Chemistry of Evil

DEPARTMENT 57: CHEMISTRY OF EVIL Lynne Connolly www.loose-id.com Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit sc...

Author: Connolly Lynne

13 downloads 807 Views 1MB Size Report

This content was uploaded by our users and we assume good faith they have the permission to share this book. If you own the copyright to this book and it is wrongfully on our website, we offer a simple DMCA procedure to remove your content from our site. Start by pressing the button below!
Report copyright / DMCA form

DOWNLOAD PDF

DEPARTMENT 57:

CHEMISTRY OF EVIL

Lynne Connolly

www.loose-id.com

Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Department 57: Chemistry of Evil Lynne Connolly This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Loose Id LLC 870 Market St, Suite 1201 San Francisco CA 94102-2907 www.loose-id.com

Copyright © December 2008 by Lynne Connolly All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

ISBN 978-1-59632-845-7 Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editor: C. B. Calsing Cover Artist: April Martinez

Author’s Note The tarot deck and the definitions are taken from Aleister Crowley’s Book of Thoth.

Prologue He couldn’t escape. They’d bound him too tightly for that. Three of them left alive, bound, and imprisoned. One by his own will. But he wasn’t that one. He needed a male body to use. Any body would do, but he preferred one with strength and beauty. His mother had taught him well. As soon as someone called him, he knew what to do -- take the male body nearest to him. Once out and free, he could choose which body to inhabit. But no one ever called him; no one ever came. He’d been here for more years than he could count. Centuries earthbound in this dark, unfeeling place. He could feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing. He could taste nothing. Those who bound him here expected him to consider his sins and repent and left only his mind active, so he should have no distractions. He had never repented. Fury filled him, red and dangerous. How dare they do this to him? It wasn’t for him to repent; that was for those who’d opposed him. If he’d won the Last Battle, he could have continued his father’s work and made England powerful and rich. The time had been right, and Arthur was old and dying. His mother was ready to help him and put her immense power at his disposal. He’d had centuries to think and plan. He wouldn’t make the same mistake next time. If there was a next time. Mordred let out a howl of rage, a howl heard by no one but him that echoed painfully in his mind. Someone had to find it. The only way he could be called back was if someone used the aulos he’d been bound to, and for all he knew, that had been destroyed. He would have destroyed it, had it been him. If he ever returned to the land of man, his revenge would be terrible. There was someone, somewhere, responsible for his anguish, someone who would pay. He would find him. He would make them pay.

2

Lynne Connolly

“Patience, my son.” That soothing, feminine voice could be his imagination, but it was still here, still returned to him. “You must get free. Then come to me and we will set the world alight.” He’d heard that voice in his head for so long, he was no longer sure if it was a memory or real. It didn’t matter. All he needed was one more chance. A chance to put things right. A chance to destroy and then he could re-create the world as it should be, as he and his mother had planned it. One chance.

Department 57: Chemistry of Evil

3

Chapter One Sophie’s dreams of violent, terrifying deaths halfway across the world faded in the peace of the English countryside. Even here in Tintagel, a place that had seen murder and terror in its time, the atmosphere felt tranquil. The bloody history was long gone; only a pile of moss-encrusted stones remained as a mute reminder. On the other side of the world lay her new, exciting life. But for now, she was here, and the only turmoil lay inside her. Sophie pushed a curl out of her eyes and bent down to sift through the soil. She loved the careful, meticulous work. A children’s TV program had spurred her interest in digging up the past, and got her into deep trouble with her mother when she’d discovered Sophie unearthing the roots of her favorite rosebush. Sophie was still obsessed with what lay beneath the earth. Very few things were as thrilling as touching an artifact last handled hundreds or thousands of years before. The familiar excitement gripped her, tightening her stomach muscles when her trowel scraped against something hard. She eased her trowel around the object, clearing away the dirt, and then reached for her brush to dust off the rest. “Anybody got the camera?” She felt warm breath on her shoulder as Gwyneth leaned over to hand her the camera and peer at the object. “What have you found?” “Don’t know yet. A metal object.” “Ooh.” Gwyneth bent around, subjecting the object to close scrutiny. “Metal should have perished in this damp earth after all this time.” “I know.” Sophie worked, clearing as much of the dirt from around the metal edges as she could, her heart racing as it always did at any new discovery.

4

Lynne Connolly

Archie’s voice, sounding faintly amused, came from behind them. “You know it’s too near the surface to be anything significant.” Sophie grinned, not bothering to turn around. Archie had been her colleague before he became her fiancé, and he led this archaeological dig. The familiar pang of guilt that always assaulted her when she thought of Archie shot through her, but she tamped it down, determined not to spoil this moment. Sophie looked up to smile at Archie, her vision strained from hours staring at grains of dirt. Seagulls wheeled in the blue sky above Archie’s fair head. She heard the ever-present crash of waves against the cliffs and marked the moment in her mind. “You never lose the thrill, do you?” Archie’s mouth turned up in an amiable half smile. “If I did, I’d give up the job.” Sophie uncovered the object, using her brush to dust the soil away. Her heart sank when she saw it. It was too perfect to belong to the dig. Bright metal gleamed here and there where the dry earth fell off it. It was intact, a long tube of some silvery metal. Standing back, she allowed Gwyneth to take the pictures of the object in situ, then bent and picked it up. “A whistle. It looks a bit like a Roman aulos.” “Yes.” Archie took the object from her and shook it, dislodging a few more grains of earth. “But I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you. It looks more like an ARP whistle from the Second World War. I’ll take it to the tent and get it cleaned up for you.” Sophie didn’t miss his supercilious smirk. “Thanks.” Disappointed with her find, Sophie went back to her digging. Archie always had to be right. It was one of the reasons she was no longer sure she wanted him. She’d come back home to marry him, had volunteered to help with the dig because she couldn’t resist, but it only emphasized the differences that had grown between them. Five years before, they’d made a perfect fit, but Sophie had moved on, and now they didn’t fit anymore. After her father’s murder, she’d found a place where her skills worked, and with extra training, she was now a forensic archaeologist, working with the FBI and CSI officers to establish crime scene data. She’d found a new life for herself, a life she loved. The job in Virginia at Quantico had led to a temporary assignment in New York, advising on a murder case. Archie still wanted her, still said he loved her, but Sophie knew she’d fallen out of love somewhere along the way. She would have to tell him. Soon, before they left Tintagel to go to her mother’s home and their wedding. She found nothing else that afternoon. The small pit she was excavating was an exploratory one, and she found nothing of significance. Modern pottery and bottle tops left by tourists didn’t count. The sun had just touched the horizon when Gwyneth came over to her once more. Her tight braids flew out when she shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, relaxing the muscles tensed by a hard day’s digging.


5

Sophie stood and went through similar motions, shrugging her shoulders, flexing her arms, then stamping her feet. She tucked her trowel and brush into the little pouch at her waist and climbed out of the pit. It was easy to forget what a spectacular view this site had when you spent all day with your nose to the earth. Now, with the sun casting a red glow over the sea, it was hard to ignore. Everything was imbued with a rosy light, tinged with fire. Sophie pushed back a curl that had come loose from her ponytail, the red highlights gleaming in the dark strands when the sun hit it. Her father had always jokingly called her a redhead, claiming her fiery temperament came directly from it, but she regarded herself as a mousy brunette. Although five years had passed since his death, Sophie still missed him. Nobody teased her like that anymore. She stretched her back and headed for the tent where the team laid out the day’s finds. A kettle lived there too, heated over a camping stove. The lure of tea was almost more important than the view. Almost. “Find the Grail?” she asked Gwyneth, flashing a grin. “Not today.” It was an old joke, masking a secret desire. Here, on the top level of Tintagel, one almost believed in Arthur and all the other old tales. The modern world seemed to recede, only the occasional plane flying high overhead reminding them of their time and place. “You?” “Nothing like it. Just a few old shards.” “Not as glamorous as New York, then. You’ll be back there soon enough.” With Archie. He’d taken a job at the Metropolitan Museum, a lucrative position with a research fellowship attached. He always had to go one better than her. Sophie would miss England, her native land. The soft grass, masking hard, unforgiving rock, the levels and layers, the knowledge that wherever one was on this little island, someone had gone before, perhaps dropped something, a coin, a jewel, a Holy Grail. “I don’t think Archie would appreciate finding the Grail here,” she commented. She strolled with Gwyneth toward the tent. “It wouldn’t fit in with his theory. He’d be more excited if we found a hermit’s cave.” “Some people came up today asking about Arthur. When we told them we were excavating the medieval monastery, they didn’t believe us. So Archie told them the castle was twelfth century.” Sophie laughed. “How did they take that?” “They said we were mad, that everyone knew it was Arthur’s castle.” Their laughter rang over the small area of the dig. Several heads poked up to look at them, their owners’ bodies lost in the trenches of the main dig. People roused, their concentration broken, murmuring greetings to each other as they began to climb out of their self-dug holes. Moles facing the light, or perhaps bodies rising from the grave. Appropriate,

6

Lynne Connolly

since part of the dig was a burial ground. But Sophie doubted monks would wear a motley array of shorts, T-shirts, and tattered jeans or be discussing the character of skeleton deterioration over time in such a pragmatic way. Sophie smiled to herself when she recalled her New York wardrobe with its sharp designer suits and elegant, understated eveningwear. But she still kept her old clothes. You never knew when an interesting opportunity to grub about in the ground might occur. Or perhaps it was a disinclination to let go of her old life and embrace the new. She found her new job extremely lucrative and prestigious, but not as much fun. She still loved digging and the camaraderie a team involved in a dig could engender. The tent was a large one, which was just as well. Six people crowded in, to add to the four already in residence. A laptop was carefully set up at the end, away from the dirt. It formed their communication with the study center at the hotel in the village and a link to all the research documents, geophysics, and the rest. Long trestle tables held trays containing the day’s finds. Geophysics equipment stood propped up in the corner, expensive equipment that had to be hauled to and from the village each day. Sophie moved to the part of the tent that contained “her” section, the section farthest from the opening, near to George, who was currently sitting in front of the laptop swearing at it. Sophie’s woefully small finds section contained only one tray, instead of the three or more on the other tables. Uninformative pottery that merely served to confirm what they had already discovered, plus her one find, now cleaned and gleaming balefully at her, reminding her of her failure. Archie was probably right. The whistle, aulos, whatever, couldn’t be an ancient artifact, although it looked like one. Probably a modern reproduction, maybe bought from one of the tourist shops clustered in the village below and then dropped up here and lost. Similar to a Roman aulos but shorter, a whistle or pipe with only one finger hole, engraved with symbols and lines that looked vaguely Celtic in nature. Definitely an imaginative tourist piece. Archie would be pleased she hadn’t made a major discovery. Foolish to think like that. She had succeeded in disproving a rival’s theory that a settlement lay buried in that area. His theory put the site farther to the east. Had Sophie found anything interesting, it might have delayed Archie’s departure for New York and his new job at the Metropolitan Museum. And their marriage. So why did she feel depressed? Why had she tried so hard to find something? She knew. Perhaps she would tell him tonight that she couldn’t marry him and then leave for her mother’s house before going back to the States. They'd nearly finished the dig now, so she couldn’t put it off much longer. An arm curled round her shoulders. “Well, Sophie love,” a voice soft as a whisper breathed hotly in her ear. “New York, here we come.” She forced a bright smile and turned around. “Yes, here we come. Back to the FBI for me.”


7

He frowned. “You could always join me at the museum. I’m sure I can find something for you.” A curl of anger crawled through Sophie’s mind at his patronizing attitude. “I don’t want you to. I want to stay with the FBI, if they’ll have me, perhaps even apply for citizenship and join full-time.” “I don’t like you working with those…bodies.” Sophie laughed. “I’ve been working with bodies all my adult life, Archie love. Just that these are more recent, that’s all.” “And have living relatives.” His other arm went around her waist, imprisoning her. “It’s only that I worry about you.” Sophie suspected it might be more. Archie was the primary male, the supervisor of this group, built like a golden bear, all bulging muscle and gleaming teeth. Gorgeous and clever, he wasn’t used to a slip of a girl besting him, but she’d done it, getting better marks than he at university, and earning her doctorate a year earlier than he did. His overwhelming niceness saved him from the accusation of alpha-ism. Sophie’s doubts had crystallized into certainty in the last few days. Where once she had loved him, the gentle liking that remained, together with a response to Archie’s undoubted sex appeal, was no longer enough for her. When she’d needed him, when her father died, he’d been there for her. She owed him for that, but she didn’t owe him the rest of her life. She smiled and reached up to kiss him on the cheek in a gesture more friend than lover. “I’m starving.” “Shall we go to the pub? I’ll miss their lasagna when we leave.” “It’s only because they serve it in large roasting tins. Big enough portions for you.” Sophie tried to pull away, but Archie was having none of it. He dragged her back and angled his mouth over hers, settling in for a nice, leisurely kiss. The whistles and catcalls from the interested bystanders only served to encourage him. When he finally pulled away, she felt numb from the pressure of his arms and mouth. He waited for her reaction and gave her a cocky grin when she smiled at him. “I can’t wait to leave because of what happens next.” He released her. Sophie took a deep breath, trying not to show her anger at his enforcing his so-called male superiority. Tonight. She would tell him tonight, as soon as she had a private moment with him. The whistle gleamed evilly in the find tray, reminding her of her failure. Archie saw where her gaze went and picked it up, tossing it high into the air and catching it without looking at it. “Someone’s tried his or her hand at engraving this. I had a look earlier. But it’s not old.” “How do you know it’s not old?” She wished she could take the words back. She knew.

8

Lynne Connolly

Archie gave her a pitying glance. “Really, Sophie! If it’s silver, it would have tarnished and rotted. If it’s steel, then by definition it’s modern. Good steel didn’t occur on a regular basis before the nineteenth century. Take it as a souvenir. I’ll sign it out as irrelevant to the dig.” Sophie felt hurt by his light response, as though he denigrated her efforts that day. Archie could still make her feel as though her achievements amounted to nothing. He did it to most people, and she suspected he wasn’t even aware of it. Defiantly she picked up the whistle and rubbed it against her T-shirt to polish it up. “I’ll use it when I need help. It might come in handy in New York.” “Down those mean streets?” Archie laughed, just as a new voice, dark as night and twice as sinful, sounded from the open flap of the tent. “I believe that quotation was about Los Angeles.” The occupants of the tent fell silent, their end-of-the-day chatter stilled. Before them stood the embodiment of masculinity. Handsome, as dark as Archie was fair, tall, and whipcord lean. Sophie lifted her gaze and met his dark stare. Now she knew where her restless feeling came from. This was her fate.


9

Chapter Two The stranger stood just inside the opening of the tent. His collar-length dark hair stirred in the breeze, the only movement about him. His jeans and T-shirt were unmarked. His hand, where it rested on his hip, showed no dark lines under the pristine, manicured nails. Not an archaeologist, then. Sophie watched Archie scrub his nails religiously every night, but there always seemed to be a residue of earth left. Not his fault, rather years of working on digs. Perhaps in New York the lines would finally leave his hands, but she wouldn’t be there to see it. Archie broke the silence. “Who are you? How did you get past security?” The stranger’s smile widened, tilted up more on the left side than the right. “The man down the hill? I showed him my Access All Areas pass.” American. Something tightened around Sophie’s throat, reminding her of the life to which she wanted to get back. “Show me.” Archie’s chin went up, challenging the stranger. At Archie’s commanding gesture, the stranger dug into his jeans and drew out a black leather wallet. He flipped it open with a practiced gesture. Archie leaned forward to look. “Evan Howell. You’re from the CIA?” “Yes.” Howell’s gaze moved around the tent, then looked at Sophie directly for the first time. His eyes were dark. They might be brown, or blue, or even green, but with his back to the setting sun, they were just…dark. She felt like she knew him, but knew she’d never met him before. She searched for a connection and was disappointed when he looked away. “I’m here to see someone. Privately.” “Who?” Archie’s voice held an edge.

