Broken Dolls: An Urban Fantasy (The Telepathic Clans Saga Book 3)

by BR Kingsolver

  What he didn’t tell us was that he’d pimped his own niece to O’Driscoll and other men, starting when the girl was thirteen years old. That I picked up from his mind. Myrna was one of the oldest girls they normally played with. I wanted to fry him on the spot, but held my temper.

  As we were leaving, I placed a compulsion in his mind to keep him from telling anyone of our visit.

  ~~~

  We stopped at the store and picked up my dress for the reception, then drove to the pub where the broker waited. The meeting with Jason Perry confirmed the information from Murphy, but he was more forthcoming. The picture of Myrna broke him almost immediately. The idea that something might have happened to her scared him senseless and he babbled.

  He accused O’Driscoll of being the main procurer for their little band of pedophiles, and blamed everything on him. He told us that O’Driscoll came up with girls like Myrna on a regular basis. New girls. He and his mates would play with them for a while, and then they’d be replaced with new ones. The implications of that left me cold.

  Morrighan and I went to dinner, planning to go by her place afterward to change for the reception.

  “What do you make of what we’ve seen so far?” I asked her as we waited for our meal.

  “Did you pick up what O’Driscoll’s doing with these men?” she asked in return.

  “With the men? He’s procuring for them and switching his stock out regularly,” I answered.

  “No, with the men. He’s very subtly blackmailing them. Political contributions, kickbacks, inside information on business deals and stock trades. He has them in his pocket and enforces it with his telepathy.”

  “I was focused on the girls,” I said.

  “I know you were,” Morrighan said, “that’s what you’re supposed to be doing. But I’m a lot more in tune with government and business and corruption. Perry was worried about you exposing him, but he was also concerned about O’Driscoll exposing him. When I caught that thought, I followed the thread deeper into his mind. He’s been feeding O’Driscoll stock tips and inside information for years. That’s what he uses to pay for the girls.”

  I felt like such a dunce. I hadn’t paid any attention to the money. If O’Driscoll was the procurer, then he was doing it for something. It’s basic investigatory work to follow the money and I’d missed it.

  “Did you pay attention to that with Murphy?” I asked.

  “Yeah. He’s given O’Driscoll a great deal on a mortgage for a foreclosed mansion. He also helped him get the mansion for about two hundred thousand euros less than it’s worth. Plus he’s given O’Driscoll very favorable terms on some short-term loans that he used to trade the stock tips from Perry.”

  I thought about that for a while, then shook my head. “If you ever decide you want to change professions, I’ll take you on as a partner. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t pick any of that up. I need to back off from this a little. I think I’ve allowed myself to get too emotionally involved.”

  Morrighan smiled, “I’m glad I’m useful. I’ve been afraid you might tell me to go away because you didn’t need me. I’m worried about Myrna, but this is fun.”

  ~~~

  Morrighan coached me on behavior and protocol for an embassy reception. I’d never attended any kind of fancy cocktail party, though once I’d helped Scotland Yard arrest a man at one.

  The French Embassy in southeast Dublin was an old mansion built in the nineteenth century. It was impressive, with beautiful gardens.

  I felt as though I’d stepped into a movie set. All the women in their colorful dresses and the men in their dark suits made for a swirling, changing pattern that confused me a bit. Morrighan seemed at home, greeting people she knew and introducing me as her cousin. A fair number of telepaths were in attendance, and in addition to English, Gaelic and French, I heard most of the European languages being spoken here and there.

  Morrighan introduced me to the French ambassador and several other people from different countries. I greeted them all in their own languages, except the Egyptian commerce minister and the Japanese cultural attaché.

  “How many languages do you speak?” she asked me as we sidled up to the bar.

  “Eight fluently,” I answered, “plus the British and Gaelic languages. I majored in modern European languages at Oxford. I can get by in a few more. You know, how to find a pub and the bathroom and a bed for the night, ask directions, that sort of thing.”

  “How did you get into this business?”

