A knock resounds on my bedroom door, and the detective appears. The white vest beneath his coat blinds me. He fiddles with the top hat, twirling it in his hands as he runs his gaze up the length of my body. His closed expression mirrors the silence of this morning. Once again, I had awoken to find myself in the detective’s bed with no recollection of how I had gotten there. According to him, I had left my room in the late hours of the night and had crept into his arms. But, this time, my rejection didn’t even faze him. I narrow my eyes, wondering why he doesn’t just lock his door and save us both the following stress.
He assesses me with a sweep of his eyes. “Are you ready?”
I nod and follow him down the stairs. The beads at the hem of my dress trail over the hardwood floor, interrupting the quietness. When we arrive at the bottom, Mrs. Whitmore offers the detective his cane and extends me my coat. The detective tips his hat onto his head while I slip into my jacket. The moment we step outside, the fresh air fills my lungs and removes the smell of his aftershave.
With each step toward the motor vehicle, my calm evaporates as my mission hits me in the chest. I’m about to persuade the Chief Elite Member to commit suicide. Worries twist into a dozen questions. How will I approach him alone? How can I leave the detective’s side without him noticing or questioning? Can I send a man to his death? Thoughts of Mr. Harrison whirl around my landscape. He’s responsible for the continual enslavement of my kind. With him gone, empaths might have a chance to be free. But to kill him myself is a different matter entirely.
When Icarus had asked me to persuade Madame Del Mar, I had never hesitated. She had abused me, physically and mentally. So my task had been a personal one. On the other hand, I hardly know Mr. Harrison. But Icarus made one thing clear last night: it’s either me or Mr. Harrison. And, as always, I will choose to live. My heart hardens to stone, refusing to feel any guilt for his demise.
The detective’s voice drags me away from my thoughts. “We haven’t talked about Jonathan’s and Daniel’s escape.”
Though his eyes remain on the road ahead of us, the intensity of his stare haunts my mind. A hint of concern seeps through his barrier, a pale yellow line stretching out to me. The emotion mirrors the anxiety winding my body tight. I clear my throat and inch toward the far side of the vehicle, barely able to tolerate my own worries.
I force dispassion into my voice and stare out at the darkening sky. “What more is there to say?”
“Jonathan persuaded you to kill Scott.” He pauses and glances at me sideways. “He’s the reason you were nearly executed. I would think their escape is troubling you.”
“I’m aware of what Jonathan did, Detective.”
He exhales a heavy breath and tightens his grip on the wheel. “Are you not worried they might try to persuade you again?”
“Of course, I am.” I turn to face him, my annoyance rushing through my blood. “But if it’s alright with you, I’d rather not talk about it.”
His jaw tenses, yet he remains quiet. We’re silent as we drive into the north district and enter the streets of Ward Twenty-eight. When we arrive at Mr. Harrison’s house, several vehicles line the front of the estate. A strange sensation burrows into my stomach. I’m only a concubine to them. Why would they ask me to attend a meeting? Disgust crawls across my skin at the thought they might consider me an ally. I’d sooner join the Phoenix than let them believe I’m one of them.
When the detective pulls up in front of the estate, I lift my head high and shove my anxiety to the far corners of my mind. We exit the vehicle and walk up the path to the entrance. After a brief knock from the detective, the butler opens the door and greets us, ushering us inside. The moment I step into the large foyer, unease, terror, and anger bombard me. The three emotions wind around one another, twisting and expanding into a ring of hostility that pulses outward. I plant my feet on the ground and peer beyond the black-red haze. In the distance, tiny threads flash gold, a bright web clinging to the dark fog.
Icarus’s pride.
As the butler leads us down the hallway and into the parlour room, the sound of men chatting increases. I trail after the detective and scan the people scattered in various groups. The Chief converses with two unfamiliar members of the Elite. The moment he sees us, he stops talking and approaches. My gaze drifts to the far corner of the room where Madame Josephine stands by herself, sipping from a glass of wine. The detective’s irritation reaches out to me as I leave his side, snaking around my waist in an attempt to draw me back. After several steps, the red band snaps and falls behind me.
