I am the Bean Sidhe. It is my disembodied wail that you hear in the hills, across the moors, in the glen and by the river. It is I who none see and all fear.
Samhain. Halloween. The Night of the Hag. Call it what you will, it is power to me. With the sky dominated by the full moon it becomes both blessing and curse. Granting flesh to my apparition form, it demands I serve my purpose in the presence of my sorrow. Tonight the moon would be full at 9:42pm.
Under the glamour of a black hearse, my coach-a-bower rolled to a stop in front of the brightly-lit mansion. The stamping hooves of six headless horses clunked like a bad transmission. The Dullahan who drove the immense carriage stepped out of the driver's-side door. His lack of a neck and head was plain for all to see. No mortal would suspect the man truly lacked a skull.
Eric Walsh glared out the window. Less than pleased, his dark eyes raked the crowd of young men and women gathered on the lawn. They were in the living room, on the staircase and in the kitchen. A spasm of irritation flickered across his face.
The capes of too many Draculas swirled in the air. Hair glittered in a dozen bright colors. Faces covered by masks or make-up appeared and disappeared among the crowd. French Maids squealed as hands vanished up their frilled skirts. Among the chaos, only Eric noticed my vehicle that rattled to a stop in front of the house. I saw that he watched with intrigue as my driver open the rear door.
My Dullahan servant offered me his hand. Rising from the hearse-disguised coach, I was shocked by the cool night. October's crisp air burned my new lungs. My flesh tingled with excitement. Even under a dozen veils of gossamer I could feel my nipples harden from cold. When the sidhe made silk from spider webs, warmth had not been on their minds.
Legs suddenly weak, Eric leaned against the sill. His closed his chestnut eyes, rubbing them. When he looked again I was gone.
I watch him from behind. First shock, then simple disappointment radiated from him. He tossed his wolf's mask onto the bed. Turning he saw me in the doorway.
My face is the first thing he noticed. The first thing they all see. My face, neck and even my shoulders were milky, pure white. My hair was blanched, a cascade of cream that flowed to my knees. My eyes were red orbs, lost in large dark circles of sable. Petal-soft lips the color of blood, plump and sensual, curved in a half-smile.
He fell to the bed, sitting dumbstruck and awed. The glamour revealed me to him, as it always did. I swallowed the lump in my throat knowing it was trickery of the worst sort.
I was easily a foot shorter than he was, petite and delicate. Through several layers a material, so sheer its color was indeterminable, he could see every curve of my body. My shape a narrow hourglass.
Eric inhaled deeply, his jaw hanging slack. He could see the rising mounds of my buoyant breasts, the darkness of my areolas, the shadowed triangle beneath my slim waist. I stepped toward him on tiny white feet, not even sandals to protect them.
He stood and approached me in silence.
My stomach knotted. The youth was roguishly handsome. Even the ridiculous faux fur wolf costume, his sinewy strength and vitality radiated from him. Square-jawed with high cheekbones and piercing brown eyes, he towered over me. I could feel the heat from his body from several feet away, his pulse beating steady but fast in my ears. This was the one I had come for.
For a moment I thought those chestnut eyes was seeing beyond the glamour. My freshly formed heart skipped with fear. Then, he smiled. None smile who see me as I am.
I forced my lips to keep their superficial smile. Announcing this youth would be a sorrowful task, indeed. My eyes would burn redder before the midnight bell.
"Eric Walsh?" My voice was deep and sensual with a hint of an Irish accent.
In three steps he was by my side. Plucking a rose from a vase near the door he offered it to me.
"Lady of Death, I greet you."
My brow creased. My breath caught in my throat. He could not possibly know who I really was. Yet, his voice was serious and sad.
Taking the rose, I said, "Eric Walsh, I am your treat this eve."
I needn't have said anything. The glamour would make him come to me. Make him want me, regardless my fearful appearance.
He lifted me easily into his arms. He twirled me around; veils floating behind me like transparent fairy wings. Before the room stopped spinning, I was placed with grace and ease on the red satin sheets of the bed. The rose fell from my hand.
