Rise of the Phoenix

by Jamie McLachlan

  He fists the lace at the back of my corset as the hard smack of his body against mine drowns out the thoughts in my head. The world fades, and my body melts on the crumpled bed sheet as my limbs weaken into a glorious mess of sweat and pleasure. I fall over the edge and tumble into my orgasm. As if in a dream, my cries, loud and frantic, reach my ears. His hold is the only thing stopping me from collapsing. My muscles contract around him, forcing his release to follow.

  The moment our bodies still, he slumps against my back. His heavy breaths cool the nape of my neck, chilling the sticky sweat coating my body. Exhaustion and satisfaction weigh me down. I should tell him to leave, but the command fails to come. Instead, all I can mutter is a request.

  “Can you untie my corset?”

  He rolls off and loosens the lace at my back. The fabric slackens around my waist, and I squirm out of it, shedding my chemise as well. Turning to face the other side, I lie down and wait for him to decide if he wants to stay or leave. The bed squeaks as he repositions his weight, and the soft, measured breaths escaping his lungs fills the room.

  After several minutes, I turn over onto my other side. Keenan lies on his back, the silhouette of his face visible in the darkness. My gaze wanders down the peak of his nose to the curve of his lips. I fist the blanket as an unwanted urge to trail my finger down the length of his neck seizes me. Frustration whirls around me, but I don’t know who I’m more annoyed with at the moment. Him, for his persistence. Or myself, for allowing it to break through my barriers.

  I close my eyes and tiptoe closer to his landscape. The gentle whirring of the gears sets my mind at ease, and I fall into a state between the wakeful and the dreaming. I pull the blanket closer, hugging it against my chest. Images of me flash across the gears: the first day he met me, the first time we touched, and our first kiss. In his mind, I’m strong, fiery—a bright flame in a dull world. A smile tugs at my lips as the soothing tick, tock lulls me to sleep.

  I love you, Moira.

  A whisper rushes from my mouth. “You shouldn’t. I’m not who you think I am.”

  Far beyond the fog of slumber, Keenan stirs. He winds a finger around a stray strand of my hair. With a gentle tug, his finger slips free of my curl and trails down my neck. His faint touch causes my flesh to rise into small bumps. He slinks closer, and the heat emanating from his body calls to me. I snuggle into his chest and entwine my legs around his. A tender kiss falls on the tip of my nose.

  A whisper echoes in my head. You can’t fight it.

  His voice cuts through her words, the deep cadence pulling me deeper into his mind. “No, you’re so much more.”

  8

  I wake to the sight of Keenan lying beside me. His chest rises and falls, a gentle dip as he exhales. The sunlight creeps into the room and illuminates his face. A peaceful expression dominates his features, tempting me to move closer. I lift myself onto my elbow and examine the curves of his lips, summoning an air of detachment. Another fool who thinks himself in love. His words from last night linger in the air, taunting me with their possibilities. I scowl at his sleeping form as a bud of hope blossoms within me. Why can’t I completely cut him off from my life?

  He stirs and squints up at me. “Good morning.”

  “Morning.”

  My reluctant response hangs between us. A part of me wants to stay and languish in his embrace, but every other inch of me wants to push him away, keep him at a distance. Danger lurks in his proximity, a threat to my survival that I must squash. The tender sweep of his fingertip along my cheek yanks me from my thoughts. He rolls on top of me, pressing his chest against my exposed breasts. His desire leaks off his body and coats my flesh. Pulled by an unconscious drive, I inhale, breathing him in. The peaceful melody of the gears elicits a wave of heat through me. His tongue meets mine in a hungry dance of need.

  A knock sounds on my bedroom door, followed by Mrs. Whitmore’s voice. “Mr. Edwards, if you’re in there, the Chief of Police has called for you. He requests your presence immediately at Mr. Harrison’s house.”

  The mention of Mr. Harrison jolts me awake, and the haze of last night clears. I have no doubt we’ll be going to a crime scene. My body tenses as anxiety frays my nerves. Keenan sighs against my lips and rolls off.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Whitmore.” He edges toward the side of the bed and stands, addressing me. “Mr. Harrison must have made his decision, then.”

