Chapter 4

Castle Googled Cedar & Oak, Event Planners of Distinction, and shortly arrived at their elegant offices. Despite the late hour, they were open. Castle ambled in, and smiled at the equally elegant receptionist, dressed in flowing blue-green reminiscent of a river.

"Hey, Cimarron," Castle greeted her.

"Witchfinder Castle. What brings you here?"

"I'm looking for Cedar or Oak – or both of them. I want to ask them about the Hallowe'en Ball."

Cimarron gave a trill of laughter, evoking the ripples of a stream. "The Witchfinder going a-wooing, so I hear."

Castle blinked. "That's…"

"True. Word's gotten around, Witchfinder. We're all waiting to see what happens."

"Are Cedar or Oak around?"

"Sure." Cimarron tapped at her phone, had a brief conversation, and smiled again. "Cedar'll be right out. So tell me about your lady. I hear she's something out of the common way."

"Word's definitely gotten around," Castle said, displeased. "Am I going to have an interested audience for the whole of the Ball?"

"Yep," Cimarron grinned. "We'll be subtle, though. Anyways, it's not your courtship we're interested in – well, not much – it's her. Everyone wants to know what she is." She pouted, a wave of lip. "It's not fair that Sienna won't tell us."

"Nope," came from behind Castle.

He spun around. "Well met, Cedar."

"Well met, Witchfinder. Come through."

"With pleasure." Castle followed Cedar, a relatively broad brownie with faintly red-tinged hair, to a neat room.

"Coffee?"

"Please," Castle said. "It's been a long day."

"Full of surprises, I guess?"

"You can say that again. First I find that my partner is something more than human, then, while I'm planning the best dinner for two ever, I find that everyone on this side of the more-than-human divide is watching avidly because you've all heard about her in the last few hours."

"You can't blame us for being interested. You were with humans before, and that didn't turn out so well for you."

"I know, but you don't need to remind me of my mistakes." Castle grinned wryly. "I have my mother to do that for me."

"Mothers are all alike," Cedar agreed. "Mine's still complaining that I'm planning events with Oak, not settling down in the cleaning business like she wanted. This is much more fun."

"For sure. That's why I've come to you. The Dagda said that you were hosting the Hallowe'en Ball this year, and I'm bringing my partner. The Dagda's promised me the best meal he can provide, but I want the evening to be extraordinary, for an extraordinary woman."

"We can do that, though you didn't need to ask. Just from our cousin's words, we knew that she's extraordinary, though we don't know what she is either. Our cousin won't say, though she did say that she hadn't seen the like in seven hundred years. We'll make sure it's perfect." He smiled, small sharp teeth on view. "It's been a long, long time since we met something new."

"So glad to amuse you." Castle snipped. "If I'd realised everyone would be this interested, I'd have taken her to Nobu."

"No, you wouldn't. You want to show off." Cedar caught Castle's scowl. "In a good way. You want to please her, impress her, and show her that you value her. Those are good things. We'll help."

"I appreciate it. Do I get to know what you're planning?"

"Nope. You like surprises. We'll make it special."

Castle bowed slightly in thanks, without ever making the mistake of saying the words.

"We do have one condition, though."

"Mm?"

"We plan the wedding."

"If she'll marry me, you can."

It faintly occurred to Castle that if Beckett were ever to agree to marry him, she might be just a little put out to discover that all the wedding planners were already in place, but then he consoled himself with the thought that that would be some considerable time away, and anyway he hadn't planned the wedding, simply those who would make it happen. He shrugged that off as a much later and not even definite problem, and betook himself home to collapse into bed and sleep, dreaming of Beckett.

Beckett, still head down in her ever-present paperwork and cold cases, nevertheless managed to detect Castle appearing, slightly later than normal but, crucially, bearing her favourite form of coffee and a bear claw. She smiled, and thought that their conversation over dinner this evening would be sufficiently pointed that she could be moderately nice now. Only moderately, though. She wouldn't want to tip him off that there was something up. Witchfinder, indeed! Spying on her? Absolutely not on.

"What's happening?" Castle said hopefully. "Anything interesting?"

"Paperwork. Cold cases. Nothing you like."

"I wouldn't say that," Castle oozed. "You're here." Beckett rolled her eyes. "What? I like you. You're inspiring. You're my" –

"Don't say it."

"Awww. You're no fun."

"Nope."

"I hope you've found a nice dress for tonight," he murmured. "I can't wait to see what you wear."