I approach the only other person like me in the room. “Good evening, Madame Josephine.”
“Good evening, Moira.” She nods in greeting. “I hope you weren’t hurt in yesterday’s incident.”
“I’m well. How is Dahlia?”
Her nostrils widen, and anger slips out from her control. “She’s still healing, but I plan to never have something like that happen again.”
Determination blazes in her eyes, and a burst of reddish-orange appears over her shoulders. She has every intention of keeping her word. My thoughts travel back to one of our previous conversations where she had vowed to instill changes at the Pleasure House. I had doubted her then, but a sliver of hope blooms in my chest.
Despite the newfound emotion, my bitterness slips out. “It’s the Pleasure House. Things like that happen all the time.”
“Not under my control.” Her gaze sharpens as she eyes the other members. “I’m the only one who can protect them.”
I smile, a gesture of agreement and support, yet my resentment spreads into a confusing mix of envy and regret. My life would have been drastically different if she had been the Instigator during my time as a concubine. She would have stopped Mr. Anderson from hurting Charlotte, and I personally would have received fewer punishments. I would have rebelled less, too.
Her attention shifts to the entrance, and I follow her gaze. Alyssa enters the room and examines the occupants. Her eyes narrow with purpose, looking for someone in particular. She lingers on the detective, and a murky yellow crown appears above her head. My own confusion lifts in the air as I realize she’s searching for me. When she finally finds me standing in the corner with Josephine, her brows smooth over, and the halo darkens to a fiery orange. The beads woven into her light blue evening dress catch the lights as she approaches. The colour complements her russet, reddish-brown complexion, and the high sweep of her hair accentuates the length of her neck.
She steps up beside me, but addresses Josephine.
“Good evening.” Her mouth lifts into a smile that fails to reach her black-brown eyes. “I need to speak with Moira alone before the meeting starts. Do you mind?”
Josephine’s gaze slides in my direction, and she nods. “Not at all.”
She slips past us and strolls across the room toward the detective. I turn away just as his attention drifts in my direction. As I stare at Alyssa, suspicion rises within and creates a thick barrier around my mind. Though she has never outright admitted it, I know she’s one of the Phoenix’s pawns. Did Icarus send her to speak with me?
“Good evening, Moira—”
“Cut the formality, Alyssa. What do you want?”
Her eyes widen and then narrow. “It’s about Jonathan.”
“What about him?”
She scans around us once and steps close to me. Surprise grips me at the same time she grabs hold of my wrist and presses against my barriers. A single thought releases from her mind and slips beneath her touch. She wants to show me a memory. My muscles relax as the tension leaves my body. I lower my shield and permit her entrance. She enters my landscape, appearing on one of the stairs, and wastes no time in pressing her palm against the stone wall. A memory of hers plays inside my head.
A knock sounds on the door, and Alyssa urges her secretary to enter.
“Your ten o’clock appointment is here,” says the young woman.
The secretary moves aside, allowing
another person to enter, and then closes the door behind her. Jonathan’s gaze wanders around the room, assessing Alyssa’s belongings before offering her a cordial smirk. Her unease twirls around my mind along with her distrust.
He takes the seat across from her and crosses his legs.
“I hear congratulations are in order, Alyssa.” His words are pronounced with care, and he gestures to the room around them. “How are you enjoying your new position as Chief Blocker?”
“Very well, Jonathan.” Her voice is curt, and she folds her arms onto the desk. “Shall we forgo any attempt at formalities and address the real reason you are here today?”
“Of course, as you wish.” He retrieves an envelope from inside his jacket and lays it on the desk before her. “The Phoenix calls, Alyssa.”
