Lure of the Wicked

by Karina Cooper

  The shoulder that didn’t hurt.

  Leaning into the mirror, she studied the faint line that was all that remained of the slash across her nose. Her eyes narrowed.

  Her breath shorted.

  Tearing off the bandage, she stared at the vaguely mottled strip of flesh where a bullet crease should have been. Her fingers shook as she traced it.

  “Shitfucker,” she breathed, and felt it like a kick to the gut. Like a punch that stole her air. She braced herself on the sink, her forehead meeting the mirror with a solid thunk.

  The small pain did nothing to ease the slow, creeping onslaught of fear.

  People didn’t heal like that. Medicine couldn’t take away a bullet crease as if it had only been a love tap.

  Magic could.

  Witches could.

  Witches everywhere. The whole fucking family? Just one? “Jesus bastard Christ!”

  She launched herself into motion. Adrenaline spiked hard, jerked a knot in her chest so sharp, she almost doubled over from it. She couldn’t afford to do that.

  Couldn’t take the time to think about this.

  Joe Carson, first. Then. . .

  Then she’d turn in the Clarkes. Them and the witches they were so obviously colluding with.

  “I warned you,” she whispered, kneeling to retrieve her favorite gun from beneath the mattress. “I told you what I do.” The Colt was larger than Mission standard, but by God, it’d blow a hole in anyone stupid enough to get in her way.

  She wiped at her cheek, scowled when her hand came away damp. Damn it, she wasn’t crying. Not for witches.

  Not for Phin.

  “I demand to know exactly what is going on here.” Michael Rook’s voice rose above the others, a cacophony of discord and questions and attitude that battered at Phin’s calm like a hurricane. The lobby echoed, music and fountain drowned out under the chaos of raised voices.

  He spread his hands. “I’m so sorry,” he said, not for the first, second, even seventeenth time. “I understand how problematic this is for you all, but we will get you to where you need to be.”

  “I need to be here,” wailed Jordana, her hair a tumbled mass of curls around her shoulders. “What if Katie comes back looking for me?”

  The gaunt man waved that away. “She’s a hell of a lot smarter than you are. She’ll be fine.”

  Jordana sucked in a breath. “You—”

  “For the love of God, shut her up.” One of Timeless’s more reclusive guests, Grace Latterby looked frumpy and worn out. She had arrived frumpy and even more worn out, but as the forty-six-year-old owner and head of a multibillion-dollar importing company, she had that right.

  She had also demanded exclusive privacy, complete seclusion, and to be left the hell alone.

  Today he’d broken all of those demands.

  Phin rubbed at his forehead.

  “Everyone, please remain calm.” Lillian stepped into the crowd, as stern as anything he’d ever seen. Her voice didn’t rise, it simply pitched, carried in a way that commanded attention. Brought authority. “Ladies and gentlemen, we sincerely apologize for this inconvenience, but understand we are closing Timeless for your own safety. Until we can locate the problem—”

  “The problem is your staff, clearly,” Rook blustered. “You’re too easy on them! They get the run of the place, get sloppy.”

  Murmurs of agreement made Phin want to climb outside his own skin for just the second it’d take to punch the man in the mouth.

  “We are already aware of the cause, Mr. Rook,” Lillian said firmly. “Now we just need to find it. Until then, we have no intentions of risking anyone else’s safety.”

  It was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

  As the guests filed out and staff carried their baggage with them, Phin leaned against the lobby desk and watched the world crumble to pieces at his feet.

  He saw the same tired smudge of certainty around Lillian’s eyes, in the line of her mouth.

  Still, as she crossed the marble floor to lean against the desk beside him, she smiled. “Abigail will recover, in time. The accidents weren’t fatal.”

  “They weren’t accidents, either.” A flicker in her eyes told him she’d thought the very same thing. Phin rubbed his face with both hands. It didn’t help the exhaustion thick in his head. “Timeless is finished.”

  Lillian glanced at him, tilting her head. “Maybe. But if so, we’ll rebuild. Somewhere else, something else. We’ll manage.”

  “Unbelievable.” He rested his elbows back on the desk and let his head hang back. He closed his eyes. “Absolutely unbelievable. Timeless has been around for so long, and then one person can take it down? Just one. And it ruins so many lives.”

