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

by Jamie McLachlan

  “He has. He’s instructed me to inform him the moment things become violent.”

  Keenan’s expression hardens. “They should have sent constables to disperse the crowd.”

  Mr. Johnson opens a door to his left and turns to face the detective. “Perhaps, but at the moment they are overwhelmed with a crowd of their own. As I’m sure you know already.”

  My gaze immediately flickers to Keenan’s face in concern. A faint blush of crimson marks his cheeks, but it’s the only sign of his irritation. Or course he would have known—if he hadn’t been secluded in his home for the past two weeks. I imagine this fact is yet another thing he will add to his list of failures. Instead of responding, he silently enters the room and I trail in after him.

  “It will only be a few minutes.” Mr. Johnson closes the door behind him.

  My eyes immediately study the room, remarking how different it is from the ones in the dream house. In the other house, the rooms contain a pillowed area for the clients to rest and the ceiling is painted to mock a partially clouded sky. It’s meant to be relaxing, to help ease the client’s troubles. This room, however, is small and dark, with only a soft light hanging over the centre, and the only furniture in the room are two wooden chairs with a small, rounded table between them. The simplicity is done on purpose, to eliminate as much stimulation as possible.

  I’ve just settled into one of the chairs when I notice Keenan still standing. “Aren’t you going to sit?”

  “I imagine the other chair is for the memory blocker.”

  He contentedly leans against the wall across from me, but I know something is bothering him. The blush has yet to fade from his cheeks, and his jaw continues to tense as if he’s struggling not to clench his teeth. Though I understand his need to immerse himself back into the investigation, I worry about him. His mind is still fragile and prone to subject him to tormenting memories.

  I attempt to distract him from the crowd outside and the memories inside his mind. “What if there’s no persuasion?”

  His eyes meet mine, questioning. “Have you checked?”

  “No.”

  “Then, we’ll decide after if that’s the case.”

  I carefully avert my gaze and keep my voice light. “You seem quite confident I’m the first victim. Are you sure you’re not letting your personal interests interfere with your judgement?”

  Even with my attention diverted elsewhere, I can still feel the intensity of his gaze on me. When he doesn’t speak, I instantly regret making the suggestion. His silence makes me squirm until I finally look up at him. My first thought is he’s angry with me, but then my eyes widen in astonishment. Instead of regarding me with narrowed eyes, his expression is thoughtful, and he’s worried I might be right.

  “Keenan?”

  He opens his mouth as if to speak, but the door opens and interrupts us. A woman enters the room, wearing a black dress as if in mourning. Her dark hair is drawn back into a simple bun, the grey strands standing out against the rest. She assesses the detective first, hostility slipping beneath her poised exterior. She doesn’t like the police any more than I do, and she tries to hide her resentment. But after years of being a detective, Keenan has become accustomed to people automatically disliking him. He stares at her straight on, a clear challenge in his eyes, and it isn’t long before she looks away. Her gaze falls on me with apparent surprise, because she’s not accustomed to having another empath as a client.

  “I’m Detective Edwards and this is Moira.”

  Her eyes flicker back to Keenan. “And I’m Kathryn. Mr. Johnson has informed me that you require me to extract a blocked memory. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, please sit.” He gestures to the unoccupied chair, and she slides into it. “Moira, you should probably explain.”

  I nod and look at the empath sitting across from me. “I need to remember what happened the night I murdered Scott Harrison. I think someone might have blocked it from me.”

  She blinks, but her expression remains neutral. “Alright, take me to that night.”

  Kathryn holds out her hand, resting it on the table between us, and waits for me. At first, I simply stare down at it, years of self-preservation surfacing. It’s the first time since that night I will revisit the memory, and my heart begins to panic within my chest. Blood pools to my head, and my feet twitch with the urgency to flee. There’s no going back if I let her enter my mind. But then my gaze finds Keenan, and my previous determination is restored. If he’s strong enough to relive the memories of his painful past, then I can too.

