“As in . . . kill them?”
He nodded. “And if someone were to strike out, the Lightheads could use it as evidence we’re a threat to society at large. Not to mention we would have just given them evidence of our existence that they could broadcast to the world.”
Cassidy sighed. “Enough with the pointed looks. You’ve made a good argument. I’m just not sure that the situation is as black and white as you make it out to be. I understand that we’re in a very precarious position at the moment, made more so by Ysabel Mirenow’s disappearance. But I’m not certain the Council wouldn’t rather explore the possibility of dealing with the source. Why not do something about the Light of Truth, instead of exposing a few millennia worth of secrets?”
“Do something? As in kill them?” Quinn mocked.
She glared. “No. As in, discredit them. Or force them to disband somehow. There must be something.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that. The organization is too large and too diffuse,” Quinn said. “The only question now is what you and the Council plan to do about it.”
“Do I have to answer that now?” Cassidy groaned.
“That’s why you get paid the big bucks, as they say.”
She peered at him through her fingers. “You do know I’m a college professor in an unglamorous field, right?”
He shrugged and leaned back into the plump sofa cushions. “I do. Now why don’t you use that expertise of yours to tell us where we should be starting this investigation?”
Cassidy shook her head. “Most of the groups I deal with and do research on don’t try to hide from me. They figure talking to an academic is almost like advertising. It’s not like I’m an archeologist. I don’t have to dig things up. I just interview members of cultures and social groups that are still around, and usually, they’re not hard to find. They speak out, they have churches or Bible studies, they recruit. Hell, I’ve found a few good informants by just talking to the people handing out religious tracts on Times Square.”
“I don’t think that will work with this bunch. At least not until they gain more of a foothold. Gregor may have traced them to New York, but that doesn’t mean they’re well established as yet. They’ve made a name in Europe because there are so many of them, but here, I doubt anyone has even heard of them.”
Cassidy nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. Which means their big focus at the moment should be recruiting. And as determined as people are in handing out tracts on Times Square, most of them realize there are much better places to reel in people curious about alternate life philosophies.”
“Where would you go if you were trying to recruit an army of the gullible and turn them into the zealot warriors of tomorrow?”
“That’s easy.” Cassidy smiled grimly and pushed to her feet. “I’d go to work.”
Twelve
Cassidy tugged open the door to Lerner Hall and stepped out of the chilly winter air. At nine o’clock on a Saturday night, most of the student population of Columbia University had something a lot more exciting to do than hang out in the Student Center, but there were still a few milling around, talking on cell phones or sipping lattes with their friends. Even fewer sat hunched over piles of books, cramming for exams or quizzes or the weeks’ worth of reading they should already have done by this stage in the semester. Cassidy made it a point not to check to see if any of those specimens were in her classes.
Quinn walked quietly beside her, sharp eyes taking in their surroundings, including several young coeds who ought to have known better than to wear outfits that skimpy in this weather. Cassidy had to give him credit, though. His gaze skimmed over them with about as much attention as he gave to the new building’s comfortably modern architecture.
They paused in front of the elevators, waiting for a car, and Quinn turned back to her with a small smile.
“I admit I hadn’t thought that a university in such an enormous and bustling city would sport something so very collegiate as a student union,” he said, “or that it would be a place where sophisticated metropolitan teenagers would care to spend their free time.”
Cassidy shrugged and stepped into the elevator when the doors slid open. “A lot of them don’t, but they need a place to hold student meetings and events. Clubs need places where they can organize and have access to phones and computers and printing services. After all, what’s a good student protest without a few thousand flyers to hand out?”
Quinn laughed and followed her out onto the third floor. “You have a point. Is that what we’re looking for? Flyers?”
“Yup.”
“Then wouldn’t we be better off waiting for a time when there are more students about? Surely no one will be handing out flyers here at this time on a weekend night.”
Cassidy led the way through the mostly deserted third floor and pointed out a vast expanse of tiny, metal-doored mailboxes covering the walls. The sea of cubbies was saved from depressing monotony by bulletin boards covered on every square inch with colorful papers, brochures, and flyers.
“They don’t have to hang out here, but sooner or later, they all have to pick up their mail,” she said, walking over to the closest board and scanning the jumble of folded and torn papers. “If I were trying to recruit students into a cult, this is one of the places I’d start.”
He stepped up next to her and smiled. “Clever girl.”
For several minutes they remained quiet, each reading through the hundreds of posted bulletins and looking for anything that might offer a clue to the presence of the Lightheads in the city.
Cassidy was skimming over her seventh amateur punk band announcement when she heard Quinn chuckling.
“What’s funny?”
He pointed to a shocking pink sheet of paper with a grainy photo of something that might have been more than vaguely pornographic. “The idea of the average broke college student paying a professional escort service, rather than just crashing a party and hoping for the best. At least, that’s the way it was when I was at university.”
“This is Columbia. You’d be surprised how many young millionaires, children of old billionaires, and child stars are enrolled here. Plus the daughter of the governor, the sons of two Middle Eastern sheiks, and at least three members of titled European aristocracy. Not all of the student population is hurting for beer money.”
