Lost Beauty (The Deadly Beauties Live On 4)

Did he hurt Chaz? Chaz is strong, though. In a fight, he’d at least leave Slade hurting too, and Slade hasn’t had so much as a limp.

“I didn’t lay a hand on him,” he says flatly.

“That doesn’t answer my question, and why did you do anything at all?”

“To provoke a reaction. I knew you’d be distracted until you had answers. I got no real reaction, so there’s your answer,” he says emotionlessly, straightening back up.

“What did you do?” I ask yet again.

“Told him to stay away, and let him think we’re fucking.”

“But we’re not,” I point out.

“Perfectly aware,” he says dryly. “I’m not interested.”

Neither am I, but I hold my tongue. “What about Ella?” I ask instead, deciding to shift him off-foot since he’s doing it to me.

His jaw tics at the mere mention of her name.

“What is it that gets you all pissed off when you hear her name?” I go on.

He cuts his eyes toward me. “Why does it feel like you’re the one trying to provoke me now?”

My lips twitch. “Because I want to see your reaction.”

He turns back toward the papers, and he snatches them. He leaves without another word, and I blow out a breath. I’ll pay for that later on the spar grounds.

My fingernails click rapidly against the surface of the desk, and I look through the window, wondering what the Scooby gang are doing right now. It’s dark out, so it’s unlikely the visionary would be able to spy on them until light again.

Are they outside? Are they sparring at night like we are? Are they ready for this? Are they still grieving the loss of their friend?

I’ve never had a friend, other than Slade, so I don’t know the appropriate grieving period.

Frustrated, I grab my belt with a sheath and put it on, then toss an anointed sword in the sheath. I won’t be satisfied until I see him with my own eyes and know he’s safe. Why? Hell if I know.

The others are in the sparring field that is illuminated only by the moonlight. As I walk out, a few eyes swing to me questioningly, possibly wondering if I need to get out some more of my frustration on their faces.

“I’m going to patrol,” I tell them, ignoring their sighs of relief as I head toward the woods.

The second I’m far enough away to avoid being seen, I dematerialize. I have to stop and go several times in order to reach the Scooby gang’s camp, since it’s a good distance away and I can’t dematerialize too much at one time. I’m out of breath by the time I finally make it, and I know it’ll be a while before I can dematerialize again.

Voices in the distance let me know this trip isn’t for nothing because they’re obviously outside right now.

Tired, I make it to the far edge of their camp, silently finding a spot so they can’t see me through the bushes. I also find a nice, fat tree to give me even more cover. I watch like a stalker, peering around the tree. My heart hits my throat when I spot Chaz coming out of the boarded up cabin.

My heart is thundering, but not because I can see him. It’s because I can’t see him. He has on a backwards hat, and he’s wearing that white mask I saw him wear that first night at the rings—the white one that only has holes in the eyes and nowhere else.

He’s wearing a tight black tank, and his jeans hang low on his hips. He’s like a dark promise being delivered at midnight.

As my eyes dart around, I notice he’s not the only one wearing a mask; they all are. Every person has on a full or half mask that covers most or all of their faces. The girls have on hoods, and the guys have on hats.

Then I realize why, and it’s utter genius. The visionary can’t see them. If the visionary can even force a vision—which is still up for debate—he’d be searching for the faces through hundreds of thousands of images. If all he sees are masks, his mind will keep going, looking elsewhere, not bothering to investigate.

I almost hate that I didn’t think of it first.

I try to figure out who is who by listening to their voices, and hear Leah as she curses and glares down at her outstretched hands. Her mask is red, and stops just above her lips. She’s wearing a black hoodie, and the hood is drawn up.

My sleeveless shirt I’m wearing has a hood, and I tug it up, shrouding myself that much at least.