Rise of the Phoenix

by Jamie McLachlan

  The only possible victim left is Madame Del Mar. My body halts, and I know without examining my memories that I’m responsible for her death. The memory creeps forth, beckoning, demanding to be seen. I shy away from it, not ready yet to accept my responsibility. Instead, I focus on my hatred for her. My gaze flickers back to the mirror, landing on the array of scars marring my back. Rage boils from within, burning my body from the inside. As if from a distance, my heart gallops in my ears, drowned out by the rush of blood roaring to a crescendo. I fall to my knees and grip the sides of the tub as my mind falls into the past, bringing me back into Icarus’s bedroom.

  I clench my fists and tear a path on the wooden floor. Mr. Anderson’s face taunts me, and I imagine tightening my hands around his throat. I need to avenge Charlotte’s death, but Icarus demands I stay put. He speaks to me as if I were a child, his pacifying words sliding off my body and melting into a useless puddle on the floor. My anger swells, and Mr. Anderson’s black eyes and satisfied smirk consume my vision. I will kill him. I will make him pay for what he had done.

  Icarus grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “Moira, listen to me. You’ll have your revenge, but first, you must prove your loyalty.”

  I pause, my rage swept aside by his words. Loyalty. I had agreed to work with him in exchange for assurance he would leave Mr. Anderson to me. The reality of what I had promised sinks in, reminding me that Icarus’s plans extend far beyond my own personal agenda and that I won’t get what I want so easily.

  As if he can sense my uncertainty, he pulls me close. “These things take time, and I have a specific plan in place. I can’t have you ruining everything by killing Mr. Anderson. His time will come.”

  At the infuriated look in my eyes, he adds, “And I will leave him to you. But right now is not his time. I need you to do something else first. Something that proves you have aligned yourself with our cause.”

  Though my stomach plummets, my resolve hardens into sharp edges of determination. I’ll do whatever it takes.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  He looks down at me and sweeps the hair away from my face, an affectionate gesture contrasting with the words spilling from his mouth. “I need you to kill Madame Del Mar.”

  Tepid liquid brushes my fingers, the sensation returning me to the present. I blink and stare down at the tub. The water creeps farther up, so close to overflowing. I turn the taps off and drain some of the water before submerging my body. The warmth surrounding me soothes the stinging of my scars. Madame Del Mar deserved her fate. I’m not sorry in the least. But would Keenan see it that way? Or would his sense of justice mark me as a murderer, a traitor, someone deserving death?

  Fear wraps around me like a thick band of rope. My whole life, I’ve fought to survive, enduring the submission as a slave to the Elite and property of the Pleasure House. I rose each day, despite the wounds crippling my movements, wearing a mask of seduction for yet another client. When I had killed Scott, I had run, choosing a life in hiding over execution. And I had bartered my pride when I had accepted the Chief of Police’s offer all those months ago, all for a chance to live, even when it had meant betraying my kind and helping the Elite. But if anyone were to find out I had killed Madame Del Mar, then everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve achieved up until this point, will fade into nothing. The Elite would end my life without a second thought, and this time, I wouldn’t have any excuse, not one they’d understand.

  And I’d lose Keenan. Though a small part of me realizes it means nothing compared to my life, the thought of parting with him tightens the knot in my stomach. I know now, more than ever, that I can’t tell Keenan the truth. Even if I wanted to, no one would believe me. The Elite pride themselves in the enslavement of all empaths, monitoring our actions and reproduction. When the underground prison had brimmed to the max with empaths, the Elite had forced us into servitude, separating us into one of the three houses. Those who’d tried to ally themselves with the Elite had become blockers, working for the people who had enslaved us.

  So the notion of an Elite member’s wife falling in love with her dream weaver and bearing his child is preposterous. The fact the child survived, passed off as the Elite member’s son, and was never discovered, is even more implausible. No one would believe me if I claimed Icarus was an empath and, more importantly, the Phoenix.