Beckett smiled mysteriously. He'd swallow his tongue when he saw her, but since she had a beautiful wrap to cover it, that wouldn't be until they sat down. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"It's a surprise, but you'll love it. I'll pick you up at nine."

"Nine?"

"It's Hallowe'en," Castle noted. "Late dinner. Anyway, you said you were off tomorrow, so…one late night won't be a problem."

"I guess," Beckett begrudged. Truthfully, she had no objection. She'd have been up late on Hallowe'en anyway, watching the world shift and change, though alone. Until she'd looked at Castle, and then met Sienna, she'd thought herself alone. But if there were two, might there be more?

She certainly wasn't going to ask Castle. Maybe, after dinner, she'd go out and see what she could find. Any restaurant Castle could choose would surely close before midnight.

(You just want to show him you can take or leave his supernaturality. Is that supposed to be a word? Yep. Hmm. Nope, I'm just finding out who else isn't quite human. Sure you are, said her annoying little voice, with a nastily large dose of disbelief.)

The day progressed much as any paperwork day usually did: tediously. Castle played with his phone, cast Beckett heated glances every time he thought he could get away with it, and generally messed around and irritated her. She consoled herself with his likely reaction to her gorgeous dress, and concentrated on her paperwork.

Tried to concentrate. That damn voice kept suggesting interesting ways that Castle might appreciate her dress…on her and, well, not. It was doing nothing for her brain or willpower, since she could imagine exactly what would happen and how she'd feel.

(Great, said the voice. Beckett ignored it.)

Lunch would have come as a relief, if only Castle hadn't come along to the food truck with her, suggesting that she eat lightly as he'd planned a really excellent dinner and she wouldn't want to spoil her appetite.

"I'm getting a salad because that's what I want," she snipped, "not because of you."

Castle merely smiled, smugly. She nearly shot him on the spot.

(No you didn't. You thought about kissing him, though. Did not. Did so. Didn't. Shut up. Shan't.)

She returned to her desk and crunched through her salad with a considerable air of sulking. The salad wasn't really sufficient to sate her hunger, either. "There better be good desserts," she muttered crossly.

"There are," Castle said. "I wouldn't dare to take you anywhere that didn't have great desserts." He paused. "And great coffee, too."

"Where are we going?"

"It's still a surprise, but you'll love it."

"So why are your fingers crossed?"

"For good luck. I'll be really upset if you don't like it."

Beckett looked sceptically at him. "You sure you're not telling fibs?"

"Certain sure. Cross my heart and hope to die," Castle said, and made the correct gestures. "See?"

Beckett humphed, but didn't query it. As a supernatural, Castle probably couldn't tell an outright lie either. She turned back to the cold case, which wasn't getting any warmer for her glaring at it, and which then obdurately refused to rise above freezing for the rest of the afternoon.

"See you at nine," Castle bounced. "Black tie, remember. My tux is already perfectly pressed." He widened his eyes pleadingly. "What's your dress like?"

"Who says I'm wearing a dress?" Beckett snipped. "I might wear a tux of my own. Or a pantsuit. Or ripped jeans and a sloppy t-shirt."

"You won't," Castle said confidently. "You love good clothes and you always look stylish. You would never go to a black tie event in ripped jeans."

Beckett's brain suddenly caught up with her ears. "Black tie event?" she exclaimed. "I thought we were going for dinner?"

"We are," Castle recovered smoothly, internally panicking. "But I'm wearing a tux so it's black tie."

Beckett regarded him with a look that belonged in Interrogation One, applied to lowlifes of the worst form. "Hm."

"Time I went," Castle jerked out. "It takes me a while to prepare."

"That's what happens when you're old," Beckett jabbed.

"I'm not old," Castle complained. "I'm experienced, though," he oozed. "You could let me prove it." He caught Beckett's searing glare and half-ran for the elevator, thanking his stars that he had an excuse to escape before Beckett could turn all her badass interrogation skills on him.

Once home, he made dinner for his family, then showered, shaved, applied his favourite cologne (which he knew that Beckett liked, even if she never said so), and ensured that he was as perfectly turned out as he could be. He repressed, with amazing self-control and considerable severity, the temptation to peek at Beckett and find out what her dress was like (and what was under it), and then fretted himself into flinders until it was at last time to go and the car was waiting outside.

He just hoped that he'd gotten this right.

