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

by Jamie McLachlan

  “Lower the revolver.”

  His face shows signs of confusion, a clear hesitation, but he doesn’t obey. I take a shuddering breath, grateful he’s at least not shooting anymore, which means I might have a chance of overriding the Phoenix’s persuasion. His mind is curiously dark and empty, except for a door, and carved into the wood is the Phoenix’s insignia, bright red flames licking along the outline.

  I carefully approach the door, the pain in my arm numbing to a faint annoyance in the distance. My mind runs through various ideas, but none are useful. It isn’t until I recall how Kathryn, the memory blocker, had opened Jonathan’s door that my hope is rekindled. I inhale deeply, gathering all of my determination into the palm of my hands before I place them onto the door. My skin burns the moment I make contact, and I cry out in agony as the smell of burnt flesh filters through my nose and makes me gag.

  “Moira–”

  “I can do this!”

  Keenan’s voice was laden with fear, but I can’t have him breaking my concentration again. If my control were to accidentally slip, then the Chief wouldn’t hesitate in shooting the detective. And I can’t have that happen. I won’t.

  It’s all in my head, it’s all in my head…

  The mantra helps keep me sane and focused, despite the pain and smell of burnt flesh. It would be impossible for me to erase the Phoenix’s mark as Kathryn had, because, unlike Jonathan’s, this mark is impenetrable. Whoever created it wasn’t sloppy or in a hurry, and they most certainly aren’t a novice at memory blocking. No, they knew exactly what they were doing when they erected this door. But even though I can’t obliterate the mark, I can plant a seed of my own—one that will counteract the Phoenix’s commands. I press harder, forcing my will onto the Chief’s mind.

  “Lower. The. Revolver.”

  Sweat breaks across the Chief’s forehead, and his face twitches with the contradicting commands controlling his mind. I growl against the pain and shove all of my will into a single word.

  “Now!”

  My will wraps around the Chief’s mind, firm and unrelenting, overpowering any other commands. His arm immediately lowers, and I sigh in relief. “Place the revolver on the desk and move back five feet.”

  He obeys, and I’m faintly aware of the detective grabbing hold of the revolver before he moves back out of my field of vision. The Chief remains standing several feet away from his desk, awaiting my next command. It takes me a moment before I finally think of a persuasion that will overrule the Phoenix’s. I just hope it works.

  “You will not harm or kill yourself, Keenan Edwards, or myself.”

  Though I’m certain the persuasion was to kill Keenan, I include the Chief and myself just in case one or both of us was included. After the persuasion has settled in his mind, I remove my hands. I immediately glance down at them and am surprised to find the skin is intact. Even though I knew the pain was all mental rather than physical, it’s still difficult to remember that when you’re experiencing the sharp sting of fire. My body may have escaped the damage, but my mind didn’t. My head feels hazy as if I’ve just woken from a deep slumber, and my eyes threaten to close.

  When I glance up at the door, I’m even more shocked to see I’ve left a fiery imprint of my hands. The Phoenix’s insignia is still imprinted on the door, buried slightly beneath my handprints, but it’s no longer on fire. The knowledge of what I’ve done has me grinning with euphoria, and a fit of giggles threatens to bubble out of me. But then I quickly sober when I remember the Phoenix intended to kill Keenan, and my elation vanishes in the heat of my rage. Jonathan must have known the detective and I were close to catching him, so he took measures to eliminate Keenan.

  My eyes widen as I’m struck with another thought. It’s possible the first bullet was intended for me.

  The Chief’s voice pierces through the silence and brings me back into the present. “What happened?”

  I ease out of his mind and assess him. He still stands exactly where I placed him, but his eyes are furtively absorbing his surroundings. He doesn’t understand what has happened, and the sight of Keenan and I standing near the entrance confuses him. When his eyes fall on me, they widen in dawning realization, noticing the blood trickling down my arm and onto the floor.

  “Did I—” He breaks off, his voice cracking at the last word.

  “No,” says the detective, and I startle at the sound of his voice. “Moira was able to stop you in time and override the Phoenix’s persuasion.”