  I finish bathing and rise to dry myself, but my hatred for the Phoenix leaves me incapable of completing the menial task. My fingers squeeze the towel as I pull it close to my chest, wishing I could tear through the fabric with my bare hands. Not only has Icarus betrayed me, but he’s also stolen my life, my freedom. That alone means he must pay. How dare he take that from me and dangle it in my face? Icarus’s mental wall looms in front of me once more, taunting me. I can’t rely on the Elite to arrest him, so the only other way is for me to pierce through his barricade. But, to accomplish such a feat, I need to keep my mind safe. Scott had taught me how to break through people’s barriers, but he had never showed me how to strengthen my own. Perhaps there’s something I’ve missed in my memories with him.

  I close my eyes and force my way to the door holding all of my recollections of him. But instead of walking toward a room filled with lava, my feet carry me to a dark, damp hallway. At the end, the door leading to my past with Icarus remains partly open. The faint light still shines from within the room, beckoning me to enter. Annoyance pulls my lips into a straight line, and I twist around to leave. As my foot moves forward, a bright light flashes behind me. I pause and glance back. Maybe only a peek, just to see if she’s still there.

  Turning around, I approach the door and peer inside. In the centre of the room, the replica of my past self sits on a rock. I’ve always known she was here, making her presence known by whispering venomous thoughts in my head. The darker side of me, the one unwilling to let anyone escape the fire of her wrath. She’s the one who had agreed to work with Icarus. She’s the one who had wanted to torture Mr. Anderson, to avenge Charlotte’s death. She’s the one who wouldn’t think twice about killing an Elite member. She is me.

  She lifts her gaze, and in her eyes, I see my own annoyance reflected in their depths. I clench my fists as the flames of my anger flare once more. Her blind trust in Icarus is the reason I’m here fighting for my life. Our eyes narrow at the same time. I slide my foot backwards, prepared to turn away and slam the door behind me, locking her inside forever. But the bottom of my shoes sticks to the floor, fixing me to my spot. I grind my teeth and wrench my skirt up. The ground beneath my feet melts into a sticky, black tar, and the viscous substance climbs along my leather boots and creeps up my ankles. Impossible.

  I tense, forcing my muscles to move, but the black ooze spreads to encompass the lower half of my legs, leeching the warmth from my body. My annoyance escalates when I realize I’m stuck, unable to escape. Panic rises to my chest, squeezing painfully until every breath burns my throat. My helplessness weighs me down, reminding me of all the mistakes I’ve made. A growl of frustration tears from my mouth. This is my mind. I’m in control.

  I imagine the substance melting away, crumbling into ash. The weight holding me captive vanishes, and I move my foot.

  I. Move. My. Foot.

  My eyes snap open only to find the tar travelling up my skirt to embrace my waist. A rhythmic drumming roars in my ears as I shake my head back and forth. No, it’s only an illusion. I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on my body standing in Keenan’s bathroom, desperate for reality to ground me. Someone knocks on the door, the sound reverberating through the cavern. But no matter how hard I concentrate on the urgency behind the knocks, my mind remains locked in my landscape.

  “I’ve been waiting a long time for this day.”

  I open my eyes and stare at my reflection. “What do you mean?”

  She rises from the rock, and the bottom of her dress sweeps the floor as she approaches. The light in the room moves with her, following her trail. My gaze drops to her feet, on
ly then noting how the tar doesn’t affect her movements. A hard lump forms at the base of my throat as I sift through all the possible scenarios. But only one rings true, no matter how preposterous it sounds.

  She plans to overtake my body and mind.

  “You’re weak.” Her voice, so similar to my own, rises with accusation. “While I’ve been stuck here, I’ve watched you ruin our life. Like a fool, you’ve fallen back into Icarus’s arms, letting him use you like a puppet. And the detective? You’d think you’d learn after your first mistake to never trust another man who claims to love you.”

  “I’m not weak!” My growl echoes in the cavern as my face heats with indignation. “You’re the one who trusted Icarus. You’re the reason we’re in this mess to begin with!”