  I give her my hand, and she grabs hold of it tightly, slipping into my head seamlessly. I grit my teeth in automatic defiance, and thunder rolls aggressively above her. The sound startles her, and she nearly misses her step going down one of the staircases. Her grip tightens, reminding me that she’s not an intruder. I try to remain calm and remind myself why I’m doing this.

  Her admiration slips through our bond. “Quite the elaborate ruse you’ve created here. I’ve only seen such a complicated landscape in a blocker’s mind.”

  The corners of my lips quirk upwards in hilarity. She wants to know if I’m a blocker, but isn’t sure if she’s allowed to ask questions. If I answer yes, then she would consider me a traitor. But If I say no, then she would only be further confounded by my presence. Her inquisitiveness might tempt her to search other parts of my mind for answers, and I can’t let that happen. So instead of answering her unspoken question with a blunt response, I opt for vagueness, and then relish in her growing curiosity.

  “Yes, I was taught well.”

  She straightens in her seat, excited to find herself in a complex mind. “Shall I waste time dismantling it to find the memory, or will you lead the way?”

  She speaks as if the idea bores her, but she’s actually hoping for the challenge. I wish I could give her what she wants, but I need to find out the truth as soon as possible.

  “I’ll lead.”

  I guide her along, eliminating extraneous staircases and joining the necessary ones so she doesn’t end up wandering aimlessly for hours. I don’t know how much time passes outside for Keenan, but in my mind it seems to take forever. Finally she stumbles upon a platform in the side of the cliff and has to jump the last step to reach the other side. She inhales deeply and wipes the back of her hand across her forehead. I’ve begun to sweat as well, and her hand must be white with the absence of blood from how tightly my hand is gripping hers.

  At the end of the cavern is a stone door—one that contains all of my memories of Scott Harrison. The day I had escaped his property and left Braxton, I had promised myself I would lock that door and never open it ever again. Yet here I am, prepared to unlock it. God, I hope this isn’t a mistake.

  Kathryn shivers and wraps her arms around herself. “Are you sure you want me to open it?”

  I can understand her hesitancy, because even I can feel the wave of emotions emanating from the door. There’s nothing but intense pain and fury behind it, and the moment she opens it, we’ll both be struck with those hostile emotions. And once that happens there’s the potential we might be overwhelmed with the memories. But I need to do this. For Keenan, myself, and for the investigation.

  “Yes,” I breathe. “Open it.”

  She nods and approaches the door. I concentrate hard and a key materializes in the lock, ready for her to turn it. I could have done this myself, but beyond the door is where I need her. She will have to navigate through the various memories to find the one concerning that night. Even the strongest empath needs help with the repressed part of their minds.

  A grunt escapes her as she pushes the door open. The moment a crack appears a stifling gust of hot air rushes past her, giving life to the animosity that has been contained within. I growl—a low, feral sound that startles us both.

  “Remember, I am here to help, Moira.”

  “I’m trying!”

  She scowls, annoyed with my resistance. “You asked me to enter
, so try harder to relax.”

  Something warm slides into my other hand and squeezes, and then Keenan’s voice is in my ear, soft and coaxing. “You can do this, Moira. I’m here, and I won’t let go—no matter what she finds.”

  His other hand brushes back my hair and gently massages my neck, his thumb moving in hypnotic circles. My shoulders immediately relax, and I loosen my grip on the poor woman sitting across from me. I inhale deeply and catch the faint smell of Keenan’s aftershave. I try to ignore the memories concerning the detective, knowing whatever I reminisce over will be viewed by Kathryn. But the effort proves more difficult than I thought, especially since he continues to touch me.

  Kathryn immediately pauses in her efforts at the sound of a faint ticking. “Is that from you or from him?”

  I bite down on my smile, enjoying the soothing tick, tock entering my head. “Him.”

