This is it, I told myself, clutching the embossed silver ticket to my chest. Five years of hard work has paid off.
“Name?” the doorman asked. He was a broad guy, in his mid-fifties with short dark hair.
“Roxie Whitmore.”
I held my breath as he scanned the page pinned to his clipboard, expecting at any minute to be told this was all a mistake and I wasn’t allowed in. When he looked up and smiled, I let out a sigh of relief.
“Alright, Miss Whitmore. Just make your way into the reception area.” He held the door open and directed me forward with his arm extended. “One of the attendants will take your coat.”
“Cheers,” I said, breezing past him.
My eyes widened as I stepped into the marble-floored reception room, and the melody of classical music met my ears. All around me was lavish décor – crystal chandeliers, scattering dazzling light that was reflected across the floor, gilded sculptures of lovers embracing and fresh arrangements of orchids and roses in expensive-looking vases.
I had to pinch myself to believe all this wasn’t a dream. For the four years I’d lived in Stourley, I had admired the city’s stately home-turned-exclusive hotel and hang out of the beautiful people.
I’d just landed a lucrative job at Farley Cosmetics. Not bad for a uni graduate, eh? The icing on the cake was that my new boss, Catherine Farley, had been my role model since I was fifteen. She was everything I aspired to be; strong, independent, successful, and gorgeous. A walking advert for the products her company produced. I’d been blown away when I got the position of marketing junior and Catherine had invited me to the masked gala ball in celebration of the newly opened Farley Cosmetics Hair and Beauty Salons in the city.
Walking along the central red carpet, I basked in the glow of those around me – all clad in designer labels and glitzy jewellery. I couldn’t believe how much my life had changed since starting university. I’d gone from a small village ten miles away, where everyone knew each other’s business, to living in one of England’s biggest cities and being hired by the country’s leading cosmetics company. At twenty-two, I felt like my life was coming together.
Minutes before, my skin had prickled from the cold night air, but as I walked through the reception area a different kind of shiver passed over me. A rush of excitement shot up my spine when I realised, just a few steps ahead of me was Pierre Beaufort, the male model sensation and face of the newly launched Farley Cosmetics masculine range. The ad campaign featured him in nothing but tight black boxers. I almost didn’t recognise him with his clothes on, but I’d remember those piercing blue eyes and his luscious blond hair anywhere.
“May I take your coat?” a well-dressed attendant asked.
I handed my jacket to the woman, who in exchange gave me a silver feathered mask.
At the end of the reception room was an ornate staircase that curved off at the bottom, and in the space, the curves created were archways that led to the ballroom.
I made my way through into the expansive area where the guests were gathered, all wearing decorative masks themselves.
A private bar served Champagne to those lucky enough to be invited to the exclusive gala ball – and I was one of them!
I scanned the area for Catherine and found her seated in the centre of a couch, surrounded by a small entourage fawning over her. Every woman there was gorgeous, but Catherine stood out like a vivid red rose in a field of dandelions. Her sleek dark hair was bobbed around her face, and poker straight in a way only expensive hair straighteners offered. A red mask decorated with black lace covered half of Catherine’s face, but didn’t distract from the doe brown eyes that peered out from under long dark lashes. Her full lips were accentuated in deep red.
Her eyes locked onto mine, and she rose and beckoned me over, making room next to her on the sofa.
“Roxie, you made it.” She picked up a glass of Champagne and handed it to me. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” I took a sip of my drink to hide my nerves. Relief washed over me. I’d been worried I wouldn’t match up to the Farley image, and had spent hours getting ready – I’m not kidding either. Normally for a night out, I’d start getting ready an hour before I had to leave. But being invited to a gala ball wasn’t a normal night out, and I’d been in the bathroom since four. I’d taken care to select the perfect outfit, and then chosen make-up in a colour pallet that would complement both what I was wearing, and my hair and eyes. I’d pored over magazines and online tutorials, focusing on anything that had ever been released by Farley Cosmetics, making the most of the products and tips I’d picked up from the company. I hoped the royal blue sequin-embellished evening dress and silver high-heeled sandals were worth going over my overdraft limit for.
“Let me introduce you to everyone,” Catherine said, as the others rose to greet me, as if on cue. For an instant, the modern décor faded away and in my mind, the scene was replaced by one of a medieval court, with Catherine as the fine noble woman leading affairs.
