Page 21 of Dark Shaman: Eternal Hope
The mocktail was perfect—fresh mint, lime, and just enough sweetness to make Carol forget it lacked the rum that would have completed it. She stood on the penthouse terrace and checked her watch. In ten minutes, five women would arrive at the penthouse for a lesson in the art of seduction for information and influence.
It wasn't the same as seducing a guy in a bar and taking him to bed. That was simple. Making high-ranking men fall desperately in love or in lust with them required a different set of skills.
From inside, she could hear Lokan's deep voice carrying through the open sliding door. He was heading toward the office, phone pressed to his ear, and his voice was getting more distant until he closed the door behind him.
The brothers had a complicated relationship—united in their escape from their father's tyranny but divided by centuries of different experiences and perspectives. Kalugal was a baby in immortal terms, but his phenomenal success and strong compulsion ability made Lokan feel outclassed.
It couldn't be easy for her guy to have a much younger brother who was so much more successful than he was.
Carol didn't have any siblings, and although she had many friends, none of them were particularly close. Perhaps people still held her past against her, frowning on her wild courtesan years and her decades of abusing drugs and booze. But hadn't she proven herself above and beyond?
Who else could have pulled off an operation like infiltrating Navuh's harem to rescue Areana?
Regrettably, Areana hadn't wanted to be rescued, so Carol had returned empty-handed, but she'd succeeded in establishing communications between Annani and Areana, and that in itself was a monumental achievement.
At least Kian appreciated her, she knew that. He wouldn't have entrusted her with two projects if he didn't.
When the penthouse doorbell rang, Carol walked back inside, closed the sliding door behind her, and set her drink down on the kitchen counter.
When she opened the door, she was surprised to see that all five women had arrived together.
"Good afternoon, ladies." She motioned for them to come in.
"Good afternoon," Marlene said. "We carpooled. That's how I made sure that we all made it on time."
Marlene was dressed to the nines, her emerald dress hugging her curves, her hair perfectly styled, and her makeup flawlessly applied. She looked like she was attending a cocktail party, not a training session.
"Good thinking." Carol ushered them into the living room, letting them absorb the view and the decor while using the time to observe them.
In contrast to Marlene, Teresa wore jeans and a simple t-shirt, her dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. Grace surprised her. She wore a short skirt that showed off her legs, a fitted blouse that was professional but subtly sexy, and fake glasses that transformed her face. She was already in character—the eager intern or assistant to someone powerful. It showed initiative but might indicate a problem. Some people felt more relaxed behind a disguise because they were uncomfortable in their own skin.
Regina had chosen a safe outfit of a nice pair of slacks and a blazer, her hand repeatedly moving to touch her earring before catching herself and lowering it.
Greta wore a long-suffering expression, along with a severe gray pantsuit that had gone out of style decades ago. Everything about her screamed reluctance, from her rigid posture to the way her jaw was clenched.
Why was she even there if she dreaded it so much?
"Please, make yourselves comfortable." Carol waved her hand at the couches. "Can I get anyone a drink? I can offer mocktails, cocktails, wine, or soda." She smiled. "What other course would offer you alcohol in your first class?"
"Wine would be lovely," Marlene said.
"Water's fine," Greta murmured, as if accepting anything more would be a capitulation.
"Let's move to the dining room," Carol said once everyone had their drinks. "I've set it up as our makeshift classroom and conference room."
The dining table had been cleared of its usual decorations, replaced with notebooks, pens, and a small camera on a tripod in the corner. The women noticed it immediately.
"We're being recorded?" Teresa asked.
"Everything we do here will be recorded," Carol confirmed, taking her seat at the head of the table. "You need to get comfortable being watched, analyzed, and having your every gesture studied. Your future targets will be doing exactly that, whether consciously or not."
She let them settle, watching how they chose their seats. Marlene took the chair directly opposite her—a position of power. Grace sat to Marlene's right, seeking alliance with perceived strength. Teresa chose the middle, noncommittal. Regina sat closest to the door—an escape route. Greta took the furthest corner, distancing herself from everyone.
Carol sat at the head of the table and put down her glass. "Before we begin, I need to reiterate what you're signing up for so there will be no misunderstandings." She paused, meeting each woman's eyes in turn, letting the weight of the moment settle. "This isn't about simple seduction, though it will be one of the tools you'll be using. Your objective is not to score a one-night stand with a powerful man and get him to reveal some secrets or peek into his head. You will learn to identify who your target's dream girl is and become her. The real you will be tucked away in a hidden corner of your mind so deep that she won't surface even when you're drunk or otherwise compromised—though Istrongly advise against ever allowing yourself to be in such a state."
Marlene's confident smile faltered slightly. Grace stopped fidgeting with her fake glasses.
"You'll get close to targets who may be good people—though that's rarely the case with politicians—and you'll still deceive and manipulate them without hesitation. You'll be betraying people who trust you, who might even fall in love with you, and you'll be okay with that."
