by Sara Daniel
“Well, I’d say he’s serving the greater good through the Wiccan Haus,” Armando said. “His role in the Syndicate has been filled by the Department of Truth-Finding.”
“The Department of Truth-Finding?” Fiona laughed, relaxing for the first time since she’d seen that lifebond ring in meditation class. “What a joke. Mr. Verdad doesn’t come close to solving cases and protecting our world the way Cyrus’s retro-cog power did.”
Armando set down his fork, taking her political discussion much more seriously than she’d expected. “Where has Mr. Verdad failed to protect the Syndicate?”
She hesitated, not wanting to expose herself. But ultimately, her need for closure and justice for Lizbet overrode her personal fears. “No one has found Lizbet Jinsin’s lifebond partner. When Mr. Verdad had no leads on where Philippe might be hiding, the Syndicate had to relieve him of his duties and command the police to take over the investigation.”
“You seem to know a lot about this case.” Was he accusing her? Maybe not. His fingers wouldn’t be gently stroking her forearm if he was.
She forced herself to meet his gaze and not retreat into her self-loathing ball of guilt. “How could I not? It’s been all over the news.”
“Well, if I was Mr. Verdad,” Armando said, holding her gaze, “I’d focus on the Vetter who gave Lizbet’s lifebond her seal of approval.”
Fiona dropped her fork. How could her soul have picked a man like this for her mate? The Fates played cruel jokes, and once again they’d come at her expense. “The Vetter was just trying her best.”
“Her best to do what?” Armando demanded, gripping her arm a bit tighter.
“To be a Vetter.” By the Goddess, she’d tried so hard. Her failure had cost an innocent woman her life.
He rubbed his hand along her arm, his face breaking into a smile again. “You know, I believe you’re right.”
A fat lot of good that did for Lizbet. She looked down at his hand on her arm. “Why are you always touching me?” She didn’t know him well enough to warrant the constant contact, but she enjoyed his touch. She didn’t deserve to enjoy anything.
He smiled wider. “I can’t stop myself from touching you, Fiona. You feel the connection too, don’t you?”
She hated that her soul wanted to claim a man who scorned anyone who didn’t use their powers for the greater good. Denying her true powers was the entire foundation of her life. “I’m actually not a tactile person.”
That was such a big lie she couldn’t look him in the eye. Not a tactile person. All her powers were concentrated in the most intimate tactile experience possible.
His grin split even wider. “I’d love the chance to prove you wrong.”
And when he did, she’d know what he was thinking. She’d know how much he despised the woman who claimed to be a Vetter and allowed the commander’s beloved daughter to lifebond with a man who ended up murdering her. Fiona had come to the Wiccan Haus to get away from the public’s hatred and scorn, not see it behind this man’s beautiful smile and feel it no matter how warm and gentle his hands.
She shoved away from the table and ran for the exit.
“What’s wrong? That was supposed to be a compliment,” Armando called after her.
The dining room quieted around her. Everyone stared. Once again, she was drawing attention and making a fool of herself. But she couldn’t stop.
All she’d ever wanted was to be a simple Vetter with real vetting powers. But that life was a lie. The truth, however, was far worse than a life of lies.
Chapter 4
ARMANDO FOLLOWED FIONA OUT OF THE DINING ROOM. She was already across the lobby, speaking to Cemil by the elevators. Somehow, while he’d been rejoicing that she wasn’t involved in a murder plot and he was free to enjoy her company, he’d said something distressing. If she’d found him that offensive, why hadn’t she just told him off?
“What are you doing? We had a deal,” Cyrus demanded. He and Rekkus together made the equivalent of a brick wall across the wide entrance to the dining room.
“I was being friendly. I know she’s not my suspect anymore, though I was never conducting an investigation on your island to begin with, of course. I’ll apologize for whatever I said that upset her.”
“Go back to the dining room and leave her the hell alone.”