She stares down at the letter, her fear wrapping a tight cloak around her. Beyond her terror, a single question burns inside her head: Who is the Phoenix?
He sighs in disappointment. “My dear Alyssa, do we need to have this conversation again? Should I tell the Phoenix you refuse to fulfill your oath? Is that what you want, Alyssa?”
She shakes her head, frightened by the hidden threat in his words. If she refuses, the Phoenix will kill her. And, like me, she desperately wants to live. The image of Daniel rises before her, drawing her uncertainty forward.
“No, i-it’s only Daniel…”
“We all have our role to play. Daniel was aware of the consequences should he be discovered by the police. You are aware of the costs as I am, Alyssa. Freedom doesn’t come without a price.” He leans forward and pushes the envelope closer to her. “It’s time to pay.”
When his gaze finally releases her, she picks up the letter with hesitation and tears it open. She scans over the written words, her heart thudding faster and faster. My own pulse thunders in my ears as I read the command on the piece of paper.
Persuade the Chief of Police to kill Detective Keenan Edwards.
“God help me,” she whispers.
“God can’t help you, Alyssa. Only you can save yourself. Do we have an understanding?”
After a moment of pause, she gives him a solemn nod. He rises from his seat and exits her office. The moment he’s gone, she walks over to the fireplace and throws the letter into the flames.
The memory fades, the edges curling in upon themselves, and she retreats from my mind. A spark of fury lights up from within. Because of her, Keenan had almost died. Because of her, a bullet had torn through the flesh in my arm and embedded itself in a constable who’d stood behind me. My anger surprises us both. She takes a step back, and a burst of dark orange explodes between us. As my lungs expand, I push my fury back inside. I shouldn’t worry about the detective or some constable. What I do care to know is why she confided in me.
I narrow my eyes and keep my voice low. “Why did you show me that?”
“Because you need to know the truth.” She leans close and whispers beneath her breath. “Jonathan isn’t the Phoenix.”
A sigh of annoyance escapes me. She’s a little too late. The information would have been useful before Icarus had released my memories. As of now, I have no use for it.
I brush her comment aside. “But why confide in me? You’ve given me proof you work for him. You’ve proved your guilt in persuading the Chief.”
Exasperation sidles up between her brows. “I showed you because of our previous conversation. I thought you would understand. Was I wrong?”
“No.”
If only she knew how much I understood her situation. We’re both trapped in a game neither one of us wishes to play anymore, yet we can’t break free. My gaze wanders across the room to where Icarus converses with another Elite member. A dozen questions flit across my mind, yet one lingers. What does Icarus gain once Mr. Harrison is dead? Everyone believes he’s the son of an Elite member, not an empath—and, most certainly, not the Phoenix. His amber eyes drift in my direction, and he offers me a polite nod. My lips curve into an inviting smile, even if I cringe inside. The insufferable man thinks he owns me.
I turn back to Alyssa and assume a pleasant demeanour. “Our conversation will have to wait for another time, because we won’t be alone for long.”
Her gaze lands on Icarus who approaches us from the other side of the room. I examine her expression for any sign of recognition. Her brows smooth over, and exasperation billows around her. She honestly doesn’t know he’s the Phoenix.
A deep scowl mars her expression. “I suspect he wishes to speak to you. The man should learn to control his emotions more. His desire for you rolls off him every time he sees you.”
A part of me wants to give her a reason to stay, because I can’t spend another moment with him alone. If only he were just a lovesick man. I shove the idea aside as shame and disgust war within, twisting low in my belly. Inside my head, I gather the two emotions and mould them with my hands, pressing until they harden into a thick mortar. I spread the plaster along the wall and secure several more brick pieces.
Icarus’s presence pulls me out of my landscape. He extends a hand and offers me a glass of wine. I accept, grabbing the glass by the top to avoid grazing his fingers. His desire pools around him, an opaque rosy pink liquid, tinged with red. I should have known all this time, should have seen that his lust was an excessive outpouring used to confuse me. When the emotion spreads to cover my feet, revulsion rushes forward and crashes into the wall inside my mind, nearly escaping through the unfinished section. I draw in a calming breath, but catch a lungful of his scent.
