Devin appears behind me and leans close to the mirror, adjusting the tie at his neck. “I feel like I’m suffocating.”
“It’s what the men of society wear, and you’re now one of them.”
His eyes flick to my reflection. “I don’t know. I keep thinking this is only a dream I’ll wake up from.”
“You have to believe it.” I place my hands on my hips and turn my body, arching my back in a seductive manner. “Now, how do I look?”
His teeth flash in a wide grin. “Beautiful as always. And myself?”
“Handsome, like a true gentleman. No one will be able to take their eyes off you.”
“Then I should stay here.”
“Nonsense!” I tap his arm. “You promised me you’d come. You know I can’t go alone.”
He turns away from the mirror, and sympathy creases the corner of his eyes. “Because he’ll be there.”
The slightest mention of Keenan sends a crack through my heart, and my composure threatens to break.
I swivel around on my heel. “What time is it? We should leave. We don’t want to arrive late.”
“Moira.”
His soft tone only makes the ache in my chest more painful.
I continue to ignore his attempts. “Constable Smith is probably waiting for us outside by now.”
Instead of pressing the issue, he strolls away from the mirror and opens the door. I walk past him and into the hallway. A few concubines linger outside of their rooms, chatting with one another. I mentally reprimand myself. Even I have a difficult time thinking of them as only empaths, not concubines. Several pairs of eyes lift to examine Devin. I don’t blame them. The black suit, even if it’s borrowed, gives him the air of wealth and success, and his tamed dark curls accentuate the sharp bone structure of his face. Even his eyes, an electric blue, dare you to resist him. One of the reasons why the rich favoured him.
My lips curve up in a smile, but a sharp pain in my chest pulls my mouth back into a severe line. With the Pleasure House closed, what will he do now?
He walks by the empaths, unaware of their attention. I bite my lip, stifling my mirth, and follow him down the stairs. At the bottom of the steps, I inspect Madame Josephine’s office. She paces in front of her desk, her footsteps frantic with anxiety. In her hands, she twists a pen over and over. I tap Devin’s shoulder and cross the foyer.
Leaning against the doorframe, I trail after her movements. “Is everything alright?”
“No.” She continues her prowl, never glancing in my direction. “Two more girls left.”
“To go where?”
“You know where. To the whore house.”
I lift my shoulders into a shrug. “You can’t win them all.”
“This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.” She halts and turns, her cheeks an unfamiliar shade of red. “They’re free! They can do anything they want. And what do they choose? To go back to the life we fought to destroy.”
“They’re going back to what they know. One of the requirements for freedom is the ability to choose. We can’t force them to live a life as we see fit.”
She tilts her head and gives me a curious look. “You’ve changed.”
An odd mixture of pride and anxiety straightens my spine. I don’t want to ever go back to the way I was.
“I sure hope so.”
Her gaze travels the length of me, focusing on the hat. “I almost forgot. It’s your friend’s wedding, isn’t it?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
She nods and turns away, walking to the other side of her desk. “Just don’t let the Chief convince you to work for him. We could use you here, Moira. I could use your help.”
“I can’t promise anything, Josephine. I’ve enjoyed helping you with the house’s affairs these past few weeks, but I don’t know if I can stay here forever. I might accept the Chief’s offer, or I might take Alyssa’s. I haven’t decided yet.”
“I’ll be sad to see you go.”
“I know.” I pause and offer her a comforting smile. “But I’ll still visit you.”
A heavy sigh leaves her as she flops down on her chair. “At least tell me as soon as you’ve decided.”
“I promise.”
I twist around, only to find Devin eyeing me. He glances away, and the sadness etched on his face smooths over. My shoulders drop as my lips turn downwards. It’s not like I’m leaving the city. Maybe he would agree to rent a room with me at the hotel. That way, we can still live together, while getting out of this house. Even though I’ve accepted my future, my memories of the Pleasure House still haunt me. I want to move on, without the past holding me in chains.
