Page 93 of A Shade of Myself
“Got it.” Rubbing my arm, I found a quiet corner in the lobby and sat down.
Despite what she’d said, this woman had to be Aurora. Was Edvin another mafioso? Had he placed the illusion on Rory?
On the slight chance that I was wrong, and this woman really was Lotta, I called the dance studio in the Bronx, once again pretending to be the mom who’d been referred by Giselle. “A friend of mine has twins like Giselle and Aurora.” I paused but she didn’t correct me. Good. One thing confirmed. “She’s wondering if they could start in different streams? Put one in modern and the other in ballet because they don’t work well together.”
The woman assured me that wouldn’t be an issue.
I flashed back to the studio’s trophy case. Poor Rory, not being good enough to compete at the same level as her twin. That must have burned.
“These girls aren’t identical like Giselle and Aurora though,” I said.
The woman on the phone laughed. “If it hadn’t been for Gigi’s birthmark, we’d never have been able to tell them apart.”
Dread skittered up my spine. “You mean Aurora’s birthmark.”
“No. Gigi’s.”
I almost dropped the phone. If Giselle was the woman here at the cocktail party, then my client was really Aurora? And she’d taken over Giselle’s identity? Willingly?
Realizing the woman was waiting for me to say something, I laughed, hoping it didn’t sound too fake. “Right. Sorry. That’s what I meant. It’s been one of those days. Hey, do you have a photo of the Mueller twins together? My friend was hoping to show her daughters twins actually cooperating.”
The admin said she was sure she could find something and would email it over.
I think I managed to thank her and say goodbye like a normal person, but I wouldn’t have bet my house on it, because I remained in shock.
Our client was really Aurora but believed herself to be Giselle, while the real Giselle had no idea who she was.
“You surprised me,” a man said.
I stiffened, one hand on my racing heart and the other holding my scythe.
A buff blond man who was one of those prime Nordic specimens sat across from me, his legs crossed and a snifter of amber liquid dangling carelessly in one hand. He looked like the kind of guy who enjoyed a hot sauna followed by a dip in an icy river and probably had a shelf full of Olympic medals for Alpine skiing. In comparison to the flashy, posturing mafioso, he was understated in a simple charcoal suit, but he also gave the impression that he didn’t need to act tough because he was well aware of his limitations—none—and acted accordingly.
He’d also been the one comforting the real Giselle at the bar in the Mafia party.
This individual was handsome and affable and made me want to smile to keep his attention; he wasn’t an Ohrist if I had my weapon. When I probed deeper, he wasn’t dybbuk-possessed either. He also wasn’t a vampire because otherwise Delilah would have held the scythe.
“Edvin, I presume. You’re a demon,” I said flatly. The discrepancy between his charming demeanor that was pure sunshine and his true nature of evil sent shivers up my spine.
He shrugged, flashing me a toothpaste-ad smile. “Guilty as charged.” The demon nudged the edge of the blade with the toe of his highly polished leather shoe. “Put it away.”
I lowered the scythe down the side of the chair where it wouldn’t attract attention from any passing Ohrist, but I wasn’t about to relinquish it. “I owe you for the kargh thurt you sent. And that charming illusion you hit me with.”
It was an educated guess that he’d been the one to send that thug demon and make me believe that Sadie was dead, but the demon nodded matter-of-factly.
“That was the surprising part I mentioned.” He sipped his alcohol. “You shouldn’t have survived my kargh thurt.” I didn’t enlighten him that without Marsha’s help he’d have gotten his wish. “Ah well,” he said. “But the illusion of your daughter dying? Most people don’t see through my weavings so easily. Then again,” he reflected, “most don’t want to.”
He changed the arrangement of roses on the table next to him to appear to be sunflowers. No one here in the grandiose hotel lobby blinked.
“Right,” I said, “blame the victim. What did you do to the Mueller twins?”
“Only what I was asked to.” He calmly sipped his alcohol. “Aurora wanted her sister’s life, and I didn’t even need to expend any magic to enhance her dancing skills to pull off the ruse. Besides, who was I to deny such an impassioned plea?”
I shook my head. This was crazy. “Even if Rory did say she wanted Giselle’s life, she didn’t mean it literally.”
“How do you know?” Apparently, the light above our heads was not to his liking either, because the demon switched the inset pot lights for a metal chandelier with real candles.
“Stop that,” I said.