  “After university, I worked for Interpol for three years. I’m not very good at the large organization thing, though. I prefer my independence.”

  We’d been at the embassy for about half an hour when Morrighan spotted O’Driscoll. She’d given me a mental image of him before we came. Close to six feet, a powerfully built man with dark brown hair, he carried himself with an air of quiet arrogance. Morrighan estimated his actual age in the mid-eighties, though his apparent age was in his forties. He had first been elected to Parliament about ten years before. In a crowd such as this, the politician was very much in evidence, as he greeted people with a smile and cheerful false comradeship.

  “Did your predecessor know him?” I asked Morrighan. Hell, if she had hundreds of years of memories tucked away, maybe some of them were useful.

  She shook her head. “She knew his father and grandfather. The O’Driscolls were notorious pirates. The English thought they had destroyed the Clan a couple of hundred years ago, but it just went underground.”

  Her eyes opened wide and her mouth dropped open. “Oh, my God,” Morrighan exclaimed, “I know that girl,” indicating O’Driscoll’s escort for the evening. He was unmarried, so it was no surprise for a powerful politician to have a beautiful woman with him. But she was very young.

  “Is she a telepath?” I asked.

  “Yes. I met her at O’Neill a couple of years ago and again here last year. She is, or was, a student at Trinity. She may be old enough to have just graduated. Her name is Sharon Dunn.”

  We let the swirl of bodies carry us naturally toward O’Driscoll. I lightly brushed his companion’s shields and was disturbed by what I felt from her. I wasn’t sure why, but her psychic feel was off in some way. As we got closer, I noticed that she seemed a bit blank. The smile on her face never changed and her eyes seemed unfocused.

  “Mr. O’Driscoll, what a pleasure,” Morrighan gushed. “It’s been far too long.”

  “Miss O’Byrne,” he replied, nodding his head, “you’re looking as lovely as ever. How are you doing? How is your father?”

  “Fine, fine,” she said. She mentioned some piece of legislation and said she’d like to speak to him about it sometime soon. I didn’t pay much attention, being caught up in trying to figure out what was going on with his companion.

  “I’d like you to meet my cousin,” I heard Morrighan say and I snapped back to attention.

  “This is Rhiannon Kendrick. Rhiannon, this is Brendan O’Driscoll, a Member of Parliament from County Cork, and Sharon Dunn. How are you Sharon?”

  O’Driscoll’s escort continued to smile and said she was fine, and that she was pleased to meet me, but her expression never changed. It was starting to get really creepy.

  He, on the other hand, turned a thousand-watt smile on me, ratcheting up his Charisma. “I’m very pleased to meet you Miss Kendrick. Are you visiting Dublin?”

  “Yes, I’m here on holiday.”

  He cocked his head. “You aren’t Irish, are you?”

  “Oh, no,” I replied with a smile. “I’m Welsh. I’ve spent some time here, especially in the summers when I was a girl.” Focus, RB. You can’t get careless around this man.

  “And how long will you be staying?” He had obviously forgotten his companion and was ignoring Morrighan. Yes, I needed to focus.

  “Probably through the week. I don’t really have any obligations which require me to go back to London, but I hate to presume on my cousin’s hospitality too long.” I let my own C
harisma increase a little and poured more friendliness into my smile. “You know what they say about guests who overstay their welcome.” The last with a coy dip of my eyes, then looking back at him. I may not be skilled at cocktail party repartee, but I’m a master of flirting.

  “And what do you do in London?” he asked.

  “I’m a personal relations consultant,” I said. Morrighan snorted, almost laughing, before she caught herself. He didn’t seem to notice. He was very smooth, his eyes flicking appreciatively over my body, but never lingering on my chest. I was willing to bet he would be able to tell someone the color of my eyes in the morning. If I didn’t know he was a snake, I might have been attracted to him.

  “And exactly what is that?” he asked.

  “I provide services that used to be called marriage counseling,” I said. “But so many relationships now don’t involve formal wedding vows. The profession has evolved with the times.”

