Penelope woke and stretched, noticing that her muscles felt sore, then looked over at culprit's dark head on the other pillow. Dorian had thoroughly enjoyed himself with her last night, too thoroughly.

"I can't have you distracting me," he grinned at her puckishly, "Unless you want me to drag you into a closet…"

She'd pushed his head away. Well, she'd enjoyed herself, too. It was funny how they could be lovers, but not a couple. She was not in love with him, a little jealous at times, but no, not in love.

She liked to watch him sleep like this. The little worry lines on his face seemed to disappear, leaving only the odd, eerie beauty that even on first impression had seemed unnatural. She could remember the way she had felt when she first touched his hands: nothing, no impressions, no feelings.

"What are you?" She had thought. Not a demon, not an angel, human, yet not human. It had intrigued her, it was a relief to hold a hand that did not send her its owner's innermost thoughts. Sometimes the thoughts were unwelcome, but holding hands with Dorian seemed almost a relaxation, a rest.

She nestled into her pillow, careful not to wake him. No, you're not having me again, not until after the party, she thought, then wondered idly, can he father a child on me? It was not the first time she had considered such thoughts, she had known Dorian since she was eighteen and would soon be twenty four. Can he even father children? So far it had not happened. Did he pay a price for his unnaturally long life? Impotent he was not, but sterile? Maybe. It would seem to fit, but if that was true, then she felt sorry for him.

He opened his eyes and smiled at her, then reached for her.

She pulled away, playfully. "No, not until after the party. I want to be able to walk." He threw back his head and laughed, that contagious laugh she loved. She could not stay mad at him, it was impossible.

He gave her a roguish look, "No, we cannot have that, there is too much to do before tonight. Mrs. Stirling can take care of most of the decorations, but you are the only one I trust to dress the table. You have such an exquisite way with flowers."

"Thank you, and I will have a surprise for you, but I shan't reveal it until just before the party. I found it in a shop, and I haven't seen anything like it in any other house we've visited. It's beautiful and different, in a quiet way. I hope to set a new trend."

"Well, your dress and those feminine underthings you so love, will arrive this afternoon. If you are not the most beautifully dressed tonight, Mr. Worth will have disappointed me. You, as always, will be the most beautiful in the room tonight, at least as far as I am concerned."

"You have never disappointed me, I always feel like a beautiful doll when you dress me. Who will have first bath, Dorian, you or me? It had better be you, unless we share the tub, which will not be a good idea." It wasn't, but soon she was able to send him off and send for her maid to dress her.

She put on her new black suit. The unusual cut, the way she looked in it, gave her courage, and courage she certainly seemed to require. There was something about this party, something about this coming night that seemed, well, off. The old warning, the one she knew so well was ringing in her ears. Tonight she was especially glad that Madame Blavatsky and Florence Cook were coming, even if it might mean readings being done. She needed her shields, and they would be glad to play the part.

"That suit looks so lovely on you, you ought to order a coat for it, it if you're tired of wearing your fur cape." Dorian came into the room and handed her some checks. "If you wouldn't mind running by my haberdasher, I'd appreciate it. There's a check for the florist, I know you want to make sure he's gotten the flowers right. And the last one is for the apothecary, I ordered some things for you from Farmacia di Santa Maria Novella in Florence, and had it delivered there. And don't ask what's in it, it's a surprise."

She took Dorian's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you." It was her favorite place in Florence, "I like to just go in there and breathe," she had told him once. She said nothing for a moment, their eyes meeting each other in the mirror. "Dorian, if there were any way to cancel this, I'd insist on it. Something is feeling very, well, wrong. Something's going to happen, but I can't see it. Maybe it's the full moon, I don't know."

"Is it because you miss your wolf?" Dorian put his arm carefully around her to give her reassurance.

"Well, yes, and no. If he came it would not be for me, it would be for Vanessa Ives, but I've accepted that. No more rescuing lost causes! It's like, though, I'm hearing voices I can't understand. I always thought that your paintings would talk, but they don't, not even your picture. There's something waiting that is quite out of my control. I know a part of you is skeptical of my powers, but you know they're real. It's like something teasing me, keeping just out of my reach. I might go see Florence and Helena, if the bookshop is open."

"You are normally so fearless, and you are sounding afraid, my dear. I don't like that. I will be here to protect you, along with your two bulldogs." His name for Helena and Florence made her smile." If it's Madam Kali, you've always told me you are a match for her, especially since she does not know it. Be brave, my darling, and concentrate on having a good time. There is no place for fears tonight."

"All right," she said, and kissed him, "I must go, there is so much to do before I can bathe and dress for tonight."

