I shrugged. “Maybe. I do know that the assignment they’ve given me sucks. I’m supposed to find Roche, and all their leads are bogus. If I don’t find him soon, they’ll chalk up another failure on my record and absolve themselves of the problem.”
“You think they might be looking the other way since he’s a member of the Guard? Mother used to call it the good ol’ boy system.” Menolly was even more cynical than I was.
“I have no idea,” I said, stopping as we turned down the hall leading toward the Special Investigations Unit. “Look—what’s that?”
An unused wing of the unit was in the process of being furnished, and the movers were carrying in desks and chairs and an interesting supply of magical instruments. The placard on the wall next to the main office door read OIA.
“What the hell is the OIA?” I asked.
“I dunno,” Menolly said, brushing her hair back behind her ears. “All I know is that I didn’t get enough to eat at breakfast and as soon as we leave here, I’m heading down to the Naori Clipper to snag myself a bowl of chowder and a loaf of bread.”
I came to my stop and blew a kiss to my sisters. “Be good. I’ll see you for dinner. If you get home before I do, tell Cook to start roasting the chickens.” They waved as I opened the door and slipped inside Lathe’s office.
My supervisor was younger than me, and he was on a continual tear because I refused to fuck him. Even though he was cute, work and sex just weren’t a great combo, and besides that, I’d heard about his peculiar habits. I enjoyed kink but I didn’t enjoy pain and humiliation. Apparently, he was adept at both. So I danced around his advances and he kept giving me shit jobs. One of these days, I’d take it over his head, but that would cause a firestorm I just didn’t feel like weathering at this point.
“What the hell’s going on?” I said, marching into his office. He was leaning back in his chair, his feet propped on the walnut desk. His clothing was meticulous, as usual. He narrowed his eyes and slowly lowered his feet, motioning for me to sit opposite him.
“You find Roche yet?” He was mocking me. He knew I hadn’t, and he knew that I wouldn’t be able to without some legitimate help.
“Roche still has friends in the Guard Des’Estar, friends who wouldn’t mind helping him even with the crimes he’s committed. For all I know, you’re in on this sham of an investigation.” I squinted, wondering how far I could push his buttons before he freaked. Not that I really cared, but I didn’t want to disappoint Father by getting myself fired.
Lathe sauntered around the desk, closing the door to the hall. He stood behind my chair and I felt a hand on my shoulder, his fingers gently massaging beneath the straps of my bustier.
“Life could be so much simpler if you’d just learn to compromise,” he whispered, nuzzling my neck. I tried to shake him away but he held my shoulders tightly, squeezing so hard it hurt. “You could go a long ways in the agency, and I’d be a good ally to have.”
“Uh-huh . . . tell me another one. And my heritage isn’t going to make any difference, as long as I fuck your brains out, right?”
“Little girl, you’ve got a lot to learn,” he said, kissing my ear. “I won’t approve any transfer, promotion, or anything unless you learn to cooperate. And by cooperate, I mean suck my cock. Got it?”
I stared at the floor, cheeks flaming. I loved sex, but this was force coercion. I refused to be pushed. And regardless, I didn’t mix business and pleasure. Father raised us to take pride in our work and do our best. He didn’t raise us to whore ourselves for a promotion.
Shaking off Lathe’s hand, I stood and slowly turned to face him.
“I have an idea.” I slowly jabbed him in the chest with one finger. “Why don’t you go buy a whore down in the Dives? I’m sure you can find someone willing to let you fuck her up the ass or beat her black and blue if you pay her enough. But it’s not going to be me.”
“You’ve just sealed your fate, lovely,” he said, his eyes flashing. For a moment I thought he was going to fire me, or strike me down—he was an accomplished mage—but instead he returned to his seat.
“Either you find Roche in a week, or I’ll make an example of you in front of the whole agency. You’ll be so embarrassed you won’t be able to hold your head up in public after I’m done with you.”
