Serafina and the Virtual Man (Book 2 of the Serafina's Series)

by Marie Treanor

  “Aye, the coat’s cheap,” she said contemptuously as he rubbed feeling back into his dead leg. “But I’m not. And since you seem a wee bit slow on the uptake here, let me make it a bit plainer. Fuck off, wanker.” She turned on her heels and strode off.

  Three young lads were standing on the pavement, gawping. “What are you looking at?” she snarled, and the boys backed off with muttered apologies. Poor buggers had probably just wandered over to see if she needed help. As it happened, she never did, but it didn’t make her seethe less.

  Bastard. So what if she wore cheap clothes? She couldn’t afford any other kind, not if she wanted to spend money on her computer and her flat. It didn’t make her a cheap lay.

  She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes to dam the angry tears before they made her mascara run.

  Your fault, a little voice whispered inside her head. It’s your fault he got the wrong idea. You made yourself into this ice cold, desirable doll that no one can touch.

  Only some men didn’t get it and assumed they could. Assumed the makeup, the glamorous clothes, and the high heels meant she’d take anyone. Even more lowering, she’d actually been considering taking him, Dave. Not tonight, of course, because she didn’t know him from Adam…

  Adam. Would Genesis Adam have treated her like that? Would he have talked computers with her if they’d ever met in his lifetime? Would he even have noticed her looks, and if he did, would he have liked them? His partner had noticed but done nothing, as his wife had known he wouldn’t. Why? Because she despised Jilly and her cheap clothes? Or because she was secure in her marriage?

  I am so fucked up. I will not want what I’ve been avoiding all my life.

  Why was she suddenly considering boyfriends, even marriage, things well outside her ambitions before now? Because Sera, her friend and ally from a hundred fights and awful situations over nearly twenty years, had found such unexpected happiness? Had it made her curious at last?

  Or had it just made her lonely?

  Jilly walked faster—no mean feat in stilettos of such height, but she’d had plenty of practice. She was damned if she’d let that arsehole drag her down to wallow in self-pity. She’d go home to her cosy flat, put the fire on, get some good dinner on the go, shower, and relax over the computer.

  She’d made a good life for herself, and she enjoyed it.

  ****

  “Where are you going?” Blair’s seductive, telepathic voice murmured in Sera’s head as she rolled out of his bed and reached for her clothes. It was the only way he could speak, a silent telepathy that she’d grown to love, because it conveyed so much more than mere words. Pictures, ideas, connotations, emotions all came with it. And yet he had a distinctive voice tone that melted her bones.

  She slipped her panties back on and reached over to kiss his naked shoulder before returning to the matter of dressing. “Home. Got stuff there I need to do before tomorrow morning.”

  “Can I come?” His finger slid down her spine, making her shiver. She glanced down at her tall, gorgeous lover. Her stomach still did backflips at the sight of him, his lean, sharp-boned, inhumanly handsome face and his terrifyingly strong, sexy body: smooth, pale skin over hard muscle. Even his fangs, those long, pointed, biting teeth with which he brought the weirdest, most perverse joy, were a turn-on.

  Where would be the harm…? Her breath caught as his finger continued lower.

  “I won’t work if you’re there,” she exclaimed, pulling her top on. Disappointingly, his finger dropped away. “Besides, Jilly’s got a date tonight. I want to hear the dirt without distraction.”

  It wasn’t the real reason. Or, at least, only part of it. Every so often, she just needed to remind herself of her independence. To remind him. They were together, but he didn’t own her any more than she could or would control him. He was a vampire, for Christ’s sake. She knew hers wasn’t the only neck he bit, although if she could arrange such matters, she was aware she’d pick out only old men for him, for purely selfish and jealous reasons. That alone should scare the pants off her.

  Blair didn’t say anything as she pulled on her jeans and her boots.

  Ask me to stay, a voice whispered in her head. Her own voice, this time. Make me stay… Would she, if he exerted all his considerable persuasion? Her body flushed, despite its recent and entirely satisfying sex. Should she, was more appropriate. And no, she shouldn’t.