  Her curiosity trickles through her hand, but she quickly stifles it and presses on the door. It gives way with reluctance, creaking heavily as it opens, and memories threaten to pervade my thoughts. The air is hot with antagonism, and before Kathryn is a pool of molten lava, volatile bubbles exploding on the surface. On the other side of the red lake are several doors, and the only way to reach them is through a set of stepping stones. She eyes the path warily before hopping to the first stone. The moment her foot touches the pebble it begins to sink, forcing her to jump to the next one, and she barely has time to catch her balance before the lava threatens to engulf it as well.

  Finally, she makes it safely to the other side where she’s confronted with several doors. Each one looks as foreboding as the next one, but only one has a symbol etched into the stone. Suddenly all I hear is the sound of my heart beating as the realization that someone has been in my mind and blocked a memory settles in. At first I feel violated, and then animosity rushes in to greet me. I despise the idea just as much as I hate the fact I never knew and probably wouldn’t have known if Keenan hadn’t insisted on finding out.

  Kathryn approaches the door, and I investigate the marking. It’s not on fire, which means there’s no persuasion involved, and it’s also not the Phoenix’s insignia. The initials are someone else’s. She might recognize it from one of the other memory blockers, so I decide to ask her.

  “Do you recognize it as belonging to any of the other empaths in the memory house?”

  She narrows her brows in thought before straightening and shaking her head. “No, I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Did you find something?” wonders the detective.

  I give his hand a quick squeeze. “Yes, she found a door, but it’s not exactly what we expected.”

  His disappointment trickles into me. “Then I suppose that means there’s no way to open it.”

  “Not necessarily,” says Kathryn, cautiously touching the door. “Whoever made this wasn’t very skilled with blocking memories.”

  A mixture of hope and anxiety swirls within me. “So you can open it?”

  “I can try, if you want me to.”

  I take a moment to inhale deeply before answering. “Do it.”

  She places both hands onto the door, and I suppress the shiver that threatens to possess me. I feel her pulling on my desire to know what is on the other side as she focuses on erasing the other empath’s symbol. Pain blossoms in my head, throbbing to a dull ache, and beads of sweat trickle down my spine. But she continues her efforts, her brows pinched in concentration. After several minutes, she opens her eyes and runs her hand over the sign as if she could simply smear away the mark. I gasp out loud when the insignia disappears beneath her touch.

  “You did it!”

  She wipes her brows and pride settles into her features. “So I did. Shall I open it?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Grabbing the handle, she swings the door open and a long-forgotten memory grasps her wrist and pulls her forward. We both stumble into the past, and I find myself once again in Scott’s house.

  I turn the page and try to focus on the words and their meanings, but the sound of muffled voices keeps distracting me. If it were any other person, I would have crept up to the closed doors across the hall and eavesdropped into the conversation. But behind those doors isn’t any regular man; it’s Scott Harrison. He’d sense my presence and punish me—something I have been carefully avoiding these past few weeks, which is why I’m sitting here attempting to read a chapter on Braxton’s history.

  The material is dry and gloomy, carefully detailing the enslavement of empaths. I read a section on the construction of the underground prison, and how it was meant to hold every empath. Of course they had ran out of room, so the Elite had created the three houses so every empath could serve rather than rot in prison. Depressing. My desire to throw the book into the fire increases with each word.

  My gaze leaves the page, and I find myself once again staring out into the hall. I’m curious, but there’s another reason I’m itching to know what is said in the other room. The man who arrived at my master’s front door half an hour ago is someone I recognize, but I can’t seem to recall his name even though I’d identify his face anywhere. He had been one of my clients back at the pleasure house, and I despise him.

  The sound of a door opening startles me, and I quickly feign interest in the book in my hand. Footsteps tread into the hallway, sounding closer with each step, and I wonder which man approaches. For the first time, I hope it’s Scott who appears around the doorframe.