  We chatted for a few more minutes. A man approached seeking his attention, but before turning away, O’Driscoll said, “I hope you enjoy your stay. Perhaps I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again.”

  “I would like that,” I said, giving him a brighter smile. “It’s been very nice to meet you. I’ve never actually met a Member of Parliament before. Morrighan promised to take me by Leinster House and show me around.”

  “Well, if you come, I should be happy to give you a tour,” he offered.

  “That would be nice, but I’m sure you’re very busy. I’d hate to intrude and take you away from important affairs.”

  “If you come by on Tuesday, perhaps we could have lunch. I have a light schedule that day.”

  I turned to Morrighan. “Would that be convenient? I don’t know what you have going on.”

  She was just as smooth as O’Driscoll. “I have a couple of meetings on Tuesday, but I could drop you off.” She smiled. “No reason you should have to sit around and be bored while I’m at work.” Turning to him, she said, “I could drop her by your office around eleven thirty, if that would be all right.”

  As we walked away, she sent me a thought on a spear, *That went well, don’t you think? But did you pick up on Sharon? That isn’t the same girl I met in the past. She seems rather off.*

  *Rather. It’s like she’s not there. I didn’t try to break through her shields, but I was getting nothing with my Empathy. No emotions at all.*

  Walking down the embassy steps as we were leaving, I caught the hem of my skirt with my high heel. I’m not used to floor-length dresses. I would have taken a spectacular header if Morrighan hadn’t reached out a hand to steady me.

  “Thanks,” I told her. “I’m a bit clumsy sometimes.”

  On our way back to Morrighan’s, I said, “You mentioned that you had seen Sharon with Meara?”

  “Yes, I think they’re friends.”

  “Do you think Meara might be able to get me some time with Sharon? I’d like to be able to explore what’s going on with her. That was more than a young girl with stage fright. Considering what we’ve learned about O’Driscoll, I …” I stopped as a thought surfaced. “Did you ever read The Stepford Wives?”

  Morrighan laughed, “No, but I’ve seen the movie. That’s a very apt description of what we saw.”

  “I can’t imagine that he’d be using compulsion on a telepath, but I can’t figure out another explanation,” I said.

  “A construct?” she asked. “That would be another way to control someone.”

  The light went on. It made sense. Only someone with the Lindstrom Gift can detect or remove a construct. If I were to enter Sharon’s mind, I wouldn’t be able to tell if she had one. All I’d see is the person the construct artist wanted me to see. It would be a way to control someone, and with the proper compulsions, it would be foolproof.

  “Do you have a construct artist here in Dublin, someone with the Lindstrom Gift?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll contact my brother Michael and let him know we might need someone.”

  A telepath with the Lindstrom Gift is able to build a mental construct, much like a stage setting, that can be implanted in a telepath’s mind. It overlays the person’s actual mind, masking the underlying real personality and memories. The person carrying the construct may or may not be aware of the overlying construct. Compulsions and other kinds of control can be built in if desired.

  A construct is often used by covert operatives to assume a fake identity, but it can also be used to convert someone permanently into a different person. Or to control someone so completely that you could let her out in public without worrying that she’d try to run.

  When we got home, Morrighan said, “Are you aware of the condition in which a woman has only one X chromosome with the succubus gene complex?”

  “No,” I said. “I assume such a woman wouldn’t be a succubus but her daughter could be. My grandmother has one daughter who’s a succubus, and one who isn’t. So I would assume Grandmum fits that description. Why?”

  “The condition is well known here in Ireland, but I discovered our American cousins weren’t familiar with it until recently. I guess that’s understandable. The genes aren’t common there. The only Druids in Clan O’Donnell were all born here in Ireland.”

  I was surprised by that. I’d never paid much attention to genetics. “So what is this condition?”

  “You know that all Druids inherit the same nine Gifts, though some may inherit more,” she began.

  I nodded.