Cassidy turned back to her own half of the board and tried to wipe the image of what she now knew to be an entirely pornographic photo from her mind. They were here for a reason, and her fantasizing about doing to Quinn what was being done in that picture did not fit the bill.
“Hold on.”
Quinn tore a sheet of plain, white copier paper off the board, scanned it quickly and then handed it to Cassidy without speaking. She glanced down at the black typeface and swore.
“ ‘Free lecture. The Bible and Tomorrow. Come hear renowned lecturer D. Y. Young speak about a new interpretation of history and the impact it will have on our future. Sponsored by Students for Greater Truth.’ ” Cassidy read the text aloud and swore again.
“Have we found something?”
“Maybe. Read the next line.”
Quinn glanced down at the paper and frowned. “ ‘Refreshments will be served’?”
Still scowling, Cassidy nodded. “First two rules of college students: One, never register for a class before ten A.M. and two, always attend any lecture, event, meeting, or function that offers free food. If a student plans it right, he may never have to see the inside of a dining hall. It’s a guarantee there will be butts in the seats.”
“Do you suppose they’ll be checking student ID cards at the door?”
“Probably not. I don’t imagine they care if they’re recruiting students or civilians, so long as they’re malleable and don’t ask too many questions. But even if they do, I have a faculty ID, and faculty get admittance to all university events. I can even bring a guest.”
“Ah, lovely. And can I ask what plans you might have for�
�—he glanced down at the flyer—“Tuesday evening at seven?”
“Why, I think I might just be free,” Cassidy said with exaggerated innocence, smiling coyly and batting her eyelashes at him. “I don’t suppose you’d like to attend a lecture with me, would you?”
She saw a spark of hunger ignite in Quinn’s eyes.
“I can tell you for a fact that I’m free that night,” he all but purred. “And I could hardly refuse when such a lovely woman asks me for a date.”
“It’s not a date. It’s business.” Cassidy took great care in pulling her calendar out of her purse and making a note on the page for Tuesday night. It kept her from having to look at the werewolf. “We’ll meet there on Tuesday before the lecture and make sure we get good seats. It shouldn’t be hard to figure out who the organizers are, and once we have that information, we can do a little digging to confirm if they’re affiliated with the Light of Truth.”
“I’m certain we will, but first we’ll go out for a civilized dinner. I’ve heard of a lovely little restaurant not far from Vircolac that I want to try.” He slipped the flyer into his pocket, then placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her back toward the elevators. “I’ll pick you up at five. We’ll eat, and then we’ll go to this lecture. I don’t know about you, but I always think better on a full stomach.”
Just as Cassidy was about to put an elbow in his ribs, the elevator doors opened and let out three female students. The girls’ chatter stopped abruptly when they saw Quinn. Two of them let their jaws drop open as they stared. Quinn only smiled politely and held the door open for them to step out. They barely made it without tripping over themselves, and by the time Cassidy had boarded and the doors closed behind them, she was pretty sure the brunette would have to see a chiropractor. It couldn’t be healthy to crane your head around a full one hundred and eighty degrees like that.
“Will that give you enough time to get ready?”
Cassidy stopped staring holes through the doors and glanced back at Quinn. “What are you talking about?”
“Five o’clock on Tuesday. Will that give you enough time after work to get ready?”
“My classes end at three on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” she said, then frowned. “Wait. What are we talking about?”
He had the gall to chuckle. “About our date on Tuesday, Cassie love. I’ll pick you up at five, we’ll have dinner, and then we’ll catch the lecture. I thought it a sound enough plan.”
“Well, sure, if you forget about the fact that I haven’t agreed to go on a date with you.”
The elevators deposited them on the first floor and Cassidy made a beeline for the exit, colliding with a student who smelled suspiciously like a gargoyle. He had that particular stony smell they all shared, and bumping into him felt a lot like bumping into a brick wall. Polite as all of his kind, he set her back on her feet and smiled before continuing on with his friends. Quinn caught up a moment later, his long stride eating up the ground she had hurried to cover.
“Think of it as a sacrifice for the greater good.”
She pushed open the doors and stepped into the brisk night air. “I’m not sure the good is quite great enough for that kind of sacrifice.”
“Tsk, tsk. Shame on you for thinking so ill of your fellow folk, Cassidy.” He sounded way too amused for her taste, speaking in that teasing lilt that made her stomach do little flip-flops under her wool coat.
“I’m not thinking ill of anyone. I just think it’s better if we keep this relationship strictly professional. After all, we barely know each other.”
The excuse sounded lame, even to her. It wasn’t like he was her boss, or she his. This wasn’t lust in the lunchroom, for Pete’s sake. They were two healthy, unattached people, who happened to find each other mouthwatering, going for a nice dinner. How else did people get to know each other if they didn’t date?
Lame or not, the excuse was reflexive. Sullivan Quinn scared her. Not in the sense that she thought he might hurt her. Even last night on the roof when he’d been chasing her down like a gazelle, she hadn’t really felt her life was threatened. Her virtue, maybe, but not her life.
