The Pawn of the Phoenix (The Memory Collector Series Book 2)

by Jamie McLachlan

  “It is,” I say, offering her a welcoming smile. “Rick could bring you to the police station one day, and I could demonstrate my gifts.”

  Her confusion overrides her bashfulness. “Rick?”

  My gaze falls on a familiar face behind Christine, momentarily distracting me from the conversation. It would be nearly impossible for me not to notice the other woman, for her height towers over the majority of the women present and even some of the men. Her blond curls still barely manage to soften the sharp features of her face and that strong chin of hers. The last time I saw her, Mr. Harrison had introduced her as the new Pleasure House Instigator. Our interaction had been brief and was interrupted by the other men in the room. At present, she stands alone. Our gazes lock, and her eyes tell me my presence would be welcome.

  Constable Jamieson’s voice brings me back to the conversation. “Moira calls me Rick, my love.”

  “Oh, I see,” says Christine. “And yes I’d love for you to demonstrate your abilities.”

  Rick notices I’m a little preoccupied, and he looks at me with concern. “Is everything alright, Moira?”

  “Oh yes, I just see someone I wish to speak with.” I smile at the couple, twisting my expression into a mixture of hope and regret. “Do you mind if I go speak with them?”

  “Of course not,” says Rick.

  We exchange pleasantries once again, and I weave my way toward the empath across the room. She pretends not to notice my approach, yet I can sense her anticipation. At first, I’m baffled by her emotions. But the closer I get, the more I realize she has been waiting to speak with me. As have I. It’s rare I get to converse with another empath.

  “Good evening, Madame Josephine.”

  Her gaze finally rests on me, and she feigns astonishment. “Good evening, Moira. What a pleasant surprise.”

  She holds out her hand. I only hesitate for a moment before I reach out and make physical contact. The last time we touched, I had only brushed against her consciousness to get a sense of her. Now, however, Josephine unexpectedly plunges into my mind. She’s searching for something, and I immediately resist. As she wanders upon the staircases of my landscape, I easily step into her mind. My bare feet burrow in cool sand, and my eyes adjust to the vibrant glare of the sunset flickering off the water’s surface. I inhale, relishing the salty fragrance of the sea and the sound of the gentle waves rocking against the shore. It’s so peaceful, I could stay here forever. Alas, this is not real. It’s a fabricated landscape in an empath’s mind meant to keep intruders at bay.

  I am the trespasser.

  A rush of thoughts comes in with the tide and flows through me as the water caresses my toes. She wants to know my involvement in the Phoenix case and my exact stance. The desire isn’t merely curiosity. It’s imperative, and I’m instantly reminded of Daniel. Not only is there a war, but there are sides to be chosen. She’s made a choice and now wants to know mine. Suspicion immediately grips me and thunder rolls above her in my own landscape. It’s a threat, yet the woman isn’t frightened. Her own layout remains calm, unperturbed by my attempt at a warning. She understands my fear and assures me she is not involved with the murders in any way.

  I pitch my voice low so anyone nearby can’t hear my words. “Then why do I get the sense you want the Phoenix to succeed?”

  “Because I do.” She smiles at my alarm. “Why should I not, Moira? When you live your whole life as a slave, you learn to take advantage of any opportunity presented to you. It’s the only way people like us can survive.”

  “Even if it means innocent people die?”

  Josephine releases my hand, and her smile is void of humour. “You and I both know there’s no such thing.”

  She’s right. I know for a fact no one is without flaws. Yet what Josephine proposes is something slightly different. It’s one thing to be guilty and convicted for a crime you committed; it’s an entirely different matter to be convicted of one you didn’t. Being guilty of one transgression doesn’t make you guilty of another. And what crime did Rachel commit? She fell in love in a chaotic world where her love was seen as a betrayal to some, disgusting to others.

  “Of course, it’s easy for you to say.” I sip leisurely at my wine before continuing. “You’re in a position where you don’t have much to lose. You’re the Pleasure House Instigator.”