Beckett went home very shortly – that is to say, no more than half an hour – after shift end, and drew herself a soothingly hot bath, laced with sweet-smelling bath oil, which would leave her skin silkily soft and scented. She washed her hair, ensured her legs and underarms were perfectly smooth, and stepped out of her tub to style her hair, do her make-up, and then dress in her unbelievably beautiful gown. She spent some time admiring it: the soft flow of the cobweb-fine silk around her body, the perfect fit of the bodice and the flare of the skirt, the delicate silvery embroidery at neckline, waist, short puffed sleeves and hem. The deep twilight blue shifted to the soft grey of dawn as she moved, and then back to the dark of evening-tide. She glanced at the clock, and smiled. Perfect timing.

She swathed the matching silken wrap around her, noticing that despite its feather-lightness it was cosily warm, and waited the few moments until nine should strike.

Exactly as the clock chimed, there was a knock on the door, in Castle's distinctive cadence. Beckett drew herself up to her full, stiletto-assisted height, ensured that her wrap covered everything except that proportion of her dress which fell below her knees to swish just above the floor, and opened the door.

(He looks delicious, her voice remarked. And scorching hot. Wish everyone looked that good in a tux.)

Even Beckett's non-voice thoughts conceded that Castle looked superb in full black tie. Positively edible. And he was wearing that particularly enticing cologne – not that she would tell him that. Nor was she going to take advantage of his edibility and taste his lips. Absolutely not.

Much to Beckett's satisfaction, Castle's eyes were eating up what he could see of her. "Gorgeous," he said, "but can't I see the rest of it?"

"Not till we get to the restaurant," Beckett said.

"Allow me to escort you," Castle pronounced, bowed, and extended his arm. Beckett laid her hand upon it, and they left.

At the elegantly discreet limousine, Castle waved away the chauffeur and opened the door for Beckett, then settled himself next to her. His fingers wandered to the wrap. "Wow," he said. "Where did you get that? It's amazingly soft."

"A tiny little shop near my apartment," Beckett said.

Castle almost said "Umber's?" but managed to keep his tongue between his teeth. "Did the dress come from there too?"

"Yep." Beckett unconsciously stroked the dress.

Castle, hyper-aware of Beckett, noticed her strokings. Happily, and entirely in accordance with his plotting, that meant that her hand would reach his, when he might hang on to it.

Plotting was abruptly ruined when he touched the fabric. "What is that?" he gasped. "It's incredible." He stroked the dress. "It's as light as a cobweb." Realisation dawned on him. He clamped his mouth shut again. Telling Beckett that she was wearing true, almost-impossible-to-obtain spider silk – worth a fortune and not seen (he had heard) since the fourteenth century because (according to Umber) no-one worthy of wearing it had existed since then – was not going to go well. One of the very few things Beckett was scared of was spiders. She evicted them if necessary, but Castle had heard her commentary and drawn correct conclusions pretty quickly.

"Silk," Beckett said happily. "It's wonderful. I've never worn anything like it."

"Says the woman with more clothes than Macy's."

"That's your mother, isn't it?" Beckett flashed back. "I don't have lots of clothes, I just have well-chosen ones." She grinned suddenly. "I have lots of shoes."

Castle laughed. "Yep. More shoes than anyone I've ever met. Possibly more than anyone in the history of shoe-owners." He stopped yet again, before he could say and I'll be introducing you to the best shoemakers in the history of shoemaking later tonight. For all he knew, they'd be measuring her up before she'd taken three steps into the Ball. The elves and the leprechauns would probably come to blows. He tried to peek at tonight's sex-on-stilts shoes, but couldn't see them.

The car drew up, and Castle hopped out to open the door for Beckett. She extracted herself with considerable elegance, placed her hand on his extended arm, straightened up, looked around as the car departed, and –

"What the hell?" Beckett stopped dead in front of the entrance to the Trinity Church, Wall Street cemetery. "I thought we were going for dinner. If this is a sick joke then I'm not impressed at all."

"Take one step forward," Castle said, and promptly did so, forcing Beckett to move too. The step took them through the veil that concealed the Hallowe'en Ball from the ordinary, human world. "Not a joke," he said smugly, surveying the packed area: every table but one filled.

"What" –

"Welcome, Beckett, to the Hallowe'en Ball" –

Castle's smugness was dented as he was interrupted by Baron.