  He appears before me and grabs my face gently between his hands. He observes my face intently, flickering from one eye to the other, and his anxiety rushes into me. He’s simultaneously angry and grateful I interfered and placed my own life in danger to save him. When his gaze lowers to my lips, his desire to kiss me pervades his thoughts. I try to lift myself up on my toes to receive his kiss, but my body doesn’t obey my command.

  Instead of pressing his lips against mine, he instead looks concerned. “Are you alright?”

  I blink, the movement excruciatingly slow. “I think so.”

  It dawns on me then that I was shot, and I quickly look down at my arm. There’s a piece of cloth wrapped around the wound to staunch the flow of blood, and I wonder who tended to it and when. I certainly don’t recall feeling anyone touch me, and my face twists in bewilderment.

  “Who–”

  “I did,” says Keenan, his voice soft. “You’re lucky the bullet didn’t go through.”

  I’m not sure I’d consider myself lucky, but the look on his face stops me from responding sarcastically. It’s one of the few times where his barriers are lowered, permitting me full access to his emotions. If he wasn’t already holding me in place, I would have stumbled from the whirlwind. I can see the anger in his face and the concern in the set of his mouth, and the two emotions battle with one another. But there’s something else lingering behind his eyes—something he’s not telling me.

  I open my mouth to ask, but my vision blurs and my limbs become a heavy burden. Keenan’s brows pinch closer together, and he forces me to look up at him.

  “Can you walk? You need to go to the hospital.”

  I shake my head, but it only makes the darkness swim closer, blacking out everything but Keenan’s face. “No hospital.”

  “Moira, you’re wounded. You need a doctor to stitch it up.”

  I’m about to protest again, but the darkness creeps up and wraps itself firmly around my mind. My body sways, and I hear Keenan calling out my name again. But all I can think about is the fact I’m about to faint. No, please—anything but that. I try to resist, but my attempts are futile. The last thing I hear before the darkness consumes me is the sound of my own voice, brittle and helpless.

  “Don’t let me fall.”

  * * *

  A soft knock sounds on my door, and my heart races. I open the door and smile invitingly at the man leaning against the frame. His lips curve upwards in greeting before he slips into the room and closes the door behind him. The lantern on my nightstand illuminates my room and casts a golden shade to Devin’s features. It’s past the Madame’s curfew, and we’re breaking the rules by sneaking into each other’s rooms at night. But neither one of us has been caught yet.

  I sit on the bed and cross my legs, the end of my chemise riding up. “Why, sir, you’re late.”

  Devin starts stripping out of the black tunic and pants, his voice muffled by his movements. “I was almost seen. I’m starting to wonder if you’re worth the trouble.”

  “And what have you concluded?”

  He grins, standing before me with just his undergarment on. “Nothing yet.” He walks to the other side of the bed and lies down, his mouth opening in a wide yawn. “Now close the light. I’m exhausted.”

  “You know that’s my side.”

  He opens his eyes and lifts a brow. “Of course, how silly of me.”

  Before I can move, he grabs my arm and pulls me toward him. I crash into his chest, and he wraps an arm a
round my waist. With his other hand, he tickles my side. The torture is unbearable. I squeal and uncontrollable laughter bubbles out of my mouth. Through the haze of excitement I’m aware of how loud I am, and fear mixes with my pleasure.

  “Stop! Someone will hear us.”

  He finally listens, but doesn’t move away. Instead, he adjusts so that he hugs me from behind, pulling my back close to the warmth of his chest. It’s a position I’ve grown accustomed to when sleeping with him. His fingers brush through my long dark strands, and I close my eyes as a pleasurable chill possesses me.

  “I’ve decided you’re worth the trouble,” he says quietly.

  I grin and turn around to face him, propping my head up on my elbow. “Oh really?”