I planted my hands on his desk. “I’ll find Roche, all right. But make no mistake—I’m not doing it because I’m afraid of you. I’ll drag him in because he’s a pervert and a murderer.” And then, because I was my mother’s daughter as well as my father’s, I added, “So take your short, scrawny dick and get it the fuck out of my face.”
As I slammed out of his door, I knew I’d just made one of the worst enemies of my life.
AS I headed out of the building, I made my way toward the Collequia. I needed help, and I knew where to get it. Jahn could scare up anyone a girl needed, including spies, wizards, and seers. Until now, I’d been avoiding asking for outside help because of the agency’s privacy policies, but fuck it. Lathe had pushed me too far.
Jahn was behind the bar, dividing packets of opium and kysa—the poor man’s version of the drug. He glanced up as I entered.
“You’re early, girl. Something wrong?”
“My prick of a boss is what’s wrong. You have anything to eat back there?” It was too early for a drink, and my stomach was rumbling.
“Nut bread and cheese okay?”
I nodded and he pulled out a wooden tray that held a loaf of nut bread and a round of cheese.
He tossed me a knife. “Help yourself. I was going to eat that for lunch but I’ll pick up something else.”
I sliced into the fragrant bread, inhaling deeply as the scent of hazelnuts rose in a wisp of steam. The cheese was soft as I sliced into it and spread it on the bread. As I took a bite, the sweetness of the nut meal drizzled down my throat.
“Good.” I licked my fingers. “Who made this? Your wife?”
Jahn shook his head. “No, she’s been living with her lover the past moon cycle. I don’t know when—or if—she’s coming back. I think she prefers dandies. He’s a tailor. I ever tell you that?”
A tailor? I couldn’t see any woman leaving Jahn for a tailor, but then again, tailors knew how to use their hands so maybe she’d been missing out on something from the club owner’s calloused hands.
“I can give you the recipe if you like,” he added.
“Cook will appreciate that,” I said, licking my fingers. “I need your help.”
He glanced up, pushing the drugs aside. “What’s going on?”
“I need to find somebody. And I need to find him as soon as possible. He’s dangerous. He was a member of the Guard till he got kicked out, and rumor has it he’s been hanging out here.” I hesitated, then added, “My job’s on the line. If I don’t find this creep, my boss will humiliate me unless I fuck him to shut him up. And that would be a far worse punishment.”
Jahn grunted and gave me a nod. “What’s the guy’s name and what did he do?”
“Roche. Roche ob Vanu. He was a member of the Des’Estar until he murdered his wife, his brother, and a few other innocents along the way. He’s gone on a rampage. Raped five women so far, and murdered four of them. We know it’s him because his magical signature is all over the case.” I frowned, then added, “Do you have a bowl of water?”
“Yeah, hold on.” Jahn slipped into a back room and returned with a silver bowl.
I glanced around the bar. At this time of morning, it was almost empty. I pulled the bowl to me and slowly breathed on the water. The energy of the Moon Mother coiled within me as I coaxed it awake, wending its way up my spine. A river of molten silver, it spread through the cells of my body, circling the spiraling tattoo on my shoulder blade. I slowly exhaled and a sparkling mist covered the water in the bowl, settling over the top of it like a thick fog on the lake.
Jahn gave a little gasp, but said nothing.
I glanced up at him, then back at the bowl and lowered m
y hand toward the mist, whispering softly. “Mist of the mountain, mist of the moon, show me the face of the one whom I seek. Moon Mother, grant me the power.”
And then, the mist parted, rolling to the sides of the bowl, and there—in the water, was the face of the man I was hunting. Roche. He looked harsh, with a jagged scar over one eye that gave him a roguish look.
“Now show us his true face,” I whispered, and waved my hand again. And the face in the water shifted, taking on a cruel, vindictive leer as his inner nature rose to the surface.
Jahn took a quick step back. “He’s been in here, all right. I know that face, but I had no idea he was a member of the Guard Des’Estar. He’s a bad one.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Three nights ago. He paid for a whore—the youngest we have, but she wasn’t young enough for him and I had to stop him from beating her.” Jahn grimaced, a look of distaste on his face. “I won’t hire women who are under the age of consent.”