Cyrus might be a Syndicate legend, but that didn’t mean he was always right. “You might want to run that opinion by Myron. I believe her cards gave a different opinion.”
Rekkus snarled in his face, fist clenched around the front of Armando’s shirt. “Leave the lady alone. That’s a direct order.”
He’d gone too far. Armando raised his hands in surrender as Fiona disappeared into the elevator with Cemil. Fiona wasn’t involved in the murder plot, which meant he had no suspect to deliver to the Syndicate to prove the Department of Truth-Finding’s worthiness. The portal wouldn’t open again until tomorrow. When it did, he could leave to pursue a different lead in the case. He needed to use tonight to reevaluate the facts to find that lead. “Yes, sir. I’ll finish my dinner and won’t cause any more trouble.”
Rekkus snorted, but released him roughly.
Returning to his lonely table, Armando reconsidered the truths and lies Fiona had told him in their short conversations. No, she wasn’t involved in a murder plot, but she had been the Vetter for Lizbet and Philippe’s lifebond, and she knew something.
After dinner, he talked the staff into boxing him up a second meal on the pretext that he’d be hungry again in a few hours. He was worried about Fiona. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t eaten a complete meal since they’d arrived. She was already too thin.
Myron had given him the room directly across the hall from hers. Like last night, he kept his door open to watch for any movement. Also like last night, her door never opened. After the other guests stopped roaming the hall and the floor was mostly quiet, he knocked on her door. She didn’t answer.
“It’s Armando,” he called anyway. “I’m sorry if I offended you earlier. Listen, I feel really bad that you didn’t get to finish your dinner, so I had the staff box it up for you. It’s still warm, and I’ll feel better if I know you ate it before it turned cold.”
Complete silence. He felt like a fool.
“I’ll set it outside your door. Please eat, Fiona. I’m worried about you.”
To his surprise, the door swung open, and Fiona stood in front of him, her gray eyes wary. “Why would you worry about me?”
“Because you look like you need a friend.”
“I don’t have any friends.” She took the box, her fingers brushing his as she spoke.
I don’t have any friends—truth.
Someone needed to erase the shadows from her eyes and show her she wasn’t alone. He wanted to be that person…until he had to return to his Syndicate duties. “Now you do.”
Her tentative smile blossomed, twisting his stomach into a woozy knot.
“Do you want to eat with me?” She held up the carryout box. “I can’t possibly eat all this myself.”
“I’d love to.” Armando stepped inside, trying not to appear overeager, but still so shocked by her offer he could hardly keep his expression casual.
Her room was identical to his. Bed, cupboard, chaise. If she had any personal effects, he didn’t see them, save for a palate of paints and an easel near the window. “You’re an artist?” He started to walk toward it, intrigued by what she might have been drawing.
“Not really.”
He wished he’d been touching her to get a read on whether that statement was true. He gave up the opportunity to check out her art to return to her side.
“I don’t have a table and chairs,” Fiona said, looking around the room. “You can sit on the chaise. I’ll take the bed.”
The furniture was too far apart to afford them any incidental contact, and although he truly did want to make friends with her, he also needed to activate his truth-finding power to learn everything he
could to uncover a lead to further his investigation into Lizbet’s murder.
“We can share the chaise,” he proposed. “You sit at the head. I’ll sit at the foot. We can put the food between us.” He straddled the cushion and invited her to do the same.
Fiona hesitated. She set the box on the middle cushion. He opened it, hoping the smell that wafted out would tempt her. It tempted him, and he’d already eaten.
She carefully straddled the front cushion. As she settled, her knee bumped his. “Sorry.” She started to shift her leg away.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” He covered her knee with his hand, hoping she’d allow the contact. He was usually adept at relaxing the most skittish of people with casual touches, but with Fiona every contact felt momentous. “Have you been to the Wiccan Haus before?”
“First time,” she murmured, picking up a roll and biting into it.
First time—truth.