"Witchfinder Castle. Milady Beckett. We been waiting for you." He smiled, skull-like, and straightened to his full height. "Lords and Ladies of de Otherworld," he announced. "Dis Baron Samedi, Master of Revels at dis, de 2009 Hallowe'en Ball. Me delighted to introduce de guest of honour, escorted by de luckiest man in de worl', Witchfinder Castle, who's brought de Lady Katherine Beckett, de Inconnue."

A roar rose from the assembled crowd. Baron Samedi drew off Beckett's wrap, and the roar turned to a howl of admiration.

Beckett stood absolutely still, the focus of every eye. Half a step behind her, Castle's smile beamed brighter than the full moon over the Ball.

"Me show yuh to yuh table," Baron said, and swept a bow that took his top hat almost to the floor. Beckett extended a slim, elegant hand to his bony, black clad arm and went with him: her walk the dangerous prowl of a leopard; as smooth as the swell of the tide. Where she passed, the company stared: a susurration of respect and wonder rising and not ebbing as she moved on.

Castle, behind her, could barely take his eyes from her. The dress was an astonishment: fitted bodice with deep neckline, flaring from the waist, draping elegantly to an inch above the ground, in a midnight blue with silver embroidery. As she moved, the fabric altered to a dawn-like grey that somehow still complemented Beckett's beautiful skin and showed off the silver. It was utterly enthralling, and Castle was utterly enthralled.

He Looked, and found no spell, charm or amulets. The brick-to-the-head effect was purely Beckett, and that dress.

Beckett was exerting extreme self-control not to choke the truth about what the freaking hell was going on here out of Castle, but she certainly wasn't going to betray her enormous discomfort at – apparently – being the star of a show that she hadn't even known was playing. Worse, she was being escorted by a living – or unliving – myth, whose skeletal form had moved from being the compere of Mardi Gras in Haitian folklore to the Master of Ceremonies in New York.

"Ol' dog, new tricks, dat me," Baron Samedi smirked. "Gotta have me updated. Cain't be a one-trick pony no more. Dis de twenty-first century, milady." His skull face grinned some more. "Save a dance for me, lady." He pulled out Beckett's chair for her, seated her with a flourish under Castle's beady and not entirely approving eye, and then bowed again and withdrew.

Castle seated himself, and prayed that drinks would arrive before Beckett had a chance to rip out his guts by way of his ass. The expression on her face didn't give him any confidence at all. Her mouth opened on undoubted imprecations –

"Top uv the ev'nin' to ye, Lady Katherine." The Dagda's thick brogue arrived, along with the man himself. "'Tis an honour to meet ye. I'm the Dagda, and I'll be makin' sure that ye have the best meal in the history of the Fair Isle of Erin. The Tuatha de Danann t'emselves have niver eaten better than this."

Beckett boggled for an instant, and then ran a nerve-scrapingly assessing glance over the enormous form of the Dagda. "You have descendants," she said, "and one of them is a friend of mine. Isn't he?"

"An' who might ye be talkin' uv?" the Dagda temporised.

From Beckett's searing glare, she wasn't impressed by his evasion. "You may not lie," she stated with icy dignity. "Detective Colm O'Leary is of your line, is he not?"

The Dagda grinned. "Indade and he is, milady. But not a whit uv the power does he have."

"O'Leary?" Castle interjected. "Who's he?"

"My first partner," Beckett said. "Huge guy, now in Central Park precinct. And, it seems, the descendant of mythological Irish giants. It explains why he's so keen on insisting he's Irish, I guess."

The Dagda boomed out a belly laugh. "Now, though ancestry's a tale to be told, and often, tonight is for feasting and honour to the Inconnue. We've been waitin' a long time for one like you. So eat, drink and be merry, for we cannot die." He gestured, and produced a bottle of white wine, pouring a small amount for Castle to taste.

Castle's eyes widened. "The best wine I've ever tasted," he said. "You'll love it, Beckett."

The Dagda poured for her. She brought the goblet to her lips, and for a strange instant Castle thought that the whole assembled company waited for her to taste it. "Delicious," she said. "I've never had anything like it."

"Nor will ye. Enjoy." The Dagda's huge bulk disappeared.

Beckett took another sip of wine, and then fixed Castle with a world-burning glare. "Explain," she commanded, "starting with why you were spying on me in my bedroom."

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

For the many who guessed, yes, Baron is indeed Baron Samedi, a figure from Haitian folklore/voodoo, later used in a James Bond movie.

Guest, there is no angst. No death. Just silly Hallowe'en fun.