Penelope glanced at her watch. Time was always in short supply, a commodity there was never enough of. She'd run Dorian's errands, and now she wanted to go up to the bookstore and make sure that Helena and Florence would attend. Thank goodness Dorian was so generous with his carriage, no, she deserved his generosity she decided. One more night like the previous and she would never allow him in her bed again.

Just as she was about to enter the Watkins, a tall, handsome man smiled and tipped his hat at her. My, she thought as she watched him walk away, someone ordinary, but at the same time extraordinarily handsome, more so even than Ethan and Dorian. What would it be like, she wondered, to be with someone who carried no supernatural baggage. Someone…normal.

She was still watching after him when the door to the bookshop swung open. She stepped away just in time as a customer hurried out with his bundle.

"That was a close call," said Madame Blavatsky, "You could have had quite the nasty bump on the head." She peered at Penelope, inspecting her closely, "No, not even a scratch, but you must be more careful my dear." She took Penelope's arm, dragging her into the shop, "I was just telling Arthur that he would finally get to meet the mysterious Dorian Grey. We've been asked to do readings at the party tonight, some other entertainment for the guests if they tire of dancing or eating. I was surprised when Arthur received an invitation, too, but it was quite fortuitous, I am sure."

They went to the back room and Penelope sank gratefully into a chair. Madame poured her a cup of tea from the samovar, then one for herself. "I wanted to make sure you and Florence were coming tonight, and if Arthur comes too that is all the better. Since Dorian seems bent on making it the event of the year, it will be nice to have some friendly faces. Vanessa Ives and Professor Murray will be coming, but Dorian took it into his head to invite Evelyn Poole. I don't trust her, not for a minute, it will be nice to have other eyes watching her, too."

"Why are you so worried, child?" the Russian's dark eyes stared into her own.

"Because I can't forget what happened the other day. That hasn't happened in a long time, and I still don't know why. And I believe that if our Madame Kali was not behind it, I think someone close to her was. I don't need to tell you how I feel about her, I'm grateful she doesn't frequent the shop. But she's evil and all that goes with it. With you, Arthur, and Florence I won't feel quite so vulnerable. I don't want to be there alone tonight."

She came back to Dorian's to find Mary filling her bath, fragrant with one of the oils from the Farmacia. Under Dorian's supervision boxes were being carried in and placed in her bedroom. Each was opened and held up for her inspection.

Dorian had outdone himself. Her undergarments were made in black and trimmed with black ribbons and lace, even her corset, shifts, and petticoats. The dress was saved for last, and Penelope gasped with surprise as she watched the gown pulled gently out of the box.

The watered silk that made up the dress was a dark magenta, trimmed lavishly with black lace. The décolletage was deep, and revealing, but it set off the hue of her creamy skin. Dorian held it up to her and she turned this way and that, gazing at herself in the mirror. Much better than black, she decided. Her diamond stars, one each placed on her shoulders, would look well against the black lace, and the last pinned carefully in her hair would complete the picture. He'd done well, everyone would notice her tonight, and the thought pleased her.

She sighed, they made a handsome couple, so much so that some mistook them for husband and wife. There was an irony in that, somehow. Dorian was the last man who would want to be a husband, and he was the last man she'd choose for one. But there was a freedom in being with him, a freedom to live a sort of dissolute life that seemed to suit her. She had discovered quite young that she was attractive to men, Dorian had taught her to play it to her advantage.

"Something for you," said Dorian, and pulled out a jewelry box and handed it to her. Inside was a choker of garnets and diamonds, with matching earrings. He held an earring up to her ear. "If you don't like them, we can send them back tomorrow, but please wear them tonight."

"Since when would my greed allow me to return them?" She put a slender hand on his cheek, "You are forgiven for last night, but I do feel I earned them." They both laughed, and he squeezed her around the waist.

"I will leave you to your toilette, but by the time Mary is done with you I will no doubt be so dazzled that I shall hardly be able to see. I leave you in her capable hands."

When she first set foot on the stairway, Dorian looked up, obviously pleased with his handiwork. She felt like a beautiful doll, a suitable decoration for his arm and companion for the coming night. The suffragette inside her wasn't pleased, but who could not like such an exquisite gown and her perfectly dressed hair. To look this way gave her confidence, who could truly blame her if she took comfort in her beauty?

"I feel like Galatea," she smiled at him, "I am no statue made of ivory, but I am your creation, none the less."

"Then I must be Pygmalian, and my creation is no less than ravishing, you will be the envy of every woman here tonight, mark my words."

"I would be happier to be coveted by every man, at the least the handsome ones," she tapped him on the arm with her fan. "Come and see my surprise, I've waited all day to show you."

"Champagne first," he said, and motioned for a servant to bring him two glasses. He tapped the rim of the crystal glass against hers, "To Penelope and her freedom, no more a slave to trying to rescue the hopeless."