  I remain silent and place my bare feet on the cold hardwood floor. My mind wanders as I slip into my clothes. An image of Mr. Harrison, dead at his desk, flashes before me. My stomach churns with anxiety, while exhilaration thrums through my veins. The emotions swell, colliding with one another as we exit my bedroom and rush down the stairs. I slip into my coat and follow the detective outside. Humidity thickens the morning air and dampens the world.

  Thoughts of Mr. Harrison and Icarus bombard me as we drive into the north district. With Mr. Harrison dead, the Elite are weakened. A blend of pride and excitement overrides my unease. The Elite have received their due. Now if only I could eliminate Icarus, as well. I’ve done exactly as he’d asked to ensure his trust, and now that I have it, I can figure out a way to get through the barrier in his mind. My resolve hardens to stone, even as revulsion burns deep within. I’ll do whatever it takes, even if it means falling back into his bed.

  When we arrive at the estate, my gaze skims over the motor vehicles crowding the front. A few constables stand outside the property, the smoke from their cigarettes billowing up around their faces. The detective manages to find a spot to park, and I huddle deep into my coat as I step out. A mist of precipitation falls around us, tiny snowflakes melting as soon as they touch the earth. Not quite snow, but not rain, either. My hair frizzes beneath the moisture, and I blink away a few drops that catch on my lashes. The detective walks beside me, the rim of his hat shielding his face from the weather.

  The door opens after a brief knock from the detective, and we step inside the crowded foyer. Several pairs of eyes land on me and slide away without the barest hint of accusation. My shoulders relax beneath my coat until my gaze wanders to the office at the far end of the hallway. Guilt should gnaw at my insides, tormenting me with treacherous thoughts that leech onto my regret, but the emotion fails to rise. People like the detective only see Mr. Harrison’s death as an unforgiveable act of violence warranting the ultimate form of punishment. They don’t see freedom. Not like me.

  Unfortunately, I can’t even bask in victory. My life hangs on the edge of Icarus’s fingertips, and at any moment, he could choose to let go. I can never truly be free until he’s dead, as well.

  I follow the detective down the hallway and prepare myself for the scene behind the door, summoning shock. The floor beneath us squeaks as we approach Mr. Harrison’s study. The moment we enter, my gaze drifts to the body behind the desk. Mr. Harrison’s head rests on the surface, his eyes wide, and his right hand clutches a revolver. Blood stains the wood underneath his face and the floor by his feet. Constable Jamieson steps in front of my vision, blocking my view.

  He acknowledges us with a quick nod, and his lips pull downward into a solemn expression. “Good morning, sir. We’ve inspected the premises and haven’t found a letter, but I’m convinced it’s the Phoenix.”

  Keenan’s gaze absorbs around the room. “Were there any visitors since yesterday?”

  “None, other than the meeting with you and the Elite members.”

  I curl my hair behind my ear. “He could have been persuaded at any time. Someone who visited a week ago could be responsible.”

  “I agree.” The detective turns to me and gestures to the body. “I’d like you to check his mind to see if the Phoenix has left his mark.”

  I nod and approach the desk. My eyes travel away from the open wound in his head to the hand holding the revolver. An embossed ring on his middle finger catches my eye. The symbol, an elaborate E with a crown, marks him as the Chief Elite Member. I reach out to touch him and cringe inwardly
at the cold skin beneath my fingertips. When I enter his mind, darkness greets me. I know what I’ll find, yet I have no intention of searching.

  I snatch my hand away. “It’s the Phoenix.”

  The detective nods and turns to Constable Jamieson. “Have the servants been checked?”

  “Our blockers are still reading through them, but so far, they’ve found nothing.”

  “Inform me as soon as possible if they discover anything.”

  The detective moves toward the door, and I follow him out of the room. When we pass by the chambers, I search the faces within, seeking one servant in particular—the one who had caught me with Mr. Harrison last night. I skim over the crowd, yet none of them strike me as familiar. My brows pull together as I try to recall the servant’s exact features, but the memory of his face eludes me, taunting me as it blurs into an unrecognizable silhouette. I mentally shake myself and trail after the detective.