No, Quinn scared her in a much more insidious way. He made her want to break her own rules. He made her wonder what would be so bad about getting involved with a man who lived the way her parents had died, enmeshed in the dangerous world of Other politics. Losing her parents had been a blow to Cassidy, had changed the course of her life, and while she had learned to live without them, she never stopped missing them. If she got involved with Sullivan Quinn, would she lose him, too? After all, the last twenty-four hours had shown her with perfect clarity that the role of an Other diplomat hadn’t gotten any safer since her parents had died. Would she be able to get over that kind of pain again?
She stepped up to the corner and hailed a cab, which ignored her. She was all too aware of him standing close behind her. So close that she could feel the warmth radiating off him like a furnace. It made her shiver, and even she couldn’t think of a way to blame that on the cold.
Raising her arm, she flagged another cab. This one slowed and headed toward the curb. She dropped her arm back to her side and took a deep breath. Quinn drove it right back out of her when he wrapped one strong arm around her from behind and leaned close to let his breath tickle the hair beside her ear.
“I intend to change all that, Cassie love,” he growled, low and intimate, and she felt the scrape of his teeth against the delicate shell of her ear. “I’m going to get to know you very well indeed.”
Thirteen
Quinn feared he might have pushed Cassidy just a little too hard. She sat silently beside him on the cab ride back to her apartment, staring out the window as the city blocks rolled by.
Normally, he was a man comfortable with silence. He’d learned over the years that sometimes the best way to get information wasn’t to ask for it, but to sit patiently and wait for it to present itself. The sort of people who couldn’t seem to stand the quiet, who felt compelled to fill it with chatter even when they had nothing to say, those were the sort of people he couldn’t understand.
Cassidy, it seemed, was not one of those people.
He was starting to think maybe he should apologize, tell her he hadn’t meant to be so bold, but he felt uncomfortable with the lie. He’d meant every syllable of that quiet promise, and the moment he sensed another opportunity, you could lay odds he’d seize that one, as well. But he didn’t want his mate upset, and he certainly didn’t want her freezing him out.
He shifted in the back seat of the cab and brooded. Again, he thought of how much easier it would be to have a Lupine for a mate, a woman who recognized his intensity and returned it in kind. Someone who instinctively understood how the whole process worked, how there was no escaping the hand of fate in this kind of situation. He realized Cassidy probably knew how things worked for werewolves on an intellectual level, but there was a big difference between knowing that a male Lupine claimed his woman by force and bound her to him with the act of mating, and experiencing it in person. Since he was damned sure Cassidy wasn’t mated to one of his kind, her knowledge could be dismissed as purely theoretical.
He was guessing here, since he knew next to nothing about Foxwomen-—though given what he’d observed of Cassidy so far, he didn’t think he was too far off the mark—but it seemed to him that they must have almost as much in common with foxes as Lupines had with wolves. Lupines operated in packs and had the same system of hierarchy and rank, of dominance and submission. If he remembered his Wild Kingdom right, he was pretty sure foxes tended to live in groups no larger than a family unit, so they didn’t need the same formalized rules and rituals used by a wolf pack. Maybe they also lacked the same ideas of fate and destiny that Lupines had. Since Cassidy and her grandmother were the only Foxwomen he’d ever met—or even heard of outside of legends—it was hard to be sure.
Either way, his Foxwoman seemed to lack a Lupine’s basic understanding of the futility of f
ighting against destiny. Not that it surprised him. During the short time he’d known her, he’d come to realize that Cassidy Poe would fight city hall, the law, and the battle of the sexes all at the same time and never ask for reinforcements. It both fascinated and exasperated him.
He was on the brink of an apology when the cab pulled to a stop outside her apartment building. Cassidy had the fare in her hand before he had a chance to reach for his wallet, and the fear that she would leave without so much as a word began to fill him. He opened his mouth to speak, but she got there first.
“Do you like Chinese?”
Not quite what he had expected. He blinked. “The food?”
“Yeah. The only thing I’ve eaten today is a bagel, and if I don’t get some protein soon, I’m going to do something drastic.”
“We certainly can’t have that,” he said, cautiously. This woman made him feel very cautious.
“There’s a little restaurant down the street. It’s tiny and a total dive, but the food is good. And they deliver.”
Quinn froze, terrified he’d misheard her. “You want to order Chinese for dinner?”
“Yeah. You’ve got to be hungry by now, too.” She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “Plus, it will give us a chance to talk some more.”
Quinn had less interest in eating than in finding out what this woman was up to and how her next move always managed to be the one he hadn’t expected. But at least she hadn’t told him to go home. She hadn’t invited him into her bed, either, but he could be patient a little while longer.
“Lead the way,” he said, and followed her into her building.
They walked to the elevator in silence and rode it up to her floor the same way. In fact, she was quiet long enough that when she spoke, her question took him by surprise.
“Do you think she’s already dead?”
Quinn looked down at her, but she had her gaze fastened on her doorknob as she struggled with the locks, and her expression was pensive. He didn’t need to ask to know she was referring to Ysabel. “It’s likely.”
Wolf at the Door Page 12
