Shimmer |✓|

//Glamour// Part 3

After dance practice, I zipped back to the manor with the intention of crashing for a few hours. I was just leaving the shower when Mrs. Trentley interrupted my plans, informing me we had a visitor. Guests were never rare at the Noble Manor, but most who passed through our door were usually important. It was my responsibility to grease palms in the Elder's absence.

As soon as I stepped foot outside my bedroom, their scent gave them away. The lilac whispered this was a female guest; the verbena screamed she hated Vampires. I followed my nose to the dining room, where a raven-haired woman with red-brown skin sat at the edge of my grandmother's silk sofa.

"Well, sugar, ain't you the sweetest thang?" A compellingly mysterious voice-it struck me to my Wolf, raising the hair on my arms and neck. Her accent was a rich Louisiana twang. Though spoken in a slower, lower tone than most women, it did not not detract from her physical beauty which was accelerated by confidence and charm. The lines in her carefully arranged face told me she could be someone's grandmother, and the hint of her smirk told me not to rely on this for any sort of leniency.

I lingered in the doorway and she rose to her feet, regarding me from eyes that were dark and bright as obsidian.

"In all my days, I've had yet to see a lovelier home." Her gaze swept over the room. "Pity you haven't more photographs."

"I think so too..."

"Please, call me Catherine. I know who you are."

I stepped inside the room, running my hands down my sides, betraying my anxieties. Her old-fashioned airs were enough to make me wish for a longer dress, one that was actually past the knees. I had a closet full of come hither outfits, no comfortably baggy jeans and cable knit sweaters like Granny Catherine here. How comfortable she looks...

<<This is a social call. Perhaps a little something more...>>

We'll see...

"I apologize, Ms. Catherine. If you're looking for my grandfather, I'm afraid he's out of town." I picked my words carefully. I knew her name but not her intentions.

"Ms. Catherine..." She shook her head in amusement. "You're far too young to be so polite."

"My friends would tell you otherwise. I'm only nice to strangers." I smiled just to prove it.

"P'shaw. You're a tribute to your kind, my dear." Once more her gaze traveled the room. I wondered-what ghosts did she see? What ghosts did she expect? Her sense of familiarity unnerved me.

"Would you care for a drink? Refreshments..." And for myself, a separation from the prefontal lobe would be nice. Why are you here, old woman...

"Oh, I didn't come here for milk and cookies--though I am partial. I came here for you." Catherine embellished her admission with a soft chuckle.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. You been sheltered, child. You know nothin' of the world, and it knows nothin' of you. But I can change that. I can change everything. "

Remarkable how everything I thought about Daya, this woman now said to me. Though her speech was slow and careful, it was difficult to keep up with her riddles. They challenged me in ways few had. They interested me in ways few had.

"So... you're a Witch." I made no effort to hide my accusation, which was only tempered by my surprise.

"The Witch. Mother Catherine--leader of the Red Hand--at your service." Her smile widened, made full with knowledge above my station. "You're impressed. How sweet."