  Outside, the rain has stopped, yet a heavy fog clings around the buildings and hovers over the streets. The detective and I remain silent on the way back to the station. As I try to recall the servant’s face, the gears in the detective’s mind turn. The sound tugs at my thoughts and threatens to pull me back to the memory of us lying in bed. I shove the images away.

  When we arrive at the station, we exit the motor vehicle and enter his office. The blinds rattle against the glass windows as he closes the door behind him. He searches inside his coat, and a flash of silver catches in the light. The case opens with a flip, and he retrieves a thin cigarette. He pulls out a match and strikes the tip. The sound draws my attention to the flame flaring to life, and the end of his cigarette glows as he inhales. He sits down in the chair behind his desk, and his eyes rise to scrutinize my face. I straighten in my seat and stare back at him. Can he see the truth in my eyes?

  I break the uncomfortable silence. “Do you think the Phoenix persuaded one of the servants or one of the Elite members to deliver the words to Mr. Harrison? Because I don’t see how Jonathan or Daniel could have snuck past us.”

  “I think the Phoenix wants us to think that. With Jonathan and Daniel free, anyone could have been persuaded.”

  “So how do you plan on catching them? They could be anywhere in Braxton.”

  A cloud of smoke obscures his face, yet the intensity of his gaze burns through the smog. He taps his fingers on his desk, mimicking the rhythmic ticking of his mind. The end of his cigarette glows once more, and flakes of ash break off and fall into his lap. My irritation grows with each second. Why doesn’t he answer me?

  I pick at the wooden chair beneath me, digging my nail into a small groove. An image of Scott doing the same thing but in Mr. Harrison’s office flashes in my mind. My hand freezes as horror floods me. A mantra echoes in my head. We’re nothing alike. We’re nothing alike.

  I swing my gaze back up to the detective. “Did you ever wonder if maybe the reason you haven’t found them is because someone of high importance is hiding them? Perhaps an Elite member?”

  Telling him the Phoenix’s identity isn’t an option. But perhaps I can lead him there.

  He taps his cigarette over the ashtray. “And why would an Elite member hide two empaths?”

  “Maybe he’s working with them.” I raise my shoulders into a shrug. “Or they might be using persuasion on him.”

  Dark wisps sliver out from his body as his suspicion leaks out. “And who might that be?”

  “Someone with the most to gain, or someone who’s in a position to be easily manipulated.”

  His voice deepens. “Is there something I should know about, Moira?”

  I open my mouth to encourage him, but a knock pulls his attention away. The door opens and Constable Smith’s face appears.

  He offers us an apologetic smile. “Mr. Hayes wishes to speak with you, sir.”

  The detective nods and presses the end of his cigarette into the ashtray. “Let him in.”

  The door widens as Icarus steps into the room.

  He removes his hat and nods. “Good morning, Detective.”

  His gaze slides away from the detective and lands on me. I tense as he approaches and rests a hand on my shoulder, squeezing slightly. The weight is a reminder of his control, that he could end my life at any moment. I clamp down on the anger that billows up and hold still. A glimmer sparks in his golden eyes.

  “If you don’t mind, Moira, I wish to speak with the detective alone, please.”

  I straighten my spine. “If it’s about the case, then I have every right to be here.”

  “I’m afraid I must insist.”

  “But—”

  The detective’s voice interrupts my protest. “Moira, please wait outside for me.”

  With a grunt of frustration, I push away from the chair and rise to my feet. I don’t trust him, and I hate the idea of leaving him alone with the detective. He could use persuasion and implant a command to kill me. The door closes behind me, yet Icarus’s gaze presses on my back. Constable Jamieson has yet to return from Mr. Harrison’s house, so I sit in the chair behind his desk and turn to face the detective’s office. Through the slits in the blinds, I watch Icarus lower onto the wooden chair. His mouth moves as he speaks. I lean closer, as if I could hear his voice.