I hook my arm around his and lead us toward the front door. “You can always come with me. You don’t have to stay here anymore.”
“It’s the only home I know.”
Pain pricks my chest and spreads. He deserves a better life than living in the shadow of the past. He opens the door, holding it wide for me to pass through, and steps out after me.
“You can always make a new one.” I turn away from the sun’s glare to face him. “With me.”
“I could.”
His words weave around us, relaxed and uncertain.
At the end of the path, Constable Smith waits for us. He sits in the front of his motor vehicle, his fingers tapping a silent tune on the steering wheel. He stretches his neck, turning it from side to side. The moment he catches sight of us, he straightens in his seat. Instead of his police uniform, he wears a black suit and top hat. As soon as we arrive, Devin helps me up into the front seat beside Constable Smith. The vehicle shifts as he hops into the back.
I turn a beaming smile on Constable Smith. “Thank you for offering to drive us.”
“It’s not a problem.” A tinge of red colours his cheeks. “I’m happy to help you with anything. What I mean to say is, I’m grateful for what you’ve done. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know how long Jamieson and I would have been stuck at the Memory House.”
“I only did what I thought was right to ensure the safety of us all.”
He gives me a tentative smile. “I’m grateful, nonetheless.”
I smile in return, despite the slight strain in my expression. Not everyone views my involvement in defeating Scott the same way that Constable Smith and Rick do. The majority of the Elite members and some of the constables consider my participation as self-serving. And most of the Elite recall me blackmailing them, demanding the freedom of empaths in exchange for my help. Honestly, I don’t see a difference between what I did and what they did several months ago when they offered me my freedom in exchange for my help with the Phoenix case. But, of course, they don’t see it that way.
Constable Smith starts the vehicle and turns his eyes on the road. My mind wanders as my gaze drifts to the buildings passing us by. Everything has changed, yet the city still looks the same. Nearly four weeks has passed since the day Scott died. After every blocker in Mr. Harrison’s house had been either killed or handcuffed, the police had returned to the station to free the Elite members trapped in the underground prison. The next few days had been devoted to cleaning out Mr. Harrison’s estate and burying the dead. Scott and the blockers, including Evan, had been buried with the other nameless tombstones. Meanwhile, Icarus rests in a proper grave, forever known to the citizens of Braxton as the recently departed Chief Elite Member.
My chest constricts at the memory of Evan lying on the police station floor. Scott had promised me that if Evan were still alive at the end, then they would bring him to the hospital. A lie. Instead, Scott brought Evan back to Mr. Harrison’s estate where he died alone and in pain. Guilt tugs at my heart. I never got a chance to say goodbye. Or to tell him I understood and that I didn’t hate him.
After Mr. Hayes’s funeral, I had met with the Elite members to remind them of their deal. Things could have ended horribly. They could have arrested me and executed me the same day. Thankfully, I’d had several influentia
l figures behind me. The Elite had had no choice but to listen to me.
That day, they’d signed a set of new laws. The first one stated all empaths could not, under no circumstance, be owned as a slave by an individual, group, or the government. The second entrusted the three houses—the Memory House, the Dream House, and the Pleasure House—to the empaths to either function as a boarding house for empaths or as continued services to paying clients. If a house chose the former, the occupants could no longer perform any paid service under the house’s roof. And if a house chose the latter, the occupants would receive a wage from their chosen Instigator, and a small percentage would go to the government for maintaining the building.
I never expected any of the houses to choose the second option, yet the empaths in the Memory House agreed immediately to the Elite’s terms, except for changing the building’s name to the Recovery Institution. The Pleasure House agreed to the first option only days later. Meanwhile, the Dream House has yet to decide. They have five days left to weigh their options. Now that I know the difficulties of choosing option one, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Dream House chose to stay in service. By becoming a boarding house, the empaths in the Pleasure House are forced to seek occupation elsewhere. And even though we’re no longer slaves, the majority of Braxton still views us as the “other” and are hesitant to hire us. Some citizens are merely suspicious, while others vocalize their hate.