  “Someone who has a single X chromosome with that gene complex has eight Gifts, lacking the Kashani Gift, the Druid Gift. But one of the things our Gift gives us is an enhanced ability to manipulate and control energy flows.”

  I nodded again. A succubus’s ability to control life energy, their own or others’, far surpasses anyone without the Gift. I lack either of the energy manipulation Gifts. One is the ability to push life energy into other people or animals, and the other is the ability to drain life energy.

  “For those who are s-gene carriers, their sexual energies are unstable,” Morrighan continued. “They go out of balance constantly, resulting in loss of focus, even mental instability. It can progress to the point where they become physically incapacitated.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” I said. “Does it affect men, too?”

  “Yes, it does. And the only way men and women can rebalance their energies is to have sex to completion. They actually drain a small portion of their partner’s energy that is released when they climax. It’s nowhere near what a Druid drains, but it restores their balance. Depending on the person, they may need to rebalance every day or two, but in some people they have to do it every few hours.”

  “Hours? You mean they have to shag someone several times a day or they go crazy?” I like sex a lot, but I’m not a slave to it. I was celibate for over a month once. Actually, at that time it had been longer than that. I wondered if I was settling down into a dull middle age.

  “Yes, it’s the controlling influence in their lives. If no one recognizes it, which happens sometimes, and they aren’t taught how to manage it, it can turn their lives into a nightmare. It’s never a problem at O’Byrne, because both my Lord and my Lady have the condition, and it’s identified in children even before they reach puberty.”

  “So why do you bring it up now?” I asked.

  “Because if you were going to force a girl into prostitution, wouldn’t that be the kind of girl you’d want?”

  The light went on.

  “Sharon’s mother is a Druid,” Morrighan said.

  I thought it through. Sharon was pretty, but obviously not a succubus. If her mother was a succubus, then Sharon was a carrier. “She’s a genetic slut,” I said. “It’s not a matter of choice.”

  “Yes,” Morrighan said. “That’s what I think.”

  ~~~

  Chapter 7

  In the morning, Morrighan called Meara and asked her to contact Sharon Dunn. I’d like a chance to talk to the young
lady without O’Driscoll around.

  The first thing I wanted to do that day was check out some of the names we’d pulled from Julian McCarthy’s mind. But before we headed out, I did a little research on the internet.

  “Morrighan, do you have three envelopes?”

  She got some from a drawer in the desk I was working on. I pulled paper from the printer, then put the envelopes in the feeder.

  “Writing a letter?” she asked, giving me a look. It’s funny how people have forgotten what we did without email.

  “Sort of,” I said. “It’s an anonymous tip to the proper authorities about John Murphy’s niece. I’m also copying the girl’s mother and sending a separate letter to the girl herself. I want her to know he’s been found out, and who to go to for protection.”

  “Oh? My, you can be a nasty bitch when you want to.” She didn’t look very upset with me.

  I smiled and winked at her.

  ~~~

  Our first stop was with a man who owned a shop that sold construction equipment. I told his secretary that we were in town from London, scouting a location to build a new office. It actually didn’t matter what I told her, since I influenced her mind to send us in to see him.

  He looked puzzled but pleased when we walked into his office. He stopped being pleased when I placed Myrna’s picture in front of him. I thought it looked good next to the one of his wife and children.

  “This young lady has gone missing. We’re investigating Julian McCarthy and all of the men who had illicit relations with her,” I said. “When did you last meet with her?”

  We went through a similar dance as the one with the banker, but though I shamelessly pillaged his mind, we didn’t learn anything useful. The next two men were a repeat. The fourth man we visited hadn’t seen Myrna in a month, but he had spent an afternoon with a girl he met through O’Driscoll only the week before. The girl we saw in his mind was Sharon Dunn.

  This was the first link we’d found between O’Driscoll and McCarthy other than Myrna. I hadn’t found any evidence in McCarthy’s mind that he knew O’Driscoll. Was this a coincidence, or was the traffic in young telepathic girls more widespread than we had thought?