Mr. Johnson extends a hand. “Good morning, Mr. Edwards. Thank you for coming on short notice. We’ll discuss our next steps in the Assembly Room.”
My gaze darts away from the Memory House Instigator and lands on Icarus. He smiles and presses closer. Tiny gold flakes flutter around his head, landing on his shoulders or falling to the floor by his feet. A string of bright orange trails out from his chest and reaches for me. Pride and excitement. I imagine he has everything he ever wanted. I focus on each part of my body, willing the muscles to relax.
Everyone moves toward the opposite hallway, heading for the Assembly Room. I step forward with the intent to follow, but Icarus stops me by grabbing hold of my elbow. My body tenses as my feet freeze to the ground.
He releases me and speaks low. “Moira, may I have a moment with you alone in my office?”
The detective’s gaze snaps in my direction, but the other Elite members reel him back into their conversation. My lips pinch together in a tight smile, but I let Icarus lead me away from the others. Perhaps, now, he’ll finally confide in me, letting me in on his future plans. The more I know, the better chance I have to survive. My shoes scuff against the length of hardwood floor, the sound reverberating up my spine in an ominous shiver. The heat from his touch lingers, burning through the thin fabric of my blouse to scorch my skin. I blink, but the hallway tilts, revealing a different man walking in front of me.
A man grips my arm, pulling my tiny frame forward, and pins my three-year-old body against his chest. Another man stands before me, holding a metal rod with an unusual symbol at the end. The tip glows a vibrant orange and grows larger as the man steps forward. I squirm, kicking and screaming. My cry of outrage withers to a choked sob as the metal presses against my face. Intense heat flares, and my vision fades to black.
I cough, but the stench of burnt flesh permeates the air. My right cheek tingles, and I lift a hand, feeling the grooves of the horizontal “s.” Another sign to remind me of my weakness. Rage pours forth. But rather than the blistering heat of raw, unfiltered emotion, the waves rolling off me chill to cool determination. So this is what it must feel like to be Jonathan. So poised. In control. Detached in every other way.
My arm drops to my side as we reach Icarus’s office. Bookshelves line the walls, and light streams through the large window behind his desk. Through the glass, the front courtyard lies in view. Citizens stroll down the sidewalks of Churchill Road, only stopping to enter one of the boutiques.
He strolls past me and gestures to one of the wooden chairs. “Please, sit.”
I lower into my seat and look up at him through furrowed brows. “Why am I here, Icarus?”
“I thought we could celebrate in private.”
He approaches the table in the far corner and reaches for the decanter of wine. Red liquid pours into the transparent glass, reminding me of blood. I focus on his words, searching for the truth in them. The absence of a sickly green tracing his outline adds sincerity to his thoughts. But I can’t help but feel like the only winner is him. He sits here, untouched and unbound—the king of the castle, so to speak. And everyone else must obey him. I must obey him. His little pawn. My anger swells, pounding against my skull. I imagine a dagger made of fire stabbing straight into his back.
He turns around, unaffected and unharmed.
I grip the sides of my chair, but weave calm into my voice. “You mean, celebrate your victory?”
“No, I mean our victory.”
He sets a glass in front of me. The sun’s rays glimmer off the crystal as I reach for the goblet, and the liquid burns down my throat, setting my insides on fire. I take another sip and pray the liquor will ease my nerves. Lifting my gaze, I look him in the eyes. He sits, leaning to one side, with his chin propped up on his left hand. His forefinger taps over his lips as he considers me. Meanwhile, his wine glass remains by his side. His scrutiny threatens to unwind my calm façade.
My grip around the crystal tightens. “So what is our next move, Icarus? You won. Mr. Harrison is finally dead, and you’re the new Chief Elite Member.”
“Thanks to you, Moira.” The corners of his lips quirk upwards into a knowing smirk. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
The tension in my muscles subsides at the sound of his admission. His trust, however frail at the moment, rests in my hands. The promise of freedom sweetens the bitterness on my tongue.
