I went straight for the 1745 oil painting by Francois Boucher hung behind the large oak office desk. Boucher’s masterpiece Brown Odalisque elegantly portrayed a young woman reclining forward on a generous blue duvet, her sensuous gaze staring confidently at the onlooker and inviting him into the frame.
I glanced back at Marcus. “Admit you’re intrigued?”
“Arrogant fuck,” he snapped. “Touch nothing.”
“You bought this Francois Boucher for Orpheus.” Lifting the portrait off its hook I revealed the safe hidden behind and rested the painting against the wall. “One of his favorites.”
He shrugged it off but I could see it bothered him.
“I’m proving . . .” I turned away from him, “that I work for Orpheus.” I manipulated the mechanism and breathed a sigh of relief that the combination worked. “Only you and Orpheus have access, correct?”
Marcus squinted my way.
With a click I had it open and peered in. “Accountant privilege.”
“You don’t seem to realize who I am.” His temper rose.
“I know you’re reasonable.”
“If you so much as—”
“In the early 1600’s, both you and Orpheus set up orphanages around the city.” I pulled out one of the dusty old ledgers. “You still keep the records of every child saved.” I lifted out the external drive. “Thank God for technology, right?”
Marcus’s eyes were wide with fury and he was quickly beside me. “How the hell do you know about those?”
I held up the flash drive containing the list of current members of the Stone Masters, which we’d gathered over the years. Marcus snatched it from me and threw it back in, then slammed the safe shut and twisted the combination lock and said, “Obviously you don’t know everything.”
I lifted the painting and he grabbed it from me and hung it back up.
“What are you planning to do with the policewoman?” I asked.
“What has that got to do with you?”
“Orpheus wants to know.”
“If I let you in there, you’ll tell me where he is.” Marcus hands were balled into fists.
“It’s a deal.”
Marcus lingered, gauging whether he’d get his way.
I followed him out, ever ready for Marcus to change his mind and take out his frustration of losing all communication with Orpheus on me.
Once inside the dungeon, I lingered near the door, leaning against the back wall. The scent of sandalwood incense lingered . . .
Ingrid was hanging from two metal cuffs, her back pressed against the brick and her arms outstretched on either side of her. Her black rimmed spectacles hung on the bridge of her nose like a school teacher and she wore a white shirt, short skirt and leather boots. Her startling black mascara and bright red lipstick reflected a well-polished Goth, an interesting if not daring effort to mingle in.
God she was beautiful.
She had a tiny puncture mark on her right arm where she’d been administered intravenous fluids in the Emergency Room after Alex had dropped her off there. A discarded leather jacket was lying on the floor to her left, and next to that lay a set of handcuffs. I wondered what they’d done to her already.
But she was still mortal. For now, anyway.
By her worn out expression she’d wasted no time getting straight back to pulling her usual stunt of exploring the underworld in the worst possible way—alone. I wondered what she was doing back in London.
Paradom had answers for me and whatever was going on in here was eating away at time I didn’t have. Yet as my eyes met with Ingrid’s something passed between us and once again I felt drawn by an intangible force that was impossible to resist.
“Now where were we?” Marcus glanced my way. “Before I was rudely interrupted.”
I checked out the other characters in the room, the platinum blonde dominatrix wearing a tight bask emphasizing her tiny waist, and she stood next to a brunette, a vampire turned in her forties. And then there was the shifty looking masked master who was threatening Ingrid with the worn end of a leather whip.
“Where’s Orpheus?” Ingrid tried.
Marcus ran his fingertips over her left shoulder and along her arm, lingering for a moment on her wrist and then moving over to the shackle to test it was secure.
“Let me go,” Ingrid’s voice cracked with emotion.
Marcus folded his arms.
“I know what you are,” she whispered.
Marcus reached for the top button of her shirt and played with it. “I assume you’re here for our expertise in role play?” He undid her top blouse button but left the rest alone.
Ingrid’s cheeks flushed.
My interruption had to be timed right. Intervene too soon and Marcus might become suspicious; take too long and it may well be too late for Ingrid’s psyche.
I marveled at the situation. Some part of me had tortured patrons in this very chamber, taken delight from pushing them to the edge and nudging them over, plunging them into agony and bringing them back with ecstasy. The fact that they kept returning for more was the mere proof we were doing something right.
But Ingrid didn’t belong here. And part of me felt the same way now. I questioned my change of heart and this unusual desire to save this woman from the inevitable.
Marcus played with strands of her hair. “So you’re not just here to mix with our distinguished clientele? Or sup our fine wine?” He wrapped his hand behind her back and yanked her into him.
He was trying to scare her, break her down, but I had a feeling it would take more than this. He pulled out her hair tie, loosening strands that tumbled over her face and down her shoulders.
“When you find your wrists in those,” he glanced at the shackles, “it means you’re no longer in control. Quite simple really.” He removed her spectacles and handed them over to the blonde. “Ingrid, love the outfit by the way.”
“Is that what this is?” She raised her chin. “Your need for power?”
“Feisty,” he said.
“Let’s talk about Gillian Stewart,” Ingrid said quickly.
Marcus paused, as though intentionally allowing the silence to pressure her.