10

Lynne Connolly

Sophie exchanged a speaking glance with Gwyneth. The interest quickened around her when the stranger straightened and took a step into the tent. He accepted the challenge. George broke the tension. Oblivious to the scene before them, intent on his laptop, he swore, loudly and volubly. Then he shot a glance at them. “Sorry. Can’t get this damned thing to work.” The stranger’s attention left Archie completely, dismissing him as irrelevant. “I work with computers. What seems to be the problem?” “We’re supposed to have a wireless link to the room down the hill. It won’t stay up; I keep having to reboot.” The stranger moved to the computer and leaned over. “May I try something? If there’s anything here you want to keep, save it to a file, or better still, a thumb drive.” George did as he asked, then moved off his seat. The stranger replaced him. He called up a few windows, made a few adjustments, and leaned back. “Try that.” Archie made a move so he could watch what the stranger did. “I kept asking for a computer tech, but English Heritage never sent one.” “I’m happy to help.” Evan Howell stood and stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.” “Archie Hamilton.” Archie touched the proffered hand. “Who are you here to see, Howell?” Like a dog at a bone. “Sophie Adams.” Everyone looked at her, so Sophie stepped forward. “I’m Sophie. You know I’m on leave. I’m supposed to be getting married next week. And what has the CIA to do with the FBI?” He didn’t answer her questions directly. “It’s a personal matter. Something I need your help with.” Sophie frowned. What on earth could it be? His steady gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. Sophie shifted from one foot to another under his gaze before she broke the impasse, trying to find something to break the mood. “You’re a computer expert?” He grinned, a flash of ivory teeth. “A geek. I’m a geek.” He didn’t look like any geek she’d ever met. Geeks had pasty white skin and spectacles. She felt sure he missed nothing, near or distant, with those keen eyes. His skin was lightly tanned. Under his T-shirt lay nothing but muscle, the ridges and slopes easily discernible under the thin material. Her mind skittered away from the thoughts of what the sight made her want to do with him. Archie wasn’t particularly possessive, but the way she felt about this man seemed more intimate, more like a betrayal.


11

As it would be if she let her mind wander any further. She had to make the break with Archie soon if she found herself thinking of other men like this. With a heat entirely missing from her relationship with her fiancé. Archie moved toward the entrance. “We’re finished here for the day. There’s a nice pub in the village. Join us for a meal and we can talk there.” Howell gave a superficial smile of acceptance. “It sounds good to me.” Sophie hated the scramble down to the village at the end of the day. The climb up wasn’t so bad. However, at the end of the day, with aching, tired muscles, she found it hard to tackle the precarious stone staircase and the narrow bridge that formed the only way off the site. After gathering the finds, the laptop, and the geophysics equipment, they began the descent. Sophie watched the CIA man scramble down the narrow path, admiring his surefooted descent. He paused to wait for Sophie and Gwyneth, who moved slower than the men did. Archie, tired like the rest of them, stumbled on the granite outcroppings, nearly falling a couple of times. A few tourists joined the small band of archaeologists, leaving the castle to its ghosts. In the morning, it would start again, tourists from all over the world wanting to see the place Arthur was conceived, forgetting or conveniently ignoring the fact that the castle remains dated from the eleventh and twelfth centuries, a full six hundred years after Arthur’s time, if he had existed at all. It wasn’t hard to forget, to immerse oneself in the heady atmosphere of legend. Sophie had once sat in Merlin’s Cave, at the bottom of the cliff, lost in the thick atmosphere that seemed to call to her. She sat there until the tide threatened to engulf her. If Archie hadn’t come looking for her, she would have been in trouble. People had drowned in that cave. Sophie shuddered and at once felt a steadying hand beneath her elbow. “Are you all right?” “I’m fine, thank you.” She didn’t pull away, not wanting to appear rude, but Howell’s touch unnerved her more than it should have. He was only steadying her from what he must have thought was a stumble. But the jolt from his hand on her bare elbow shot through her like a charge of electricity. Archie glanced behind and immediately came back to join them. “Tired, old girl? Want me to carry you?” He gave her a cocky grin. Sophie looked down the sheer cliff at the waves crashing against the rocks and shuddered in earnest. “No, thank you, Archie.” Pleasant chatter and inconsequential comments filled the journey to the pub. Just before they reached their destination, Sophie felt a tug on her T-shirt from Gwyneth. Her wink told Sophie she wanted a private word. She obligingly walked a little slower, until the others were out of earshot. “He is fine, isn’t he?”

12

Lynne Connolly

Sophie didn’t bother to ask who she meant. She’d felt the raw sexual appeal for herself. “He’s interesting.” “He likes you.” “Well, he can’t have me!” she snapped, annoyed at the implication. Knowing from Gwyneth’s raised eyebrow that she had overreacted, Sophie deliberately softened her tone. “I don’t know what he wants, but it’s not that. He might be one of Elaine’s friends.” “From what you’ve told me about your New York flatmate, she goes in for one-night stands, so he’s probably free of any entanglements.” Sophie sighed. “I’m sick of that apartment. I’m just glad none of my most precious possessions are there. Most of my stuff is in storage until I find somewhere of my own. Elaine brings a different man home every night. It’s likely Howell is one of her friends, but a bit odd if he came all the way across the Atlantic just to see me.” Gwyneth shrugged. “Perhaps he’s on holiday and just thought he’d look you up.” “Yes.” But in that case, he wouldn’t have used his CIA credentials to gain access to the site. He would have waited for her or just asked. His bosses wouldn’t like him using them on private business. He could even be disciplined for it. Sophie watched Gwyneth tracing the shape of the cobble with the point of one foot. Her tennis shoes, filthy now, had been pristine that morning. Sophie fully expected Gwyneth’s shoes to be pristine tomorrow too. Gwyneth was very particular about her shoes. “Do you mind throwing him in my direction?” “What?” “Well, he wants to talk to you. When you’re done, can I have him?” Gwyneth might stand a good chance with him if he was one of Elaine’s men. It would probably mean he wasn’t averse to the odd casual encounter. Gwyneth fancied Archie, would have taken him had it not been for their friendship, and Sophie knew Gwyneth was becoming more fixated with Archie every day she spent in his company. She could have him. The stranger had a feral, animal quality that would draw women into his orbit like iron filings to a magnet. It had drawn Gwyneth. It would draw her if she allowed it. Sophie quickened her pace to catch up with Archie. Having reached him, she threaded her arm through his and allowed him to hug her to his side. She wanted the security of what she knew rather than the challenge from a complete stranger, at least for the next hour or two. Talking, laughing people filled the pub. Archie secured a large table by the window, close to the fireplace, the one the team used every night. The magnificent timber fireplace made Sophie itch to get her hands on it and send off a sample. If a reproduction, it was the best she had ever seen. If real, it was magnificent: solid, blackened timber set over a pedestal of handmade bricks, the cold logs set in a basket supported by shiny black firedogs. The objects around the fire weren’t the reproduction horse brasses of the typical English pub, but


13

quirky, strange objects with pagan symbols, made in days gone by to protect precious livestock. The stranger stood, head cocked to one side, contemplating the fireplace. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Sophie said, pleased to find a fellow admirer. “It is, indeed. I wonder what that’s for?” He pointed at a large wooden spoon, so heavily carved it could never have served its ostensible purpose. “It’s a Welsh loving spoon. The man would carve it himself for his loved one to prove his devotion.” “So he carved a spoon rather than made love to her? I think I might have been jealous of the time he spent on the spoon if I’d been his sweetheart.” She ignored the flippant comment. “If she accepted the spoon, she accepted his suit, and they married.” He turned away from the fireplace to look at her. “So they entered marriage with at least one spoon to their name. A different world, wasn’t it?” Caught by those dark, gleaming eyes, Sophie felt unable to look away. Brown, his eyes were brown. What was it with this man? He seemed similarly mesmerized, but perhaps he was indulging her. Perhaps that was his pick-up line. She’d heard worse. Forcing her attention away, Sophie went over to the table and sat next to Archie on the Windsor chair he’d saved for her. Evan Howell sat on the other side of the table. “Is your business urgent?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light. But that moment of connection had shaken her. Evan shook his head. “Nothing that can’t wait.” They ordered lasagna, Archie’s favorite. “It’s just as well you’re active, Archie,” Gwyneth commented with a grin. “It’s not the sort of diet you should have on a regular basis.” She turned to Evan with a flirtatious bat of her lashes. “Aren’t Americans obsessed with healthy eating?” “Not all of us are quite so concerned. New Yorkers are more worried that their food tastes good, as a rule.” His easy manners and good-natured responses to their questions continued throughout the meal. Sophie liked him, tried to kid herself that she only felt liking for him, but it didn’t work. The attraction grew between them, and when she looked at him, more often than not she found him looking back at her. Sophie remained relatively quiet, and after the meal, when Archie leaned back in his chair, replete, she allowed him to take her hand. Archie growled low in his throat, like a Neanderthal after a good meal of roast boar, demonstrating his possession of her in the most primitive way by holding her closer. Evan Howell might belong to the same ilk. He certainly looked the part, dark as sin, authoritative in attitude, with a leaner build more athletic than Archie’s but just as impressive.

14

Lynne Connolly

He held himself apart from everyone, joining in and responding but volunteering nothing. Eventually someone asked him a question. It was George, the man who’d had problems with the laptop. “Evan Howell. Don’t I know you?” Howell’s attention immediately went to him, his gaze sharp until he lowered his eyelids. When he looked up, all Sophie could see was mild interest. He’d replaced the revealing emotion so quickly she doubted anyone else had noticed. “Do you?” “I remember an Evan Howell accused of computer hacking a few years back. He became one of the first hackers to be jailed. Don’t suppose you’re the same one?” Howell laughed, a sound that surprised Sophie, so uninhibited and joyful was the brief peal of laugher that rang through the cozy lounge. “That’s me. I work for the good guys these days. I was sentenced to ten for breaking into the stock market computer, but I did two years in jail. My mother plays the stock markets, and I had thought I’d try to help her investments along. Stupid thing to do.” Gwyneth leaned a little closer, the slash in her pink T-shirt opening to reveal her cleavage. “How exciting!” Her fair hair tumbled around her shoulders in careless, sexy disarray, and her green eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. “What do you do for the CIA?” Howell gave the one-sided smile Sophie had seen before. She wished he wouldn’t. She found it too disturbing. “Nothing too exciting. Mostly testing security systems and building networks.” “Did they make you an offer you couldn’t refuse?” That was Archie, leaning back in his chair, a twinkle in his blue eyes. Sophie had thought them heavenly once. Now they were just -- blue. Howell joined in the laughter. “No, the Mob used to do that, not the Company. Truth is, in prison people offered me several lucrative jobs, mostly illegal. I turned them all down. The authorities got to know about my work, and they recruited me. They helped me get out early.” Despite his jocular tone, Sophie saw the genuine amusement had gone. The last sentence sounded bleak, but no one else seemed to notice. She recalled the case now; it must have been fifteen or so years ago, when computer hacking first became newsworthy, out of geekdom, into the headlines. That made him -- she shut her eyes, calculating. “Thirty-two,” came the amused voice. She opened her eyes. He was watching her again. “You’re teaching for the FBI? In that case, what are you doing in New York, instead of Quantico?” “They wanted to consult me about a murder case. I can’t say too much about it; it’s ongoing.” She bit her lip. Meeting his gaze, she realized he knew; he knew why she was in New York, the case she was working. That was why he wanted to see her, and this was his way of telling her something he couldn’t divulge in public


15

The cops had brought in the Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit, CASKU, the profiling experts, when the unusual features of a series of murders showed a pattern. Working with the prestigious serial killer unit had helped Sophie decide what she wanted to do with her life. Lecturing was no longer enough for her. She wanted to be involved. But while she remained a citizen of another country, she could only act as a consultant to the FBI, not become a full agent. Archie didn’t know it, but she was seriously considering applying for US citizenship and moving over the ocean permanently. Why was Evan Howell interested in the Runes Murders, as someone in her department had labeled them? Or more precisely, why was the CIA interested? He turned the conversation to more general topics. “How did you manage with fresh bodies, after years of handling skeletons and ancient remains?” “It was hard at first, but I felt I was doing something to help. It got easier. Have you ever worked with them?” He spread his hands. “I’m a geek. When would I get to see dead bodies?” She smiled. “Yes, of course. How stupid of me.” She knew he was lying. A guarded look shielded his face. She understood, as the others didn’t, that they couldn’t talk about some areas of their work, and it was bad manners to press when the person made it clear they didn’t want to go on. Once they had eaten, she would try to find somewhere private, somewhere they could talk. “I’m based at the New York field office for now.” Sophie watched Howell closely, and he knew it. His direct stare communicated only with her, as though only the two of them existed. Archie pushed his chair back and started to get to his feet before Sophie realized she had missed her round of drinks. She was always meticulous about buying it, as otherwise Archie would buy it instead and use it to prove his masculinity, a trait that increasingly annoyed her. She got to her feet. “My round.” She reached into her pocket for the money and pulled something else out with the notes. The aulos, shining silver in the bright, friendly pub lights, inviting her to touch it. Smiling she bent and picked it up. “My find.” She raised it to her lips. The sound was surprisingly clear, a high-pitched single note. It didn’t sound like a police whistle at all. The blast silenced conversation. Then she raised a few laughs when she shrugged and showed them the whistle. She returned it to her tight jeans pocket. Archie gasped, one hand clutching the table, one hand on his heart, his face contorted in pain. Panicked, Sophie reached for him, as did George on his other side, but neither could prevent Archie from tumbling off his chair to the floor with a solid thump. What was wrong? What had happened? Terrified, Sophie forgot anything else and knelt by Archie’s side. She acted by rote, following the basics of emergency training, feeling for a pulse, bending to try and discern

16

Lynne Connolly

some breath coming from his half-open mouth. Electronic beeps meant someone was using a mobile phone, and footsteps sounded behind them. “Let me look.” Sophie recognized the man as a doctor attached to the local surgery. She leaned back, heart racing in terror. Archie was out cold, not moving. The doctor rolled Archie onto his back. Sophie watched the doctor place his hands on Archie’s chest and counted with him. “One, two, three, four, five.” Then he bent and pinched Archie’s nose, breathing into his mouth. Gwyneth’s voice, high-pitched and panicked, broke the silence. “Archie’s dead!”


17

Chapter Three Confusion. Light. Mordred sat up, eyes open, senses alert. Overwhelming joy suffused him, followed swiftly by anger toward the people crowding him. They hovered over him, with -- resuscitation equipment. How did he know that? Yes, someone lived in here with him. He heard his mother’s voice, deep inside this new body. “Be careful, my son! Take what you need and don’t let them know you’re back!” Mordred closed his eyes, the better to concentrate. Someone was here, battering his senses, panicked. He needed some of this being’s experiences so he could blend in to this strange new world. He selected the memories, before he isolated the pure, flickering spirit. And killed it. Such wonderful power, to snuff a life out like that, pinching it between a metaphorical finger and thumb! He allowed himself a moment to savor the experience. He opened his eyes. A woman hovered before him, blue eyes clouded with anxiety. “Sophie.” He curled his tongue around the unfamiliar name. She wasn’t his type, all skin and bones, untidy dark hair curling out from where it was secured behind her head. He recalled she was this person’s fiancée. “Are you all right? Oh, Archie, you gave us such a fright!” “Best he comes with us, miss,” said a voice from above. Mordred/Archie looked up to see a man in a yellow vest, holding paddles he knew were supposed to revive him. He grinned. “You won’t need those. I don’t know what happened, but I’m fine now.” “Could be anything,” the man volunteered. “Are you allergic to anything? Peanuts, maybe?” Mordred shook his head. Hands under his armpits helped him to his feet. He stood, shakily taking stock of his new self. It pleased him to see he towered over most of the people standing, which was most of them. Sophie kept hold of his elbow, staring up at him,

18

Lynne Connolly

frowning in anxiety. He shook her off. “I’m all right now. I don’t want to go anywhere.” He smelled ale, and his mouth watered. He had all the senses now, all intact. All his. “I could do with a drink.” “Not a good idea. You should come with me and get checked over.” It was the man in the yellow vest again. He searched his new memories. Paramedic. “No need. I’m not going anywhere.” “Please, Archie. For me?” He turned to stare down at the woman. Full mouth, but a body not nearly filled out enough for his taste. “Why should I do anything for you?” He watched her step back, her face white with shock, and felt a curl of gratification. “Because I’m Sophie.” He watched her face grow cold. This was fun. But he’d keep her on his side for now. If she was his fiancée, he could probably get to fuck her later. He’d missed that. Really missed it. “Yes. I’m sorry; I don’t know what I’m thinking.” He let his attention wander to another woman, dressed in a pink clingy top that made the most of her luscious curves. Much more his type. Blonde too, wavy blonde hair he could imagine falling over his chest as she worked her mouth over his cock. Very nice. He swallowed the extra saliva the thought engendered and moved on.