  My heart plummets to my gut when I see blue eyes watching me instead of black ones. The man steps into the room, his gaze immediately locking on the book in my hand with a mixture of astonishment and disdain. I know exactly what he’s thinking without having to read his mind. He doesn’t think a girl like me has any business reading, and I have to admit I had thought the same when Scott first forced me to learn. But now, I actually enjoy it.

  “Where’s Scott?” I demand.

  He takes the seat across from me, and those cold eyes settle back on my face. “In his study.”

  I slam my book shut and stand. “Well, I wasn’t looking for company, especially not yours.”

  My body immediately freezes in place when he speaks next.

  “Has he fucked you yet?”

  Even though my back is facing him, I know he stands because I can hear him creep up behind me. I should walk away, escape while I still have the chance, but for some awful reason my feet fail to move.

  He lowers his head so his breath tickles my neck, and then whispers into my ear. “I bet you beg like the little whore that you are.”

  “Fuck you,” I breathe, and finally my body is no longer paralyzed.

  I take a step toward the door, but he grabs my wrist. The moment his skin touches mine, something inside me snaps. I whirl around and strike him in the side of his head with my book.

  His hand immediately flies to his face. “Fucking bitch!”

  Suddenly I’m pulled toward him, but instead of colliding into him, I fall unceremoniously onto the side of the coffee table. My head smacks into the edge and pain instantly spreads around my right eye as I tumble to the floor. I blink, trying to clear the haze around my vision. I have a moment to push myself up on my knees before he grabs a fistful of my hair and tugs my head back.

  His voice cuts through me with the intensity of his revulsion. “From the moment I met you, you’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass. You might have other men wrapped around your fingers, but not me. Do you hear me, whore?” He turns me over and shoves me onto the couch, his fingers slipping around my neck painfully. “It’s about time I get rid of you, so listen carefully.”

  I claw at his hand, desperate for more air, but his grasp only tightens. I choke, feebly struggling against his strength. When he speaks next, his voice changes, becoming smooth and persuasive, and my body immediately stops resisting.

  “Tonight, when everyone else is asleep, you’re going to get out of bed and kill Scott Harrison. You will use whatever weapon is necessa
ry, and you won’t stop until he is dead. The second I remove my hand, you will forget what I’ve said, but you are still bound to carry out the deed.”

  He releases me and stands to adjust his suit, his long fingers smoothing out the front. I cough as a rush of air fills my lungs, which only intensifies the pain in my head. When I finally look up at him, I find him smirking at me in satisfaction.

  “What?” I snap. “Is that all you’ve got?”

  His grin widens, but his eyes become hard as ice. “You’re not worth a moment more of my time.”

  He turns and exits the room, leaving me feeling disorientated and gasping for air.

  The memory snaps back, relinquishing its hold on us, but our freedom is short-lived. By unlocking this memory, another one that was kept hidden behind this door is automatically released, and we’re swept away back into my past. I have a moment to notice that this memory has been hidden behind the same insignia, but that this one had been on fire. Then, I’m once again in a place I’d rather forget.

  I wake up abruptly and crawl out of my bed. The sun has set, and the house has fallen silent. I exit my room and tread down the stairs with a singular goal in my mind. My first thought is that I need a weapon, so I head toward the kitchen and grab one of the large knives. I grip the handle and make my way back to the staircase, but the soft glow emanating from beneath a door catches my attention.

  Must kill Scott Harrison.

  I grab the handle and open the door. Scott glances up at me from behind his desk, and his eyes immediately harden with anger. I should be afraid, but the only thing I feel is an uncontrollable urge to murder this man.

  “What are you doing?” He stands up from his chair, his voice ringing through the room in a clear command.

  Suddenly I’m moving toward him, and he notices the knife in my hand. His annoyance vanishes, and he actually smiles. The curve of his lips reflect the mocking tone of his voice when he speaks again.

  “Did you really think you could just walk in here and kill me? Really, Moira, do you need me to teach you another lesson?” His disappointment fills the room, but he’s excited about the prospect of punishing me. “And you were doing so well.”