  His eyes are closed, but his lips twitch with mirth. My gaze skims over his messy dark curls and the smooth lines of his face. When my gaze lands on his mouth, I wonder what it would feel like to have them pressed against my own. We’ve kissed each other before, but it was always small gestures of affection and never on the lips. It’s not the first time I’ve imagined our relationship moving onto something more intimate.

  When his eyes remain closed, I gather up my courage and kiss him. His lips are surprisingly soft, and at first he doesn’t respond. But then his mouth parts, and soon our tongues meet. His kiss is slow and probing, and with it comes his emotions. His desire trickles into me, but trailing along is hesitation, which I promptly ignore. My hand slides down his chest, creeping lower to explore the rest of his body. I’m faintly aware that his hand rests on my hip, unmoving. When my fingers skim below his waist, he grabs my hand and entwines his fingers with mine.

  He breaks our kiss, and his voice sounds regretful. “We should get some sleep.”

  I give him a seductive smile and lean forward to whisper into his ear. “But I’m not tired.” I pull on his earlobe with my lips and teeth before continuing. “And I don’t think you are either.”

  “Moira.”

  The tone of his voice startles me, and I pull away. “What’s wrong?”

  His gaze flickers between my different coloured eyes. “I like you a lot. You know that. And I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

  “Then don’t. I can sense your desire, Devin. I know you want me.”

  I lean forward to kiss him again, but he stops me. “I can’t.”

  My face hardens. “You mean you won’t.”

  He pulls away and sits on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. His rejection breaks something inside me, and my face heats up with shame. I sit up abruptly and pull the blanket close to my chest, wishing I could take everything back. The muscles in his shoulders tense as my fury fills the silence between us, and I’m struck with the urge to throw my pillow at him. Why does he just sit there?

  Finally, he speaks. “Maybe I should leave.”

  “Yes, please do.”

  I cringe at the hostility in my voice, and I can’t recall a time when I’ve ever spoken to him in such a way. He glances back at me, and the pain reflected in his eyes makes me choke on my anger. There’s so much sadness and regret with that one look. I want to apologize, but it’s too late. Instead of speaking, he rises from the bed and quietly exits the room, leaving me alone. Always alone. My eyes sting, but I bite down on my lip, hoping the pain will distract me. It doesn’t. The tears stroll down my face, heightening the pain that has taken hold of my chest.

  “Come back.”

  But my whisper falls on an empty room.

  I wake up with a horrible pain blossoming in my chest and blink away the tears. For a moment, I simply lie there, recalling the look in Devin’s eyes. I wish I could take back that night, because it had been the last time I saw him. The next day, Scott had purchased me. But there’s nothing I can do to repair our relationship, and as soon as that fact settles in, I discover I’m lying in an unfamiliar bed, wearing nothing but my chemise beneath the blanket.

  When I scan my surroundings, I realize I’m in Braxton’s hospital. The room is bland and has an unusual scent lingering in the air and in the sheets covering my lower half. I wonder briefly who undressed me. I try to sit up, and then wince when a sharp pain spreads down my arm. The wound has already been cleaned, stitched, and bandaged. For a moment there, I had forgotten about the wound and the reason I was in the hospital.

  Everything comes tumbling to the forefront of my mind, reminding me why my head is throbbing as well. It took a lot of mental energy to override the Phoenix’s persuasion in the Chief’s mind, so it’s no wonder I fainted afterwards. I just honestly wish I hadn’t, because it was embarrassing. I was weak and vulnerable, and the detective most likely carried me out of the police station where all of the constables could witness my helplessness. When I return to the police station, I’ll have to face their judgement. It’s something I’m definitely not looking forward to after everything that has happened.

  A nurse enters the room and smiles. “Ah, good. You’re awake.” She approaches and hands me a glass of water. “Here, drink this. I’ll let everyone know you’re awake.”

  She exits the room, and I greedily gulp down the water, only realizing at that moment how thirsty I was. When I finish, Rick and the Chief enter the room. Their eyes flicker to my indecorous state of dress, and then quickly look away. The Chief shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat. I grin and make sure the important parts are covered before speaking.

  “It’s alright. I’m not shy, and I’m sure it’s nothing you two haven’t already seen.”