I take another sip of my wine and peer up at him over the rim of my glass. “So what happens now?”
“Now that I’m the Chief Elite Member, I’m in a position to change the rules. The empaths will have their freedom, but all in good time. These sort of changes can’t be rushed.”
The fact that he confided in me causes triumph to flare within, but the intensity of the flames wither at the meaning behind his words. So this is why I had sent Mr. Harrison to his death? All so Icarus could play leader and fill my kind with hopes and promises?
Outrage slips beneath my control, twisting my face into a deep scowl. “In other words, nothing will change.”
Icarus’s eyes narrow as black tendrils snake out around him.
He speaks low, almost a whisper. “You sound exactly like Scott.”
The scent of moist earth and leather bombards me as an image of Scott flashes in my mind. My breath catches in my throat, and my tongue swells inside my mouth. Annoyance flickers deep within. I’m nothing like my previous master. I lift the crystal and attempt to swallow more wine, hoping the liquor will erase Icarus’s words. But the taste of them still lingers, taunting me as the sound of Scott’s whip cracks through the air.
A declaration slips out of me, echoing my thoughts. “I’m nothing like him.”
He straightens in his seat as a chuckle rumbles in his chest. “He, too, believed my methods were futile. He wanted a revolution, a bloody war that would result in more deaths. The revolt wouldn’t have lasted beyond a couple of days. My plan assured us success.”
Aggravation surrounds him in a pale reddish haze. The emotion tells me everything he doesn’t say. Scott had allied himself with Icarus in the beginning. But as soon as the difference in their tactics had become clear, Scott had drifted away. Or at least, Icarus had feared he would.
“More deaths?” I scoff as each victim’s face floats to the surface. “I find it hard to believe you care if more people die or not. You’re responsible for eight deaths so far.”
A brow rises high on his forehead. “Eight? I think you give me far too much credit, Moira.”
I count the names on my fingers. “Mr. Darwitt, Constable Evans, Rachel, Madame Del Mar, Mr. Anderson, Andrew Anderson, Mr. Harrison, and let’s not forget Scott.”
“Constable Evans was a mistake on Daniel’s part.” He waves his hand in the air, dismissing the death as if it were merely an inconvenience. “And you can hardly blame me for Rachel and Andrew.”
Blood rushes to my head as I notice his failure to include Scott, which means Jonathan hadn’t acted entirely on his own. White-hot fury flares, burning me from within. He’s the reason I was sent to prison and almost died. A thread of confusion sneaks past my rage. If he had ordered Jonathan to kill Scott, then why had he seemed surprised? Had it been all an act?
My voice leaves me in a cracked whisper. “And Scott?”
A slight twitch in his left eye breaks through his outward calm, sending a ripple of change through his demeanour. His smile fades, and his lips press together in a thin line. The crease between his brows stretches into a glower, and the tension radiating from his body bleeds into me. My mouth parts as bewilderment morphs into understanding. He might have disagreed with Scott, but he had never ordered his execution.
He pulls back his emotions, but his expression fails to change. “Scott would have had us all dead, so I hardly consider it a mistake, even if Jonathan had acted on his own without my permission.”
“And what about me?”
The words slip from my tongue before I can take them back.
&n
bsp; His features soften, reminiscent of the times he had regarded me with fond affection. “Have you changed your mind?”
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and rise to my feet. His eyes lift to my face and darken with lust. My heart jumps, a sporadic thump beating against my chest. I trail a finger over the surface of his desk as I walk around to where he sits. He turns in his chair and leans back. I dig deep inside myself, searching for the desire buried in our past. When I find it clinging to a memory of us in bed, I yank on the emotion, pulling it out and wrapping it around my body. With a mask of seduction set over my face, I approach him. My skirt brushes his thighs as I step between his legs and grab his tie, tugging him forward. His head dips down as he clutches my hips. A sharp pain pricks my chest, and an image of a different man sits before me, one with piercing green eyes.