Holy mother of God! After all these years, all this time, he was back as well.

Well, wouldn’t you know it? I get back after a lifetime away, and you’re here to meet me. Well, we’re on equal terms this time. You don’t look any older than I am, and you’re not my king anymore. The man who looked like Arthur stared back, the only one at the table not smiling in relief to see Archie on his feet. “You’re feeling better?” Even the timbre remained the same, deep and gently musical, with the hidden threat only Mordred heard. “Much.” Mordred made an effort and turned to the paramedics. “Really, it was only for a moment, just a dizzy spell. I feel much better now. I don’t know what happened, but I think they panicked. I just fell.” A man he hadn’t noticed before stepped forward. “Hardly. I was here when it happened. You stopped breathing. You should really get checked up.” “No.” He’d no mind to waste his time at any hospital. He knew quite well what had happened. Did Arthur? The man calling himself Evan Howell? Did he know? Mordred was back. And there would be hell to pay. Evan watched the scene play out. Apart from calling the emergency services on his cell, he’d remained a spectator to the whole thing. Archie seemed completely recovered now,


19

though he downed pints of bitter at too quick a rate to be advisable for a man who had stopped breathing for two minutes. Ah well, it was none of his business. Only one reason kept him here. Sophie wouldn’t want to leave Archie for a while, so he’d probably have to wait. He set himself to watching. It had kept him sane and focused for two years. Without careful observation, as well as developing a fighting technique never seen in the boxing ring, he doubted he would have survived those two years in prison. “I’ll get the drinks.” He stood and went to the bar to buy a round of drinks. He was unsurprised when Gwyneth joined him, ostensibly to help carry the drinks. He’d seen the way she looked at him, the speculative glint in her eyes. “That was quite something,” Gwyneth commented. “But he seems to be all right now.” “Yes. He should have let them check him over, though.” Except that Sophie would have gone with him, and he would have lost his opportunity to speak with her until the morning. Gwyneth propped her elbow on the bar and leaned her cheek on her hand, looking up at him, eyes wide with interest. “Do you live in New York?” “Yes, in Tribeca.” “Oh.” Obviously it meant nothing to her. “Do you like it there?” “I’ve lived there most of my life. My parents were New Yorkers. I’m used to it, I guess.” Sometimes, looking over the city in the reddish light of dawn, the light glinting off the glass windows so much a part of his city, he knew true beauty. Her eyes shone. “I’d love to go.” “You could always get a job there, like your friend Sophie.” “I might at that. Are you staying here long?” He shook his head. “Not long.” He picked up two glasses of dark amber ale, the stuff that passed for beer over here, and took it to the table. Turning to get the rest of the drinks, he nearly collided with Gwyneth, following hard on his heels with two more pints. He tried to ignore the obvious signs she sent him. Normally he might consider it, but recently his interest in sex had waned. Not surprising, really. And all it could be with Gwyneth was sex. He felt no attraction to her beyond the physical. Sophie now-- he brought more drinks across, putting one of them in front of the sylphlike creature he had come to see. She reminded him of an old poem about a hind, running free and not to be caught. She appealed to him as no one had for months. A shame she belonged to someone else.

20

Lynne Connolly

Evan answered the questions fired at him with as much humor and tolerance as he could muster. He was used to it. Working for the CIA conjured up images of glamour and travel, neither of which affected his life very much. He asked Sophie a question of his own. “How did you get involved with the FBI?” He spoke quietly so as not to interrupt the conversation about dating techniques going on at the other end of the table. “The FBI asked me to come over and lecture at Quantico when I turned to forensic archaeology. I’m a consultant, but I’m thinking about applying to become an agent.” “With CASKU?” The prestigious serial killer unit. Usually an agent would have to do a lot of grunt work before working there. “If I’m lucky. I have specialist knowledge they can use. But I’m not a US citizen, and that limits my status. I’d have to think about applying for citizenship.” “Fascinating work they do at CASKU, but it’s gruesome.” Sophie shuddered theatrically. “The first time I saw a fresh dead body I nearly fainted. I’m used to skeletons and people dead for centuries, but the scenes of crimes I attended came as a shock at first.” “It must have been. I don’t see too many dead bodies in my line. Unless they’re CGI and part of a different world.” Gwyneth had moved from his side to talk to Archie. While he chatted with Sophie, Evan kept his antennae up, listening for clues. Evan was about to tune out and give the delectable Sophie all his attention when he caught something, murmured low by Gwyneth to Archie. “Tonight?” Archie replied in low tones that Evan only just caught. “Maybe. I’ve something different in mind. I know you’re game. I’ll ask her.” It sounded intimate, far too intimate for the discussion of archaeological remains. Evan didn’t like it. His skin prickled with awareness. He’d learned to depend on his instincts, later honed by his employers, to take notice during times when every sense had to be attuned for danger. Danger sparked here, crackling in the air. He looked up to find Archie watching him, and he couldn’t doubt the enmity in the steely glare. Archie looked away quickly, masking his dislike. Evan turned back to Sophie, his smile deepening in warmth. “Are you going back to New York soon?” “In a couple of weeks, after the wedding.” Sophie shot a glance at Archie and bit her lip. Evan had learned the habit of honesty, something more difficult than many people supposed. He wanted Sophie. He’d warmed to her as he warmed to few people, and he might, just might, have found a friend. Evan didn’t do friends in the normal course of events. If she married Archie, that might be all he could hope for.


21

Sophie faced him, her eyes too bright, her smile too wide. She’d noticed something between Archie and Gwyneth, he was sure. “You wanted to ask me something?” He hesitated. “Yes, but I’d rather ask you in private.” He saw her withdrawal. “It’s not a come-on, I promise.” She studied him, dark eyes intelligently assessing. “All right. It’s a warm night. Shall we go outside?” He glanced at Archie, busy flirting with a willing Gwyneth. Sweeping a look around the table, he saw that most of the archaeologists watched the couple, overtly or otherwise. Sophie caught Archie’s attention by waving her hand in his direction, and she forced a smile. “You remember Evan wanted to talk to me privately? We’ll just be outside. Back in a minute.” Archie threw him a hard look. “See that you are. And don’t go far.” Outside, they sat on the low stone wall at the front of the pub. Sophie’s mouth twisted up in a half smile. “I’m sorry about Archie. He’s getting a bit drunk. It’s not like him. I don’t think I’ve seen him drunk above half a dozen times in five years.” “He’s a big man. It would take a lot of alcohol, I imagine.” Evan didn’t care how often Archie got drunk. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “What did you want to talk to me about? Is it Bureau business?” They stared ahead at the peaceful village street, the old houses, and the dark sky above them, shining stars decorating the penumbra of the sky He felt an affinity to this place, but he had never been here before. He pushed the odd thought out of his mind. “In a way. You’re involved in the investigation of the death of Meghan Leroux?” “I did what I could to help.” “I’m sure you did. Meghan was my sister.” He rushed the last sentence. He hadn’t said it too often, could still hardly believe it himself. When she gasped, he turned and looked at her. If he wanted her to help him, he owed her the truth. “We were twins, but adopted by different families at birth. That’s why we had different names.” She reached out, touched his hand softly, and then pulled away. Evan wanted to grip it and hold it, but he stopped himself from reaching to draw it back. “I’m so sorry. That’s why it was so important?” He nodded. “My boss gave me compassionate leave. He doesn’t know I’m here; I didn’t tell him where I’d be. I always wanted to see Tintagel, but I never thought I’d see it in these circumstances.” His kept his voice steady and his movements under careful control. “How did you find me?”

22

Lynne Connolly

He flashed a mirthless grin. “It’s not hard if you know how. I made a few online queries.” She shuddered. “It’s scary how much people can discover on the Internet.” He shook his head. “I asked your boss in New York, Harry Bent, once I discovered your involvement in the case. He told me you’d come over here for your wedding, and once I knew the name of your fiancé, it was easy to find him on the Web. I know there’s something odd about the case. One more and it’s a serial killer, and CASKU can claim it. But it’s an FBI department, and the CIA can’t get a look-see.” Just like the Bureau to guard their cases. All he wanted was information, but they wouldn’t even give him that. “You know I’d need permission before I told you anything.” “I’m asking as a favor.” He bit his lip, controlling all the emotions talking about the case brought up. The ensuing silence grew oppressive. “She was an artist, living in New Orleans, but she came to New York for an exhibition of her work. We met, talked. Then she was murdered.” He paused, staring at the sky. He blinked rapidly twice. Then he looked at Sophie, masking the bleakness just too late to stop her seeing it. “I’d been seen leaving her apartment a couple of days before she died. The cops interviewed me, but I had a watertight alibi, at work all night at the office for a change.” “Where do you work from?” “We have an office on Fifty-seventh Street.” “Good God!” The smile crept over his face when he saw her shocked expression. “That’s right. Cristos’s office, Department Fifty-seven. The one the Company doesn’t like to admit to. How did you know?” “Harry Bent calls you the Woo-Woo Squad, and takes the mickey -- that is, makes fun of you. He’s had dealings with the Department before.” Sophie stared at Evan, her expression easy to read because he’d seen it so often on other people. Surprise and doubt. He didn’t look like a weirdo, a believer in the strange and wonderful. He’d been called worse. “Why hasn’t the Agency closed you down? Harry said the Department was a failed experiment, one they didn’t like to acknowledge.” “Rumors. Nobody outside the Department knows precisely what we do. Cristos runs a tight ship. The rumors stop people asking too many awkward questions. We work inside the Agency because they’re scared what we might do outside.” Very few people knew exactly what the Department did, or that creatures of legend worked there: shape-shifters, vampires, and Sorcerers. His boss, Cristos, wanted to keep it covert and was currently expanding his area of interest. He knew that made many people uncomfortable. “How did you get involved in that stuff?”


23

He paused, studying her face, gauging her reactions to his words. “Cristos started the Department when he came back from assignment in the Soviet Union, to study the experiments the Soviets were making into telepathy and other Talents. The Russians had a study center, so the USA had to match it. If anyone developed telepathy into a usable weapon, it would be the good old US of A.” He gave a wry grin. “Cristos recruited me himself because I have some ability and because he needed the computer input. He got me out of jail early. Sometimes I think I’d rather have done the time.” He heard the clang of the prison gates in his mind. At the time, the alternative to taking Cristos’s offer had been unthinkable. Now he wasn’t so sure. Some of the Department’s activities scared him, opening his mind to a world he’d only been dimly aware of before. He had psychic abilities, but very limited ones, and if he took care, they didn’t impinge on his life at all. He preferred not to think about his gift, but working for Cristos had forced a reassessment. Now he, like many of the people who worked in the Department, was known as a Talent. “Why have you come here? What do you want from me?” Sophie reached up to push back a curl that had come loose. He wanted to touch that curl, wind it around his finger to feel its silky texture for himself. Wanted it bad. “I don’t want my connection with my sister’s case all over the courts, in the press, and I have a feeling Cristos won’t welcome it, either.” The sympathy in her eyes nearly undid him. “Won’t he insist that you not work on a family member’s case?” “It’s because she was my sister he wants it. We were twins. Cristos is very interested in twins.” “That’s just cruel!” His smile was mocking, as cruel as the attributes unhesitatingly bestowed on the boss of the Department. Officially it was known as Department 57 because of where the office was situated, but nicknames were legion. Very few people knew what the Department did for sure; ostensibly, it was a research department, but in reality it did far more than that. “Cristos doesn’t think that way. He knows I communicated mentally with Meghan.” He turned away when he saw the shock in her eyes. “Oh, don’t look like that. You know some of what we do. What concerns me is keeping Meghan’s case away from the public eye.” “The Bureau is only involved because of the unusual aspects of the case. Otherwise it would still be the NYPD. They say it has the hallmarks of a serial killer case, although that won’t be official until someone else loses her life. It takes three.” He looked away from her, staring up the deserted, moonlit street. “I know. But Cristos heard something, and he hasn’t told me what it is. I thought if I contacted you, found out from you what it was, that would put me one step ahead. I don’t want my sister’s murder to become another case for Cristos. It’s enough that she was murdered. More than enough. I want the case solved in the usual way, and the killer brought to justice. Nothing else.” None of Cristos’s weird-ass experiments. He just didn’t want to know.

24

Lynne Connolly

“So you came all the way to Tintagel.” “The journey from London to Cornwall took almost as long as the journey from New York to London,” he said. “I didn’t realize the drive would be so long.” Sophie’s mind whirled with what she had learned. He researched into the paranormal? What on earth was Cristos up to? She remembered what he’d said a moment ago and turned to him impulsively. He had moved closer to her, whether by accident or design she didn’t know, but when she uncrossed her legs, it shifted her a few inches nearer. She felt a power, a connection between them. She didn’t know what to call it. “You said you knew something.” He was so close she felt his hot breath on her face when he replied. “I saw her die. I was with her in her mind when it happened. Cristos knows, because I was at work at the time.” “Oh my God!” Even with this revelation, she didn’t feel afraid, although she knew she should be. He stared at her, his gaze unreadable. She knew he was waiting for her response. She had to know more. About Meghan. About him. He opened his mouth a little and moved closer to her. A burst of warmth and laughter flowed out from the pub when the door opened and someone lurched through. Someone big and blond, holding a girl close, as though she was the only thing holding him up. Archie was red nosed with drink, in a state Sophie had rarely seen before. Gwyneth, holding him as tightly as he held her, seemed similarly inebriated, but she shot Sophie a sharp look, almost immediately blanked by a mirthful giggle. “Archie is as full as he can get. I thought we’d better get him back to bed before he can’t stand any more.” “I see.” When Archie held out his arm, she went and stood within its compass. Then she looked at Evan, a dark shadow enlivened by a flash of white T-shirt. “Where are you staying?” “The White Horse.” “Oh, so are we!” She knew it wasn’t an accident. He’d sought her out. The hotel held the rooms of the archaeologists and the room they hired for their finds, the computers, and their records. She had vaguely thought it full, as it was a converted house, not a purposebuilt modern hotel, and the rooms limited in number. “Will you come back with us?” Evan quietly agreed and fell into step beside them. “Did she tell you what you wanted?” Archie’s voice was slurred, but he put his question sharply. Sophie knew the answer meant more to Archie than he let on.


25

“Some,” Evan said. “It’s not important. I was touring the area, and I heard she was here, so I came to visit.” Sophie saw him grin, teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “I always wanted to visit Tintagel, so I used it as an excuse.” He didn’t want anyone to know what he was up to, Sophie realized. That seemed fair enough. He’d probably be in trouble with his boss once the man found out. Archie hugged Sophie, squeezing her ribs painfully. “Difficult to keep away from old Soph, ain’t it?” Something was empty in the gesture, something missing. Earlier in the day, Archie had demonstrated the affection for her that he always used. It had gone, or the drink had taken it away. She knew it, she felt it, and she felt as empty as his hug had been. But did she care? Did she really care? She stayed with Archie out of habit and affection now, nothing more, and she’d already made the decision to leave. They had met at university, where they had both been on the postgraduate course, headed for similar careers. Their union had always been good-natured and pleasant rather than passionate and needy. Sometimes, when she saw a well-acted play, or read a poignant love scene in the romance novels that were her not-so-secret vice, Sophie yearned for something else. Heaven knew enough people wanted Archie. Gwyneth wanted him, but Gwyneth had never asked for more than she could have, had been content to be a friend to them rather than anything more intimate. Perhaps she should make the break tonight and give Gwyneth a fair shot at Archie. Although Archie had suggested it once. One night, in bed, after a particularly comfortable cuddle, he’d asked her. “Have you ever thought of a threesome?” Her initial reaction had been revulsion. It still was. She didn’t want to share Archie with another woman. Archie accepted it as good-naturedly as he accepted anything else, but the fact that he had even considered such a thing made Sophie wonder if he knew her as well as he should. As well as a husband should. They staggered up the street, Evan following a step behind. Sophie couldn’t see him, but she felt him, felt his presence, his vigilance. If Archie fell, she knew Evan could catch him. But Archie didn’t fall. He prattled of the day’s finds, of the paper he would write based on the dig, and the journal that wanted it. The inn lay at the far end of the winding village street. The cobbles, while picturesque, didn’t help their progress, but they managed. Sophie and Gwyneth collected their keys and supported Archie on his way upstairs. Evan had tried, but Archie threw him off with a sullen, “Leave me alone, you!” From the occasional misguided grab, touching the more intimate parts of her body, Sophie knew Archie must be groping Gwyneth too, and she hoped he was making the most of it. It would be the last chance he’d get with her. Sophie dropped behind while Gwyneth helped Archie up the stairs. She didn’t need Evan’s lifted eyebrow to tell her that hands were going where they shouldn’t and wouldn’t had both participants been sober.