“This is Lauren, who you’ll be immediately reporting to.” Catherine motioned to a woman with sweeping blonde hair and a dazzling diamond necklace I imagined cost a fortune.
An awkward moment of silence passed, and I realised it was my turn to speak when Lauren cleared her throat and said, “Nice to meet you, Roxie.”
“Oh, erm, yeah. Nice to meet you too. Sorry, I wasn’t staring at your boobs, honest. Your necklace is gorgeous.”
My cheeks burned, and I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Why am I such a dumbass at times?
Catherine quickly directed the conversation away from my faux pas by introducing me to the other Farley employees.
All the women I met looked more like models than corporate employees, and I marvelled at the power of Farley Cosmetics.
After a few drinks, Catherine downed the last of her Champagne and got to her feet. The others did the same, as though they were marionettes being manipulated by some unseen puppeteer.
I was momentarily awed. I hadn’t seen someone with such unquestionable leadership since my Year Nine Business Studies teacher who could bring our usually unruly class to silence with just a look. That’s who Catherine reminded me of. She was far surpassing my expectations of her.
“I should go and mingle now,” she said, patting my forearm. Heat spread from her fingertips, through my body and my flesh goosepimpled. “But please come and find me later.”
“I absolutely will,” I replied, no doubt grinning like a maniac.
When Catherine and the others departed, I helped myself to another glass of Champagne and took the opportunity to rub shoulders with the rich and famous.
The next few hours sped past in a blur of Champagne, mingling, and chatting with prominent people from the city.
“… And that’s the key. It’s about creating something people don’t know they need. People always ‘want’, but ‘need’ is something else,” I said to Harriett Holland, the chairwoman of the country’s leading department store chain.
“I couldn’t agree more. Miss Whitmore, if you ever find yourself in need of a job, here’s my card,” she said, passing me a card before heading off to talk to the local press about the event.
Was this all a dream? Champagne? Harriett Holland offering me praise? A second job offer? Despite my awkwardness earlier on, this night couldn’t be any more perfect.
But with every new song, every sip of alcohol, my heart hammered a little harder. The music reverberated through my body, at first energizing me, then as one song blurred into another the excitement turned to panic. The sounds of the violins and pianos became shrill, setting my teeth on edge. I turned to find a quiet table to sit at and collect my thoughts but instead bumped into someone.
“I’m sorry,” I said, moving in the opposite direction, only to knock into another guest. Where had all these people come from? Looking around it seemed like the number of guest in the ballroom had doubled in the blink of an eye.
I staggered forwards and almost knocked The Stourley Star’s photographer off his feet.
“Sorry. Sorry. I don’t know how I missed you there.”
“Are you okay?” he asked, watching me closely, a look of pity filling his features the longer I stood in front of him.
“Yeah. Sorry again.”
The photographer smiled, but his grin wasn’t a happy one, displaying his teeth in a snarl like he was mocking me. I hurried away, and as I passed yet more guests, I noticed the masks they were wearing had changed. They’d enchanted me when I’d first arrived but now became distorted as the features twisted in horrific ways. Skulls peered down at me, their dark eyes boring into me.
Why did I feel like I was tripping my ass off and the room was tilting on an axis? I heard someone laughing, but turned to find no one behind me, and the room span.
The chandeliers caused the light to flicker across the arched ceiling, making the shadows judder. My hands shook and my legs twitched, turning to jelly beneath me. My head reeled as the music vibrated through me, making my chest ache and my breath coming in ragged gasps. I was overheating and my body grew weak. My head swam and my vision became soft around the edges.
But I’d only had a couple of glasses of Champagne…
I staggered to the bar and ordered a bottle of water, propping myself upright on the counter, as the attendant fetched it for me. Holding it to my boiling forehead, I went outside.
The night air hit me full-on, and the clamour of the ballroom faded away as I closed the door behind me. I gulped down the water. Still shaky, I leaned against the wall. Soon the panic was replaced by embarrassment. Had I just run out in the middle of the Farley cosmetics gala ball? I’d been desperate to visit the stately home for as long as I’d lived in the city, and on my first time here, I’d freaked out and legged it.
Thank God Catherine and the others hadn’t seen me, or they’d think I’m a total lightweight. But oh my god, what about all the celebrities I passed on the way out? I bet they’re all laughing at me. I’ll be lucky to ever get invited to anything like this again. Way to ruin any credibility you had Roxie.
Uninvited, an image of my sister Melissa sprang into my head, lips sneering as I embarrassed her on her twenty-first birthday by getting drunk for the first time and throwing up on the dance floor.
