Manor Of Memories
Zyra wasn’t wrong about the clothes. They are acting as a shield.
I reach for Jackal’s hand, and his fingers wrap through mine. Jackal, Starla, Exos, Ji-hwan and I are making our way up to the councilman’s manor.
“Earlier than the invitation stated, so he ought to be satisfied with that,” Starla gripes in a tone that suggests she doesn’t think that’s likely.
The witch is leading the charge. Her dress is a stunning, sleeveless number that hugs her chest and tapers at the waist. The front hem is higher in the center, and the sides of the material spill around her legs to end in a small train.
The whole thing is covered in blue sequins that glimmer like sapphires.
She’s fully leaned into accentuating her blue eyes.
She’s also got a faux-fur wrap that she can pull around her shoulders if the evening gets chilly.
Ironically, she looks like a goddess walking straight from the sea, though I’m the naiad here.
My own dress is a form-fitting silk number in a glinting green. There’s a slit up one side to accentuate my longer legs and a slender gold chain holding up the front of the dress.
The look when Jackal first saw it on me was priceless. His eyes glowed bright and hungry.
“Leena, love, if we didn’t have to be somewhere tonight …”
I’d laughed.
“You’d prefer to remove it? After all the effort I made picking it out?”
“Good point. I’d take you to dinner, and then—”
“We could go somewhere private and enjoy dessert?” I teased.
He groaned in response.
“You’re going to kill me before we even set foot in that manor.”
He went on to suggest a few other things we might do in the process of removing the dress, and I blush just thinking about it.
The memory bolsters me. I look good, and I am confident. At least that’s what I keep repeating to myself.
“If we can’t actually threaten these potential suitors, we should at least be dressed to kill,” Starla had reasoned at the shops.
She and Jackal are right. I feel better knowing that we will blend in with the other elite supernatural guests.
The gentlemen are no less dazzling. Each in suits.
Jackal in a classic-cut slate, Exos in a slightly lighter grey that fits over his muscles in a way that suggests expert tailoring.
Ji-hwan is wearing a cream number with an asymmetrical cut on the front of his blazer.
The Were walks with the confidence of someone who knows he looks good.
“Remember all, we’re on our best behavior, yes? Be your most winning self. Make a friend, find our answers.”
In the name of that goal, and following Starla’s insistence that her father ought to know as little about her as possible, we’re not shouting about our interpersonal relationships. As tricky as it will be, I am not advertising that Jackal is my mate.
Just as Starla will be keeping far away from Exos. If anyone asks, she chose him for his sheer size and intimidation factor, in case she needed such a thing.
Finding out that his daughter is dating the gargoyle escorting her would no doubt sour her father’s plans and his mood, and we all agreed that would not be to our benefit.
Ji-hwan flashes our group a smile that shows the faintest sharpness to his canines.
“We all do look exquisite, although I like to think that with my charms I could have gotten us admitted even if we were wearing potato sacks.”
“True enough, mate,” Jackal says.
Pickles is the only one missing from our party at the moment.
The basset hound will remain safely tucked away at Zyra and Theodore’s.
Grammy said to bring him to England, but she also said to trust our instincts.
And my instincts tell me that I will have enough anxiety trying to hunt for information, when I’m not even certain what I’m digging for, without having to monitor the basset hound this first night out.
I’ll have to trust that when his moment does come, I’ll be able to recognize my gut vs. my anxieties.
I’ve only had to remind myself eleven times since we’ve left Zyra’s house that it’s highly unlikely the dog will accidentally set fire to the home where my mate’s family resides.
One small spark. It wouldn’t be his fault either. It would be yours.
Twelve times.
But my intrusive thoughts will no doubt find something new worth fixating on once the event begins. Can’t say I’m looking forward to it, but it’ll be a change, if nothing else. Not that I can’t multitask and catastrophize multiple situations at once.
We’re making our way up a long driveway. The entrance to the estate, after we were let through gates on the property perimeter, wound through rows of tall trees. It was Starla’s idea to have Jackal pull under some and park the vehicle inconspicuously.
“Where some English estates like the sprawling view, my father likes keeping prying human eyes away from his property. Plus, if we do need a quick escape, there’s less chance of him following us if we don’t just hop in a car parked by his own valet staff,” she had reasoned.
I’m not sure if we really need to be ready for battle, or if Starla’s just extra-jumpy after enduring her father’s welcome wagon and being on the precipice of being reunited with an estranged parent. But I’m not going to argue with her.
Sports cars whose prices would rival that of most peoples’ homes make their way past us, and I can see the valets in the distance, waiting to park them all.
“If this follows years past, there will be a dinner and then dancing. But prior to that, there will be a cocktail hour. I’d hoped we’d beat the earliest drinkers, but I can see I was mistaken,” the witch says.
The shockingly pricey cars continue to roll past us.
“I guess everyone had the same idea of wanting some time to meet with my father in a smaller setting.”
Probably for different motives than ours. The way she describes him, Councilman Taylor has his hands in all sorts of businesses and has created a name for himself as someone who can make powerful connections between supernaturals. Or break them.
The manor in front of us speaks to such a personality.
It looks one turret away from technically being a castle.
There are statues lining the entrance carved to resemble kelpies, Fae, and other supernatural creatures.
It does not escape my notice that the statues most resembling humans are standing upright, their noses in the air and their faces proud.
The kelpies and shifters are in motion, looking violent and unrestrained.
Jackal huffs.
“Not subtle in his opinions on who is the more noble species, is he?”
“This has to be difficult for you, too. I know you’ve been with Starla to a few of her father’s functions before, and he didn’t care for you.” I squeeze his hand.
Jackal shrugs, but I can see the tension in his movements.
“True enough. But I never minded helping out a friend and giving her an escape from these functions.”
His eyes are more amber than brown as he surveys the grounds. My heart feels a small squeeze. Jackal doesn’t even hesitate to face danger so long as he’s helping people.
Although my hope is that we deal with nothing more than the annoyance of Starla’s father and a few forward, pompous supernaturals tonight.
Even if I didn’t have the curse, I’d be feeling a bit powerless. Grammy was clear. Starla participates in the whole weekend. While she didn’t explicitly state that the rest of us had to play nice, starting a fight or getting thrown out would be likely to derail Starla’s participation as well.
I reach up to brush my fingers over my siren necklace, only to realize that it’s tucked under the neckline of my dress.
When we get to the front steps, the estate workers move as one, bowing to Starla as she approaches. She lifts a haughty eyebrow in what I imagine is an imitation of her father, and they sweep their arms out, gesturing us inside the manor.
From there, we’re personally shown not to the main ballroom, where I can see people gathering, or out to a veranda, where there are even more individuals milling about with glasses in their hands, but to another room on the opposite hall.
“Councilman Taylor wants to greet you personally,” one of the men says by way of explanation.
We’re gestured into a sitting room that reminds me of those I’ve seen on period dramas. There’s a grand piano facing the far wall, multiple small seating areas, even a couple of tables where you could set out tea or snacks.
But in those dramas the sitting rooms are often used for receiving suitors and are bright and cheerful. This place is all dark wooden accents and furniture in deep burgundy, coal, and cigar shades.
Councilman Taylor’s light, sandy hair stands in stark contrast to the dark brown fireplace and the wooden mantle he rests an arm on. He turns toward us as we enter, his voice not betraying any anger or impatience. But his brown eyes flicker and crackle like the flames behind him.
“Have a seat.”
Starla’s fingers spark, and her eyes flash.
I don’t think this family reunion is starting off well.