26

Lynne Connolly

“Just harmless fun. I’ve never seen him so drunk. He really let himself go tonight. Not like Archie,” she continued, almost talking to herself. “Not toward the end of a dig. Afterwards, maybe, but we’ve a few days to go before we have to stop. He’s usually too keen to study the finds at the end of every day and make his notes.” Evan said nothing. Sophie followed the giggling pair up the narrow, dimly lit corridor to their room. Gwyneth cast a smiling glance at her. “I’ll give you a hand with him. You won’t manage if he falls on the floor.” “Can I help?” Archie scowled at Evan. “Three’s company, four’s a crowd. Get your own women.” With Sophie and Gwyneth inside the room, he blocked Evan’s entrance. He closed the door in Evan’s face, then flopped against it, chuckling. Sophie was afraid Gwyneth’s prediction would come true and Archie would slide to the floor, but after a moment, he straightened and turned around. “Now then, ladies,” he growled, mock aggressively. “Who’s first?” Gwyneth grinned. “You’re in no state to deal with either of us, big boy. Let’s get you to bed, shall we?” Archie pounced, seizing Gwyneth in his arms. “P’raps I’m not as drunk as you think, eh? Let’s see.” He pushed Gwyneth’s chin up and kissed her, his mouth descending on hers. Sophie felt queasy, and it had nothing to do with the two pints she’d drunk or the lasagna. There were kisses, and then there were kisses, and the way Archie’s large hands roved up and down Gwyneth’s back, this was much more than just a casual, friendly kiss. “Archie.” She lowered her voice in warning. He lifted his head abruptly. “What?” Gwyneth buried her head against his chest. “Gwynnie wants to, don’t you, baby? I want to. Haven’t you ever wanted to live on the wild side, Sophie? C’mon, darling, be a sport. It could be fun. I’ll make sure it is. You can be first, if you like. Gwynnie’ll suck your tits, and I’ll fuck you from behind.” The roguish grin he sent her was a travesty of his usual humor. “I don’t want to.” Even to her own ears, Sophie sounded like a frightened child. She cleared her throat. “I’m not into that kind of thing, I told you before. Not with the man I --” But she couldn’t choke out that lie one more time. She didn’t love him anymore. “But Gwynnie’s game, aren’t you, love?” He bestowed another kiss on the giggling blonde in his arms. “I’ve talked about it with her. Lots of times. Turned each other on with our talk.” He winked at her. “I think tonight’s the night we do it, eh?” Gwyneth smiled. “I’m no threat to you, Sophie. You’ll always be first with Archie.” Horrified, Sophie found her voice. “I don’t want to be first among many.”


27

Archie straightened and swung Gwyneth to one side, keeping her close with an arm across her shoulders. Gwyneth settled in as though she belonged there. “Selfish woman. I never meant that. You want me, you’ll have to share me.” He stared at her, challenging her to respond. Sophie didn’t see any of the Archie she knew there. A different person lurked behind the blue eyes, someone who taunted, watched, and waited. Someone who loved playing games, especially hurtful ones. She’d had enough. She moved to the wardrobe and snatched her carryall down from the top of it. Opening the drawers and wardrobe doors, she began to stuff the bag with her belongings. “I won’t have that, Archie. I’ll leave in the morning. We’re done.” “Suit yourself.” From the noises behind her, Sophie knew they were kissing again. She’d thought it would be hard. Never had she believed a five-year relationship could be dissolved so easily. No doubt she forgot many of her belongings, but it didn’t matter. Sophie grabbed the carryall and strode out of the room, trying not to look at the couple busily engaged in the center of the floor. It was over. Archie could never come back from this. Archie or whoever that monster was behind his eyes.

28

Lynne Connolly

Chapter Four Sophie ran up the corridor toward the big room at the end. She’d camp out in the finds room for the night and find somewhere else to stay in the morning. Not Gwyneth’s room. Hell, no. She still hoped Gwyneth and Archie weren’t serious, that they were having a joke on her, but she knew it for reality. That kiss hadn’t been pretence. A door opened as she ran past, and an arm snaked out, halting her headlong progress when it gripped her T-shirt. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Evan. Sophie allowed him to draw her inside the room. No sense alerting everyone to the humiliating scene she’d just left, and if she protested, people would come running. Archaeologists excelled at gossip. He took the carryall and dropped it on the floor. Sophie swallowed, getting control of herself, locking the tears she’d hoped to have the privacy to shed inside her. “Archie. It’s not like him, really it’s not, but he wanted -- he wanted something I didn’t.” “I can guess.” He closed the door. “He wanted a threesome, right?” “Right.” She sighed. “I’ve never seen Archie like this. Even if he’d wanted a threesome, he’d have discussed it with me first. He did, once, but I said no.” “You’d have been into it if he’d asked you again?” “No.” She bit her lip. Telling the truth wouldn’t hurt now. “It’s not that I’m against it, just that it wouldn’t have been right, not with Archie. He was my fiancé. It didn’t feel right; we didn’t have that kind of relationship.” “Yes. I think I see what you mean. Your relationship with Archie didn’t have that element in it.” Relieved someone understood her, she smiled. “Yes, exactly.” “Where were you going just now?”


29

“We have a finds room at the end of the corridor. I was going to sleep on one of the chairs there.” “Stay here. You don’t want to alert everybody to this, do you?” She had to admit she did not. However, looking around, she saw this wasn’t a twin room but a double like the one she had just left. “I can’t take your bed.” “If it makes you feel any better, we can share it.” Her startled look forced a bark of laughter from him and a rueful look. “No, I didn’t mean that. You take the bed. You look beat.” “I am.” “The bathroom’s through there.” His matter-of-fact tone helped. She went through to the bathroom and used the facilities, taking some time to hold a damp cloth to her face and regain her grip on her emotions. She was too tired to think straight, too weary to care. She found an unopened packet containing a disposable toothbrush on the glass shelf next to his electric one. She used the fresh brush, then left the bathroom. He was waiting. Still dressed, sitting on the end of the bed. “I’ll sleep somewhere else, if you like.” “No, I don’t mind.” She forced a grin. “You’re not going to rape me, are you?” She felt rather than saw the shudder go through him. “No. I won’t do that. You’re exhausted. Go to bed.” “If you come with me.” She told him the truth. Not telling the truth had led to this. Time for that to change. “I don’t want to be alone. You say you won’t rape me, and I believe you. Just to sleep.” She wasn’t sure what had got into her, but she badly wanted not to spend the night alone. He shrugged, but she saw the tension bracing his shoulders, making his muscles stand out in relief. She determinedly stripped off her jeans, leaving her T-shirt and panties on. Reaching under the T-shirt, she unhooked her bra and drew it off down her arms. She couldn’t sleep in that thing. She drew back the covers and got into bed, pulling the sheets up again, more for concealment than for warmth. He joined her a moment later. He’d removed his jeans, but like her, left the rest of his clothes on. Underneath he wore tight black briefs that clung to his body. Sophie smiled. “What is it?” “No socks,” she said. “Sandals and no socks.” “It was too hot for sneakers today.”

30

Lynne Connolly

That made her laugh. “No, you don’t understand. British men are known the world over for wearing socks with sandals.” He understood then and smiled, the harsh lines of his face softening. “I see. I hadn’t heard that.” With a glance at her, he got in the bed on the other side, then lay down. “You’re sure about this? I don’t mind sleeping somewhere else.” “No, honestly. If we’re not near a village, archaeologists will sometimes take a big tent and camp out. I’ve shared a tent with all kinds of people.” “I see.” He paused. “Good night, then.” He reached for the switch to the bedside light, the only one lit. “No, wait.” He turned his head and waited for her to explain, the question in the dark eyes plain to see. Sophie briefly wondered at her ability to know his state of mind. After all, they hadn’t known each other for a full day yet. “I owe you something for this. You wanted to know about your sister.” The heavily starched hotel sheet rustled when he tensed. “Yes.” “You mustn’t tell anyone I told you. Although if anyone found out you came here, it would be obvious where you got your information.” Sophie decided to trust him. Although a relative stranger, she trusted Evan more than she trusted her fiancé of five years, now rutting with her friend in their room down the hall. She stared at the ceiling. She couldn’t look at him while she told him this. “There were two aspects of Meghan’s death that the Bureau and the police agreed to keep back. The killer drugged her with belladonna. You might know it as --” “Deadly nightshade.” Sophie turned to him. His steady regard didn’t make her uncomfortable as, perhaps, it should. “Yes. You know it?” “Working where I do, how could I not? It’s a traditional drug of witches and others.” His look didn’t waver. “What else?” “She had a symbol carved onto her chest. Just above her heart.” Sophie felt glad she couldn’t see him clearly. “What sort of symbol?” “I don’t know. They called me in to identify it; that’s the real reason I’m involved in the case. I specialize in the Dark Ages and the early Middle Ages, and the sign looked like a rune.” She paused. “I looked up every alphabet I could find. The belladonna indicated some sort of crazy occult involvement, so I looked for the symbol there as well.” He swore under his breath. “Idiots! They should have come to us. Why didn’t they? We’ve got Wiccans, Kabbalists, Sorcerers, all kinds of people retained as consultants. No wonder Cristos is itching to get on the case.”


31

“I didn’t know that.” Her interest quickened, Sophie began to wonder if there was even more to the department than she had been led to believe. Because of her job and her known interest in early cults and religions, the Department had been mentioned more than once as a place she might feel at home. More as a joke than anything else. And the FBI and the CIA never partnered well. “Could you draw the rune for me?” “I think so. Now?” “No, the morning is fine.” Slowly he reached out a hand and took hers, stroking her fingers gently. “Thank you for telling me. Was it the same for the previous victim? Was the symbol the same one?” “Yes. I’ve not seen the victim, but I saw the sketch and the photographs. They hoped I could bring something to the case, but it was all negative.” “What do you mean?” His fingers caressed hers almost absentmindedly, but he touched her nowhere else. She knew she could pull back at any time but felt a tingle of awareness where they linked. “I searched for evidence of some kind of ritual. If you don’t know the signs, it’s easy to miss them. A stone placed in a certain way will do it, or an article wrapped in cloth. Anything really. I couldn’t see anything.” “Now I know why Cristos wants you. You’d fit in.” She yanked her hand back. “I’m an archaeologist. I don’t believe in that kind of mumbo jumbo.” He stared at her, his hand poised in space, before dropping it back on the covers. “You don’t have to believe. Not everyone does. You just have to know what’s there.” He moved away and turned out the light, darkness descending like a soft curtain. “Now go to sleep. You’re dead tired.” She turned on her side away from him and began to drift. Just before she slept, she heard his soft, “Thank you.”

***** “Sorry, old girl.” Sophie opened her eyes and saw Archie staring down at her. She smiled. Friendly, bearlike Archie with his straightforward ways and guileless lovemaking. The light in his eyes was back. Her Archie. Except she still didn’t want him and still felt guilty about it. This Archie had done nothing wrong, but she’d hurt him with what she had to say.

32

Lynne Connolly

He sat on the edge of the bed. Not the bed she’d gone to sleep in but a larger one with gauzy drapes blurring her view of the ceiling. The room wasn’t the same, either, she realized when she looked around. A beautiful room, hung with precious silk wallpaper in shades of green and blue, eighteenth-century furniture gracing the walls. A dream. Unusual for her to recognize she was dreaming, but this had happened to her before, a couple of times. So no harm in enjoying it, then. It might help her decide on her next move. Meantime, when Archie leaned down to kiss her, she strained up to him, and felt his lips close over hers. Warm, comforting, and safe. Archie had always made her feel safe. But she didn’t need protecting, sheltering, or comforting anymore, so when her grief after her father’s death abated, the relationship had started to die a slow death. Maybe they should have stayed friends, kept with the friendly fucks they started with, but she’d let it escalate, let him propose marriage, and mistaking friendship for love, accepted him. Now she felt the early pleasure they’d shared, and it was as if three years had rolled back, and they were still friends who fucked and enjoyed each other’s company. She moved over so Archie could join her, warmth suffusing her when he slid between the sheets. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost his clothes, and she’d lost hers, melting off her as if they’d never existed. She loved dreams like this. When she connected with another warm body behind her, she tensed, and her mind shot straight back to her dilemma. She felt herself drifting up through the soft layers of slumber until Archie’s hand slid over her stomach, warm and reassuring. Only then did she look around. Not Gwynnie, but Evan. Wow. Now this kind of threesome she could do. At least she thought so. She swallowed, and then Evan turned around and faced her. He smiled too, intimate and dark, and her stomach lurched. Could she do this? As Evan leaned up on one elbow and took her mouth in a heated kiss, she knew she could. Only a dream. Anything went in dreams; everybody knew that. She could enjoy. Compare her men…at least they were her men for however long this lasted. As Evan kissed her, Archie’s hands came around her waist and slid up to cup her breasts. She loved the way he tweaked and pinched her nipples, but with another man’s mouth on hers, the sensation took on a new dimension. Tingles arced from her nipples to her mouth and down her spine. A hand touched her, opened her labia, and she didn’t know whose hand, except that it wasn’t hers. She moaned into the long, luscious kiss, and Evan pulled away, only to take her mouth from another angle. He feasted on her, and when she lifted her hands to push them into his thick, soft hair, he moaned into her mouth.


33

The hand between her legs pushed deeper and penetrated her, the very tip entering her. When another finger joined the first, she sighed and pulled Evan closer. One hand remained at her breast, and from the way he pulled and teased, she knew it belonged to Archie. Another hand slid between her legs and found her clit, pinching and teasing, pulling it like a miniature cock, every stroke increasing her sensitivity. This time her sigh found a voice, and Evan pulled away at her groan, staring into her face with fire in his eyes. “You like?” “Oh yes!” With two men’s hands between her legs, Sophie could imagine herself in heaven. They worked together to stroke, tweak, and push inside her. At one point, she felt one of Evan’s fingers and one of Archie’s inside her, each completely identifiable, stroking and urging her toward the peak she couldn’t quite reach. Until Evan touched her sweet spot. She didn’t know how she knew Evan’s touch from Archie’s; she just did. He encouraged her, stroked her, and murmured encouragement close to her ear, his hot breath warming her, sending ripples of heat through her whole body. Her body tightened, and she cried out. Both men responded quickly, and when she became aware of her surroundings again, she lay on one side, in a delicious man sandwich. “Keep still, Sophie love,” Archie whispered from behind her. “We’ll show you exactly what two men can do.” She stared up at Evan, who traced her lips with one finger. She sensed her essence on her own lips before he kissed her and voraciously licked every trace away, like a man starving for her. As if he heard her, he touched his lips to hers one more time. “Sophie, you’re mine.” “Yes. All yours.” “Everything I was, everything I am now, I remember. But only in dreams. Can you guess? Remember the threesomes of history?” She couldn’t remember anything right now, and she didn’t care. Evan touched her again, pressing his lips to her mouth, her cheek, her throat. “We loved you, both of us. We took you, and we suffered for it. But right now, this is right, what we all want.” Sophie moaned, uncaring. They could keep their riddles as long as they carried on doing this to her. All she could manage was, “More!” Until Archie breached her anus. Something slippery slid over her, coldness warming quickly and heating past her body temperature to urge her tight, virgin hole to open. No one ever did that to her before, and it shocked her to realize how good it felt. Would it feel this good in real life? Who cared? It felt so good now, better when Evan slid his cock between her labia at the front. He stared into her eyes as he slid lower and lower still until his cock breached her

34

Lynne Connolly

pussy. Just barely. When she moaned and tried to pull him closer, he kissed her again, murmuring “Patience” against her lips. The pressure behind increased, and she no longer knew which she wanted more: Evan in her pussy or Archie in her ass. Both men seemed to have only one ambition, to please her, their satisfaction depending on hers. Archie removed his fingers, and she felt the hard, blunt pressure of what could only be his cock. Warm, the skin sliding against her now-slippery back entrance, he pushed, and at the same time, Evan pushed inside her pussy. The men set up a rhythm, Evan in, Archie out, Archie in, Evan out, and all the time she stared into the fathomless depths of Evan’s dark eyes. He said nothing now and didn’t kiss her, only fucked her deeply, his expression becoming graver with each stroke. “You may do anything you wish, with whomever you wish, but all your children must be mine. Do you hear me?” “Ye-es!” She would have said that to anything at this point. Tingles ran along her spine, up and down, little flickering tongues of fire that, without warning, burst into a conflagration. No longer sentient, Sophie cried out. And she cried Evan’s name, not Archie’s. Hot spurts of liquid filled her, front and back, and then her men cried out. Evan dragged her close as he jerked helplessly against her, Archie leaned back, his hands on her hips, holding her steady for his penetration. He pulled out of her, and she felt the hot liquid gush over her cheeks. Evan left her, his hand still steadying her until she rolled onto her back. How would they explain this to the hotel? Oh no, they weren’t there anymore but in this beautiful room. But when she opened her eyes all she saw was darkness, and slimy black walls, like the ones in Merlin’s Cave. She shuddered when she felt the cold, hard rock under her and sat up when she saw Archie, now at the opening to the cave. “You brought it on yourself, Sophie.” Water streamed into the cave, hitting the walls and sending up a spray of frothy seawater. Archie stared at her and laughed, a thin, unpleasant sound. She turned to Evan, but he lay unmoving next to her. “I always wanted to get both of you at the same time. Now I have. You two screwed me over, and just as I thought I’d won, you tricked me. Over and over, life after life. If you die here, I end it.” The light in his heavenly blue eyes changed to something more sinister, and his mouth thinned into a hard line. “If you die, I win. Good-bye.” Then he’d gone, and Sophie was left alone with Evan’s lifeless body. This was a dream; she knew it, she felt it, so why couldn’t she wake up? As the water level rose, higher with each tidal surge, she knew she’d lost, without ever knowing what the battle was about.