  “Phin,” Lillian said softly, sympathy and reassurance shining from the single word.

  “What are we going to do about the staff? We can’t employ them all to do nothing.” He straightened. “And the accused we send to safety? Where will they go now? How many will be caught, executed by the Church without us to keep them safe?”

  “Phin, love.”

  “It’s not fair,” he snapped. Knowing it for the petulant rant it was, he knuckled his forehead, sucked in a deep breath, and repeated quietly, “It’s just not fair to any of them. Or us.”

  Lillian slid her arms around his shoulders. “Come here, baby.” Despite his taller height, he hunched, allowing himself to rest his head against her chest, her heartbeat.

  His fingers twined together, arms around his mother’s back, and for a single, perfect moment, everything was all right. Her pulse beat strongly in his ear, her warmth seeped into the cold fear that gripped him, strangled him.

  Her nonsensical soothing sounds of love and reassurance eased the bitter sting of Naomi’s wild accusations from his mind.

  “Mother,” he said against her shoulder.

  “Mmm?”

  “I want you both to go pack and get out somewhere safe. Go visit someone.”

  Her chuckle thrummed through his head. He straightened, frowned down at her beloved face as she shook her head. “You know we won’t do that.”

  “This Carson guy is dangerous. Naomi wasn’t making that up, Mother. You said it yourself! Two people are dead.” Phin shifted, gripped her shoulders. “I don’t know what I’d do if you get hurt. You have to go. Please.”

  Long fingers smoothed over his cheek. “We’re a family, Phin. We’re strongest when we’re together.”

  “But I—”

  The lobby doors swung open. Michael Rook strode back inside, his tall, gaunt figure vibrating with thinly leashed self-righteousness. Clearly the leader of his own little protest, he led Jordana back inside. She sashayed with intent, her mouth set in a purposeful pout.

  “Oh, God.” Phin sighed and stepped away from the desk to catch them before they crossed the lobby. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t up for debate.”

  Behind them, Joel hurried back after them. His fingers curled, palm to palm, throttling thin air in sheer frustration.

  Rook didn’t stop. “No, you know what? We paid for our time and we intend to get it, one way or another. Now I suggest you contact whatever fancy-pants lawyer you’ve got tucked away—”

  The power flickered.

  Everyone paused. Frozen like a tableau of surprise, sudden panic. The doors in the lobby slid closed, and Jordana jumped, muffling a scream.

  “Delayed response,” the thin man informed her irritably. “Get ahold of yourself.”

  She flushed, and Phin couldn’t help himself from redirecting Rook’s attention back to him. “Excuse me,” he said firmly. “We do have the right to refuse service to anyone, and we’re obligated to enforce that right when the safety of clients is in danger.”

  “Given the extravagant fees you charge here—”

  The first slam, the first screech and slide of metal on metal seemed too surreal. Rook stopped speaking, frowning as if he wasn’t sure what he heard.

  Clang. Creeeaaak . . . clang.

>   Phin knew. He knew exactly what was happening as one by one, the vast windows of the lobby blanked out beneath a sheet of reinforced metal.

  Lillian moved first. “Everyone, group together.”

  Phin spun around, dove for the comm on the desk. Behind him, Jordana’s voice rose on a terrified wail. Rook snapped at her to shut up.

  He dialed security, clenching his teeth on an angry, fearful curse as he waited. And waited.

  “Get them to the lounge,” he yelled over his shoulder, and sprinted for the interior double doors. As daylight turned into false night, as the power flickered around them, Phin prayed that this would end without bloodshed.

  That whatever the ghost wanted, he could give.

  If not, they were trapped inside the fortifications they’d had installed specifically for future disasters. They were locked down, sealed tight.

  Trapped with a man who didn’t mind killing to get his way. Two people dead.

  His jaw clenched.

  As he sprinted for the staff hallway, the intercom crackled to life. “Good afternoon. As you may have noticed, security measures have now locked you all inside this building.”

  The voice was pleasant enough, plain. It wasn’t deep, and it wasn’t shrill. Average, polite.