  She swung around to face him, and something caught the corner of her eye: a shadow, a blur of movement. For an instant, she imagined it was Blair himself, diving at her to make her stay, with the inhuman speed only he was capable of. But Blair remained lounging against the pillows, watching her with his intense yet expressionless eyes.

  “What was that?” Sera said. Not imagination. She could sense something, some presence that reminded her of Blair himself. “Blair, there’s another vampire in here,” she gasped, jumping up off the bed.

  Now, he moved, blurring across to the door, fangs bared. And fuck, he was beautiful. Even through her alarm, she acknowledged that. He reached for her, dragging her behind him, and they both stood still, listening, feeling.

  “He’s gone,” Blair said. He sounded almost—bewildered.

  “How?” Sera demanded. But Blair was right. The force of actual presence had been a mere instant. What remained was an echo, already fading into nothing.

  “I don’t know.”

  She came out from behind him and waited for his scanning eyes to come back to her. “But you felt it, didn’t you? I could swear it was undead.”

  “I felt something.” For the first time in ages—possibly ever—Sera realised she didn’t have his full attention. It piqued her.

  “Did you see it? Him? Whatever…”

  “I saw something. A shadow. He’s gone.”

  “Who was it?”

  Blair gazed around the room once more, paused at the window. “I don’t know.”

  Sera frowned. “What’s the matter? Is this some kind of threat to you?”

  He shook his head, and she stared up at him, a new, quite unfamiliar fear gathering in her stomach. “Blair, what is it? Why are you so…distant?”

  His gaze came back to her. His lips quirked into a lopsided smile. “Distant? You’re the one who’s leaving.”

  Her eyes narrowed. Was that what this was about? He wasn’t above manipulating her emotions for his own ends. Well, she wouldn’t let him, not tonight.

  “So I am,” she said as if pleased to be reminded. “See you tomorrow.” She reached up to give him a quick peck on his cheek—a suitably distant embrace in the circumstances. But unexpectedly, his arm came around her, his other hand held her head, and he kissed her full on the mouth for long enough to remind her that he was completely naked and quite ready for Round Two.

  “Tomorrow,” she forced herself to whisper against his lips, and when his arm loosened, she dragged herself reluctantly away and ran into the hall and along to the front door, glancing over her shoulder just to make sure there were no shadows lurking. There weren’t. Not even Blair’s.

  In the fresh air, she wondered what the hell she was doing trudging home through the freezing darkness of a January evening when she could have been tucked up until morning with her gorgeous and energetic lover.

  ****

  Jilly whipped herself up a quick salmon risotto—a wonderful recipe that didn’t require you to stand over the pot—and while it was cooking, she showered as she’d promised herself and changed into some sloppy pull-ons and a loose sweatshirt. On her way out of the bedroom, she caught sight of herself in the mirror with her hair all rumpled from pulling the sweatshirt over it. She paused and stared at herself.

  There I am, she thought. The Jilly that no one else sees…. Except Sera, very occasionally. No makeup, no glamour, just dull old Jilly Kerr, vulnerable and powerless.

  She stuck her tongue out at herself. No, I’m bloody not.

  She swung away from the mirror and went back to the kitchen to rescue t
he risotto. So, she reflected, the man in Ewan’s secret study… Was he some shade of Genesis Adam? Flown over from Australia, for God’s sake? From the blurry photos she’d seen, Adam certainly seemed to have been dark-haired, tall, and lanky in his youth, but that was hardly conclusive.

  If her stranger really was the ghost of Adam, she thought, spooning risotto into a bowl, was it really likely there’d be two supernatural entities hiding out in Dale’s house? No. Either he was the other half of the poltergeist, or he wasn’t a ghost.

  Which meant he was an actual person. Who? And what was he doing in Ewan’s house? And why was he pretending to be Adam? What was all this Are you dead? stuff?

  Jilly grabbed the salad bowl from the fridge and carried it, together with her risotto, through to the living room and settled down on a cushion on the floor with her meal on the low coffee table in front of her. After a satisfying mouthful, she reached for her laptop bag and set the computer up next to her bowl.