*****


35

Screaming, Sophie sat bolt upright. Quicker than that, Evan sat up too. “What is it?” Light filtered through the slit between the thick curtains at the window. She could see him. He could see her. “A dream. I’m sorry.” “Do you get them often?” He pushed his hand through his unruly hair to get it off his face. “Never. I suppose last night did it.” “Probably. Come here.” He drew her down, one arm around her shoulders. “Tell me about it.” He felt warm, alive. She didn’t resist; she needed his strength. A crease from his T-shirt pressed against her cheek, and she became aware of the hard body underneath. He was warm. She felt comforted. Unusually, the dream remained with her, and she remembered how Evan felt inside her. Her body heated and dampness seeped between her legs. Hurriedly she wrenched her thoughts away, and the dream drifted out of her consciousness. “I can’t remember exactly, but you were in it, and so was Archie.” She glanced up at his face. “I think it’s worry. I decided to break it off with Archie, although until last night I never had any cause to doubt him. But it had just died between us, at least from my side. I feel guilty about that. Very. But I can’t give my life to a man when I don’t love him. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.” “You’re right. You should be strong. But it’s been preying on your mind, hasn’t it?” She jerked her head in a nod. “We just drifted apart, and it’s time to end it. But I’ve never seen him like he was last night.” She drew air with a deep gulp, as though drinking water after a long thirst. She lay back, just breathing, savoring the sensation. She looked up at him, to where, propped up on one elbow, he leaned above her. “I’ve never had a dream so vivid. I can’t remember the details now, but…” She remembered intimacy, someone touching her inside, but not Archie. He reached out, traced the contours of her cheekbones with the tip of his forefinger. “I don’t think it was a natural dream. You were calling out before you woke, and I couldn’t wake you.” He paused, his fingernail just touching her skin. She shuddered. Immediately he drew back. “Those kinds of dreams can hurt you. I want to take you to Cristos.” “What can he do?” “Teach you how to protect yourself.” What she saw in his eyes did look like concern. She stared at him, wondering if she should risk annoying her bosses by meeting the man few people met. They derided him in Bureau circles, but under the derision lay a fear as tangible as the face above her. The face with the mouth. The soft, sensual mouth. The mouth that was kissing her. Better than any dream. His body felt warm and protective, his kiss remained gentle, but roused something slumbering inside her. Responding with delicious languor to him, Sophie shifted a little, opened her body a little.

36

Lynne Connolly

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his lips still resting on hers. “I shouldn’t have done that.” “Then why did you?” He drew back a bare inch. “Because something in you calls to me. Because I want to get to know you better.” He huffed a short laugh. “Now is not the time, is it?” Sophie considered his question. He didn’t move, hovering above her, his eyes anxious, a small crease furrowing his brow. This close, she felt the presence of his erection, a wave of heat close to her leg, but he didn’t touch her. She wanted him to. If Archie could be so cavalier about their relationship, why couldn’t she? “Don’t stop,” she whispered and hooked her arm around his neck, pulling him back to her mouth. This time, he pressed closer, and she felt the hot length of his cock against her leg. Even through the soft fabric of his underwear, it felt as hard as iron. Evan licked the inside of her lips, pushed his tongue deeper, tasted her, and she responded and drew him closer. His hand swept up her side, pushing up her T-shirt, and he took her breast in his hand, caressing it gently. It had been a long time since Archie had concerned himself with the preliminaries or evoked a response like the one Evan was getting. She rubbed her thighs together, already restless with need. Wetness dampened her panties. His knee separated her legs, and she rubbed them, wanting some relief. His kiss turned voracious and hungry. He pushed his leg up between her thighs, so she could rub her clit against him, the hard muscle bringing her some relief. But she wanted him. A rush of passion like nothing she’d ever felt before surged through her, and she forgot everything except the sinfully sexy man kissing her like his life depended on it. Then she came to her senses and pushed him back. He didn’t resist, didn’t try to take more than she offered, but kept his arms about her. “I’m sorry, Evan. This isn’t right.” Panting a little, he nodded. “I know. We only just met.” “Not that.” She laughed at his startled look. “Well, not just that. I want to talk to Archie, make him understand he and I are finished. Just because he thinks it’s right to fuck another woman, it doesn’t mean I have to follow his example until I’ve finished things between us.” He sighed heavily. “You’re right.” He cupped the side of her face gently. “But don’t think it ends here, Sophie. I never thought I’d have this reaction to you but expect to see me again.” He pulled away sharply. “Breakfast,” he stated, and swung out of bed. “I can hear them in the kitchens, and is that bacon I smell?” He was right to pull away, she told herself. They hardly knew each other. Physical attraction didn’t mean everything. It was something, though, she thought, watching his backside tighten beneath those little briefs as he walked to the bathroom. Definitely something.


37

***** Sophie and Evan went down to breakfast separately so as not to make matters too noticeable. All gazes went to Sophie when she walked in. Evan was already sitting down, and she saw the glances go from her to him, and back again, then to Archie and Gwyneth when they entered a moment later, obviously together. No one said anything. They didn’t have to. She guessed Archie and Gwyneth had made obvious what she and Evan had been at pains to conceal. Breakfast was purgatory. Sophie could have sliced the thick emotions swirling around the room with her butter knife. She hadn’t the nerve to break the silence, so she ate her breakfast quickly and then left. Evan had already gone. When she went upstairs, Sophie went straight to the room she had shared with Archie and collected the few things she’d left the night before, trying not to breathe in the heavy scent of sex, redolent in the room. She was more than ever glad that she hadn’t succumbed to Evan’s potent appeal. Passing the rumpled bed, she hesitated, then pulled off the ring Archie had given her. She put it on the bedside table. With any luck, there wouldn’t be a scene. That should tell him all he needed to know. She wanted too much. Walking to Evan’s room, she heard his deep baritone laugh from the finds room and continued to the end of the corridor instead. She needed the key to the room if Evan wasn’t there to let her in. Evan sat at one of the computers, with George the Geek at another machine next to him. Both seemed comfortable, at home with the technology. Evan’s long fingers rested casually on the keys, and he didn’t look at his hands when he typed. George asked a question, one so highly technical Sophie didn’t catch one word in three. Evan answered in the same vein. A different language, just like archaeological jargon. She came closer and saw Evan had accessed the Internet. A page of symbols displayed on the screen. Norse runes. So he’d started already. He wanted to know so badly he could hardly wait until he got home. “Not those,” she said softly, coming up behind him. “I’ve searched the obvious sources.” “Have you manipulated the text? Reversed it, turned it upside down?” he asked without turning his head, his attention intent on the screen. “No. It came too close to the time I had to leave for the --” She nearly said “the wedding.” Then the realization hit her. There wouldn’t be any wedding now. She’d have to ring her mother, who had never liked Archie anyway, which was why they’d decided on a quiet wedding. At least she wouldn’t have much to cancel.

38

Lynne Connolly

Evan didn’t seem to notice. He continued to work. “I really need access to my system,” he muttered, “but I closed it down before I left. Now I have to be there in person to reactivate it.” “Do your fingers itch?” Sophie knew too long away from fieldwork sometimes made her restless. Perhaps he felt the same about his computers. He turned his head to look at her, but something else caught his attention. Someone else. The tension rose several notches. So much that George, usually impervious to the world around him once he put his face in front of a monitor, looked up too. George scrambled to his feet. “I’ll see you later,” he said, not bothering to give an excuse. He left, seemingly careful not to touch Archie where he stood just inside the doorway. Gwyneth was behind him, her face drawn and sick looking. Apart from everything else, she must have had one hell of a hangover. Sophie felt sick too, but more composed. Several things had become clear to her in the last few hours, and relief tinged her sadness. “What’s this?” Archie held up the ring. “What does it look like?” Sophie felt a soft movement of air as Evan swiveled round in the office chair, but she kept her attention on Archie. “The ring I gave you.” “It didn’t feel right to keep it.” “Why not?” “Because we can’t marry now.” He couldn’t expect her to go through with it now. Archie frowned. “One night and you call it off? I was drunk, Sophie. I came upstairs to apologize. Then I found this. You can’t mean it?” Sophie was appalled. “Don’t you remember what you did last night?” She didn’t miss the quick glance that passed between Archie and Gwyneth. “Nothing. God, Sophie, do you think I could have done anything, the state I was in? Gwynnie put me to bed and then went to her own room. I woke up with a mouth like the inside of a parrot’s cage and a head that feels as though Arthur has returned just to slice it in two, and you ask me that?” His facial expression changed, the angry lines smoothed into contrition. “Sophie love, I’m really sorry. I was stupid; it was unforgivable.” He lied so well. That wasn’t like the Archie she knew. Something wormed under the surface of Sophie’s mind, but she couldn’t bring it to the fore. Sophie folded her arms under her breasts. “I think you spent the night with Gwynnie, but Archie, only when I realized that I didn’t mind did I know it was over between us.”


39

Archie’s look brightened. “You don’t mind?” He hadn’t latched on to the important bit. “No.” Sophie sighed, feeling the still presence of Evan Howell behind her. “I don’t mind, Archie, because I don’t care. What we had once was good, but I let it go on too long. Archie, it’s over.” They stood, staring at each other. Sophie made herself relax, allowed all her emotions to show. Archie looked away from her, down to where Evan sat, and his face changed from gravity to a lascivious leer. “Enjoy her did you? Fancy a foursome?” Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie saw Evan get to his feet. Fully in control, his body uncurled until he stood facing Archie across the long room. “No.” Menace lay in his tone, a warning. Say no more, or I’ll hurt you. “Didn’t enjoy her or don’t want a foursome?” “None of your business and no.” Archie strode forward, fists raised, and Evan moved to meet him, knees slightly bent, arms away from his side. Sophie recognized the pose. Archie could fight well, with all the confidence of a big man, but someone had trained Evan. If it hadn’t been the Agency, then someone who knew how to defend himself. The fight ended almost before it had begun. When Archie struck, Evan ducked under the blow and seized the fist in one hand, twisting his arm and spinning Archie around to hold his wrist in a painful grip. If he twisted harder, he would break bones. “Not in here. There are too many valuable things.” Evan kept his tone gentle but emotionless. Archie shouldn’t need reminding. He’d worked on this dig all summer. What the fuck was wrong with him? Archie grunted. “All right. Let go.” Evan did so. He stepped back, to stand at Sophie’s side, not too close. “I merely offered Sophie somewhere to sleep. What you decide is up to you, though it sounds as if she’s made up her mind.” Archie opened his mouth, but he was interrupted before he could speak. A cultured, American voice sounded behind him. “Howell, you drag trouble behind you. What have you done now?” Sophie gasped. She had seen him once at a distance, but once seen, never forgotten. The tall, elegant, black-clad figure before her bowed his head slightly in greeting and then turned to close the door. Evan stood frozen, his face unreadable. Archie stepped aside to let the newcomer come farther into the room. Gwyneth stared and stepped back against the wall.

40

Lynne Connolly

“How did you find me?” Evan asked. “I thought I came here incognito.” “You called your mother yesterday,” Cristos said. “It took five minutes to trace the cell link.”


41

Chapter Five “You’re talking to my mother again?” “She was worried when you wouldn’t tell her where you were, so she came to me to see if I knew. I didn’t, not until I checked her cell. If you were on Department business, I’d be severely displeased if you called her. You weren’t, so it’s understandable. Why did you phone her?” “To check in.” Evan paused, and he let one side of his mouth kick up in a grin. “With you.” Cristos smiled. A rare facial expression for him, but Evan had seen it before. “Good.” He looked around the room for the first time and saw Sophie. “Dr. Adams.” It pleased Evan that Sophie merely smiled and answered. “Cristos.” At his lifted brow, she introduced him to Archie and Gwyneth. Cristos shook their hands and dismissed them. He did it in his usual elegant manner, on what was essentially their territory. “I’m afraid I have business to discuss with these two people, but I would love to come to the site and see your work later. I’ve always had an interest in old things.” Archie murmured something and left. By the look of her, Gwyneth had wanted to escape the moment Cristos entered. Evan wasn’t surprised. Cristos had that effect on a lot of people. “How did you know me?” Sophie was new to this game. Cristos gave her an easy smile. “I looked up your ID. I saw a tape of one of your lectures. Impressive. Did they tell you I’d requested your services?” “I’m FBI,” she reminded him. Cristos shrugged, a small gesture of one Armani-clad shoulder. “It can be arranged. Department Fifty-seven is -- very loosely -- attached to the CIA. The arrangement suits us both. For now.”

42

Lynne Connolly

“Why do you want me?” Cristos looked at her aslant, a gleam in his silver gray eyes. “A leading question, Dr. Adams. You might want to rephrase that.” She grinned, ice broken. “Perhaps.” “To answer your question, I would have thought it obvious. You have considerable talent in a new science, one I would dearly love to have on my team. And some esoteric knowledge I can make good use of.” “How would you use it?” Cristos regarded her closely. Evan enjoyed not being the center of his attention and settled back to watch. “I know what people call us, but in the upper echelons of the various agencies, they are more appreciative. I believe there is more than straight science in this world, but science is our starting point. You have scientific knowledge and discipline that would counteract some of our wilder contacts.” “What do you do, precisely?”

She’s interviewing him, Evan thought delightedly. “We’re very good at surveillance,” Cristos said. Evan knew how much of an understatement that was. “We take a few unusual cases that come our way, cases the other departments can’t handle. I have some very unusual people working in the Department. I keep us busy.” He shot a glance at Evan, and he straightened and came alert. Something was wrong. He moved closer to Sophie. “Dr. Adams, while I would be delighted to offer you a position in Department Fiftyseven, I didn’t fly across the ocean for that.” “Shall I leave you alone to talk to Evan?” “No.” Sophie had taken a step toward the door, but at his word, she turned back to face Cristos, who fixed her with a grave expression. Evan tensed. “It’s you I came to see. Both of you, actually.” Evan took the step that brought him right next to her. Evan glanced at his boss over Sophie’s head, a warning in his eyes. “There has been a development in a case, Dr. Adams,” Cristos told her. “And unfortunately it involves you personally. I flew here to tell you and to offer you our help, if you want to accept it.” Evan waited. From the brief glance Cristos had given him, he knew the news was bad. “The day before last, the police discovered the body of your roommate in your apartment.” “Oh my God!”