He cocks his head to the side and addresses Alyssa. “May I speak with Moira for a moment?”
“Of course.” Her lips purse with annoyance, but she turns to me. “I’ll pay you a visit soon, so we can finish our discussion.”
I summon a smile, even though the muscles in my shoulders tense. “I look forward to it.”
She steps around Icarus and heads toward the opposite side of the room to where Josephine stands.
He leans close. “As always, your beauty astounds me, Moira.”
His breath settles on my cheek and burns, searing through flesh.
I flinch and mutter between tight lips. “And, as always, your words enchant me, Icarus.”
Bitterness weighs each syllable down, yet he leans back and grins.
“Glad to see your sense of humour is still intact. I was afraid recent events would alter you beyond recognition. It would be most unfortunate, considering it’s one of the many things I admire about you.”
My brow quirks up as a gust of confusion sweeps across my landscape. He’s in an awfully good mood. Then again, why wouldn’t he be? He thinks he’s won, that I’m back under his will.
I return the smile and play into his pleasant temper. “Oh, please, and here I thought you were after my body.”
“Believe me, I am.” A soft chuckle escapes him, and mischief glimmers in his eyes. “But there’s so much more to you, isn’t there? Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”
“Oh, no, that would be too easy.” I lean forward and run my hand down the length of his tie. “But I’m willing to try if you make it worth my while.”
A sliver of yellow, bright like the tulips in Foxglove Park, snakes out from his chest and curls around my fingers. Joy. I flick my gaze away, wondering if he knows the emotion has slipped from his control. When I look into his eyes, the truth in them forces the air from my lungs. He honestly would love nothing more than to have me by his side, as an ally and a lover.
He blinks, and the truth is washed away by another wave of lust. “Is that so?”
“Why don’t you find out?”
He leans forward, and his gaze travels down to my lips. My body freezes as I will myself not to move. His mouth opens, as if to speak, but then his eyes drift away to the space behind me. Anger outlines his body with a reddish vapour. Curiosity pulls at me, forcing me to turn around. Across the room, the detective watches us, his eyes guarded beneath the heavy furrow of his brows.
I swivel around to face him and deaden my voice. “What about him?”
“It appears you two are experiencing some difficulties.”
The words rush out of me. “We’re not together.”
He lifts a brow and examines my expression.
I brush his interest aside. “Enough about the detective. I’d like to know how you expect me to perform tonight.”
“Don’t worry about that.” He leans back and takes a sip of his wine. “I’ll make sure you have your opening.”
“And then what?”
“Then you perform.”
He lifts his glass and taps it against mine. The resounding clink travels through my arm. My grip tightens as annoyance surges forward to greet the sensation.
I mutter between clenched teeth. “I meant, what happens after tonight?”
“Patience, Moira.”
Metal clanking on glass draws my attention away from Icarus. Mr. Harrison stands at the entrance with a glass of wine in one hand and a utensil in the other. His ice-blue eyes sweep over the room as he waits for quiet to descend. The conversations die, dwindling to a few hushed words here and there before falling completely silent. Some people turn to face him while others remain as they were.
When Mr. Harrison finally speaks, his stern voice rises with authority. “Good evening. I would like to begin our meeting in the dining room. Please, follow me.”
He turns around and disappears down the hall. Everyone moves at once and trails after him. Icarus and I walk side-by-side until we enter the adjacent room where he moves to the other end of the large mahogany table and takes his seat. The others shuffle around, each finding their place as if their names were written on the chairs. I stand close to the wall, eyeing the remaining places. The detective appears and gestures for me to follow him, placing me between him and the Chief. The air thins as the emotions of the men converge above.
Rise of the Phoenix Page 9