The vehicle stops, jarring me. I blink up at the building before me. Large wooden doors mark the church’s entrance, and the roof tapers into one point. A group of people crowd the front, idling on the grass, conversing with one another. Some move on and climb the steps, vanishing into the church. I skim the crowd, recognizing only a few faces. The Chief stands by his wife, who converses with an elderly man.
I jump out of the vehicle and turn to Devin. “Are you ready?”
He holds out his arm in answer and escorts me down the path. I veer us left, bringing us in front of the Chief. His wife, Mrs. Garrett, eyes me with her usual disdain, her gaze flicking down the length of my outfit. The moment her attention shifts to my hat, her lips curl in disgust. Her thoughts drip in the space between us. Real women wear real flowers on their hats, not fake ones made of fabric. My gaze shifts to the gaudy show of wealth propped on her head. Bright feathers stick out from behind the large flowers decorating her hat.
The Chief dips his head in greeting. “It’s good to see you, Moira. Have you thought of my proposition?”
“I’m still considering your offer, Chief. I’ll let you know as soon as I decide.”
“Don’t take too long, my dear.” His gaze wanders over the people around us. “And if you’re worried about working with specific people, I can make it so your interactions are as minimal as possible.”
Even the slight mention of Keenan has me crumbling into a mess. I force my eyes to remain on the Chief, not daring to scan the area to see if a specific someone has arrived. My heart hammers in my chest, causing my blood to rush to my head. Heat creeps up my neck and burns across my face. The sun sears the back of my neck, adding to the inferno inside me. Sweat trickles down to the base of my spine, a minute sensation sending my nerves into hyper-awareness.
There’s no doubt in my mind he’ll attend the wedding. I need to ignore him as he’s done with me. He’s moved on, and so should I.
I clutch Devin’s sleeve and stretch my face into an amiable expression. “Oh, I’m not worried about that. I was thinking of maybe accepting Alyssa’s offer. Apparently, she thinks I’d do well with helping them maintain the new laws and negotiate newer ones.”
“New ones?” Mrs. Garrett shakes her head in quick dismissal. “Impossible. You people have what you want. I don’t know why my husband wishes to work with you. At least, Mr. Edwards has seen reason.”
Her lips curve with devilish glee as she adds in a softer tone, “He’s bringing Annabelle Ashworth today. If you must know, he’s been courting her for a while now.”
My breath catches in my throat, and my grasp on Devin tightens.
The Chief’s face flushes a deep shade of red. “Francine, that’s quite enough. I would hardly call an evening of tea at our place courting.”
“Well, he is bringing her to the wedding. I didn’t make that up!”
He turns his attention back on me. “As I was saying, don’t be too hasty to accept Alyssa’s offer. The police could use a mind like yours.”
Even if I weren’t avoiding Keenan, I wouldn’t jump at the opportunity. Some of the constables hate me for what I have done—unlike the Chief, who still speaks to me kindly. I open my mouth to answer him, but the church’s bells chime above us.
Mrs. Garrett tugs her husband toward the front doors. “It’s time to take our seats, dear.”
Devin and I trail after them, cutting across the grass. The line of people splits, inching away from me and Devin. I hold my head high, drawing on my pride, and tug him along with me. No fear. No hesitation. As if I belong. We climb the steps and enter the church. My eyes wander around the building, lingering on the paintings on the windows. I turn my attention on the wooden benches and frown. I had always wondered what the inside of a church looked like, and had expected more from the inside, considering the ornateness on the windows.
The Chief and his wife turn right, seating themselves near the middle aisle. Devin follows, but I steer him left. I inch down the row and sit at the end, close by the windows. He folds at the waist, and his knees almost hit the bench in front of him.
He nestles into my side and leans close to my ear. “I thought you’d want to sit by people you knew.”
My gaze flicks to Mrs. Garrett, and I shake my head. “I’ve had enough of her scorn for today.”