43

Evan no longer cared about appearances. He curved his arm around her shoulders but kept his hold loose, to give her a choice. He was glad she chose to move toward him instead of away. He felt the need of some support himself. Cristos waited. Without looking in his direction, Evan knew Cristos was watching her closely, gauging her reaction and reaching out with his mind. He felt it. For the first time in his life, he stopped thinking of the gift as a useful tool and regarded it as an intrusion. He wanted Sophie left alone, so he opposed the searching mind with his own. He knew he’d been successful when Cristos shot him an irritated glare. He didn’t respond. “Do you need to sit down?” Sophie shook her head against his shoulder, then raised her face, and dry-eyed, faced Cristos. “Tell me about it. Why are you involved?” “It’s the killer you were investigating before you came here.” “Good God!” “Dr. Adams, the authorities will catch up with you today, probably in a few hours. Your boss will recall you, and he’ll have to tell you the news over the phone because the press won’t be far behind, and if he doesn’t tell you, they will. The murder of your roommate makes the perpetrator a serial killer, and the FBI will step in on an official basis. You weren’t hiding, so you’re easy to trace. You have to decide what you want to do. Now.” “What will happen next?” “The FBI will take you off the case. It’s too close to you. They’ll probably offer you a safe house. There’s a chance the killer mistook the young woman for you, because this is too much of a coincidence that a consultant on the case could have been directly sought out and killed.” After a pause, Cristos continued. “I want to move fast. If we leave today, they won’t catch up with us before we get to New York. I’ll make sure of it.” “What do you want from me?” Evan exchanged a glance with his boss, who nodded. “Ideally I want you to join my team, but that’s your choice. I want in on this investigation. I want to know what’s going on. I know there’s more to this than the perverted acts of a serial killer. There’s something they’re keeping so close I can’t get it. They usually keep something of the M.O. back, but this is different.” Evan felt Sophie tense and understood why. She’d told him. Would he now tell his boss? He felt as if it was some kind of test, Sophie waiting to see if he would give his boss the information she’d given him in confidence. He said nothing. Cristos waited a moment before shrugging and moving away. “Can you leave today? I understood you took leave to get married. Are you married? Do we have to consider taking a husband with us?” “No.” Sophie’s reply came firmly. “That’s off.”

44

Lynne Connolly

“I’m sorry.” The reply was perfunctory. Cristos wouldn’t really care whether her marriage was off or on, except for the complications it might bring to his plans. “Then shall we go? I’ll make the arrangements while you pack. I take it you have your passport with you?” Sophie admitted that she did. She preceded Evan to his room. Evan stayed close, as though danger had already arrived. She waited until he had closed the door. “Thank you.” “What for?” “Not telling him what I told you last night.” Evan grimaced. “I might have to tell him yet, but I wanted to talk it over with you first.” He hated her anxiety, the way a slight frown creased her forehead, the fear lurking in her eyes. “Will you get into trouble if he finds out you knew but didn’t tell him?” “Probably. It doesn’t matter.” It honestly didn’t. He didn’t care if Cristos found out or not. All he wanted at that moment was for her to trust him. She needed a friend. “You can tell him.” “Thank you.” Evan busied himself packing the things he’d only unpacked the previous day. He felt as though it had been much longer. Something inside him had changed.


45

Chapter Six Sophie moved her head and came awake, jerking up when she recalled her situation. The second time she had slept with Evan. Only this time they were fully dressed and in the company of other people. If they’d flown economy, it wouldn’t have surprised her to find herself leaning against the shoulder of a relative stranger while she slept. It happened all the time. But they’d flown Club class, with broader, more comfortable seats and an attendant who came and tucked them in. Evan held her in his arms, not propped against his shoulder. The armrest between their seats had been raised, so it no longer impeded their linked bodies. Had he done that? His response was the same as before, a smile and a kiss. Gentle and friendly, but already she knew Evan wasn’t naturally a friendly person. He held an almost tangible barrier around him. And she’d walked through without effort, before she knew it existed. “We’re nearly there,” he murmured. “About ten minutes, I think.” She hardly had time to run a brush through her hair and wipe her face before they had to raise their seats to a sitting position and clamp their seat belts into place. Still disoriented by the swift but luxurious journey from Tintagel to New York, Sophie consulted her watch and realized she was still on British time. Perhaps she always would be. A private plane to Heathrow, where they were expected and rushed through security to the next plane for New York, which left at three o’clock in the afternoon. That meant it was still three o’clock, or thereabouts, taking into account the six-hour flight and the time difference. “How are you feeling?” Evan’s warm eyes spoke only of friendly concern, but she saw something deeper there, something he held back. Sophie shrugged. “Fine, I think. My sleep pattern will be shot to hell, though.” “We’ll handle it.”

46

Lynne Connolly

What did he mean by that “we”? Surely things had changed now. She’d have to go into a safe house; her boss would insist on it. She busied herself collecting her things together, but traveling in this kind of luxury meant she had little to do. Her luggage was collected for her and placed in the waiting limousine. They climbed in. Only then did Sophie remember the one thing she should have done before she left the country. “My mother,” she gasped. “I didn’t ring my mother.” Cristos handed her his cell phone. Sophie opened her mouth to protest at the cost, but closed it again. Anyone who could afford to travel like this wouldn’t object to the occasional cross-Atlantic phone call. Closing her mind to the mundane concerns, Sophie dialed her mother’s phone and heard the familiar voice. “Hello.” “Mum, it’s Sophie. Something’s happened, so fast I’m still coming to terms with it.” “Are you all right, dear?” “Yes.” Typical of her mother to think first of her daughter. Sophie felt warmed by her concern. “I’ll ring you later if I can. But there won’t be any wedding.” How to explain? Best keep it simple. Tell her mother something she could understand immediately. “We’ve been drifting apart for a while, Archie and I.” “Oh, Sophie!” The immediate sympathetic response brought Sophie nearer to tears than since that terrible scene the night before. Was it only the night before? “The other thing is that I’m back in New York. I’ve been brought back to look at a case, and considering how matters stand with Archie, I was glad to come.” “Oh, I see.” Dull now. Sophie’s mother had never approved of her switch in career. “I’m sorry, Mum. I know you wanted me to spend more time with you before I had to get back to work. I wanted it too, but this is an emergency. Listen, there’s something else.” “Yes?” She swallowed. She really didn’t want to tell her mother her next piece of news, but she had no choice. The news programs would tell her soon enough. “Remember Elaine, the woman who I shared a flat with?” “Yes.” “She’s been killed.” “Oh, Sophie! Come home now, please.” Her mother’s instinctive response didn’t make Sophie’s task any easier. “I can’t, and I might not be safe there. I will be safe where I’m going. I promise, Mum.”


47

“They’ll look after you?” The high-pitched tone in her mother’s voice told Sophie how much she was worrying. Losing her husband to a senseless mugging and then her only daughter to a serial killer would destroy her. “Mum, I swear --” A hand clamped over hers, and Sophie looked up to see Cristos’s cool, gray gaze. “Let me talk to her,” he said. Sophie handed over the phone and listened. “Mrs. Adams? Ma’am, my name is Cristos, and I promise you we will take care of your daughter. She’ll be safer with us than in your care, and we will continue to protect her until this person is caught. Yes, I promise. If you want anything, call this number. It’s my private cell number, not my office.” He rattled off his number and then once more, no doubt while her mother wrote it down. Sophie guessed that once the crisis had passed, that number wouldn’t work anymore. It was the way these people worked. Spooks, spies, covert operatives, here one moment, gone the next. She had that same feeling about Evan. If he worked for the Department, she couldn’t rely on him always being there for her either. She’d do well to keep that firmly in the forefront of her mind. She would receive a long e-mail in the next day or two. She wished she’d never bought her mother that computer and shown her how easy it was to operate. Sophie ventured a brief smile at Cristos. “Thank you. She’s a typical mother, always asking about me. She loves me really.” “Is that typical?” Cristos’s cold gaze swung to Evan, sitting next to Sophie on the long limousine seat, his arm stretched out behind her head. “I wouldn’t know. Miranda doesn’t worry about me.” Sophie was surprised to hear Evan refer to his mother by her Christian name. Cristos’s low voice barely broke the hush in the car. “Oh, she does. Never doubt that.” The tension increased. Sophie remembered that when she’d found her son missing, Evan’s mother had gone to Cristos. “What is it with you two?” Evan raised an eyebrow and looked at Sophie, his eyes bleak. “Cristos was married to my mother once. Briefly.” Another shock. How many more? Sophie stared at Evan, trying to see the truth, but Evan wasn’t telling. She turned in time to see the half smile quirking on Cristos’s thin lips. “We don’t advertise it. It has no relevance to our professional relationship. I would have employed him for his talents in any case. And yes, it is up to me. Department Fifty-seven is mine. I run it. The Company doesn’t like to admit it exists.” The smile broadened ever so slightly. “When there’s something they can’t explain, when they need help that’s a little different, they call on us. If you come to me, I can give you a much freer hand than you can expect from any other agency. We’re multinational because our concerns lie worldwide. And you can work in your own time, using your own methods.”

48

Lynne Connolly

“I work from home,” Evan added. “It suits me.” “You’ll never get complete acceptance in the Bureau, Sophie,” Cristos continued, in relentless pursuit of his goal. “You’re a foreign national. Even if you apply for citizenship, they’ll always regard you with suspicion, and the glass ceiling will hang that much lower for you. You can only ever get clearance up to a certain level, and that hampers you for the best assignments, the highest level. I can arrange to give you better than that. Your prospects are better with me.” Sophie knew that was true. Unless she took citizenship, she would always stay at a low level of security with the Bureau, and afterwards, she’d never be fully accepted in the FBI. Probably natural for an internal-looking organization, like an American in MI5. It had frustrated her to the point where she had considered applying to MI5 for a job, where she could be cleared right up to the top if need be. But the prospect hadn’t appealed. She loved the United States with its vitality, its excitement, and already she felt more alive here than she ever had at home. The same restrictions applied to the US police service, in whatever state she applied. While she couldn’t blame them, she wanted more for herself. Cristos’s offer tempted her. “No need to make a decision now,” Cristos went on. “I’ll take you to your apartment, and we’ll deal with that first. Whatever your decision, Sophie, we’ll support you. We have no reason to announce our arrival before we get there.” Traveling always made Sophie tired, but sleeping now would only disrupt her sleep pattern even more. She agreed to the plan and stared out of the window. Driving through New York in a limousine gave her a different perspective of the city. The soundproofing allowed only a muffled echo of the busy city streets to filter through, and the darkened windows added another distance to the scene. It was more like watching a film, a commentary to which she didn’t belong. She didn’t like it. She wanted to belong. “What is it?” Evan unnerved her, the way he could tell when she was disturbed. “It all seems so far away,” she murmured, turning back to look at him. “You don’t like that?” “No. I like to be a part of things.” Evan touched her hand, the only part of them that physically connected, but for the intensity of feeling he evoked in her, he might as well have joined them top to toe. “You can’t be, not for a while. I’ll try to help, but there’s only so much I can do.” “It shouldn’t last long,” Cristos told her. “The murderer has left a number of unique clues. A shame we don’t know what they are.” “I know.” She turned away from Evan, but not before she’d seen the look of relief in his eyes. And she knew why, as surely as if he’d articulated it. Relief that she hadn’t rejected him or his offer of help.


49

She proceeded to tell Cristos about the symbols and the belladonna. His expression sharpened, concern turning to interest. He put one finger to the very center of his top lip, pressing in, thinking hard, before he removed it and spoke again. “We need to find out what the runes mean, and what language they come from. Belladonna isn’t an unusual drug, especially in these days of laser eye surgery. It’s used to dilate the pupil in almost all eye operations, and it can paralyze muscles too, useful in surgical procedures where the patient is allergic to the other options. The chemists isolate atropine from it. But belladonna, unrefined belladonna, is far more unusual, enough to narrow down the list of suspects. I have a number of occult shops in my file. I’ll get on to them and see if they’ve noticed an increase in sales.” “We did that,” Sophie told him. “None. The Bureau is investigating out-of-town places. The second victim came from New Orleans, so they’re looking there.” Evan’s sister. She didn’t look at him though she felt his tension radiating from him. “A big occult community down there,” Cristos commented, his hands at rest on his lap. “They’ll have quite a time of it, trying to locate the right shop. I doubt they’ll find anything. I have a few more outlets on my books than most people would know about. I’ll check them.” “Will you share with the Bureau?” asked Sophie. “If I think it will help them.” Sophie stifled her protests. She knew Cristos needed to trust her implicitly, but she wondered what she’d got herself into with this enigmatic man. She was still reconsidering her plans when the limo drew up in front of the building that had been her home for the last six months. She had begun to regard South Brooklyn as her home, with its friendly neighbors and homey atmosphere. Archie, flushed with his new job, had hunted an apartment down in Manhattan, near the Met, where he would work, but that apartment was much smaller, despite its astronomical price tag. Sophie had gone along with him, but privately hoped they would move, once Archie found his way around, to an area where they could afford more space. Like here. The driver opened the door for them, letting in all the sounds Sophie had missed, and the fresh air. Sophie and Elaine had lived close to a deli. She loved the delicious scent of fresh-baked bread and spiced sausage, not to mention the garlic. The street was usually relatively quiet, but the muted sound of traffic kept her company in her bed at night, bringing her a kind of comfort. Sophie didn’t like to be alone. A police officer stood outside the building, and he stepped forward to greet them. “I live here,” Sophie told him, and produced her ID. The officer glanced at her sharply, and Cristos broke in. “She knows. I brought her here to see what she could do.” Not at all put off by the limo, the gray Armani suit and the air of authority -- not to mention the tall, younger man in black standing protectively next to her -- the officer found his radio and contacted whoever was inside. “Dr. Adams has arrived.” Through the static, the words “Send her up,” were just about audible. The officer turned to Sophie. “You can go up, Dr. Adams.”

50

Lynne Connolly

Cristos took a step forward. “We come with her,” he said, and showed the only thing likely to impress the officer, his CIA ID. That did the trick. After Evan flashed his, the officer reluctantly allowed them to pass and picked up his radio again. Sophie heard the hiss of static as they walked through. Inside was a mess. The usually tidy entrance hall had chalk lines and fingerprint powder everywhere and police equipment dumped haphazardly on the floor. Two officers, both uniformed, sat in the uncomfortable, hard chairs, usually there for show only, and watched impassively as Sophie went up the stairs, followed closely by Evan and Cristos. A sharp-eyed, balding police officer met them in the hallway outside the main entrance. He glanced at Cristos and Evan briefly before turning his attention to Sophie. “Dr. Adams, I’m sorry for your loss.” His words were perfunctory, but Sophie discerned an edge of care in them. “Thank you.” “I’m told you know what happened.” “I’m a forensic archaeologist with the FBI. What can you tell me?” He shot her an assessing glance, dark eyes shrewd. “Not a great deal.” “I can probably tell you more.” All eyes turned to the newcomer. A tall man stepped out of the front door of the apartment. He was dressed in a nondescript brown suit and overcoat, tie untidily knotted just below the top button of his off-the-rack shirt. “Cristos.” “Bent.” Sophie had no idea her boss knew Cristos personally, but he certainly knew him on sight. “Sir.” “Sophie, I’m sorry for your loss.” He sounded more genuine than the police officer, although you could never tell with Harry Bent. “Thank you, sir. To be truthful I didn’t know Elaine very well. We just shared the apartment.” The nearest she had to a trustworthy confidant was Harry Bent. He was on the side of the good guys. At least, she thought so. He spoke to Cristos. “I might have known you’d show up. Smell it, did you?” His lean face brightened in a half smile, half sneer. Nobody knew for sure what that particular expression meant and nobody asked. “Something like that.” “Come in.” It felt strange to be invited into her own apartment. Chalk marks and powder covered surfaces, and one bedroom was sealed off with yellow tape. Two officers were inside, but at a nod from Bent, they left, closing the outer door behind them. “Sophie, you know you can’t be attached to this case now,” Bent said, almost conversationally.