“Tell me what you know about her.” Ingrid pressed him.
“Does this look like an interview room?” Marcus asked.
Ingrid swallowed hard. “How about Tabitha Web?”
He glanced at each one of us. “Anyone know that name?”
“Two girls were found dead.” Ingrid shifted her position. “One at Stonehenge, the other at Avebury. You’d have seen it on the news.”
Marcus pressed his hand to his chest. “Ah, yes of course. Terrible.”
From Ingrid’s confused expression she seemed to be searching the recesses of her mind, failing to remember; the dark side of having her memory wiped by Snowstrom.
And Marcus could see she was struggling too.
I detected much of what she’d ascertained about us came from the detailed notes she’d made in her reports. This was what she was drawing from, not her own memories but facts she’d documented and now used to find her way back to Belshazzar’s.
Marcus was right, Ingrid didn’t seem to remember ever having met Orpheus. Though stirring within her were fragments of moments, delicate trails of thoughts that even now she was chasing after.
“I’m sure I read somewhere,” Marcus began, “that incident at Stonehenge was the work of a cult, or a witch’s ceremony.”
“Vampires murdered those two girls,” Ingrid said.
“Are you suggesting there’s really such a thing as vampires?” asked Marcus.
“That’s what you are,” she said. “And I can prove it.”
Marcus shrugged. “We merely just enjoy the . . . Gothic lifestyle.”
“I’ve written evidence from my investigation.” Ingrid straightened her back. “Blood results. Photographs.”
“I’d like to see those,” Marcus answered casually. “I’m assuming they’re all fakes.”
&
nbsp; “Unshackle me!” she snapped. “Marcus, please.” The way she spoke his name revealed her need to get through, connect with him.
It wasn’t working.
“You invited your way down into the heart of Belshazzar’s.” Marcus adjusted her bra strap through her shirt. “There’s only one reason you’d venture down here.”
Ingrid flinched. “Where’s Orpheus? I need to speak with him.”
“I never took you for a Goth,” Marcus said, “but we can certainly satisfy your secret proclivity.”
She lowered her chin. “He’s the one who calls the shots, after all.”
I realized what she was doing, flirting with danger by pushing Marcus.
Flirting with death.
Marcus continued, “We pride ourselves on fulfilling the darkest fantasies.”
“You’re his sidekick, aren’t you?” she said.
I was stunned with how she was riling him as though blindly endangering herself without any thought of the consequences.
Marcus leaned toward her. “Fantasizing about being screwed by the undead?”
Perspiration spotted Ingrid’s chest. I wasn’t the only one picking up on her frantic pulse racing ever faster. The room crackled with anticipation, the energy surging from one vampire to the other, their rising excitement seemingly bouncing off each other, responding to the challenge that hung helpless before them.
The passing seconds felt more like minutes.
“Marcus, I know you’re a vampire,” Ingrid said. “I’m going to have a forensic team comb this place.”
“Ah.” Marcus tuned to face us.
Ingrid raised her chin, full of confidence. “I’m not stopping until I find Orpheus.”
Marcus broke his trance and gestured for me to join him. He whispered to me, “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
He was ready to turn her.
I motioned to the blonde to give Ingrid more wine and she responded to my order, pouring Bordeaux into a tall crystal glass. She carried it over to Ingrid.
With more subtlety than I knew I had, I took my entitled place in the center, and with that one confident move I gained the lead position ready to dominate the situation.
The blonde grabbed Ingrid’s hair, pulling her head back and shoving the glass rim against Ingrid’s lips, forcing the wine.
Marcus grabbed my right arm. “Don’t fuck it up.” He took my place leaning back against on the wall.
Ingrid spluttered, trying to catch her breath as scarlet droplets of Bordeaux spotted her lips and chin; panic seeped through her pores.
Nearing her, knowing the longer I kept her quiet the more likely I’d keep her alive, I removed the necktie from out of my coat pocket and held it up.
Ingrid looked horrified. “Blake’s tie! What have you done with him?”
“Do exactly as you’re told and Blake won’t be harmed.” I held her jaw. “You only speak when I permit, understand?”
“Where is he?” she dared.
“Seems you misunderstood.” I pinched her jaw. “This remains closed.”
Marcus’s quizzical frown revealed his intrigue. If he approved the others would follow his lead.
“Prepare to mark her as property of a Status Regal,” I ordered the blonde, and faced Ingrid again. “This is an honor you’ve yet to earn.”
The brunette assisted the blonde, preparing the equipment and heating up the small metal brand. They waited for it to glow orange.
“Your life’s hanging by a thread,” I whispered. “I need you to do exactly as I say.” Pressing my fingertips against her lips, I emphasized the need for her to remain silent.
A thin leather strap was placed in the palm of my hand and I rested it against Ingrid’s lips and said, “Bite on this.”
Ingrid screamed when she caught the blonde approaching with the red hot poker.
I shoved the leather strap into her mouth, forcing her to bite down and then shot a glance at the blonde. “I’ll do it.”
The blonde held Ingrid still.