  When his words evade me, I slump back with a heavy sigh. Frustration tightens my hands into fists, and I withdraw inside my mind. The police station fades, the clutter of wooden desks replaced by a multitude of stone staircases. I peer down through the maze of steps to the dark pool below. The water’s surface glistens like a sheen of black ice. I step away from the edge, pressing closer to the damp wall, and trail my fingers over the ragged stone. When I arrive at the top, the wind howls and whips past me. The dark sky gathers above, but my gaze lands on the brick wall. It’s taken me many hours and many days to create the barrier, and still, the height pales in comparison to Icarus’s. A large hole remains in one section, and I march toward it, kneel, and lift one of the rectangular stones from the ground, stacking it onto the others.

  A voice, pitched high with annoyance, rises from the earth below. Your efforts are futile.

  I ignore the words and place another brick onto the wall, but irritation surges up from the ground and slithers across my skin.

  You’re wasting your time. Haven’t you learned anything? Your block won’t be strong enough.

  And you think I’m not strong enough? I swipe the hair away from my face in a fit of frustration. I’m stronger than you.

  My mistakes are your mistakes.

  My face twists into a scowl, and I slam the next brick into place. The wind whips past me, blowing my hair over my face. I spit several strands out of my mouth and continue building the wall. Sweat slides down the curve of my back, and my body slumps in exhaustion. I widen my eyes and force my limbs to move. I need to finish the block if I want any chance to defeat Icarus. A light touch on my shoulder jars me. My head jolts up away from the desk, and I peer up at the detective.

  His brows knit close together as he examines me. “Are you feeling alright?”

  I nod and press a hand to my cheek. Feverish heat pushes against my palm, a side effect from building the block. My eyes flick to the man behind the detective. Icarus holds my gaze as he walks toward the station’s front doors, dips his head into a quick farewell, and vanishes behind the boarded-up window. Fear and suspicion converge in the pit of my stomach.

  I tear my eyes away from the entrance. “What did he want to talk to you about?”

  “Several things, but more specifically to inform me of certain updates.”

  I lean back against the chair and wait for his response.

  He tilts his hat onto his head and looks me in the eyes. “Mr. Hayes has been elected as Chief Elite Member.”

  Astonishment lifts my brows. “And he drove all the way here to tell you personally?”

  “Yes, which is nothing unusual.”

  Despite his reassurance, suspicion tightens my muscles. A chill courses throug
h me as fear turns my blood cold. I creep toward his mind and absorb every detail, frantic in my search for any sign of persuasion. A warm mist rises from the grates below, slipping underneath my dress to caress my thighs. The playful gesture reminds me of last night.

  His voice cuts through my concentration. “Looking for something in particular?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  I slow my steps as I approach one of the halls. “It’s like you said earlier. Anyone can be persuaded.”

  Alarm flashes across his face, and the sound of the gears thunders in his mind. “And have you found anything?”

  When I find nothing, I answer him. “No. Nothing that you don’t know already.”

  Relief loosens the knot in my stomach, but the tension in my muscles remains. I retreat from his mind and force my expression to smooth over. Inside, my thoughts flutter in a hysterical flight. Even though Icarus didn’t use persuasion, he still could have perused the detective’s memories without leaving a mark on his mind. He could have seen last night’s incident. And any trust I might have gained could vanish.

  9

  In two months, I’ve watched two people die in front of the Legislature building. The image of their bodies hanging from the noose lingers in the back of my mind, staining my memory. The remembrance of Constable Bradford’s defiance makes my blood boil, while Rachel’s wistful smile cleaves my heart into two. I grit my teeth and shove the melancholy away. I have no time to weep and wallow in the past.

  I climb the front steps alongside the detective, keeping pace with his long strides. The entrance gives way to a large foyer. The morning sun shines through the domed ceiling, illuminating the dozens of photographs lining every inch of the walls. Each frame showcases an Elite member. At the far end, the wall reveals each member who rose to Chief Elite status. Even after his death, Mr. Harrison’s cold eyes stare at me. I turn my gaze away and examine the Elite members standing near the side. Their voices lower to a quiet whisper before falling into silence as they beckon the detective forward. They had requested our presence to discuss the case now that Mr. Harrison is dead.