  She leans forward, and her lips curl. “And you’re the one who’s about to get us killed once again! After everything, you’re going to throw your life away all for a man.”

  I shake my head, refusing to accept her words.

  “No, this can’t be happening.” A tear slides down my cheek, and a furious wipe takes it away. “It’s all in my head. I can escape. I need to concentrate.”

  My own voice snaps back at me. “Your time is up.”

  She moves toward the entrance, only glancing back once she’s reached the doorway. A wicked smile dances on her face, and my stomach sinks as helplessness tightens around my waist. I wiggle my legs, but my furtive movements only cause the tar to slink up to below my breasts. When I glance back up, she offers me a quick wave of her hand.

  “Stop!” My voice booms in the emptiness of the cavern. “You can’t leave me here!”

  A grunt escapes her as she pushes on the door, and her words whisper through bursts of air. “Try to stop me.”

  My heart stutters as my will breaks and the fight to live leaves my body. With my strength gone, my arms fall limp at my side, and a million pieces of myself threaten to tumble to the ground. The tar encircling me holds the fragments in place, keeping me whole, even as I break apart. Even as my mind cleaves into two, I clutch my head and slip my fingers through my hair as the pain tears through my skull. This must be a dream. A horrible nightmare. Any second now, I will wake up on the bathroom floor in Keenan’s home. Or Keenan will find me and shake me back to consciousness. Because she’s me, and I can’t possibly be stuck here forever. Frantic breaths leave my lungs, the lack of air causing my head to spin.

  Her voice reaches me once more as darkness closes around me.

  “I promise to take good care of your lover.”

  Her vow pierces straight through my heart, and I know exactly what she intends.

  She’ll break his heart.

  The realization of what she plans rips a scream from my throat. “No! Don’t you dare!”

  The door slams shut, a deafening thud ringing through the space. A shaky breath rattles my bones as an image of Keenan floats to the surface. He won’t believe her. He’ll know something is wrong. I hold on to that hope, securing it inside my chest as I scramble for an escape plan. Fear slinks its way through my skin, and a cold sweat builds at the base of my neck.

  What will she do with my life?

  “Moira, wake up.”

  Keenan’s tender voice soothes the ache pulsing through my body, yet the hard edge in his tone reveals his anxiety. His warm fingers caress my cheek, and a pleasurable tingle spreads across my skin. I fight the urge that has been engrained in my body and cringe away from his touch. In a haze, the tick, tock of his mind fills my ears and draws me closer to consciousness. Annoyance forces my eyes open, and I glare up at the detective. He kneels on the bathroom floor, his body hovering over mine as his eyes search my face. Affection stirs, a prick that blooms in my chest. I recoil away from the emotion, dousing it with a heavy dose of aggravation. Another man who thinks he can make a fool out of me. The tingle in my body morphs into sharp stabs, as if a thousand needles were puncturing my skin. I jolt up and snatch the towel that lies in an abandoned heap on the floor.

  “What happened?” He grazes his fingers along my elbow in an attempt to support me. “Did you faint?”

  I cringe and rush out of his reach. “I’m fine.”

  His voice hardens, even as his eyes tighten with pain. “Then why were you unconscious on the floor?”

  I ignore his question and wrap the towel around my torso. My head whirls as I grab the brush and comb through my hair. Water droplets fall onto my shoulders and slide down my chest and arms. With a quick glance at the mirror, I find him watching me. His eyes smolder with unspoken words. Annoyance forces a command to form on my tongue. But before I can speak, the slightest touch sweeps along my arm, raising the hairs at the back of my neck. The intensity of his gaze shifts to the bandage on my arm. Blood saturates the dressing from when Icarus had grabbed me. The wound is a reminder of my weakness and of Icarus’s power over me. I clench my jaw, overcome with the sudden need to tear the binding off.

  The detective’s eyes soften, even though the tightness around his mouth remains. “It bled through. I’ll need to change the dressing for the night.”

  “Don’t bother.” I flinch away from his tenderness and turn to face him. “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not. Stay here.”