  Why didn’t I just ask the Ewans? Why didn’t I just say, ‘Who’s the weird guy wandering about your house?’

  Because she was wandering where she’d no right to be. And because the guy had freaked her by appearing and disappearing without warning.

  And somewhere, she had this ridiculous idea that she was protecting him. Because he was insane? Because he’d looked so lost and bewildered? Or because he’d said she had soft skin?

  Because he’d touched her and she hadn’t immediately wanted to knee him in the groin. Like she’d come so close to doing to Dave Jenner only hours later.

  Oh no. I will not be any more fucked up than I already am.

  Banishing the whole Ewan episode from her mind for a little, she decided to concentrate on her social life instead. Which consisted of fellow techies, nerds, and hackers. People among whom she was comfortable, who didn’t care what she looked like or want to know anything about her personal life. She caught up with a few e-mails, continued a few long-running discussions and quick answers. Then someone on a forum reminded her of a very nifty code-breaking program she’d promised him, so she inserted the memory stick from her bag to see if she’d stored it there.

  She clicked back to the forum and typed, Searching for it now. The code breaker told her a couple of jokes that had her sniggering, and she passed on another one she’d just had by e-mail. Then she flipped back to check on the memory-stick contents. The list of numbered files hit her like a football in the gut.

  Fuck. How could I have forgotten about them?

  With a pleasurable frisson of excitement, she hovered the mouse over the first file. She had no compunction about invading this kind of privacy, committing this kind of theft. She’d been doing it since school. She never profited by it, only learned. And if an uneasy voice whispered at the back of her mind that she had occasionally passed on this information to others who might well have profited, she ignored it. Other people’s acts and consciences were their own affairs. The Internet and anything you could make it do was fair game.

  So long as you didn’t hurt anyone.

  She clicked on the first file.

  Nothing happened.

  The forum conversation flashed impatiently at the bottom of her screen. She returned to it, began to type, Searching for the right file n. Before she finished the word, the forum screen vanished, and she found herself looking at a page from a newspaper.

  She frowned. She’d never called that up. It was from a local newspaper archive, one of the inner pages of an issue from August last year. She was about to close it down with annoyance when a name leapt out at her. In fact, it was highlighted in red. Dale Ewan.

  She blinked, then read. It was a brief report about a break-in at the home of Genesis Gaming’s owner. The thieves had apparently been disturbed by the alarm system and fled with nothing.

  August. Round about the time the poltergeist made its first appearance. Why had the Ewans never mentioned that? Surely a break-in, even a foiled one, was a fairly major event for anyone?

  Frowning, she went back to the search engine to find more. She never got the chance to type. The search page was replaced with a different newspaper page. This time a minor headline was highlighted in red.

  “Two arrested in connection with Ewan burglary.”

  This was bizarre. How was this stuff coming up, and how was it highlighting exactly the bits she was interested in?

  Releasing the mouse as if afraid it was reading her mind, she sat back on her heels and read the paragraph.

  “Two men known to Edinburgh police have been arrested in connection with the recent burglary at the luxury home of millionaire Dale Ewan. Ewan, thirty-two, is the co-owner of thriving computer game company, Genesis Gaming. The two arrested have been named as Andrew Kerr, 30, and George Kerr, 27, both from Edinburgh.”

  Jilly clutched at her hair. Oh no. Her own brothers had broken into the Ewans’ house? Why hadn’t she known this?

  Because she avoided knowing anything about them at all if she could.

  Without warning, the article disappeared. Another page replaced it with an even smaller highlighted paragraph.

  “The two men arrested on Friday for the break-in at the luxury home of computer-game giant Dale Ewan have been released without charge.”

  Jilly tugged at her hair in frustration. What did that mean? That they didn’t do it? That the police had no real evidence against them? That some lawyer got them off on a technicality? Whatever that meant.

  Shite. I’m going to have to go home.