  “On the contrary, I have a lot to lose. If the Phoenix is caught, my position as house instigator will be terminated. The Elite will enforce heavier restrictions on empaths, including blockers. We’ll be in the same position as everyone else.”

  “I find that hard to believe. I mean you are already house instigator. Clearly, the Elite trust you enough.”

  “Trust is a fragile thing.”

  I grin, because I’m beginning to like the woman. We think alike, and I’m ashamed to say I had begun to trust the detective and had allowed myself to feel safe in his presence. Things like that don’t come without a price, and people like me can’t afford to trust anyone. Honestly, I don’t even trust myself. It’s astonishing how much the mind is capable of deceiving itself. So even though I like Josephine, I’ll remain suspicious of her. After all, she was a blocker before her promotion.

  “And if the Phoenix succeeds?” I ask.

  “Then anything is possible, including change.”

  “I still fail to see why you’d want change when you’re in a position of authority.”

  “Where is a better place to facilitate change?”

  My scepticism isn’t easily shaken. “And what changes would you make at the pleasure house? Free all the concubines?” The last part I add in a slightly derisive tone.

  Josephine takes a generous taste of her wine and gives me a knowing look. “Hardly. Change requires time; it can’t simply happen overnight. You were a concubine, Moira. So, you know most of the concubines won’t want to leave the pleasure house. Oh sure, they’ll embrace their freedom rather voraciously, but they’ve been concubines all their lives. They won’t know what to do with their freedom.”

  Her lips curve upwards. “That’s where I come in. Those who choose to stay at the pleasure house will be welcome to do so and work for me. Not as slaves, but as employees. They will be given wages and have the opportunity to leave whenever they so desire. There will also be rules that govern the clients’ treatment of the concubines.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I say thoughtfully. “A little too perfect.”

  “With all change there is bound to be a few delays and challenges. But I hope to enforce them as much as I can. If all is successful, you’re more than welcome to return to the pleasure house. That is, if you so desire.”

  A short caustic laugh escapes me. “No thanks, Josephine. The pleasure house is the last place I’d like to be when all this is over.”

  “I understand,” she says, surprisingly sympathetic. “Then maybe we can at least agree on one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  She raises her glass toward me. “To change.”

  Her sincerity both baffles and astounds me, but it’s genuine. And I commend her for it. Do I believe she will succeed? Honestly, not really. I suppose I’m too cynical to believe things can change. But I admire her for the thought alone. I just hope she’s not actually involved with the Phoenix, or else she might find herself imprisoned shortly.

  Raising my own glass, I speak above the clang of the crystal colliding with one another. “To change.”

  We both take a sip of our wine, while our eyes remain locked on one another. A woman approaches us, her head poised high in self-importance. For an empath, she’s quite confident and walks alone, which means she must be a blocker. Her dark, tightly bound curls are pulled back in one of the popular styles worn by other women, and the interlacing colours of cream and yellow in her dress compliments her dark brown complexion. But the most striking quality is her dark eyes framed by long, flattering lashes.

  She nods her head at the Pleasure House Instigator in greeting. “Madame Jos
ephine.”

  “Alyssa,” acknowledges the blonde beside me. “This is Moira, the empath working with Detective Edwards.” She turns to me and adds, “This is Alyssa Harrison, the new Chief Blocker.”

  So, Mr. Harrison did find a new Chief Blocker already. I offer her a tight smile and hold out my hand in greeting. Instead of taking it, Alyssa scrutinizes my face. Her gaze flickers between my different coloured eyes before looking away to settle on Josephine. I have a moment to decide if I’m offended by her slight or grateful she didn’t touch me. I decide on the latter though I’m beginning to think I’ve just met another blocker I will come to despise.

  “These events are always so tedious.” Alyssa grabs a glass of wine from a server, and then looks at me deliberately. “You were a concubine, weren’t you? You must be accustomed to parading around idly.”

  And with those words I’m no longer uncertain. I’m thoroughly offended and despise her.

  “Oh, yes.” I quickly mask my fury behind a sheet of sarcasm. “When I wasn’t fucking, I was wasting away the hours prancing around naked or staring at the ceiling.”