I took another sip of water and tried to block the memory from my mind.
You are reading story Liches, Legends and Love (Order of the Ancile Book One) at novel35.com
“Hello, beautiful.” A middle-aged businessman in a cheap-looking suit staggered towards me, his words slurring as he spoke. He stood next to me, propping himself up against the wall so his hand was right next to my head. His eyes raked up and down my body. He reeked of booze and had no concept of personal space.
“Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” His hand reached out to touch the lace panel at my waist, then snaked around to my ass.
I removed his hand from my butt, grabbing his wrist tightly enough to leave a red mark, and looked in the other direction, but he didn’t take the hint. Instead, he moved closer.
“Back off, mate. I’m not interested.”
I thought at somewhere like this I’d be safe from drunken old pervs, but apparently not. Guys like that piss me right off. They see a woman alone and immediately assume it’s an invitation to come onto her. It’s sad really. What happened to getting to know a person first? You know, maybe buying them a drink and making conversation before you tried to feel them up.
“Come on, just a little kiss.” His hand groped out for my ass again, and my knee instinctively flew to his nuts. It’s what my self-defence teacher told us to do; always use the knee. If you kick them they can grab your ankle and pull you over.
If this guy wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer what choice did I have?
Before I had a chance to do any real damage, my ‘admirer’ was hauled backwards and pinned up against the wall.
He was dragged away by this massive tank of a man. This guy had to be at least six feet and built like a brick shithouse – muscles everywhere and covered in tats. Seriously, I could barely see an inch of unmarked skin on those massive biceps.
“You heard the lady. She said back off,” he said in a low growl, pinning the creep to the wall.
“Thanks, tough guy, but I had it covered.” I straightened my dress and took a step forward.
“I’m sure you did.” His arm never left the other guy’s throat as he looked from me to the drunk.
“I’m sorry, okay? She was giving me the eye. I must have gotten the wrong impression,” the sleaze said.
Nose to nose, Mr Brick Shithouse said in a calm voice, “Listen very carefully. If I catch you fucking with anyone else, you’ll be lucky to leave with the use of your legs.”
He lifted the drunken guy by his collar so his feet dangled comically a few inches above the floor, and shoved him hard against the wall. “Alright?”
When the drunk nodded, the mystery man dropped him to the ground in a heap.
Intense.
I didn’t know if I should be grateful or scared he’d start on me next. But then he turned to me and did this shy, sort of lopsided smile, and damn … I almost forgot about old perv.
“Are you okay? Can I get you a drink or something?”
I let out an incredulous laugh. “Really? Are you hitting on me, after what just happened?”
His eyes widened in surprise, but he recovered quickly. “I was actually asking because you look a little pale. That guy didn’t hurt you, did he?”
The shaking subsided, and I felt like a total bitch. The poor guy was only trying to be nice, and I’d blasted him. And here I was thinking chivalry was dead. “Honestly, I’m fine.” Perhaps being rescued wasn’t so bad after all.
To prove my point, I took a step forward. But I wasn’t okay, because I had this weird-ass ninja flu thing going on. Instead of showing him I was okay, I wobbled forwards and fell into his arms. Well, actually, he caught me in a firm grasp.
“Okay. Okay. Maybe not fine, but it isn’t because of that guy. I think I’m coming down with something. I’m going to head home soon, but first, you were saying about that drink?”
He was about to reply, and I hoped he was going to say yes – he was cute, and I at least wanted a chance to thank him – when his head snapped up and his attention was drawn to something behind me. I turned to see the doorman from earlier. He clipped my rescuer around the ear. “Come on Lover Boy. We’ve got work to do.”
He turned to me with an apologetic smile. “Some other time?”
With one last fleeting look in my direction, Mr Brick Shithouse and his friend headed off. I admired the view of his butt as he walked away, then headed back inside to find Catherine.
I scanned the ballroom, but she was nowhere in sight, though I did see Lauren and the other women Catherine had introduced me to earlier. Wondering if she’d snuck off for a quiet moment alone – and wanting an excuse to snoop around the stately home turned hotel – I made my way into the reception room, and up the ornate central staircase, then walked through to a corridor lined with doors. This floor was obviously for guests of the hotel, and I assumed it was where Catherine had snuck off to. Every door was closed, and I had no idea where she could be until I heard the distinct sound of her laughter. The sound of it propelled me forwards like a spell had enchanted me, and I reached a T-junction to find the door in front of me ajar. I was just about to knock when I heard a male voice coming from within.