“You’re a good man, Jahn. And you haven’t seen him since?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been back. I spend most of my time behind the bar, not waiting tables, you know.” He stared at the face still lingering in the water. “Next time I see him, I’ll get word to you as soon as I can. You say he’s a murderer?”
“Rape, murder, torture. A lot of things you don’t want to know about,” I said. “I wish I could cast a spell of Finding, but my magic doesn’t always work right. I’m sure you’ve heard about that.”
“Yes, darlin’, I’ve heard,” Jahn said. He stopped suddenly, staring at the door. I heard it open as someone came in. “Damn it, what’s he doing back here?”
I knew who it was. Without even seeing his face, his energy swirled in ahead of him like a whirlwind. The golden man. The man with jet skin and silver hair. The Svartan. And then, without a sound, he was standing next to me, staring at the scrying bowl. He looked from it, to me, then back to it.
“Hunting?” he asked, his voice lazy.
I slowly turned my head to lock his gaze. “What business is it of yours?”
“I’ve seen your prey. Last night, as it so happens.” He slid onto the bar stool and casually snagged a handful of nuts from the bowl on the counter.
“Where?” I clenched my fists on the counter. “What price do you want for the information?”
Jahn put his hand on mine. “Darlin’, don’t go doing business with his kind—”
“Excuse me, barkeep, but perhaps you’ll answer a question.” The Svartan’s voice was smooth.
“What is it?” Jahn glared at him.
“If you disapprove so much of me, why do you continue to accept my money?” The Svartan gave him a faint smile, both derisive and yet challenging.
Jahn’s eyes were cold but he turned away. “Camille, use your head. I know you’ve got one. You’re too smart for the likes of him.”
The Svartan slowly swiveled to face me. “I don’t need your money. But if you would accompany me to luncheon, I’d consider that acceptable payment.”
My father would have a fit, but I wanted the information and this man could tell me what I needed to know. And I wanted to know more about him. He was hot, he fascinated me, and we had some odd connection—I could feel it there, hanging between us, though I had no idea just how or why it had formed.
I swung off my bar stool and smoothed my skirt. “I don’t accept dinner invitations from nameless strangers.”
He smiled then, a smile to melt the coldest of ice statues. His teeth gleamed, sparkling white. “The name is Trillian.”
As he offered me his arm, I slowly placed my hand on his elbow and he escorted me out of the bar. Deep inside, I could feel a whisper saying I’d just sealed my fate.
THE afternoon sun beat down, the dusky scent of summer wafting through the streets. Y’Elestrial was beautiful. Buildings of marble and stone stretched along the neatly patterned streets. Carts clattered past us, horses’ hooves clicking delicately as they trotted along the cobblestones. Flocks of pedestrians milled through the thoroughfares, hurrying on their way to wherever they had to go.
We turned down the road leading to the central market where the vendors opened at sunrise and closed after sunset. Most lived in their stalls, spending their money on brandy and wine, sleeping off one drunken stupor after another under the canopies and awnings. Unlike regular shopkeepers, they were vagabonds—their wagons their only homes.
Bees droned their way past, lazily hunting through the flower arrangements that were for sale. The cadence of the vendors hawking their wares and of haggling customers filled the street with a cacophony of noise . . . an argument over the price of starflowers at one stall, quibbling over a bone pipe at another, women bargaining for fresh meat at the butchers’ kiosks. The collision of voices and sounds sent a bustling energy through the air.
The vast market was four blocks long. Eventually we came to the end and exited onto a smaller side street. Trillian pointed toward a low building with a sign that read THE STEAK AND ALE.
As I pushed through the door, the aroma of sizzling beef caught me short. My stomach rumbled and I let out a grateful, “Oh, that smells good.”
Trillian returned my smile, winking slyly. “You’re hungry.” It wasn’t a question.
I nodded. “I didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast this morning. I was running late, and the nut bread Jahn gave me only took the edge off my hunger.”