  The Chief’s eyes dart to me with hesitation. “How are you feeling?”

  “Sore, tired, and hungry. And you?”

  “Better.” He stands a little straighter and looks at me. “Keenan informed me of what happened, so I’m no longer confused.”

  I adjust the blanket around me and try to sound nonchalant. “And where is the detective?”

  Rick sits down on the chair by the bed and leans back. “He went to get you some clothes. The other ones had blood on them.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Moira,” continues the Chief. “If you hadn’t been there, I would have killed Keenan.” His expression sours, a bright patchwork of splotches marring his face. “I just never thought I would be one of the Phoenix’s victims.”

  I give him a sympathetic look. “I don’t think any one of us was expecting that. Were you able to question the courier?”

  “Yes, but he got the letter from another courier whose memory had been blocked.”

  “It could still be Jonathan,” I say. “He could have easily arranged someone else to send the letter. I guess I’ll have to wait now to read his mind.”

  Rick glances at me. “I think that would be best. After all, you did just get shot and then blacked out.”

  I scowl at him. “I didn’t faint because of the wound.”

  “We know that, Moira,” says the Chief, his voice placating. “I imagine it took a lot for you to stop me from killing Keenan, which is why you should take the time to rest. Jonathan is in jail. He’s not going anywhere.”

  I sigh and flop back against the pillows. “I suppose you’re right. I will need all of my strength if I plan to outwit him.”

  Both men relax, as if they were prepared for me to argue with them. Normally, I would have, but I’m not that much of a fool. Overriding the Phoenix’s mark in the Chief’s mind had almost left me mentally drained, and I have no doubt getting through the ice cavern in Jonathan’s mind will take everything I have. And, like Scott, he’ll throw every trap he has in an attempt to stop me. The whole endeavour will be far from easy and will undoubtedly take time. So I’ll heal and strengthen my mind, and then I’ll beat him once and for all.

  I glance down at my wound, wondering if Keenan was correct in suggesting I was lucky. “Well, at least no one else was hurt.”

  Rick averts his gaze and starts fidgeting. “Um, about that–”

  “The bullet went past you and hit a constable,” interjects the Chief.

 
I immediately sit upright and bite down on the pain. “What? Is he alright?”

  “Thankfully, the bullet missed his heart and hit his shoulder instead. The doctor says he should be fine, but it’ll take him a little longer to heal.”

  “We were able to get him here in time before he lost too much blood,” adds Rick.

  My shoulders slump, and my mood crashes. “God, I didn’t even think about where the bullet went after it hit my arm.”

  Rick stands and approaches the Chief. “We’re going to visit him and make sure he has everything he needs. Keenan should be here soon. He’ll drive you home.”

  I nod and wave them away, feeling a little nauseated. It would seem we were all lucky today, and I strengthen my resolve to heal. The sooner I get into Jonathan’s mind and prove he’s the Phoenix, the sooner the murders will stop. I can’t risk the chance of someone I know getting killed, especially someone I care about. My mind wanders back to thoughts of Keenan, and I wonder if his townhouse is my home as Rick had implied. I certainly feel more comfortable at Keenan’s house than I have anywhere else.

  Someone knocks on the door, and my heart beats in anticipation. “Come in.”

  But the person who enters the room is not who I expected. Though her hair is collected in a less elaborate style and her dress is more modest and plain, I still recognize the woman. The sight of her jogs something in my mind, and I immediately regard her warily. Alyssa, like Mr. Johnson, is descended from an oppressed people and has recently acquired the position of Chief Blocker, which means there’s a possibility she might be working with Jonathan.

  She approaches me, and her gaze flickers to the chair by the bed. “May I sit?”

  I nod, but narrow my eyes. “Were you visiting someone else, or did you come by specifically for me?”

  “I was visiting another patient when I caught word of what happened. I thought I might stop by to see how you were.”

  Despite the fact her words speak of concern for my well-being, her dark eyes say something else. “Oh, really? And how did you hear?”