51

“Yes, sir, I know. I’ll tell you what I can.” “Please do. Then we need to get you out of here. How well did you know Miss Cartwright?” “I didn’t know Elaine very well at all. She needed a roomie, and I applied. This apartment is rent protected, but she couldn’t afford it on her own. It was her mother’s before her.” She paused. “The wedding’s off. I won’t be marrying Archie, so I won’t be moving to his apartment.” “So you’ll be homeless.” “Probably.” That aspect hadn’t occurred to her before. At least she’d have the safe house before she needed to look for a new place to stay. “She can stay with me.” Bent glared at Evan. “Who are you?” Cristos answered, before either Sophie or Evan could speak. “One of my operatives, a security expert. His name’s Evan Howell. You may have heard of him?” Bent looked from one to the other of them. “Yes, I’ve heard of him. Your convict pet.” If he’d hoped to surprise Cristos by his knowledge, he was to be disappointed. “That’s the one. He met Sophie in England when they were both on leave. They’re an item.” Sophie hoped her surprise didn’t show and worked hard to hide it. Bent didn’t hide his, hooting with laughter. “You go over to England to marry one man and come back with another?” His laughter died abruptly. “I don’t believe in coincidences. What are you up to, Cristos?” Evan put his arm around Sophie’s shoulders, and she leaned against his warm body. Not because it looked good with the cover story Cristos had sprung on them, but because it felt good. Evan spoke to Harry Bent. “I wanted to find Sophie for my own purposes, and you know what they are. She can stay at my place. There’s only one way in and out, and no one can enter without my say so. The security is state-of-the-art.” “Do you want that?” Bent stared at her, eyes narrowed. His gaze abruptly switched to Evan. “How secure? “I have a lot of sensitive information stored on my computer system. My apartment has to be secure. The CIA has approved it, and if necessary, it can function as a safe house. There is nothing connecting Sophie and me before her roommate was murdered, and no reason to connect us now.” “I need to inspect it.” “Of course.” Bent turned his attention to Cristos, fixing him with a gimlet-eyed glare. “You’re sending your men into honey traps now?”

52

Lynne Connolly

The implication was so bad Sophie felt instant sympathy for Evan, but he squeezed her shoulder briefly before he replied. “No honey trap, and Cristos had to work hard to find me. I didn’t want to be found.” Bent didn’t take his attention from Cristos, who stared back impassively, his steely eyes hooded by half-closed lids. “What’s your interest in Sophie Adams?” “She knew about those cases you wouldn’t tell us about, and she has an area of expertise that could be useful to the Department.” Cristos’s impassive voice dropped like a chill of ice cubes in a glass. Bent’s gaze sharpened. “And has she told you anything?” Evan took his arm from around her shoulders and took her hand instead. “No. So if it was a honey trap, it happened the other way around. And I could ask you the same thing.” Bent nodded. “You have to go to a safe house, Dr. Adams, and you’re off the case. I can’t allow you to stay in a place not on our list of safe houses.” This shaped up like two dogs worrying over a bone, with her as the bone. Harry wanted to keep her for the Bureau, and Cristos wanted to recruit her for the Department. She should have found it flattering, but Sophie felt miserable for causing dissension. Not that CIA and FBI officers needed much provocation. If a member of the NYPD became involved that would complete the triangle of suspicion and dislike. “If you can break into my apartment, you can take her,” Evan said. “And how many girlfriends have you taken home before this?” Bent’s tone had definitely turned into a sneer. “You’re not telling me Dr. Adams is the first?” “The first woman I’ve taken to my apartment.” Listening to his deep, reassuring voice, Sophie believed him. “She’s the first with enough security clearance.” Bent chuckled. “You put that into place when you came out of jail? I seem to remember some news items about you. The media hounded you for a while.” Evan shrugged. “Not for long. I was good press for a while is all.” “We all know why,” Bent commented. “You cracked an untraceable system, and you were seventeen when you did it.” He shot Evan a dark look and moved over to a small table, indicating the scene with a wave of his hand. “I’d like your opinion on this apartment, Dr. Adams, if you can manage it. We’ve left everything as we found it, except for the body of your roomie and the bedclothes she was lying on. The crime scene boys have done their thing so you can move around. Pack some of your clothes, if you want to. We’d like to know if anything is missing or has been moved.” “Could you tell me what happened?” Sophie’s voice came out annoyingly small and still. She could admit to herself that she was frightened, but it wasn’t something she wanted to show anyone else. Vulnerability was dangerous, especially in this city, and with these people, trained to observe and take advantage of weaknesses if they needed to. She had rarely felt so alone. Rarely been so alone.


53

“Sure.” Harry ran his hand over his hair, rumpling it into tousled waves. “We think she let him -- or her -- in. We still haven’t found any forensic clues that would tell us if the killer is male or female. There aren’t any signs of forced entry.” He gave her a sympathetic glance. “You know what happened to the previous victims.” She nodded and realized she didn’t want any more details. The previous victims -stripped naked, the weird symbol carved on their chests, no sign of rape or sexual abuse. Not unusual in serial killer cases, where the killer got off on the violence. The next couple of hours passed quickly. Sophie tried to think of this as just another case, another problem to be solved, but then she would see a book, her dressing gown on the back of the bathroom door, or something else that reminded her this was her apartment, her roomie murdered. She took as much time as she could packing her clothes, watched carefully by two officers. When she’d taken a look inside her room, she knew the killer hadn’t been in there or hadn’t disturbed anything. He’d found what he wanted. Or what he thought he wanted. She wouldn’t come back to this place. A home now violated and despoiled as though it had been raped. After she’d filled her large trunk and a suitcase with her things, the two CID officers took them downstairs for her and stowed them in the limo. It was the most luxurious removal van Sophie had ever come across. She had no furniture in this apartment, apart from her bed, but she left that, not mentioning she had bought it herself. She didn’t want it and couldn’t ever imagine sleeping in it again. She’d kept most of her belongings in storage, awaiting dispatch to the new apartment she’d planned to share with Archie. An apartment she would never live in now. Archie intended to travel to New York at the end of next week. They would live in the same city again. Mentally, Sophie probed the wound left by her separation from Archie. It didn’t hurt at all. Bent was saying something to her. She had to force herself to recall the question. “What did Elaine do for a living?” “She worked at one of those swanky art galleries. Bull’s, I think.” Bent grimaced. “Currently one of the best. That woman must be making money faster than she can spend it. There’s an ad for another show there every month, and they always seem to sell out.” He paused and shoved his hand in his jacket pocket. “Did Elaine have any boyfriends?” Sophie sighed. “Yes, many. She rarely kept the same one two weeks running. She’d come home with a different man every time she went out. I’d told her not to, that she’d get hurt, and I made her promise not to do it while I was away, but I don’t know if she kept her promise.”

54

Lynne Connolly

“That was dangerous for you both,” Bent said. Away from the irritation of Cristos, who currently examined another room, Bent was back to his careful, concerned self. He’d been very good to Sophie when she’d first arrived in New York, helping her find her feet but never encroaching, never embarrassingly familiar. “I never brought sensitive material home because of Elaine. She was a nice woman, but she took the advice to go her own way a bit too literally. ” Bent leaned back against the chest of drawers and fingered something in his pocket. Sophie guessed it was his pack of cigarettes. Even with few places to smoke, Harry refused to give it up, perversely insisting on his right to kill himself any way he liked. “Go ahead,” she suggested. “I don’t think the murderer came in here. Nothing’s moved, as far as I could see.” Bent grinned. He drew out his cigarettes, and lit one with a practiced flick of his Bic. “I had a shock when your address came over the air.” He drew the smoke deep into his lungs and breathed out. His whole body relaxed. “Then I remembered you were in England on leave, but until I got here I wasn’t sure. But you could be a target, Sophie. You were involved in the last two cases, and it’s definitely him again. Or her. The chest baring and the symbol. The same one, in case you were wondering. I don’t suppose you know what it is?” “No. I looked while I was in England, even consulted my old university professor, but no one has any ideas. It’s not a random figure; it’s carefully drawn out every time. It could be a diagram.” “I’ve got someone working on that.” “I’ll carry on looking for you, if you like. I’m told Evan Howell has a fantastic computer system. He might let me use that.” Bent frowned. “That reminds me.” He took another pull on his cigarette. “I don’t like that. I want you safe, Sophie. Forget the case; you need to be totally secure. I’m coming with you to Howell’s apartment, to take a look at the setup for myself.” She shrugged. “If it makes you happy.” “Are you really an item, or did he just say that?” She kept her answer deliberately vague. “Maybe. It’s early days. He was there when I needed someone after I split with Archie.” That made her sound embarrassingly needy and wasn’t true in the least, but she had to give some explanation, however feeble. She needed to change the subject. “What can you tell me about Cristos? I’ve heard of him, saw him at a distance once, but I never met him before yesterday.” Harry looked for somewhere to put his cigarette. Sophie found one of Elaine’s china dishes and shoved it at him. With a grin, he accepted it. “Cristos. No one knows how he got to his level in the CIA. Some say he’s got something on the president; others say he’s damn good at his job. You know what he’s trying to do?”


55

“Sort of.” Sophie wanted to hear for herself and get Harry’s opinion, which she valued a great deal. “He’s investigated telepathy and the other woo-woo stuff all his life. That, by the way, isn’t generally known. People know he’s spooky, that everything isn’t straight up in his department, but not the specifics. He spent some time in Russia before the Iron Curtain came down, in the telepathy labs there and liberated a few people. When he brought his findings to his bosses, they asked him to set up a similar department. You know what it was like in the Cold War -- what the other side had, we had to have, however nuts. It gave him the chance to set up his own little empire. He works out of Fifty-seventh, well away from Langley. Cristos has affiliations with other government departments, so he’s not too popular in some circles. But he’s a hell of a lot more than just a research facility into telepathy and other psychic phenomena.” He lowered his voice. “Listen, Sophie. Weird rumors come out of that place. Cristos keeps it screwed down, tight as a drum, but occasionally I hear things. People who come and go there call themselves Talents. They don’t all work full-time for the Department, either. You’ve got football stars, models, all kinds of damned idiots coming and going. And he does outside work too, so the Bureau is taking an interest in his activities. Cristos says he wants to do inter-agency work, combining CIA, FBI, and even Homeland Security. Can you imagine that?” Harry’s derisory grin told Sophie exactly what he thought. Knowing the long-standing rivalries between government agencies, Sophie doubted it would ever happen. “God knows how he gets away with it,” Harry continued. “No other agency has managed anything like that. I say he’s nuts, but he has the ear of some very powerful people.” “Why don’t you like him?” Bent grimaced. “Is it that obvious? Because when he sees someone he thinks he can use, he takes them. Usually gets them too. Howell, for instance. Cristos took him out of jail and got the security he needed. That’s pretty high for somebody allowed access to the computers on the network. The Bureau was interested because Howell was one of the earliest hackers. They say he can get into anything that has a phone line, cable link, or wireless link. Cristos says that Howell’s research complements his research into alternative communication techniques. And Howell being his stepson doesn’t hurt. Not that either of them mention that a whole lot.” He looked around and put the dish on a chest of drawers. “Now you say he wants you. Well, think carefully about it, Sophie. You work for me, at least for now, so if you need help, throw it my way, and I’ll haul you back. Cristos looks after his people, but he does things you might not like.” Sophie knew enough about Cristos to realize his motivations weren’t always obvious. She would appreciate having someone she trusted to check out the security at Evan’s

56

Lynne Connolly

apartment, though. She’d always found Harry a straight-up guy. He didn’t play political games, and he answered questions honestly. She couldn’t do anything else here, and she desperately wanted to go and never see this place again. Outside, Sophie climbed back into the sleek black car, this time, sharing the passenger space with Cristos, Evan, a traveling trunk, a large suitcase, and an uncomfortable Harry Bent. They paused to drop Cristos downtown, then went on to Evan’s apartment. Sophie didn’t look at Evan, but she felt the heat of his gaze a couple of times. Evan seethed. When he looked at Sophie everything inside him melted. Then he remembered what a mess she’d gotten herself into and got mad all over again. Archie was a jerk, and he would probably be forced to endure his company when he came to see Sophie on his arrival in New York. He didn’t doubt Archie would come, or that he’d create trouble if he couldn’t find her. If Archie wanted to apologize, would she forgive him? A waste. He slumped in a corner of the car, watching Bent watch her. That man wanted her too. Was she blind that she didn’t notice the effect she had on men? He pushed his hand through his hair and stared out the window. The car swung around a corner and drew up outside his building. It was a prewar warehouse converted into apartments on a relatively quiet street in Tribeca. Leading the way inside, he punched the button for the elevator and went back to help carry her luggage. By the time he’d gone back outside, Sophie and Bent had managed to haul the trunk out the door, and the chauffeur was pulling out the case. He felt like snarling, but he held up a restraining hand instead. He hated people in his apartment, people he didn’t know. Sophie didn’t count, but he wanted Bent gone. “I’ll get someone to do that. Come inside.” Going to the trunk of the car, he found the single holdall that contained his clothes and electronics. Bent stared up at his building. “Your mother buy this for you?” Evan told himself he should be used to that by now. No one thought an ex-con could amount to anything. “Just some good investments.” “Good move,” Bent murmured. Evan led the way inside and asked the concierge to have the luggage brought up. He sent the chauffeur on his way with a tip. Upstairs he felt two pairs of eyes on him, one pair curious, the other filled with sharp interest. Even if Bent did know the key sequence, it wouldn’t help him because Evan would change it as soon as the man had gone. He put his palm on the pad and stared into the monitor until the door opened with a quiet click. Now that the cop had satisfied himself about the security, would he go? No such luck. Bent showed no sign of leaving. He followed them inside.


57

For some reason, Evan had wanted to show Sophie the apartment on his own. He looked at it as his inner sanctum. No woman except his mother had passed over this threshold before. While he’d had girlfriends in the past, he’d never brought them here, using the security excuse. There’d been a computer desk at the apartment, but the machine was gone. Probably being examined by an FBI man, but there wouldn’t be anything interesting on it unless Elaine had made her date by e-mail. He watched Sophie’s reaction to his private space. Bent’s didn’t matter at all. Tall windows reached floor to ceiling on one side of the huge, high-ceilinged living room, and bookcases sat between them. At the end was an opening leading to the small kitchen. A broad, open staircase went up to the sleeping platform and the guest bedroom and bathrooms beyond. He preferred the space a loft gave him, the breathing room. After the confines of a prison cell, he needed the space. A long, brown leather sofa was incorporated into another run of bookshelves on the short side nearest the door, and on the opposite wall, under the staircase, he’d put his media center, TV, and stereo equipment. The rest of the space, one long wall, consisted of technology. At the moment, it was all dead, all turned off, and it would stay that way until Bent left, but looking at it anew, Evan thought it impressive. A series of screens and a couple of laptops over panels containing CD and DVD writers and readers, with card readers and cables leading to networks, different types of scanners, printers, and other peripherals. The really exciting stuff was hidden away behind the panels. Even Evan couldn’t remember exactly what lay at the back of it, since he tended to add rather than take away. He felt his chair calling to him. He badly wanted to boot it up and update it. It hurt like an ache. Swinging his holdall to the floor, he strode in the opposite direction, to the windows and their glorious sights of the city he loved best in the world. “Satisfied?” He addressed Bent without looking at him. He preferred the view outside. The look of pleasure in Sophie’s face gratified him. She’d been through enough. At the very least, he could give her a place of tranquility. She fit here, in some way he couldn’t quite define. He willed Bent to leave. Harry Bent ignored Evan’s hard stare and walked around the large room, opening a closet door and peering inside. Evan gritted his teeth. “I thought you wanted to check the security?” He opened a panel by the window and flipped a switch. Two small screens, high above the other equipment, came on. “Security cameras,” he explained. “There’s the space outside the front door, and there’s the street outside the building. I can change the views. The other residents have something similar, but I’ve refined mine in line with Department requirements. The pictures are better, and I’ve built in a few warning signals.” He tried to sound casual, but securing his apartment had taken some time, and he was proud of it. “Outside there’s an iris and palm print identifier. Only two

58

Lynne Connolly

people can use that. Myself and my mother.” He turned his shoulder. He wanted Harry Bent out of here, to leave him alone. At least, except for Sophie, but strangely, he didn’t consider her an intrusion on his carefully cultivated privacy. He’d chosen this apartment because it was quiet, isolated, and he knew no one nearby. Now he was letting someone in. Only Cristos realized what a large step this meant for him. Not that Sophie would realize that. Harry Bent took his leave, pausing at the door to say something quietly to Sophie. Evan didn’t doubt he gave her a warning of some kind, but whether against himself or Cristos he didn’t know and couldn’t guess. As soon as the agent had left, Evan strode across the room to his computers. Pressing a couple of buttons, he turned on the mainframe and a couple of screens. The wall of equipment flickered into life. His tension eased to the low hum he never noticed unless it wasn’t there filling the air with electric possibilities. “Come over here. I’ll get you into the system.” Sophie walked across to him, the wariness in her eyes clear. He gave her a reassuring smile. “Put your hand here and look into this. Try not to blink.” He tapped out an instruction on the nearby keyboard as Sophie obeyed his instructions. “There. Now you can come and go from the apartment, when we get clearance. There’s a combination lock outside and a key lock, but the real guts of the security are the palm and eye recognizers. I’ll give you the combination and a key.” “Thank you.” He turned to her. She was a treat for the eyes, for his eyes anyway. She brought the same tranquility he felt when he first sat in his office chair before his screen, and no woman had ever come close to that. He wanted to know what else she had to offer, but he couldn’t push her when she felt so vulnerable. He guessed she didn’t like feeling like that, but he wouldn’t add to her tension. “I’ll show you your room.” Picking up the suitcase on his way past, he led the way up the stairs to the bedroom. Evan preferred to use the sleeping platform; he hardly ever went in the bedroom. The bare and pristine room held a low bed covered with a comforter in a plain white slipcover, a closet built in to the wall, and a set of drawers. Sophie took a moment to look around. “No shelves for my ornaments, I see.” When he tried to suppress his horror, she burst into laughter. “Don’t worry. All that stuff belonged to Elaine. Those china ornaments used to drive me mad. This is far more to my taste.” Evan grinned. “Okay, so you got me. It’s not my thing, all that froufrou. But you’ll need a shelf for your books. Shall I find one for you to put in here, or do you mind using the shelves downstairs?”