Curious, I peered through the crack in the door. Sprawled on the couch was Pierre Beaufort. I covered my mouth to stop the gasp that threatened to escape.
His blond hair was swept back off his face, and bright blue eyes shone out from under long lashes. He was shirtless but clothed from the waist down, and the expression on his face was utter bliss.
I took a step back, but something compelled me to keep watching. I knew it was a huge invasion of privacy, but every time I tried to turn away it was like an invisible hand kept pulling me back. I wanted to leave, but the look on Pierre’s face was of such unashamed lust that I was transfixed, rooted to the spot.
A sigh escaped his lips, and Catherine appeared wearing lingerie. She slinked along the sofa towards him, feline and sinuous, moving as though she weighed nothing at all. Her eyes shone brightly with desire, longing and hunger. Her red lips parted, and she inclined her head towards his.
Oh my god! Are they together?
I held my breath, waiting for their mouths to meet, but the moment never came. Hovering just inches above his face, Catherine locked her hands on his cheeks, opened her lips wider and sucked.
Silver gossamer threads flowed from his mouth to hers, and as they did, a change rippled over both of them. Pierre’s skin started to age; the colour drained away and the smooth planes of his forehead wrinkled. Jowls and liver spots appeared as crow’s feet extended. His lustrous blond hair thinned and became laced with grey. As Catherine continued to suck, soon the white overtook the blond before it all fell away and left him bald.
I suppressed a shiver, my blood like ice, and still, I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
Catherine’s skin was plumping, tightening and firming. The few blemishes she had vanished; her eyes became brighter and her hair glossier. The years faded away from her, and Catherine transformed from a woman in her forties to one in her thirties. I tore my gaze from her youthful face and looked back at Pierre. His skin had become sallow and paper thin, no longer tanned, but deathly grey. His body was withered, little more than a skeleton.
My heart hammered as I tried to process what I was seeing; none of it made sense.
Fuck … what the fuck? Don’t be sick, don’t be sick. I need to get out of here. Why aren’t my legs working? How do I get out of here? Someone get me out of here. Let me leave, please let me leave.
Catherine let go of his head and it fell backwards. The light from his eyes was gone; all that was left of Pierre was a shrivelled corpse.
My body went numb. I looked at this woman who I’d idolised since I was fifteen - this heiress on who I’d based all my future career plans, this role model I’d aspired to be. Bile rose up and hit the back of my throat; burnt and seared it with the deception of her actions. For an instant her face changed; the mask of beauty faded away and all I saw was a decayed, ravaged skull. Like a magic spell being broken, the compulsion to stay lifted and fear clutched in its place.
The pain in my head bloomed. I gripped the wall to steady myself. My head swam and my vision filled with bright spots. I looked up and down the corridor for any sign of life, any indication what I’d seen was real. A million thoughts rocketed through my mind as I tried to connect the dots of what had just happened. I couldn’t make any sense of it though, and my body trembled as it had earlier. An alarmed voice in the back of my head told me the two things were connected, but I couldn’t piece together how.
I couldn’t go back to the ballroom after what I’d just witnessed, so instead, I ran in a blind haze towards the staff lift at the other end of the hallway, and frantically pressed the call button. My hands and legs twitched impatiently as I waited for it to arrive, then hurled myself inside. Still unable to see through my blurred vision, I barrelled into something solid that let out a grunt on impact.
“Whoa there,” a male voice said.
Gasping for air, I steadied myself, looked up and gazed at the person I’d bumped into. Staring back at me was Mr Brick Shithouse from earlier. I was sure his stunned expression was mirrored on my own face.
The weight of what I’d seen pushed down on me like a piece of brittle wood being squeezed in a vice, and before I knew what I was doing, the words were tumbling out of my mouth.
“You’ve got to help me. I was just looking for Catherine, and I saw something … I don’t know what it was. Something isn’t right. She isn’t right. She killed someone.”
Rather than looking shocked, or as though I was crazy, he grabbed me by the shoulders and moved me to the rear of the lift, as though shielding me from the outside world. He braced the lift doors open with his arms, and stuck his head out into the corridor, scanning it for people. The look of intensity I’d seen earlier morphed into one of cold calculation.
“We need to leave. NOW!” He grabbed my hand and jammed a finger on the call button.
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