“She certainly knows what to say to upset you.”
“That, she does.”
“Especially in regards to the detective.”
I examine around us, twisting my body to look at the doors. “When do you think the wedding will start?”
“I’m not sure.” He releases a gentle sigh, but accepts the abrupt shift in conversation. “I’ve never attended a wedding before.”
“It has to be soon. Everyone is seated.”
As my last word drops in the air, a group of men enters the church. My gaze wanders over the first two men, dismissing their unfamiliar faces. When my eyes land on the third, my heart skitters to a stop. The fourth is Rick. I swivel around and face the front of the church. Devin notices my shift and turns to face the men walking up the aisle. His hand slips into my own and squeezes, carrying a wave of comfort that soothes the staccato beating inside my chest. I hold on, grateful for the one constant in my life.
Instead of sitting down, the men walk up to the front and stand by the podium. The two men, along with Keenan, line up off to the side, while Rick stands in the middle. The priest appears by Rick’s side, and everyone stands. Devin and I fumble to our feet and turn to face the entrance. Three women walk down the aisle, one after the other. My gaze skims over the figures to focus on the woman standing in the doorway.
Christine’s light brown hair rests high upon her head in the latest fashion, with a long veil trailing behind her. The ruffles at the sleeves and the extra volume to the skirt add weight to her slim figure, creating an elegant silhouette of curves. A glimmer of light draws my attention to her chest where a necklace rests against the high collar. Her cheeks glow with a faint blush, adding colour to her pale complexion. She steps forward, a jovial smile on her face, and walks down the aisle. Everyone watches her as she draws closer to Rick. As soon as she stands beside her fiancé, everyone sits down.
As the priest’s voice drones on, echoing in the space, my attention wanes. Eventually, my eyes shift focus, settling on one of the men standing beside Rick. A face so familiar, yet now a stranger. His brown hair, neatly combed to one side, looks different somehow. Even his face has changed. The rugged jawline, usually marked with stubble, has smoothed. The purple tinge at the bridge of his nose and
beneath his eyes has vanished. Even the usual fatigue shadowing his features has dissolved, giving way to a healthy colour.
He looks content, no longer troubled by his past. As if moving on were as easy as changing one’s clothes. I swallow the painful lump in my throat and wonder why it’s harder for me. Am I defective, attaching significance to something inconsequential? Did I dream his words, his feelings? Had it been a fabrication brought on by my need for love?
A slight movement pulls me from my thoughts. I blink, only to stare into bright green eyes. A crease forms between his brows, the first sign of disquiet. The effect cascades over his entire face, marring his placid expression. His mouth presses into a thin line, and his neck tenses as his Adam’s apple dips close to his collar. A storm brews in the depths of his eyes and threatens to blemish the celebratory atmosphere.
Like a coward, I glance away and focus on the emotions of those around me, avoiding the ones now dripping from Keenan’s core. I don’t want to know how much he hates me. Devin tightens his grip, sensing my distress. I latch onto his calm until the priest’s voice finally fades. Everyone stands as Rick and Christine make their way down the lane. The groomsmen and bridesmaids follow, pairing into three couples. As soon as they disappear out the door, the guests shuffle toward the aisles. I drag Devin behind me, my eagerness to leave propelling me forward.
We amble down the lane, slowed by the people crowding the doorway.
I rise onto my toes and peek around the various heads and hats blocking my view. “What’s taking so long? Do you see anything?”
Devin responds beside me. “I’m as lost as you are.”
When we finally arrive at the front doors, I notice the groomsmen and bridesmaids lined up on the side of the steps. The gentlemen in the crowd walk by and shake the hands of the groomsmen, while the women receive a nod in greeting. I ignore the apparent custom and stroll past the groomsmen and bridesmaids, rushing by one in particular—or at least, I try, given the group of people blocking my way. My muscles relax the moment I pass by Keenan, but tense at the sound of Devin’s voice.
Rise of the Phoenix Page 28