  Almost blindly, she went through the motions of finding and sending the code-breaking file, then removed the memory stick from her computer. Something on it must have been calling up the newspaper articles, something she’d inadvertently downloaded from Ewan’s computer.

  Staring at the screen, she shovelled risotto into her mouth without tasting it. If Ewan had cared enough about the burglary to keep newspaper articles relating to it, why hadn’t he mentioned it to her and Sera?

  One of her favourite chat programs flashed. Apparently, Exodus wanted to chat.

  Who was Exodus again? Whatever, she needed something else to think about. Maybe everything would make sense if she stopped worrying at it. She clicked Allow.

  Exodus: Thanks.

  JK: For what?

  Exodus: Talking. Did you read the articles?

  Jilly laid down her fork. For a moment, she stared at the screen, then swallowed the food still in her mouth and typed rapidly, using both hands, setting off the best virus scan software she knew. Only then did she answer Exodus cagily.

  JK: What articles?

  Exodus: On the burglary at Dale’s house.

  JK: YOU sent me the articles?

  Exodus: Yes.

  JK: How?

  Exodus: You mean why.

  JK: No, I mean how.

  Keep him chatting. The scan will find him, and then he’s mince.

  Exodus: The usual way.

  JK: Bollocks. How’d you get access to my computer?

  Exodus: You gave me it.

  JK: No, I fucking didn’t.

  The scan results began to flash up at the corner of her screen. They included one huge new data file that she certainly hadn’t put there. Although not identified as harmful, it was numbered, like the files she’d stolen from Ewan. They seemed to have moved from the memory stick without permission. It was spooky, like Hal taking over the ship in 2001.

  Exodus: I won’t harm your computer.

  JK: Damn right. What do you want?

  Exodus: Something’s wrong. You woke me up.

  JK: Hey. YOU contacted ME.

  Exodus: I mean earlier. You’re the girl with the soft skin.

  Chapter Four

  The beautiful girl on his monitor dragged her hand through her rumpled hair, tugging it as she stared at her own computer screen. She looked different but no less gorgeous without all the makeup, her hair damp and clinging as if from a recent shower. But she was definitely the same girl he’d met this morning. Ju
st… softer. And she was some technical whiz too, judging by all the stuff on her tiny laptop.

  He remembered the soft skin of her cheek under his fingers, the big, defiant blue eyes staring at him from a lovely, carefully made-up face. The face she showed the world. But even this morning, here in Dale’s lab, he’d been intrigued by the layers of character and tragedy behind the mask she wore. To say nothing of the intelligence that shone out of her eyes like the sun.

  Letting go of her hair, she began to type.

  JK: Where are you?

  Exodus: Dale’s.

  JK: Why? What are you doing there?

  Exodus: Don’t know. Don’t seem able to leave.

  JK: Who are you? What’s your first name?

  Exodus: Call me Adam.

  JK: You invaded my computer, I’ll call you whatever I like.

  He grinned at that. Fair point. Would she pursue it? Apparently she would.

  JK: What’s your first name?

  He hesitated from habit, because he had such a ridiculous first name. And because he’d no idea what her reaction would be. Only one way to find out.

  Exodus: Genesis.

  JK: Aye, right. You’re Genesis Adam? Cofounder of Genesis Gaming? Now calling yourself EXODUS? Please.

  Exodus: I was Genesis Adam. I died.

  JK: Genesis Adam certainly did.

  Exodus: The night of the break-in at Dale’s.

  JK: I hate to break it to you. But Genesis Adam died two months after the burglary. In Australia.

  It was his turn to stare at the screen in total silence. Such a small thing to be thrown by, but he felt suddenly rudderless, dizzy, without any certainty to hold on to. He thought he’d remembered it all, knew what he was, what he’d done and where. But this, this wasn’t even part of any nebulous thought he ever recalled crossing his mind.

  Exodus: I don’t remember that. Why was I in Australia?

  JK: You emigrated.

  Exodus: I did? Why?

  JK: You tell me.

  He only wished he could. Right now, this girl was his only link with the present or the past, his only way to any knowledge at all.

  Exodus: What happened after I was shot?