“Absolutely.” Layla smiled back.
“I can’t go through to the taxi stand at the Palace of Versailles in the human world with you. I don’t look even remotely human without a glamour, and I didn’t have time to get one today. So you’ll have to go through alone.” Though he spoke briskly now with his Head Concierge attitude, Dusk’s smile was wry. And for the first time, Layla saw him regret what he was. He’d come to Seattle as himself back in August, but that had been on a residential street at night. Though it was nearly evening in Versailles, there was still light in the winter sky, and tourists would be lingering around the Palace for photographs.
He couldn’t come with her, not even to escort her into the taxi.
Lifting to her toes, Layla set her lips to Dusk’s one last time – pressing him with the deepest kiss she could give. She felt him startle; and then he wrapped her in his arms, crushing her close. Her arms wound around his neck as they kissed, incredible currents flowing between them. By the time they broke apart, both were breathless.
Dusk chuckled, then pushed Layla gently away. Gripping the handle of her rolling bag, Layla took him in one last time. Fit and delicious in one of his impeccable dove-grey suits, he wore a canary silk tie with midnight polka dots, reversed for his silk pocket square. Layla laughed, shaking her head with a smile.
“What?” He grinned back.
“You.” She spoke, her smile softening. “I love everything you are, Dusk Arlohaim. Everything.”
“You better make it back to get some more of this.” He lifted an eyebrow, a ripple of light passing through his artfully-sculpted hair. “As I recall, we still have an unsettled breakfast date together. And more sex to indulge in.”
“You better believe I’m making it back for that.” Layla blew him a kiss, and he caught it theatrically with a wink.
And then she turned, stepping through the gates of the Red Letter Hotel – and back into the human world at last.
CHAPTER 14 – NORMAL
Traveling in the human world was a known thing for Layla. Riding in taxis was familiar, being deposited on the curb of the Paris Airport, navigating her way to the Air France counter to secure a standby ticket to Genoa or Pisa or even Rome if she had to. She was in luck. A first-class ticket on the next flight to Genoa was available and she purchased it with her black Hotel credit card, then navigated through security with her baggage.
The routine of being gazed at like a potential terrorist by security was familiar as they checked her ticket and passport. No one noted her expensive pearl and diamond jewelry, though Layla fretted as she removed her boots, sweater, and coat to pass through security, wondering if she should take Reginald’s gifts off. But Dusk had said to never remove them, so Layla sweated as she passed through the body scanner. But neither the jewelry nor King Arini’s feather in its silk pouch snapped to her bra were picked up by the human security systems, and with a bored glance by a security agent, she was waved through.
Relief washed through Layla as she claimed her carry-on, moving to a bench to zip her boots back on and don her sweater. Her hand stole up, touching the pearl choker as she moved away from the security area, rolling her bag behind her with her coat on top of it. Gazing around at other travelers, she wondered suddenly how many of them were aware of the Twilight Realm – and how many might be Twilight folk traveling in disguise.
Layla couldn’t imagine she was the only person to ever have done so, and even as she had that thought, a short, dowdy older woman passed by – whose eyes suddenly sharpened on Layla’s choker. The woman glanced at Layla’s wrist, and her eyes became enormous as they tracked to Layla’s face. Giving a deep nod, the woman hurried past – also giving Layla a wide berth. A scent like honeycomb hit Layla’s nostrils and she saw the woman shiver in a way that almost buzzed. Layla smiled, realizing the short older woman was of Head Clothier Amalia DuFane’s bee-type Lineage, traveling as human.
So Twilight people traveling incognito is a thing after all.
As she walked briskly to her gate, stopping to pick up a bottle of water at a newsstand, Layla kept her senses alert. Most travelers only gave her cursory glances as they hurried to their gates, but now and again she passed someone whose nostrils flared when she was near, or whose eyes fixed on Reginald’s gift. Most only gave Layla vague traveler’s smiles, but a few really looked at her as if trying to remember her face or discern if she had any glamour.
Layla had seen applications of glamour done at the Hotel on Twilight folk who looked distinctly non-human, so they could go sightseeing in the human world and blend in. She found she could pick these people out as she stepped to her gate, noting that it was still seven minutes until boarding. A tall Scandinavian-blonde woman to her left had a waver in the air around her face as Layla glanced over. They shared a look and Layla thought she saw curling red tattoos at the woman’s temples and down her neck – badges of a Furie’s battle-prowess. A hippie guy with enormous brown dreadlocks and a nose piercing glanced up from his seat, giving her a big smile. Layla saw a waver around him too, and suddenly saw the velveteen features, corkscrewing horns, and short brown billy-goat beard of a Satyr.
But glancing around the crowded pre-flight area again, Layla realized that the two Twilight Lineage people she’d noted were the only ones waiting for her plane. She went over to take a seat next to billy-goat boy, one of the few seats still available at the crowded gate, but soon learned it was vacant because he smelled intensely of patchouli and a goaty B.O. It was overwhelming, and swallowing back a cough, Layla opted to stand near a column with a panel of cell-phone chargers instead.
Just then, the call for initial boarding of first class passengers came, and Layla turned toward the gate. Only a few people were boarding first-class or with infants, and Layla queued up, getting her boarding pass scanned and moving down the jetway. Stepping into the plane, she found her grey leather seat in first class and hucked her rolling bag into the overhead bin, then settled in.
Layla had the window seat, and as she watched other passengers file by for coach, a well-dressed businessman with a black briefcase nodded at her and settled into the seat beside her. Dressed in a grey pinstriped three-piece suit and russet wingtip shoes, he was lean and tall; silvering with age though quite handsome. With exquisitely cut features, high cheekbones, and a masculine yet elegant jaw, he had an enviable, mature sexiness like some kind of high-powered lawyer or CEO, with a sharp intensity about his person. Glancing over with ice-blue eyes, he flashed a quick smile, though his gaze lingered upon Layla’s choker.
“North Sea Sirens?” He spoke with a cultured British accent, keeping his voice low as the flight attendant moved past assisting people with luggage.
“You know it?” Layla blinked as she reached up on instinct to touch Reginald’s gift, shock flooding her that she hadn’t noticed the man at the gate.
“I am one. And you clearly are not.” One corner of his haughty lips curled into a smile, something deeply patronizing in it. Flaring his nostrils, he inhaled. “Desert Dragon. Moroccan and Mediterranean clan. Heading to Italy for business or pleasure?”
“Business. And none of yours, pal.” Layla’s scales felt instantly scratched. Whoever this asshole was, he was going to get some lip from her if he kept pushing.
“It is my business, actually.” His gaze got frosty as he stared her down, something furious but composed in his ice-pale eyes. “If I’m going to help my brother Reginald protect someone from Paris all the way to King Falliro Arini in Manarola, I’d like to know just exactly why.”
Layla blinked hard. Her gut dropped through her boots as she stared at him. “You’re one of Reginald’s brothers?”
“The eldest of ten. By a few hundred years.” The older gentleman lifted a straight eyebrow. And suddenly, Layla saw the family resemblance. Though going sexily silver, he had once been golden-haired, and traces of it still showed. His angular jaw was the same as Reginald’s, his lean, mean physique not showing even a trace of paunch. His blue eyes were the same icy color as the Head Courtier’s when he was irritated or angry. As he stared her down, Layla had the distinct impression of power, though she heard no oceans in her ears.
“Why don’t I feel any Siren-magic coming from you?” She frowned at him.
He lifted his wrist, showing an ornate wrist cuff of silver inset with pearls. “My talisman. Like you, I wear something in the human world to control my energy. Chafes like a manacle.”