I pressed the glowing brand to the center of Ingrid’s left inner forearm and the smell of burning flesh arose; a faint sizzle. The small black circle was forever marked there. Ingrid’s keening escaped the edges of the leather gag.
The blonde took the poker from me and stepped away.
The strap fell from Ingrid’s mouth and her legs gave way leaving her dangling forward, held solely by the shackles. I lifted her, hugging her into me, waiting for her to regain consciousness.
With a kiss I brought her back to me. “You belong to Orpheus now.” Though I doubted she’d heard.
The room fell quiet, the only sound was of Ingrid’s short breaths, her anguished sighs filling the chamber. Her tears fell faster than I could wipe them away.
“Everyone out,” I said.
“Why mark her if you’re going to turn her?” Marcus asked.
“Orpheus’s command was clear.” I ran my fingers around the circle.
He directed them to leave and then threw me an uneasy glance. “You’re not an accountant,” he snapped.
Fear caught in Ingrid’s throat as she gasped, “Don’t you dare turn me.”
“You’ve yet to earn that right.” My fingertips pressed against her mouth hoping she’d get the hint.
She moved her head from to the side, her lips trembling. “Let me go.”
“Ingrid, stay with me,” I whispered. “I need you conscious.”
She lost her composure, only this time I let her fear turn in on itself and watched her frenzied struggling with nowhere to go.
“She’s not ready for Orpheus,” I warned Marcus.
“But she’s ready for me,” he said.
“Tell Zachary to check on Sergeant Blake,” I said.
Marcus gestured for me to join him across the room. “Since when do you give me orders?”
“I’m getting results.” I glanced toward Ingrid. “She’s submitting.”
He curled his knuckles and rested them against his lips.
“By the time I’m finished with her,” I said, “she’ll be begging to be turned.” I left Marcus standing there and returned to Ingrid, lifting her chin again. “Good girl.”
Her eyes burned with fear and she was breathing rapidly, trying to think her way out of this. The door slammed shut. Marcus had gone.
I flicked open Ingrid’s right shackle, easing out her wrist. She held back a sob, bracing herself for another attack.
“Do exactly as I say.” I had the other shackle open and her left hand was free.
She rubbed her wrists, not trusting the moment, not trusting me, staring wide-eyed at the branded O on her forearm. I picked up what I assumed was her leather jacket and grabbed her hand, pulling her across the room, checking the outside corridor was clear. We made our way toward the lift. Ingrid tried to pull away forcing me to tighten my grip.
I punched the elevator button. “I’m getting you out of here.”
“Where’s Blake?” she asked, breathless.
“He’s not here.”
The doors parted and I pushed her in. “Not another word, understand?”
The lift jolted and began its ascent.
She faced me with her back to the elevator doors. “Where are we going?”
I handed her Blake’s tie. “In less than a minute, you can give that back to him.”
“What the hell did you do to me?”
I tried to tolerate what seemed like an endless climb upward to the ground level.
“You assaulted a police officer,” she snapped.
I wanted to tell her she’d thank me later, but now wasn’t the time.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“A friend . . . of a friend.”
“Jadeon? Tell me where I can find him.”
“Have you any idea of the danger you’re in?” I asked.
She seethed. “My job is to hunt criminals.”
“What are you even doing in London?”
“What do you kno
w about me?”
I punched the up button several times even though the lift was ascending, as though it would make it go faster.
“Where do I know you from?” Her frown deepened. “How are you acquainted with Orpheus? How did you get that tie off Blake?”
I punched the button again. “Should I be listening?”
“He better not be harmed.”
The elevator doors slid open and noises from the bar encroached into our small space.
She pointed a black manicured fingernail at me. “You’re going to get a taste of a real cell when I lock you in jail.” She turned slightly and there, standing right behind her were six leather-donned nightwalkers waiting for us to exit so they could enter.
Ingrid spun round and froze, looking at me for guidance.
“After you,” I gestured.
The crowd of nightwalkers made a pathway for her, bowing in a gesture of respect. Ingrid squeezed through them only faintly aware of their regard of her.
I stepped out and grabbed hold of her hand again, guiding her through the bar. “Ingrid, not one more word.”
Belshazzar’s Friday night crowd mingled but we ignored them, pushing our way toward the long chandelier lit hallway that would lead us out. Vampires watched us in passing interest.
The bouncer opened the front door for us with a half-bored consideration. We were soon welcomed by the brisk night air.
“Be thankful.” I wrapped her leather jacket around her shoulders. “It could have been a lot more interesting.” I pointed to Blake’s car.
She reached into her jacket. “Where the hell are my handcuffs?”
“Marcus has them. There’s probably some unsuspecting punter wearing them right now.”
“That’s misappropriation of police equipment.” She was walking too slowly.
I hurried her up. “This embarrassing charade of yours can be our little secret. How about that?”
“Have you any idea how serious this is?” She raised her left forearm.
“You consented.”
“The hell I did,” she screeched. “You’ve branded me? This is permanent!”
“Did you really believe you’d mingle in?” I frowned. “How did you get in there anyway?”
“I walked in with a group.” She formed her lips into a pout and blew cold air on her arm.
“Promise you’ll never return.” I glanced up, scanning the windows for any sign we were being watched.
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