Mark Del Franco - Face Off

With a final swig of her drink, she set out on the final level of imaging. She needed a boggart version of Moor in case a stressful situation arose, and she had to play the role. Since she had observed considerable self-control in Moor, she decided to create a more measured boggart, one that didn’t devolve into complete savagery. Weaving in among the essence pattern in the stone, she layered aspects of Moor’s physical characteristics that she could activate if necessary. Like an inventory of spare parts, she added alternatives to bulge her eye ridges, widen her mouth, sharpen her teeth, and elongate her limbs. With luck, she would need only to project the threat of going boggart to get her point across. If she needed to produce a full transformation, having the full template at hand would save her time and energy.

With a final infusion, Laura finished the template and slipped off the necklace. She left an essence reserve in the stone, enough to power the glamour on its own by wearing it. She could always reabsorb it if she needed the energy, but given her schedule, she didn’t think that necessary. She had plenty of time to sleep and recharge her body essence naturally.

Tired, she stretched up and out of the chair. She checked her watch. After midnight. Driving to the Laura Blackstone condo in Alexandria didn’t appeal to her. It wasn’t like she needed anything there. Her workroom served her needs more than any of her apartments, and she had plenty of clothes to choose from. She propped pillows against the wall, curled up on the bed, and turned on the television.

She wasn’t a big fan of TV. Given her day-to-day life, dramas didn’t interest her, and the humor of sitcoms was often lost on her. She liked to watch with the sound off, trying to parse the emotions from the visuals. After a while, her attention wandered, and she thought of Sinclair.

He intrigued her. Working through her interest in him seemed a lot like the way she watched TV, as if she were her own voyeur. She didn’t have daily interactions with people and didn’t seek them out. At some point, she had stopped having any, pushing a personal life onto a dusty back shelf while she committed herself full-time to work. Then Sinclair showed up, tangled in her work and life. At first she felt obligated to help him succeed at InterSec because he had ended up there because of her. Now, though, she wanted to help because she . . . because she wanted to, she admitted. On gut instinct, she felt a level of trust in him she hadn’t felt with anyone in a long time.

He said he liked her. The cautious side of her, the side she had spent most of her recent life cultivating, was always suspicious of someone taking too much interest in her. Someone taking interest was someone who might expose her. That was her work brain thinking. Her attraction to him worried her. Laura Blackstone didn’t trust anyone, she thought.

That was a lie right there. She trusted Terryn macCullen. She had meant it when she said that to Sinclair. She trusted Cress, no matter her nature. Maybe a few others.

She pursed her lips. More lies.

She trusted those people to do their jobs. Trusted them to be there when she needed them to protect her. Trusted them to do the right thing—or even the wrong thing—for the right reason. What she didn’t do was trust them with Laura Blackstone—the real Laura Blackstone. The person. The soul behind the image.

She murmured a laugh to herself. Laura Blackstone wasn’t even her birth name. It was the best name she had for who she was today. She had become so proficient at protecting herself, she had nothing to protect anymore. Who was Laura Blackstone? Who was she when she left the Guildhouse or InterSec or this hidden room?

An agent. A cipher for a human being. No one.

She didn’t think she had given him a reason to pursue her, but he had. At least, she thought she hadn’t encouraged him. Maybe that was it. Maybe Sinclair was interpreting her joking and dismissiveness differently than she intended. Maybe Sinclair took it all as a playful challenge.

She sighed. More lies.

Trying to convince herself that what she was doing was something other than signaling to Sinclair that she was interested was another example of denying who she was. Lately, she wanted more out of her life than her work. She needed something more. She knew that. The constant forward motion of her jobs chafed at her, and her recent vacation in the Caribbean hadn’t alleviated it. Sinclair was opening her eyes to the fact that there was more to life than hiding behind a mask.

Her gaze wandered to the worktable, trailed over the neat boxes of gemstones, the reference photographs tacked to the wall, the tools she used to create glamours. From where she stood, she couldn’t see her reflection in the mirror, only the empty space of the room aglow from the silent television. That space, that small space in a hidden room, was the definition of who she had become.

Her chest felt heavy as she realized that it was a problem. Sinclair made her want to let it go. She rolled onto her side—away from the empty mirror—and settled herself. She smiled at the memory of Sinclair sleeping in the seat next to her in the car and the impulse she had to touch him. He was making her care again, and that wasn’t a bad thing.

EARLY THE NEXTafternoon, Laura entered the small restaurant a few blocks from the Guildhouse. She paused near the hostess station, letting her eyes adjust to the dark room after the bright light outside. Given the circumstances, she had decided to appear as Mariel. Since she was going to make her first foray into the Legacy offices later, she decided to wear a physical outfit for Moor’s appearance and produce a glamoured one for Mariel, a warm taupe woven business suit over a cream blouse. A little softer than what Mariel usually wore, but the lunch was not business.

She spotted Cress near the back of the room and left the vestibule without waiting for the hostess to return. Sensing Laura’s arrival, Cress looked up, and brief disappointment flitted across her face. The expression made Laura curious as she slipped into her chair. “Hi, were you waiting long?”

Cress forced a smile. “Not long. A few minutes.”

“What’s wrong? I thought you had an odd look on your face when I came in.”

She shrugged. “For some reason, I was expecting you to look like yourself.”

“Don’t be silly. We’re in public.” Cress’s face fell, and Laura immediately regretted what she’d said. “Cress, that sounded so wrong. You know what I meant.”

Leaning back, Cress focused on the surface of the table. “I know. I understand that Laura Blackstone can’t be seen talking to the demon fey over breadsticks and butter.”

“Okay, not fair. You know I don’t think that about you.”

Cress sighed. “On a day-to-day basis, sure. But when I healed you, Laura, I felt what you felt.”

Weeks earlier, Laura’s body essence had been poisoned. The only way to save her life was to let Cress merge their body essences. The process Cress used to absorb the poison was raw and intimate, and not only on a physical level. For a moment, Cress and Laura had been aware of each other’s thoughts. Laura wasn’t proud that Cress learned of her fears about the leanansidhe , a fear that was ingrained in all the fey. A leanansidhe was difficult to fight since its ability was to drain essence—which was what the fey used to protect themselves. An attack by a leanansidhe meant death for all but the most powerful fey, and even those powerful enough had a challenge confronting them. Even given that, Laura felt that Cress had to recognize her determination to confront those fears. “Still not fair, Cress. I didn’t know what was happening. I most certainly didn’t think you were a demon fey. My essence was being invaded. I was panicked. I think anybody would have been.”