Keenan.
I shove the thought away before Icarus notices. When I run my fingers through his hair, the soft curls slide beneath my palm and spring back into place. I let my craving pool around us, using his own means of distraction against him. He lifts his head, and his eyes flash bright with yearning. I hold his gaze, forcing myself to accept the emotion. But, in the back of my head, a whisper of determination breathes purpose into my limbs. His hands glide up my torso as he rises to his feet.
He speaks against my neck, his voice tender with need. “Does this mean you’re willing to forgive me?”
I swallow the words that threaten to rise, and speak a web of lies instead, feeding him exactly what he wants to hear.
“Yes. I’m still angry with you for keeping secrets and taking my memories from me. I thought we trusted each other. I know I trusted you.” I exhale an exaggerated breath. “But I can’t blame you for what Scott did. Nor are you responsible for Jonathan’s actions. It just hurts that after everything, you still trust Jonathan more than me.”
“What would you have me do?”
“Punish those that disobey you. Both Jonathan and Daniel have acted on their own, jeopardizing our mission. They can’t be trusted, Icarus.”
He trails his lips against the curve of my collarbone. “But I can trust you?”
Genuine frustration slips out from my control. “What else must I do to prove my loyalty? I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I persuaded Madame Del Mar. I left Mr. Anderson alone, waiting for your nod of approval. And just a few days ago, I helped you get rid of Mr. Harrison.”
“You’re right.”
Satisfaction blooms in my chest and spreads through my veins. He grabs hold of my throat, and his mouth crashes against mine. I shove all of my will into submission as he deepens the kiss, forcing his tongue into me. After a moment, he pulls away to suck on my bottom lip before fully breaking away. A deep sigh caresses my face. My eyelids flutter open, and I stare into his golden eyes. Worry tarnishes the thrill of my small victory. Can he see straight through my deception?
His thumb slides across my mouth to caress my cheek, and desire ebbs away from his expression. “I wish I could trust you, Moira. Unfortunately, your feelings for the detective will only get in the way.”
“What do you mean?” I stiffen as fear spikes within. “The detective means nothing to me.”
Even though I mean the words, the validity in them fails to ring true. His eyes darken as he sees the truth before I can disguise it. A growl tickles the back of my throat. Damn her. Once again, her weakness will be the end of us.
His hold around my neck tightens. “You can’t have it both ways, falling in bed with the detective one minute and trying to seduce me in the next. Which means you’re playing one of us for a fool.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s not true. I broke it off with him.”
“Is that so? Then why did you sleep with him the night you killed Mr. Harrison?”
A weak lie tumbles from my mouth. “He was starting to suspect me. I did what I could to ensure he remains unaware. Why can’t you extend me the same faith you’ve given Daniel and Jonathan?”
“Because, unlike you, I know exactly where their loyalty stands.”
A knock sounds on his office door, interrupting us. He releases me as several constables storm through the entrance and rush forward. Terror clenches a tight fist around my throat, like the day the police had caught me when I had tried to escape after Scott’s death. My rear bumps into the alcohol cart as I stumble backwards. A glass teeters and tumbles to the ground, shattering to pieces on the hardwood floor. The shards crunch beneath the constables’ shoes as they grab hold of me. I try to reclaim my arms, pulling back, but their hold only stiffens.
My head snaps in Icarus’s direction. “What are you doing?”
He sits in his chair, and his voice changes into calm authority. “We’ve interrogated all of the servants, and one of the housemaids saw you with Mr. Harrison in his office.”
My mouth opens as bewilderment takes hold. Someone had seen me, but it hadn’t been a housemaid. Which means Icarus had planted the memory. Did he do it before or after I had persuaded Mr. Harrison? I shove the question aside, having no use for the answer. It doesn’t change the fact he had betrayed me. Once again. The lava inside my mind encroaches upon the stairs as my fury blinds me.