  He ignores my sigh of annoyance and storms out of the bathroom. In his absence, I run the brush through my hair several more times, combing through the knots. I can’t have him constantly fawning over me. But whether or not I like it, he’s my ticket to liberty. If I lose his trust now, then the Elite will never agree to my freedom.

  By the time I’m done, the detective returns with a new bandage in one hand and a clean cloth in the other. He gestures for me to sit on the edge of the tub, while he grips the chair by the vanity and sets it in front of me. I swallow the ball of irritation that tickles my throat and comply. As soon as he’s done, I can leave. The knowledge weaves patience into my limbs.

  When he sits down across from me, his legs stretch on either side of mine. The fabric of his trousers grazes my bare thighs, and I bite my lip, resisting the urge to move. He leans forward, and the scent of alcohol and shaving cream presses on my memory. An image of us, our bodies entwined beneath his bed sheets, flashes in my mind. I slam the memory closed, as if it were a book. Cool detachment replaces warm affection as I examine him. Deep within, a familiar voice screams in outrage. I dismiss the sound and continue my inspection. My gaze skims over the strands of grey lining the sides of his chestnut-brown hair to scrutinize his face. Small creases materialize at the corners of his eyes and between his brows as he peels away the soiled binding. I move my attention down the straight line of his nose, over the sharp edge, to the soft curves of his lips.

  What did I ever see in him? More importantly, what does he see in me? We’re completely unalike, two people living in the same city but from different worlds. How I could have deluded myself into thinking we had a future evades me. The only future we have is apart. I’m doing us both a favour by ending our relationship.

  His eyes snap up to mine, and I avert my gaze, faking interest in the mirror beyond him. He dabs the wet cloth on my wound, his attention slow and gentle. Water droplets fall from my hair and slide down the curve of my back. One falls onto my shoulder and runs down my chest to the peak of my breast where it wavers at the tip of my nipple. I gather my patience in a rush of breath. Only a few minutes left, and then I can return to the solitude of my room.

  His voice cuts through my meditation.

  “Tell me what happened, Moira.”

  The lie slips out with ease. “I blacked out. I must still be weak from persuading the Chief not to kill you.”

  I fail to disguise the accusation in my voice, and only hope he doesn’t notice. If I keep our encounter civil, I can feign a headache so that he doesn’t bother me for the night.

  He wraps the clean gauze around my arm. “And what about earlier with Mr. Hayes? Did he hurt you?”

  I tense at the mention of Icarus, but keep my voice firm.
“I told you nothing happened.”

  His eyes narrow, and a muddy yellow cloud of doubt appears around his head. Silence sneaks up, a sluggish, insidious vacancy that voices what neither one of us dares to say. I glance away, dismissing the spark of disquiet and annoyance in his eyes. A small crack in my chest opens, a vacuous hole desperate to absorb his affections, a yearning embedded deep inside. The same desire that made me think Icarus could be trusted.

  My lip curls in disgust as I wrap an imaginary barbed wire around my heart, letting the blood thicken and congeal into an impenetrable wall. He doesn’t love me. He’s only in love with the fantasy of me, hoping I’ll fill the void that his deceased wife, Celeste, had left after her death. An image of me playing his obedient concubine, cooped up in his townhouse, flashes before me. Revulsion crawls across my skin like a thousand insects burrowing into my flesh. I won’t be anyone’s slave.

  “Moira.” My name rushes out of his mouth with an exhale. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what is wrong.”

  “Who says I need help?”

  His gaze flicks between my two different-coloured eyes. “Are we back to playing games?”

  “You’re the one who thinks I need help when I never asked you.”

  My breath rushes from my nose as I seethe. His words speak loud and clear. The man thinks I’m incapable of taking care of myself, as if he could swoop in as my hero. Any attempt at civility vanishes. My expression hardens, and my body transforms from supple curves into stone. Annoyance builds at the back of my throat, a faint tickle that intensifies with the desire to prove him wrong.