  Taking my sarcasm in stride, she says, “Well, hopefully you’re providing more useful services to the detective. I don’t know why the Elite chose to elicit a concubine’s help rather than a blocker.”

  “Alyssa,” interjects Josephine in a warning tone. “Moira is more than capable–”

  “It’s alright, Josephine.” I give the other blocker a chilling smile. “Let her think whatever she wants.” My gaze flickers back to the Pleasure House Instigator. “If you’ll excuse me, I must return to my listless life. It was a pleasure to meet you again, Madame.”

  She offers me a parting congenial smile. “And you, Moira.”

  I don’t bother glancing at the Chief Blocker, yet I can feel her eyes on me as I walk away. She had deliberately provoked me with the intention I would lash out at her in irritation. What she hadn’t expected was for me to walk away without a fight. Her words and behaviour toward me wasn’t without purpose; it was an attempt to assess me. I have proven to be nothing of what she accused me of being and the realization perturbs her. For a brief moment, I wonder why before I decide I don’t care.

  After wandering through a crowd of people, I step outside onto the balcony. Though it’s dark out, the moon provides enough light for me to see the expanse of Mr. Harrison’s garden, and I imagine it’s beautiful in the day. The soft breeze carries the sweet fragrance of spring blossoms, and I lean against the balustrade, grateful for a moment of reprieve from the stench of cigar smoke and the rolling laughter of men. The night air is cool against my exposed arms, eliciting a shiver throughout my body. As I wrap my arms around myself, a familiar trickle of desire slithers toward me and curls around my waist, tugging me back ever so slightly.

  My lips curve involuntarily into a smile. “You should know by now you can’t exactly sneak up on an empath, Mr. Hayes.”

  “Is that so?” He slowly approaches me, his desire pressing more insistently against my spine. “What gave me away, Moira? And I thought you agreed to call me Icarus.”

  “Your emotions.” I turn to face him and draw out his name in an extended sigh. “Icarus.”

  “That’s better,” he says, pleased. “And what emotions did you sense?”

  “Desire.”

  “Am I that transparent?” He chuckles and continues before I can offer him a sardonic reply. “Ah, well, I was admiring you from afar. But, to be honest, I’d much rather admire you up close. Have you considered my proposal?”

  I think back to my seduction and fact-finding proposal to the detective. This could possibly be my chance. Besides, Mr. Hayes could prove to be the exact type of distraction I need to keep my mind from obsessing about the case or Keenan. Here is someone who desires me and isn’t afraid to admit it. He also won’t make any demands—unlike someone else I know.

  Icarus’s grin widens, as if he knows I’ve acquiesced.

  “Alright, Icarus, let’s see if you live up to your word.”

  He practically glows with satisfaction. “It would be my pleasure, and I promise I won’t disappoint you. I understand you now reside in Mr. Edwards’s townhouse, not the hotel. We’ll have to inform him you’ll be coming back to my place and not his.”

  “You plan to gloat, don’t you?”

  “I would be lying if I said it wouldn’t give me immense pleasure to see the look on his face when he sees you walk out of here with me.”

  I suppose that makes two of us, but I feel a little disappointed in his response. “It better not be the only reason you’re inviting me over.”

  “Not at all.” He steps closer and secures my arm around his. “It would simply be a bonus. Shall we?”

  We don’t make it far before we spot the detective amongst the crowd. He stands alone, his eyes raking over the various faces before him. When his gaze settles on me, my heart plummets to my gut and dread washes over me as we stare at one another. I remember the thoughts I had read from his mind, and I force myself to meet his gaze coolly. His eyes flicker to Mr. Hayes before settling on our entwined arms. Though his expression remains impassive, a thick cloud of annoyance envelops him.

  He nods slightly in polite greeting. “Mr. Hayes.”

  “Mr. Edwards, I’m glad we caught sight of you.” Icarus glances sideways at me, and his smile acquires a devious curve. “Moira has agreed to come to my place for a visit. I thought it only proper to inform you considering the Elite have placed her in your care.”