"I'll drink to that, and to no more wolves in either of our lives, unless they are in cages in the zoo." She laughed and he joined in. The evening was going to be perfect.

She led him to the dining room. "See, this is my surprise, how do you like it?"

He had never seen a table dressed like this before. The china was of a palest blue, like the moon, trimmed in silver filigree along its edges. She had lain gossamer ribbons of the same color along the table, and the salvers that held the flowers were of silver. The flowers, bunches of hydrangea, carnation, mums, and roses were white, accentuating the table cloth. He had never seen a table dressed this way, and he was sure it would be the talk of London the next day.

He took her hand in his, "It's lovely, wherever did you find the china?"

"In Chinatown, I was surprised to see it, so I bought all the proprietor had. Don't worry, it's good China, but it cost you far less than Limoges. I'm so glad you liked it. I thought it was perfect for the occasion."

He kissed her gloved hand, and they went out into the main room to wait for the coming guests. He motioned to a servant who brought two more glasses.

"For our courage," he said, and kissed her on the lips. She removed a black glove and carefully rubbed off the lip rouge. He laughed and kissed her hand.

It was not long before the guests started arriving. The first were friends of Dorian, who had many such friends, and it was not necessary that she do any more than smile and allow her hand to be kissed. She wondered when Madame and Florence would arrive, but she need not worry, they would be true to their word.

A steady stream of people began to arrive. Few were fashionably late to a party thrown by Dorian Grey. Finally, Professor Malcolm Murray arrived, accompanied by Vanessa and Evelyn Poole. The latter she ignored, but though Vanessa was looking lovely in a black lace gown, she was pale and thin, much more than was usual. She kissed her and whispered, "Are you all right, my dear?" and Vanessa squeezed her hand. All right enough, the gesture said.

Malcolm Murray bowed low over her and kissed her hand. "You are easily the loveliest woman in the room tonight, my dear. We have missed you sorely, please feel free to come and visit, any day or time will do." If she had had doubts about him, she did not now. She looked at Evelyn Poole and noticed that she was not pleased. So much the better. She would not take her hand in greeting, but merely nodded her head.

They disappeared into the crowd and Professor Lyle took their place. "Could I be any more charmed, no, I could not. It has been a long time since you came to the museum. I have a private library that was gifted to me. I am sure you would enjoy looking at it. I trust you still read ancient Greek?"

The odd little man was trying to tell her something. "Fluently," she assured him, "And classic Latin. I think I might still be able to read hieroglyphics and hieratic. I would be delighted to come to the museum, I look forward to it." Now what was that about she thought as he bowed and joined the guests milling around the room. He was trying to tell her something, but what, she did not know. She had become so engaged with the shop that she no longer knew what was happening in the demi monde. She must remedy that.

She did not like the look Evelyn Poole was sending her way. Was the woman jealous of the attentions of Professor Murray? Was she trying to convey contempt, or a sort of warning that she should be wary of her.

A strange, dark haired girl had come to the head of the receiving line. Who was she. As if anticipating the question, she announced herself, "Hecate Poole, daughter of Evelyn Poole, I am very grateful for the invitation."

"Welcome, then," Dorian, and kissed her hand. She placed her hand in Penelope's and she was shocked to feel the jolt of energy pulse through her arm. Penelope could do little more than stare at her, wondering why she was here, for she only vaguely knew that Mrs. Poole had children.

Hecate placed her lips to her ear, "We must talk alone, and soon, I will tell you more later." Penelope could only nod dumbly. Hecate did not seem a threat, but she wondered if she were responsible for the spell that had taken hold of her. Hecate gave her hand a parting squeeze and joined the other guests.

She looked around, anxiously, where were her friends from Watkins. Ready to give in to anxiety, she smiled as she saw them come into the room.

"Such a beauty," Helena Blavatsky gushed, for Penelope was her favorite of her proteges. "Florence, Arthur, does she not look so lovely."

"Exceedingly," Arthur Waite bent over her hand and kissed it, "You show up all the others in the room. We did not fail you," he said as if he guessed her apprehension, "We are here for you, as always."

He's in love with her, thought Dorian, but she does not reciprocate. She loved Ethan, but he betrayed her in the end, I will make sure that does not happen again. If you can, a voice echoed him.

There was no sign of Victor. Penelope began to breathe a sigh of relief. She did not wish to see her cousin, or this "cousin" of his. Don't come, Victor, she prayed, stay away so that I may have a perfect evening.

She turned to Dorian, ready to tell him that no one would surely be coming, when she saw the familiar think figure with the light brown curls, dressed uncharacteristically in evening clothes, accompanied by a tall woman with brown hair so light it was almost golden. The mysterious cousin, dressed in palest pink and looking like she would prefer to be anywhere else.

"Here goes," Penelope breathed, and put a smile on her face.