  Phin skidded across the hallway, frantically searched for the catch that would release the hidden door. If the man was on the intercom, he wasn’t in the halls. He had to move fast.

  “Mr. Clarke.”

  Phin froze. Slowly he turned to face the security camera tucked inside one of the beveled curves of the upper wall molding.

  “Yes, I see you, Mr. Clarke.”

  The security suite. It was the only office that had access to every monitor, every feed.

  “You will do me the favor of ensuring that everyone makes their way to the pool area.”

  Phin’s heart jumped in fear. “I don’t—”

  “I can’t hear you, so save your breath. I shall pass the message for you. Everyone? Everyone,” the voice said smoothly. Loudly. “Mr. Clarke requests that everyone still in the building—and yes, I can see you—gather at the pools. Anyone who does not comply will be made very, very sorry.” A beat. “At least for as long as it takes them to die. I trust I’m clear?”

  The intercom hummed, clicked off. Within moments the lobby doors swung open, and Lillian hurried out with Rook and Jordana in tow. She was pale, but she led them with that polished mask of calm she did so well.

  “Phin, what’s going on?” she asked.

  “The bastard’s in with security.” Which meant his team was either somewhere else in the building, or dead. Swallowing hard, he offered his hand to his mother. “Where’s everyone?”

  “Your mother was in the beauty floor gathering a few things,” Lillian said, twining her fingers tightly with his. “Staff is scattered, I don’t know where. Most are gone already.”

  Behind her, Jordana looked ill, tears already tracking mascara under her eyes.

  “We aren’t going to huddle up like sheep, are we?” Rook slammed a bony fist into an equally bony hand. “We know where he is, why don’t we just rush him?”

  “Because he now has the guns,” Phin said quietly. He tipped his head toward the wide hall and the pool beyond. “So in order to get out of here with as little bloodshed as possible, we’re going to be good hostages.”

  “That’s—”

  Phin rounded on him. He would have stepped closer if it weren’t for Lillian’s restraining grasp, tight on his wrist. “You listen to me,” he said, so low, so taut with menace and tension that it all but vibrated the air between them. “I will not have my family put in danger. The man has threatened to kill anyone who doesn’t comply. If you have any thoughts to play hero and get my people killed, I will stuff you into the nearest maintenance closet right now and leave you until this is over, do you hear me?”

  Rook took a step back. “Er . . . okay,” he finally said, nodding. He smoothed down his blazer, nodded again. “Okay, I get it.”

  Behind them, Joel stepped into view. “Mr. Clarke, we should go.”

  Phin glanced at the masseuse, met his calm green eyes, and nodded. Once. “Can you handle them?”

  “I always do,” Joel said with a faint, crooked smile. “Come on, everyone. We’ll all be okay.” He slipped his arm around the wavering Jordana, and after a scowling moment, Rook followed, thin shoulders hunched.

  Lillian squeezed Phin’s fingers. “I love you,” she murmured.

  “I love you, too.” He smiled at her, matched his stride to hers as they followed the others. “But that’s no reason to get yourself hurt, okay?”

  “I just want everyone safe.”

  “Me, too.” Phin let go of her hand, looped an arm around her shoulders, and wondered if it would be enough. His chest tight with worry, with fear, he pushed aside the doors and met the impact of half a dozen pairs of panicked, frightened eyes.

  Under his arm, Lillian straightened. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “We’ll do our best to make sure this goes as smoothly as possible.”

  Steady as she goes.

  Phin echoed her posture, her ease of command. “Everyone please stay calm, and we’ll get through this fine. No matter what, just do whatever he tells you. Don’t try to help.” A hard look at Rook. The man looked away. “And please, don’t try to reason with him. You let me do the talking.”

  “No, I think I’ll do the talking.” The smooth, plain voice echoed from tiled wall to wall. Everyone turned.

  Everyone froze.

  The man wasn’t tall, but he wasn’t short, either. Average, Phin thought again, from the top of his thinning brown hair to the shape of his plain features to the tips of his workman boots. Nothing about him would have caught his eye on a good day.

  The forearm pressed tight against Gemma Clarke’s esophagus caught his eye now.

  She looked so out of place beside him, as calm as a sunflower in the face of a storm. Phin’s throat closed with fear, but she met his eyes and smiled reassuringly.

