena and Maggie sidled up to the two men not holding the list and began inquiring about the plantation house, the Gathering, anything to keep them occupied. I pushed my shoulders back and bolstered my courage. “The Lady Seraphine, her brother, Maxwell, and their guests,” I said grandly, with a lilting accentuation on my words. I hoped the fake names sounded less false to the doorkeeper than they did to me. Please let this work.

The warlock stared at me with narrowed eyes for a few seconds but then bent to check his list. “You’re not on the list,” he said curtly, turning his head to the other men.

“Could you please check again?” I asked quickly. I needed to keep his attention on me. I batted my eyelashes and placed a hand on the warlock’s forearm. “I would be so grateful.” I smiled warmly.

The man huffed and bent to check again. Ty took a slight step forward, angling his back, shielding the man from the view of the other warlocks and the other guests awaiting entrance. He spoke softly, reading off a piece of paper Serena had written out for him, and when the man looked up from the list, I blew a bit of shimmering dust into his face.

“Your name’s not—” The man’s face grew comically blank before returning to his normal scowl. “Your name’s here. Go on in.”

I wanted to whoop in excitement, but I smiled demurely and thanked him. He moved to let us pass through.

I noticed Ty looking at me. “What?” I asked him as we stepped through the doors.

He was grinning at me, his smile sitting crookedly on his lips. “I would be so grateful,” he intoned, doing a perfect imitation of my horrible accent. Then he batted his eyelashes, almost making me snort.

I smacked him in the chest. “I never claimed to be any good at flirting.”

“You did quite well, I think.” He winked at me, and the tips of my ears grew hot.

We followed the crowd down a long hall until we hit a wide foyer with a large winding staircase at one side and pair of double doors open to the ballroom on the other.

When I stepped through the doors, I sucked in a breath. I’d never seen a more beautiful room. The walls were covered with a lush, pale-golden tapestry, the swirling lines of the fabric mirroring the design of the building. The ceiling wasn’t vaulted, but it made up for the lack in black tiles dotted with tiny white lights, giving the illusion of a star-filled sky. Candles and crystal vases adorned the tables that were set up sporadically throughout the room, and the air smelled sweet, fragrant from the white roses that decorated the space.

There was a small orchestra playing softly in the corner, and the wide dance floor was already spotted with a handful of couples spinning across the floor.

When the room was nearly full, the conductor silenced the orchestra. Almost at once, the room grew silent in anticipation. The whole atmosphere of the room had shifted, like a drop in temperature. I blew out a breath, half expecting to see it as a puff of frozen air.

There was a slight commotion as one pair of double doors opened grandly. Standing on my tiptoes, I craned my neck to see what was happening, but my view was blocked by a group of men in tuxedos.

Then I saw him.

“The Master.”





CHAPTER THIRTY


My heightened nerves prickled in the base of my spine, and my heartbeat pounded in my ears.

He doesn’t look a day older than I am, I thought to myself with a mixture of awe and confusion. He looked exactly the way he had in Josephine’s visions. I knew Supernaturals had a longer life span, yet I still half expected to see a stooped old man, not the strong, youthful man in front of me.

His slick-back hair was black, and his tawny face was sharp with angles. His gray eyes were cold and unfeeling. It was a cruel face—though an admittedly handsome one—and though he was the host, the Master seemed to have no notion of warmly greeting his guests. He made his way from the far end of the ballroom, wearing a crisp black suit. His shirt, however, was blood red.