“Me too,” he said. “I’d heard people rave about it. I had to find out what all the fuss was about.”
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think they can heal just about anyone if that person wants to be healed. Of course, I bet plenty of people like me come for a week of relaxation and to clear their heads. What about you?”
“Hmm.” She avoided his gaze. “This meat is delicious. Like chicken, yet not. Did the menu say what it was called?”
This meat is delicious—truth.
And a blatant change of subject. “Actually, I think it’s a vegetarian option. Some sort of soy substitute, but I agree. Very tasty. The staff is spot-on with their herbs and flavors. Do you have plans for tomorrow?”
“Not really.”
Not really—lie.
“Come on. You must have something you plan to do.” If she was willing to volunteer a bit more, he wouldn’t feel like he was fishing for information. He glanced at her easel. “Paint, maybe?”
“I’ll probably paint,” she agreed. “Maybe do a deep breathing class and some meditation again, you know, the usual stuff.”
I’ll probably paint—truth.
Maybe do a deep breathing class—lie.
And some meditation again—lie.
The usual stuff—lie.
Activating his truth power didn’t help if she was going to lie about small talk too. Why was she so afraid to tell him the truth? “Do you swim? I hear the lake is lovely.”
“I don’t swim.”
I don’t swim—lie.
“I could teach you,” he blurted before he remembered that he didn’t plan to stick around long enough to commit to any such thing.
“I know how,” she amended. “I just…didn’t bring a swimming suit.”
I know how—truth.
Didn’t bring a swimming suit—truth.
Well, that was better. He thought of the hot springs orgy that he’d bowed out of. “From what I’ve seen so far, the lack of attire isn’t stopping anyone from jumping into the water.”
She laughed weakly. “Maybe it’s a good thing I haven’t wandered any further than the front lawn yet.”
“Definitely not a good thing. The fresh air alone is worth the burning images on your eyeballs.”
She laughed for real this time, looking more relaxed than she had during meditation.
He wanted to spend more time with her in this state. “Let’s make a date for a picnic at the lake tomorrow. I’ll pick you up here at noon.”
Fiona hesitated.
Armando held his breath, hoping not just for a yes but a yes he could count on—one that wasn’t a lie.
“Noon at the lake. I’ll meet you there,” she answered.
Truth.
Too late he remembered he no longer planned to be on the island at noon.
Chapter 5
ARMANDO LIFTED THE CRYSTAL from his pocket and turned it over in his hand. The portal would open in a few minutes. Once he stepped through, the crystal would disintegrate to ash and he wouldn’t be able to return to the Wiccan Haus.
“You’re leaving already?” Myron asked as he handed over his room key.
“Yes. I need to track down Philippe Mason and question him.”
“You and how many hundreds of Syndicate police who are already on his trail? What makes you think you’ll find him first?” she asked.
“I’m not going to find him here,” he pointed out.
“Nope,” she agreed. Her gaze shifted beyond him. “Good morning, Fiona. Going to the lake to paint the sunrise?”
She turned toward them, her arms loaded with a large portfolio bag, an easel, and another black shoulder bag.
“Yeah, I am.” She sounded surprised, either by her own actions, Myron’s accurate guess, or the fact that he was in the lobby too. “See you later, Armando.” She half-waved, her arms too full to complete the motion.
“You’re going to leave?” Myron demanded, after Fiona had disappeared out the front door. “My cards show you have a date with her.”
Armando wasn’t standing her up by choice. He had to save the Department of Truth-Finding. He might not have much to show for it yet, but he’d prove that uncovering the truth was the key to making the world a better, safer place.
“You could at least do the courteous thing and tell her you’ll be too busy trying to show up a well-trained police force to meet her,” Myron said.
Myron was right. He owed Fiona an explanation. Being a man of truth also meant he was a man of honor. He sighed. It would do him good to become a man of realistic expectations too. Did he really expect to crack the case by reexamining evidence already discarded by the Syndicate’s elite detectives?
