Gabriella Pierce - The Dark Glamour

The Dark Glamour

A 666 Park AvenueNovel

Gabriella Pierce

Contents

T hanks. Jane Boyle aimed a friendly smile at the tired-looking barista, a sallow-skinned girl with a barbell through her septum. In spite of the fact that the macchiato in Janes hands was approximately the eight hundredth shed bought from the girl in the last three weeks, the barista didnt show the faintest glimmer of recognition.

Probably for the best, Jane reminded herself as she settled into the cozy-looking corduroy armchair that had quickly become her favorite. After all, she was in hiding.

Unfortunately, hiding was not turning out to be enjoyable or even particularly interesting. Jane could remember vividly the way her heart had pounded as she stood in Grand Central, making the life-or-death choice between leaving New York and staying. Clutching Malcolms stock of money and fake passports, she had imagined a wild montage of magical discovery with her fierce and loyal band of friends, culminating in a pitched battle with Lynne Doran and her creepy twin cousins that left their massive stone mansion as a heap of ugly rubble beneath Janes victorious feet.

Must. Stop. Thinking. In. Montages.

Jane hadnt gone more than two blocks when she caught a glimpse of herself on the news. Then the elegant face of her homicidal mother-in-law had filled the screen, and Jane instinctively backed away, afraid that Lynne would somehow see her. Maybe she can, Jane had thought wildly; she really couldnt fathom the limits of Lynnes powers. But after a tense few moments of listening to her own shallow breath rasping in the night air, the lure of Lynnes perfectly peach-lipsticked mouth was too much to resist.

The story the garbled closed-captioned ticker spelled out made it clear that Lynne was as much a mistress of PR as she was of black magic... and that Jane wasnt going to be able to so much as poke her nose out of hiding for a good long time.

Too afraid to contact her friends and with no idea how long the stockpile of cash would have to last her, Jane had to think quickly. A twenty-four-hour Duane Reade and twenty-seven minutes in the bathrooms of Grand Central had turned her from the blond newlywed Jane Boyle into the Ebony Mochatressed Caroline Chase, an anonymous New Yorker with a penchant for heavy eyeliner, whose passport Jane just happened to have. Good thing I didnt choose Amber Kowalsky, Jane thought, recalling the heavy Photoshopping of her picture in one of the other pseudonym-ed passports. All those piercings would have hurt.

Three weeks later, Caroline Chase was stuck in a depressing single-room-occupancy hotel near Port Authority with a shrinking pile of money and no idea what to do next... and Jane Boyle was still above the fold.

Distraught Mother Wont Give Up Hope, the latest headline proclaimed. Jane reached for the newspaper.

Although today marks three weeks since the mysterious disappearance of her son and his new bride, sources close to socialite Lynne Doran say she is as determined as ever to find them. The tenacious Mrs. Doran is currently offering just over $3 million for information leading to the safe return of Malcolm and Jane Doran, who were married on March 3 in what many were calling the wedding of the century. Just hours later, however, their automobile was involved in a bizarre multicar accident on Park Avenue. Although most injuries were minor, Yuri Renard, the Dorans family driver, was pronounced dead at the scene. Malcolm and Jane, however, seem to have simply vanished from the car, and the notorious playboy and his new wife have not been seen or heard from since.

There is nothing on Earth that would stop my son from letting me know if he were all right, Mrs. Doran insisted on the morning after the accident. Looking more disheveled than we have seen her since the tragic death of her daughter twenty-two years before, the Upper East Side maven went on to speculate that Malcolm and Jane must both be suffering amnesia following the trauma of the crash.

The investigators of the NYPD have been looking into some much more disturbing scenarios, although so far they are reluctant to go on record with them. Yuri Renards head wound was weird, a source close to the investigation swore on the condition of anonymity. And they found the Doran couples fingerprints in a taxi that was in the accident, too, but no one can find its driver. If Malcolm was high, he could have freaked out and attacked Yuri and then tried to get awaymaybe thats what caused the pileup, even.

The NYPD officially denies that this possibility is being pursued, but reiterates that Malcolm and Jane Doran are persons of interest in the puzzling crash. Anyone with information is asked to call the tip line at the bottom of the page.

Jane sighed and sipped her coffee. It was hard reading that Malcolm was a drugged-out criminal after everything he had given up to help her. Jane was the one who had killed Yuri, the Dorans creepy driver and sometime hit man, the day before her wedding, and she had been completely sober when she had done it.

Not to mention that I never actually changed my last name, she muttered, stabbing at a printed Jane Doran with one rather ragged fingernail. The Goa Sand polish from her wedding day was so chipped it looked more like camo.

How did she get Yuris corpse onto the scene so fast ? Jane wondered. Had they stashed the thing in a closet somewhere, just in case? And what the hell did they do with my tree? The cause of the pileup wouldnt have been nearly so mysterious if the tree that Jane magically uprooted from the median had still been lying across the downtown-bound lanes of Park Avenue when the police had arrived. Lynne must have gone into overdrive to manufacture her cover-up... or maybe witches had some way of altering peoples memories.

Jane set the newspaper down, unable to read one more sentence about Lynnes grief. This was, after all, the same woman who had ordered her son to murder Janes grandmother, seduce Jane, and impregnate her with a witch daughter so that Lynne could kill Jane off and raise the baby as her own. Witches power could only be passed through the female line, and Lynnes only daughter, Annette, had died tragically when she was just six years old, swept off to sea one day on the beach. Jane, a full-blooded witch who only recently learned of her powers, had become their very sickening plan B. To read about how Lynne already considered Jane a daughter and hoped the girls dear, departed family members were watching from above so they could see how hard Lynne was working to bring her back home made Jane feel nauseated.

Distant thunder rolled overhead, and Jane wondered if her grandmother really was watching from above. Like Jane and all the women in her bloodline, Celine Boyle had been a witch. Janes powers disrupted nearby electronics whenever she was upset or emotional; Grans excess emotions had boiled over as thunderstorms. If she really was still watching in some way, then clearly she saw eye-to-eye with Jane when it came to Lynnes crocodile tears.

Jane picked at the cardboard heat guard on her coffee cup. There was still so much she didnt know about her own power, and it didnt look as though shed be learning any more at her present rate. Im doing this all wrong, she fretted miserably, but what choice do I have? The whole citythe whole country, probablywas looking for her now, and any tiny mistake could give her away. It felt as though she were suffocating under a giant pillow stuffed with potentially fatal choices. Any movement could mean the end of the line, and so she was stuck sitting still. The fine blond hairs on her arms began to prickle and stand on end.