  His fingers curled into fists. Lillian stiffened. Shock or anger, he didn’t know, but he shifted so that she couldn’t rush past him.

  Stay calm. “Mr. Carson, I presume.” It took effort, so much effort not to storm across the tile. To demand. “What do you want?”

  The man smiled, showing crooked teeth. Averagely crooked. He pushed forward, one arm snugly around Gemma’s throat as he guided her ahead of him.

  To Phin, he moved in a way that seemed somehow familiar. Predatory, cautious.

  Phin tensed, every muscle in his body locking as he saw the gun pressed to her back.

  Lillian swallowed a sob.

  “Easy,” he murmured. He withdrew his arm, guided her to Joel. “Please.”

  Joel took her hand.

  Phin continued to circle the silent crowd. Deliberately he put himself between them and him. Carson watched him with a lazy, half-amused expression and tightened his grip on Gemma’s throat. “That’s far enough.”

  Gemma gagged, her hand whitening around Carson’s forearm.

  Phin stopped. “Let her go. We’ll give you what you want, just please don’t hurt anyone.”

  “I wish it were that simple,” Carson replied.

  The words were right, but his tone suggested otherwise. The man enjoyed himself. Power, Phin thought. Control. It was clear in the avaricious glitter of his brown eyes, in the delight he took in Gemma’s every rasped breath against his forearm.

  “If it’s money, just take me to the offices below—”

  “Oh, no.” The man smiled. “It’s not money. You have something else I want.”

  “What?” Phin raised his hands slowly, spread his fingers to show he was unarmed. “Name it.”

  Behind him, Lillian murmured, “Phin.”

  “I want the fountain.”

  Everything inside Phin’s body turned to ice. His glance flicked to his mother, back to Carson’s face.

  The man’s smile deepened. “I k
now you know what I’m talking about,” he said. “Don’t lie to me.”

  “Phin,” Lillian breathed again, intent. He knew what she was saying.

  Knew he had no choice.

  He took a step closer, holding Carson’s glittering eyes. “If you mean the one in the lobby—”

  The man moved like a snake. Gemma hit the tile, sprawled hard, and couldn’t do anything else but protect her face from colliding with the unforgiving floor as Carson stepped in and swung the gun at Phin.

  Pain exploded like wildfire behind his eyes, blood filled his mouth. He spun with the momentum, knees cracking as he buckled to the floor.

  Carson seized him by the hair. “Don’t lie to me, boy.” Spit dripped onto Phin’s burning cheek. “Don’t ever lie to me, you son of a whore.” He paused, and all at once, the venom eased. Dribbled out like so much oil and smoke.

  Terror replaced pain as Phin stared into the suddenly laughing eyes of a madman, and he flinched as Carson chuckled. “Son of two whores, actually,” he said thoughtfully. Amused. “I wonder how they managed that.” He rubbed the mouth of the gun along his cheek, as if he had an itch, and glanced over Phin’s head at Lillian. “Did you hire some guy to lie between you?”

  Her shoulders went rigid.

  Phin struggled to get to his feet. “That’s enough.”

  So casually it seemed almost effortless, Carson twisted his fingers in Phin’s collar, knocked his legs out from under him, and shoved him to the floor again. Phin grunted as his knees cracked on the slate. Choked when Carson jerked his head up.

  “Or maybe,” he said, lowering his mouth to Phin’s ear, “they knew their unholy communion would never be sanctified by a mortal man. Maybe they got the very Devil himself to lie with them both. Shove his giant red cock inside their unclean bodies until one of them conceived, you think?”

  Rage battered away pain. Across the floor, Gemma struggled to sit up, to straighten. She shook her head, touched her lips with her fingers, and traced the air in familiar encouragement.

  I love you.

  He swallowed hard. “I don’t know what kind of fountain you need,” Phin said, struggling with calm as fury licked at the black edges of his control. “But we’ve only got a few.”

  Carson went still. He breathed out a short, empty laugh and straightened. “Okay, boy. Okay.” With raw, wiry strength, more than it seemed his lanky body could hold, he wrenched Phin around. His own collar choked him as Carson dragged him back to the group.