Beyond the haze, his face taunts me as a smile plays on his lips. Everything he had ever said had been a lie. I had never stood a chance in deceiving him. The realization hits me, and the air in my lungs rushes out with a sharp gasp. I’m going to prison for Icarus’s crimes. But a voice whispers in the back of my head, reminding me I’m not entirely innocent.
My lip curls into a snarl. “Damn you, Icarus!”
He barks out a command. “Put her under before she uses her powers on one of us.”
A hand clamps a cloth over my mouth, muffling my scream of outrage. The alcoholic scent pricks my nose and burns in the back of my throat. A wave of numbness spreads through my body, weighing my limbs with sand. In that moment, I wish I were dying. Because I’d do anything other than spend another minute in Braxton’s underground prison. My eyes roll back, and Icarus’s face vanishes from sight. The ceiling sways before darkness greets me.
Icarus steps behind me and opens my coat. Always the gentleman, unlike most of my other clients. I slide my arms into my jacket, pressing my back close to his chest. His breath tickles my neck, and the heat reminds me of our explored passion only moments ago. He kisses below my ear and roams his hands over my hips. His touch blazes through the layers of fabric, more tantalizing than if I were naked. Normally, I can persuade him to keep me longer. My eyes dart to the driver standing nearby, and I tap Icarus’s hand.
I pitch my voice low and try to sound seductive instead of needy. “Are you sure I can’t stay a little longer?”
“I’m afraid not, Moira.”
He steps in front and slips my gloves onto my hands, pressing each finger into their separate compartments. The gesture feels intimate, a reminder of how he enjoys dressing me after our meetings.
I look up at him through my lashes, pouting. “Why not?”
“I already told you, dear. I have an appointment that can’t be postponed. I’ll call for you soon, don’t worry.”
“Fine.”
The word seeps through my teeth, the noise drawing his gaze up. His golden eyes regard me with affection, but the tightening around the edges reveals his impatience. Despite my requests, he insists it’s best if I don’t know who the other players are. As they don’t know about me. Our anonymity assures our success. Or so he says. But it feels like another attempt to keep secrets. Sometimes, I feel like I know everything about him. Other times, it’s as if I only know what he shows me.
I smooth the dismay from my lips and lift to kiss him. “Don’t wait too long.”
I turn around and let the driver escort me outside as we traverse over the icy pathway. My boots slide over the ice, seeking purchase, and my grip tightens on his hand. When we arrive at the vehicle, he helps me climb inside. I pull my skirt close to my legs while he walks around to the other side.
As he sits behind the wheel, another vehicle drives past and parks in front of us. I squint, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious person inside. The vehicle beneath me jolts forward and rolls away from the estate. I peer past the canopy.
A man steps beneath the glow of the street lamp. The stark white trousers beneath his coat draws my eyes.
A dream weaver.
I open my mouth and flick my tongue over my dry lips as the fog of unconsciousness lifts. When I swallow, an acrid taste burns its way down my throat. My eyelids flutter open, and the soft radiance of a lantern twinkles in the corner of my vision. I reposition my legs and try to lift my head, but my muscles ache from lying in the same position. Darkness obscures my surroundings, so I follow the light’s source. The moment I catch sight of the bars, my heart plummets to my gut, sinking as dread washes over me. I push myself up from the thin mattress, a nervous pant bubbling up from my lungs.
A familiar voice shatters any hope clinging to me. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake.”
I peer between the rods of steel, only now noticing the man sitting on the other side of my prison cell. The lantern rests on the floor beside him and casts deep shadows across the stone walls. The orange light dims his features, and the left side of his face remains in darkness. But, even then, I recognize him. Icarus’s lips twist into a smile, yet he doesn’t speak. He waits. Ever so patiently. And why wouldn’t he? He has all the time in the world, while I have none. The stench of the place permeates my skin, and I look down at the manacles around my wrists.
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