  Keenan inhales deeply, and his eyes settle on me. “I see. May I have a word with you before you leave?”

  In my head, I immediately protest. But my mouth blurts out, “Of course.”

  Mr. Hayes turns to me and plants a soft kiss on my hand. “I’ll be in the foyer. Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

  The moment Icarus leaves, I turn to the detective, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the nervousness that has settled deep in my chest. “Alright, Keenan, what is it you wish to say?”

  “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear, Moira.” He looks away from the other man’s retreating figure, and I’m once again squirming beneath that inquisitive gaze of his. “I thought I had expressed quite plainly you were to only approach Mr. Hayes if it was of your own accord, and not in an attempt to gain insight into Jonathan.”

  “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear,” I retort, barely containing my bitterness. The thoughts I had read last night come unbidden to the front of my mind, reminding me once again I was foolish to believe anything could happen between us.

  His eyes narrow in suspicion. “You go of your own accord then?”

  “I do.”

  “Very well, Moira.”

  The suspicion and aggravation I had glimpsed has now faded, an expression of cool indifference sliding easily into place. His mental barriers crash firmly around him so I can’t even sense his emotions anymore, and I’m reminded of the first day we had met—how he had regarded me with blatant hostility and distrust as I had held out my hand. I don’t even see that side of him at the moment, because that would mean he felt something toward me. And, currently, there’s no emotion in those green eyes.

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “Keenan–”

  “I believe Mr. Hayes said to not keep him waiting.”

  I don’t know what I was about to say—an apology, or an explanation. Because surely he knows nothing good would ever come out of us being together, and that it’s best if we keep our relationship purely professional. But as I’m walking away, I glance back at him and wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake.

  5

  I’m twenty-one years old—or at least I think I am, since I actually don’t know my birthdate—and I have never willingly been with a man as a woman and not a slave. Most of my experiences were done with reluctance and sometimes with a heavy dose of resentment. The majority of clients I had felt dispassionate about. A select few I hated; they were the ones who loved to leave their mark on
me if I disobeyed. Then there was an even smaller group: clients whose company I enjoyed.

  Yet despite how I may have felt toward those men, our encounters were always between a concubine and a client—a service performed between slave and master. Of course, there was Devin, one of my fellow male concubines. But even though I had wanted something to happen, our encounters never progressed beyond kissing. So I’m unexpectedly anxious over the prospect of falling into a sexual relationship with Icarus Hayes. Would it be so wrong to enjoy this man’s company, even if it’s for a short period of time? If I were any other woman of high society, I would be discouraged from such behaviour. But I have no prospect of marriage or even love.

  Icarus approaches and hands me a glass. “Some wine to settle the nerves.”

  I gratefully accept and take a sip, eying him over the rim of the crystal. He watches me carefully, ever so patient. It’s something I’m not accustomed to, and I half expected him to march me up to his room immediately. But since the moment we arrived at his house, he has been courteous and respectful. In most of my encounters, the men had hastily rushed past my pleasure in search of their own. Yet Icarus seems content to take his time, politely removing my coat and offering me a beverage. Perhaps he intends to have me highly intoxicated.

  “Now, what would be the fun in that, Moira?”

  “What?”

  He chuckles softly. “You just mumbled it was my intent to get you drunk.”

  “I did?”

  He nods. “I assure you it is not my intent. I’d much rather have you coherent. You just seemed nervous.” He gives me a small smile and for once it’s genuine. “We will go only as far as you allow it.”

  He then gestures to the sofa. “Shall we?”

  I sit down, a little more at ease, and he sits beside me. I’m suddenly feeling ridiculous for being nervous, so I immediately relax, shifting my body to face him. His dark, golden locks curl slightly and trail past his jaw, reminding me of the angels depicted in the paintings back at Mr. Harrison’s house. Other than that, I would never venture to extend the comparison. The rich ochre shade of his eyes is warm and inviting, not at all unsettling like the luminous green of the detective’s, but there’s a glint of mischief in their depths.