He wouldn’t prove to the Syndicate his department had any redeeming value by following the police around. He needed a different tactic, one he knew not a single officer was trying. He’d talk to Lizbet and Philippe’s Vetter—not as a murder suspect, but as someone who’d spent time talking with the couple and might be able to give insight into the type of person Philippe was or where he might hide out.
The questions would only take a few minutes out of the day, which meant he had plenty of time to enjoy Fiona’s company and discover who Fiona Vetter really was.
“You know what, Myron?” He picked up his room key off the desk, where she had yet to touch it. “I think I’m going to stay, after all.”
“Why am I not surprised?” she muttered.
“Maybe because you’re a psychic,” he said dryly. “How about using those cards to tell me what kind of food I should request from the kitchen for a picnic?”
“How about you ask the kitchen for a recommendation? I’m not your one-stop fortune shop.”
Armando grinned and left to do just that, looking forward to playing hooky with a woman he was undeniably attracted to. Back home, others were working overtime to seal the fate on his career, but he no longer felt stressed to crack the case and prove himself before they won. Right now, he believed in every bit of the amazing healing the Wiccan Haus promised.
Colors lit the sky, throwing pink and orange and purple over the dark waters, just as Fiona finished setting up her easel and paints overlooking the lake. She dipped her brush in the paint and stroked it across her paper, trying to capture the sunrise before it was gone.
Then she stripped the page away without glancing at it and began brushing the blinding rays of sun as they streamed toward her, reflected off the water and glinted in the waves. For each paper she ripped off, the sun climbed higher, illuminating another angle of beauty.
“Hey, you look like you’ve been here for a while.”
Fiona blinked and looked up. She had no idea how much time had passed, but she was sitting in a wide circle of wet paintings and thick art paper. “I guess so,” she said shakily. “Is it noon?”
With a blanket under his arm and carrying a basket, Armando stepped carefully between the papers. “Past. I watched while you worked on this last piece so I wouldn’t mess up your concentration. I didn’t realize painting was such a big passion f
or you.”
Me either, she almost said. Instead, she stood. She had to lean against Armando for a moment while she waited for her legs to remember their purpose. “I’m an artist.”
Looking at her scattered drawings, she could almost believe that someday those words wouldn’t be a lie. She could reinvent herself, live in seclusion and support herself with her art.
“An artist?” he mused. “But I’m guessing that’s a hobby, right? What’s your job back home?”
“Currently unemployed.” She forced a laugh and took the blanket from under his arm, spreading it halfway between her paintings and the lake. “Still want to have a picnic with a lady with no prospects?”
He followed her, set down the basket and grasped her hands. “That can’t possibly be true.”
“No prospects,” she repeated. Whether he believed her or not, a greater truth had never been spoken. But she wasn’t going to dwell on that today. She’d agreed to this picnic to imagine herself as a woman with no powers, to enjoy the day with a man she was attracted to.
She carefully eased her hands free. The loss of his touch made her ache all the way to the depth of her soul, reminding her of the powers she did have that she couldn’t wish away. Well, her soul might recognize him as her mate, but she would not mate with him. She’d flirt, maybe make out. Above all, she would forget her troubles and relax.
She lifted her long gray skirt and knelt on the blanket, opening the picnic basket. It was filled to near bursting with assorted cheeses, crackers, and exotic fruits. “Oh my gosh, this is amazing.”
With genuine enthusiasm, she pulled each item out, carefully unwrapping the offerings onto the platters she discovered at the bottom of the deceptively small basket. “Did you pick the food, or did the staff choose all this?”
“A combination.” He crouched next to her and drew out a bottle of wine.
He began the uncorking process with an ease and expertise that proved he knew his way around a good wine. The nearly translucent contents sparkled in the sun as he handed her a glass. Then he poured himself a matching flute and clinked it with hers. “To passion and new prospects.”