He led me over to a private booth and we slid into the upholstered seats on either side of the table, illuminated by a honeycombed candle, its wax fragrant and inviting. Trillian didn’t speak until the serving girl approached. She blushed when she saw him. I realized he must have that effect on a lot of women.
“We have good beef today,” she said. “And rosemary potatoes, fresh bread, and strawberry jam. Will that do?”
Trillian glanced at me.
I nodded. “I’d like a glass of water, please.”
“Would you prefer wine?” he asked. I shook my head and the girl moved off to place our order.
“All right,” I said after a moment. “I’m having lunch with you. Tell me what you know of Roche.”
He gazed at me for a moment, not speaking, then softly said, “And so swiftly she veers to the contract.”
“It’s just . . . I need to know about him,” I said, suddenly feeling rude. He’d been nothing but a gentleman so far. Since I was using him to get to Roche, the least I could do was extend a hand in peace. “I’m sorry. This is so very important. I have to catch this man.”
Trillian rested his elbows on the table, leaning toward me. “I assume you work for the YIA. You don’t have the look, but I recognize the harried expression. Don’t worry—” he said, fending off my protest. “I’m not asking you to answer, just speculating.”
I let out a long sigh. “You speculate right. And my neck is on the line if I don’t bring in this guy. My boss is doing everything he can to prevent me from succeeding.” Suddenly, I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care who heard me, or whether it cost me my job. I was tired of fighting, tired of being the scapegoat.
Trillian cocked his head to the side and slid his hands across the table, gently taking hold of mine. The feel of his skin against mine sparked like oil on flame. My nipples pressed against the lace of my bustier, the material suddenly feeling harsh and arousing. The spark traced a fuse that led down through my stomach to settle between my thighs.
His fingers, so dark against mine, were like coffee on cream, soft and velvety smooth. He slowly turned my palm face-up and rubbed the tip of one index finger against the cup of my hand, tracing the lines that creased my flesh. Every touch unsettled me. I clenched my thighs together, trying to hide my arousal, but I couldn’t pull away. I didn’t want to.
“Your supervisor seeks to fail you because you are de’estial?” Again, the silken voice.
I raised my eyes to meet his. He’d used the Sidhe term for a phrase that meant “w
alker of two paths,” but I knew he was talking about my heritage. But usually, the word de’estial was given as an honor, not used when referring to a half-breed like myself. I searched his face, but there was no hint of repulsion, no sign that he looked down on me because of my human heritage.
Slowly, I nodded. “That, and he wants to sleep with me, and I won’t comply.”
Trillian pursed his lips, but a ripple of laughter broke free. “I can understand why he would want you,” he said. “But a real man never forces a woman, even when he has the opportunity. Even when he has the power to enslave her against his will.” He stood and leaned over the table, his face mere inches from mine. “There is no pleasure in a hollow victory, is there?”
Mesmerized, I shook my head. All of Jahn’s warnings were screaming at me, along with my father’s worries, but I swept them aside. Svartan he might be, but I could sense when people lied to me. And Trillian wasn’t lying. Maybe he was prettying up his words, but outright deceit? No, I’d bet my paycheck that he meant what he said.
I realized I was clutching his hands now, holding them tight. Another glance into his eyes told me he was aware of my hunger. I slowly let go, forcing myself to sit back in the booth as I tried to catch my breath.
The serving girl brought our meals and Trillian paid her.
“Eat. I’m starving.” He handed me the bread. I tore off a chunk and then pushed the rest across the table. “So you are looking for this man Roche. You work for the YIA. He’s a fugitive?”
Grateful for the change in subject, I nodded. “Yes, he’s sadistic, a rapist and murderer. My job is to catch him, but none of the leads panned out. I can only hope this perv stumbles across my path. That is, unless I can come up with some clues on my own. Ones I know aren’t fabricated.”
“Perv?” Trillian looked confused.
“Pervert. Twisted—in a bad way. It’s an Earthside term. My mother was human.” I stopped buttering the piece of bread I was holding.
“Was, as in she’s dead?”
“She died when my sisters and I were young. She fell off a horse and broke her neck. I miss her.”
Etched in Silver Page 3
