Satisfied with the basic template, she worked the rest of the glamour with little effort. Re-creating a glamour took less time than producing a new one, the uncanny recall that all druids had enabling Laura to call forth the memory of the template. Mariel’s ebony hair flowed to her waist-another trick, long hair on women having a history of conveying mystery beneath femininity. For convenience, she added an outfit, a dark gray, form-fitting power suit with a long skirt. Wearing physical clothing was easier since she only needed to maintain a body image, but she wouldn’t have time just then to change into Mariel’s clothes.
As a final touch, she softly sang an old Irish song as she worked, a cadence of grief and remembrance that touched the soul. Mariel’s voice had a mild lilt, which women found endearing and men found alluring, and the song spelled the accent into her voice.
Rising from the worktable, she examined the results in a full-length mirror, a critical eye roaming over the line of the skirt, the shape of her shoes, and the drape of her hair. As Laura, as her physical self, she knew she was attractive. But Mariel went beyond that. She represented a woman who most people aspired to be or be with, and possessed a confidence in herself that everyone wished they had. If a glamour was a mask-a visual lie-Mariel was Laura’s lie to her inner self. She was Mariel, but wasn’t. Mariel’s allure and power were aspects she only pretended to have.
She slipped the Janice glamour stone into a small pouch that was keyed to her body signature. For security reasons, only she could open it. She tucked the pouch into one of the vest pockets of her business suit, closed the plastic bins, and returned them to their orderly cubbyholes.
Instead of passing back through the closet-and risking an encounter with a returning Saffin-Laura paused at the workroom door, which led into the next department. Sensing no one in the hallway on the other side, she opened the door. From the hallway, the view into the room was masked to look like an electrical closet. If a maintenance staff member opened the door, he would see junction boxes and the raw piping of the building but would be unable to enter because of a security spell. If anyone asked why there was a security spell, they were told that the room serviced sensitive experiments in the building and entrance needed clearance from Terryn macCullen. Few people asked. It was a Guildhouse, a building that everyone understood was filled with secrets that often were not healthy to investigate.
An added benefit of the location of her workroom was its proximity to a secondary elevator bank near the back of the building. A crowded elevator arrived, and Laura eased into the front. As the doors closed, she noticed Resha Dunne standing two people away. She caught his glance, a brief flicker laced with the gleam of attraction, before his lidded eyes shifted to stare at the numbers at the top of the car. Even with his docile nature, Resha was still a merrow and didn’t suppress his obvious appreciation for Mariel. He had no idea who she really was. Without a mirror, even Laura sometimes forgot. She watched as the lit numbers counted down to the lobby. At ground level, she blended in with people in the crowded lobby, alone and anonymous, but still drawing attention.
CHAPTER 10
ELYSIUM GENERAL HOSPITAL blended into its surroundings like any other neighborhood business building. A solid mass of concrete with cantilevered sides, it had been built in the 1950s as part of the urban renewal south of the National Mall. The brutalist architecture suffered from unfavorable critical reviews. After struggling to find tenants for years, a coalition of fey groups purchased it and founded the hospital. If the Celtic fairies and Teutonic elves agreed on anything, it was quality health care, and EGH was the one place where no one argued politics, of the fey kind anyway.
Laura strolled the fourth-floor corridor, the Mariel Tate glamour drawing its intended attention from hospital staff and visitors. Her high heels punctured the hushed working atmosphere with a firm, measured rhythm. Mariel didn’t rush and would not be rushed, her movements steady with purpose, the casual sway in her hips conveying a woman comfortable in her own skin more than one attempting to provoke desire in an onlooker. She had other attributes to do that.
She paused at the door to Corman Deegan’s room. For a moment, she thought she might have the wrong room. The file in her hands had Deegan’s picture in it, a trim man dressed in jeans and a blue oxford shirt. He appeared more youthful than his picture, certainly younger than his fifty-some years. Druids weren’t immortal, but they lived decades longer than humans and aged at a much slower rate. Some were rumored to have lived centuries. In the file photo, Deegan looked to be no more than in his early thirties, his blunt-cut hair swept over his ears to the nape of his neck adding to the youthful appearance. The man sitting in the chair by the window looked considerably older.
He tilted his head to follow some movement outside the window. “I’m not sure why InterSec is interested in talking to me,” he said.
Laura chided herself for forgetting that other druids had a wider sensing range than she did. She stepped a few feet into the room until she sensed Deegan’s body signature. “My name’s Mariel Tate.”
He turned, revealing a healing cut on his right cheekbone and a fading bruise under his eye. “I know. I’m Corman Deegan.”
She gave him a slow half smile. “I know.”
They exchanged bemused stares as they took each other’s measure. That close, she sensed he had what would be considered an average-strength body signature, not one of the heavy-hitting powerhouses of the fey world but not to be underestimated. Innate body essence was important in manipulating essence, but it wasn’t the only thing that determined power. What you did with it counted. Laura knew powerful fey who didn’t have the skills to exploit it. She was an example of someone with ability deficits that she more than made up for in other ways.
Deegan gestured for her to take the guest chair while he remained in the other. “You look too perfect. You’re wearing a glamour.”
The comment didn’t surprise Laura. There were ways to see beneath a glamour, but it wasn’t an ability. Druids were particularly skilled at creating glamours. They couldn’t see through them, though they had a knack for noticing telltale signs when one was being used. Laura thought, for instance, that the Janice glamour was obvious to most druids, but she worked carefully on the Mariel one to avoid notice or comment. She took Deegan’s awareness as evidence of his attention to fine detail rather than a flaw in her glamour skills. “I don’t like to fuss with my hair and clothes.”
“I’ve never been very good with them myself.”
She wondered if he believed her. With her own essence-sensing deficit, she could sympathize with what he meant. Her limited range might be a flaw in her abilities, but her acute ability to sense emotions made up for it. When Deegan spoke about her glamour, she noted that his tone and manner reflected observation rather than definitive knowledge. She sensed no suspicion from him, reinforcing her belief that he accepted her visual appearance as nothing more than a tidied-up version of her actual appearance.
“Druid Deegan, I imagine you know by now about the raid in Anacostia that did not succeed as intended. I’ve been asked to review the situation since an InterSec agent was almost killed. Could you tell me for the record why you were not on the mission?” she asked.