59

“Downstairs would be fine.” She turned around, almost colliding with him. Evan stepped back hastily and left the room. He went into the kitchen to fix coffee after he’d shown her a relatively free shelf in the living area, and he heard the thump of books settling onto wood. But when he returned with a tray, she had stopped, staring at some volumes on the shelf above the one she was using. “Take them down if you want,” he suggested, depositing the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa. She brought a couple over. He knew what they were. He wondered what she would make of them. Settling down next to him, she opened the Book of Thoth. “Crowley. Wasn’t he mad? Didn’t he call himself ‘The Beast’?” Evan grinned. “That’s all most people know of him, if they’ve heard of him in the first place. Cream? It’s the long-life stuff. I’ll go out grocery shopping later.” Absently she nodded, her attention on the book. “What lovely drawings.” “Done by Crowley’s friend, Lady Frieda North. You can get them as tarot cards. Do you know anything about the tarot?” “My father taught me to read them. He had a Romany background.” Something clicked into place in Evan’s mind. She must have some kind of natural Talent. Cristos could pick them out, and he was rarely wrong. That hair, twisting in unruly curls out of its fastening at the back of her head, the lithe, slim, gorgeous figure… He could see her in his mind’s eye, dancing in front of a campfire, a swarthy man playing fiery notes on the guitar. Quickly, before the stirring in his pants could turn into anything, Evan forced his mind away from the vision and back to reality. It didn’t help. Sophie in the flesh, in his apartment, drove his mind to thoughts he shouldn’t have, didn’t want. He hadn’t felt like this since -since -Since Meghan died. Looking at Sophie soothed his fire to discover the bastard who had killed his sister and calmed the agitation he always felt when he remembered the pain of finding Meghan and then losing her so soon. He closed his eyes, forcing the pain away. “Evan, is something wrong?” He opened his eyes and allowed himself to take in her soothing presence. “Not really. A slight headache, that’s all. Drink your coffee.” She put the book aside so as not to spill on it, so Evan picked it up. “This is why Cristos wanted me.” “Crowley?” “Yes. Do you know what his specialty was?” She frowned. “No.”

60

Lynne Connolly

“Sexual magick. He always spelled it with a k at the end.” Her eyes opened wide, but she said nothing. Evan riffled through the pages. “He said, ‘Do what thou wilt is the whole of the law.’ He’s very misunderstood. He wanted to go beyond morality, beyond good and bad. Like his colleagues, he believed that magic itself isn’t evil, just the way it is used. He may have been right.” He glanced at Sophie, who pursed her lips to sip the hot coffee. He wanted to take the place of her cup. She smiled in a friendly manner. “I missed American coffee. We have lots of Starbucks and the like in England, but making a good cup of coffee seems beyond the average British hotel landlady.” He grinned back. “I noticed.” “Tell me about sexual magick.” Evan picked up his cup. “I don’t think I can.” He took a sip and savored the bitter brew, rolling his first sip around his tongue before swallowing. “It’s necessarily personal.” “Still. I’m not a virgin, you know.” His groin tightened at the reminder. “All right. When I had sex for the first time, it overwhelmed me, but only later I realized my experience didn’t tally with other people’s. At the moment” -- he avoided looking at her -- “at the point of orgasm, my mind opened. I could tell what she was thinking. I could send her my thoughts.” He put his cup down, empty. Sophie was right. Good American coffee was hard to find in places like Tintagel. “At first I thought it was just my first experience, but it happened again. I knew the thoughts of anyone around me. By then I knew my experience wasn’t right, so I started reading. I found Crowley pretty quickly. Just as well I lived here, in New York, because many states ban his books, and I wouldn’t have found my answers until the Internet got up and running.” He reached for the coffeepot, but so had she. For a brief moment, his hand closed over hers. He forced himself to release it and let her pour the second cup. His sexual heat went up another notch. He went back to his story. “I started to experiment with my ability and found I could control it a little. Cristos got to know.” Cristos tried to make it understandable for Evan, worked with him to help him and introduced him to people called Talents, creatures of dreams and nightmares, so Evan didn’t feel so alone. “He can’t imagine doing this and not putting it to practical use. I’m telepathic; more than that, I can delve deep. Most telepaths have the ability from youth, and they learn to control it. Everyone has a barrier, whether they know it or not, and telepaths have to force entry if they want to go deep. It hurts. For me, it’s as if the barriers don’t exist, but it only happens with people I have sex with. Cristos knows how much that would mean to the espionage business, but he’s never told anyone else. I owe him for that, but I know he might try to use me as much as the others do.” He grinned widely. “I told Cristos I’d lost the ability to stop him nagging me, but he didn’t believe me, sent someone to find out. A particularly foxy redhead.”


61

Sophie grinned back. At least she wasn’t offended. “I guessed. Ever since, he’s been trying to trap me by sending women to me. I’ve told him what that makes him, but he keeps doing it.” “He didn’t send me.” “No. I came looking for you.” The suggestion hung in the air, implicit but unspoken. When he looked at Sophie, he saw his own desire reflected there. As though they’d already made love and the connection already existed. He tore his gaze away from hers. She wouldn’t want him now that she knew his secret. No repetition of the wonderful scene in his room the day after they met. He wouldn’t tell her that using a condom stopped the ability. The exchange of semen and a woman’s natural juices seemed to be what triggered it. Frightening and unwanted because what she felt, he felt, what she saw, he saw, and he couldn’t stop it. He’d seen too much to want to see any more.

62

Lynne Connolly

Chapter Seven Archie drew closer, smiling in that particularly charming way of his, so it was natural for Sophie to open her arms for him. She loved the way he engulfed her, covered her with his body so that all of her basked in warmth and contentment. They were standing, but he bore her down onto the soft earth. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d made love out of doors. He kissed her. “This is me, Sophie love. I’m the only one who can make you happy. You know that, don’t you?” “Hmm.” Sophie was happy to stay with him. Easy to let Archie warm her. Too easy. The English sun heated her bare shoulders, and she found herself vaguely worried about his back, also bare to the sun. Archie was very pale-skinned, and he burned easily. She should ask him to find the sun lotion in a little while. Archie took her breast in his large palm, callused by years of digging, the fingertips still sensitive from handling precious artifacts. He handled her like one of those now, touched his thumb to her nipple and roused her to aching hardness. His cock moved in the juncture between her thighs, hardening against her flesh. He murmured love words against her lips, then moved down, whispering into the juncture between her neck and shoulders, farther down to her breast. “This feels right, perfect. You should stay with me, Sophie, for always.” “Yes.” When he treated her so tenderly, she’d promise Archie anything. He smoothed his tongue over her left nipple, sucked it into his mouth, and moaned around it. Sophie wriggled under him, trying to get him to push his cock farther into her cleft. He sucked, softly, all his movements sweet and gentle. Sophie found the buildup excruciating but so exciting, her libido heated. Archie used to play this game a lot when they first got together. It started as comfort for her, after she lost her father, but she loved the way


63

he did it, so it continued. He hadn’t done it for a while. Sophie wondered why he’d started again but could only feel grateful for it. Archie kissed a path to her other breast and sucked that in too, after licking around the nipple, making it stand up as hard as the other. He lifted his hand to the one he’d just left and tweaked it, stroked it, maintaining her arousal, giving her two pinpoints of agonizing pleasure, all adding to the slow burn deep inside her. When he left her breast, he kissed down to her navel and lingered there for what felt like an hour but was probably nearer to five minutes. Sophie felt herself sinking into a languorous world where time ceased to exist, only pleasure remained. Archie continued on his journey. By the time he reached her clit she was ready to explode. He blew cool air across it, and her body went taut, waiting for his next move. “Sophie, can you hear me?” “Y-yes.” “Sophie, you know I want you, don’t you?” “Yes.” He kissed the tip of her clit, and her body nearly went into overdrive. When he brought a finger to play, teasing her, sliding up and down the crease between her labia, lingering at her opening, then sliding up to the base of her clit, grazing the base, Sophie thought she might just die. “Listen to me, Sophie. When I see you next, you’ll want to come back to me. You’ll want to bring Evan Howell with you so we can play some games together. That will be fun, won’t it?” Evan? It took Sophie a moment to recall. The man who’d brought her back to New York, the one she’d left Archie for… No, that wasn’t right. The name brought Sophie back a little, and when she put her hands down to push on Archie’s shoulders and urge him to continue what he’d started, she felt the burning heat there. Archie always burned in the sun. She lifted her head to remind him to find the sun lotion. Archie stared at her, and she forgot what she meant to say. His blue eyes shone with his customary humor, but as she watched, they began to change. First a soft gray, the way they looked in artificial lights sometimes. But they didn’t stop there. The gray became paler, fading into an unnatural, light color. She stared. His skin darkened as she watched, and the small, fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. It was as though he’d hypnotized her with his fixed stare. She couldn’t look away. His hair darkened, the blond becoming a deep brown, then black. His face lengthened, and the mouth tightened to a cruel line. This wasn’t right. Archie didn’t look like that. Nobody she knew looked like that. Who was this stranger between her legs? Sophie tried to move but

64

Lynne Connolly

found the lassitude that had taken her over like a thick blanket surrounding her, stopping her from getting away. She fought it, screamed, struggled. At last, she could move. Struggling, she tried to get out from under him. His laugh was deeper than Archie’s, but the body was just as strong. When she tried to bring her knee up, he clamped it down with his thigh. He was still laughing, but it faded, like a clock running down. “You can’t get away from me,” he growled. “You’re mine until I say otherwise. I’m coming, Sophie, and when I do, I’ll do what I want to you. Just like I did to Gwyneth. Gwynnie.” His mouth curled in a sneer. Sophie struggled to scream, but couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t get away. Thrashing with her arms, she felt rather than heard another voice, a masculine voice but not Archie and not this stranger looming over her. “Sophie! Sophie!” With a gasp, she sat up. It was dark, she was in New York, and Evan Howell sat on her bed, stark naked. “Oh!” Breathing deeply, she lifted her panicked gaze to his face. “You were dreaming. You woke me.” “I’m sorry. I -- oh!” The dream surged back with all its horror, and when he put his arms around her, she didn’t resist. “Sophie, what scared you?” “Archie. Or someone who looked like Archie. He changed to someone else, a stranger. A man with black hair and pale gray eyes. And he wanted to hurt me.” Evan’s arms tightened briefly. “A nightmare. That’s all, sweetheart.” In his arms, she felt safe. She lifted her gaze to his face. He was watching her closely in the dim light filtering in from the window. She must have forgotten to shut the blinds. The gray light of dawn seeped in, touching his dark hair with silvery light. She didn’t move away, although she probably should. “I dreamed I was with Archie, the old Archie, before Tintagel, before I went to the FBI. Then he changed. He tried to kill me, and then he said he would do to me what he did to Gwynnie.” Evan’s expression hardened, his lips tightened and his eyes grew more intent. “Do you believe in prophetic dreams?” She smiled up at him, but he wasn’t smiling. “Do you?” “I’ve known of them. Working for Cristos has made me more aware of things I wouldn’t have believed before. Everything is dangerous, Sophie, if it’s used by someone who knows how to use it.” His hands moved gently over her back, sending delicious waves through her body. She decided to tell him what had started her dreams. “My father was murdered five years ago.” His murmur of sympathy soothed her, emboldening her to go on. She hadn’t told anyone before. Everyone who needed to know had found out from the papers or from relatives, so


65

she hadn’t needed to. “He was a bus driver. He caught the late train home after a night shift and left the station. It wasn’t far to our house, but someone mugged him in the car park, stabbed him, and left him for dead. They took what he had on him, which wasn’t much. They never caught whoever did it.” She’d tried to be deadpan, a dry accounting of events, but even that retelling brought it all back. He lifted a hand to brush her cheek and touch the wetness. “What a terrible thing. I’m so sorry.” “That’s why I turned to forensic archaeology. I already had my first degree, and I was going for a doctorate. I switched courses after I went back.” “Why did you do that?” “I wanted to help. I don’t think it would have helped with Dad, but you never know. I couldn’t carry on studying old bones when I could make a difference by studying newer ones.” Talking about her job seemed to calm her, and he must have known it, for he let her continue. “Archie didn’t like it. He wanted me to come back to traditional archaeology, but by then I’d been bitten by the bug. It was better than the pills they gave me after Dad died. It made me feel better. I had a lot to learn about modern medical techniques, toxicology, and it kept me sane.” “Hmm. I’ve always found peace in work.” She smiled, shaky, but she felting better now. Not quite well enough to pull away yet. “I noticed.” She’d read his books while he worked on his computer. The screens had taken all his attention. When she’d suggested they eat, he’d seemed surprised and only then admitted he was hungry. “There are other ways to find peace,” he murmured and bent his head. Sophie saw no reason to protest. His lips were warm, coaxing hers apart. They felt good. She let herself relax into his arms, and a little voice inside her reminded her of the realities. What are you doing? You’ve only known him a few days! She didn’t care. She ignored the voice. His hand came up to cradle the back of her head, lift her a little for a better angle to accept him. Ignoring the warning voice in her head, Sophie lifted her arm and curled it around his shoulders, allowing her hand to spread, to touch his bare skin. His gentle moan told her he liked it. He drew her closer, pushed his tongue into her mouth, touched her inside. The kiss lasted a long time. They caressed each other, hands moving gently, smoothing over warm skin. It was when he pulled at her nightshirt that she drew away. “You don’t want this?” His voice was low. “I’m not sure. It’s so soon. I was supposed to be married in a few days.”

66

Lynne Connolly

“But you’re not going to be married.” His hold loosened and he lifted his hand to touch her hair and plunge his fingers into it. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you. How do you get such incredible hair?” “I was born with it, or rather it grew shortly after. It’s a curse; it won’t go into anything resembling a fashionable cut.” “It’s beautiful.” His low purr almost persuaded her to like her mane, but he caught a curl and tugged. “Sorry.” “That’s all right. I do it all the time.” She still held him; he held her. Her hands touched his bare skin. “I only came when I heard you cry out. I didn’t mean to stay. I’ll go now.” But he didn’t let her go. “Your hair is lovely, you know.” Softly he combed his fingers through her curls. “It has a life of its own.” “That’s what I’ve always thought.” But she wasn’t thinking about its purported loveliness. He heaved a sigh. “I should go.” This time he did release her, lowering her so she lay back on the bed. He stared at her. “It’s probably not wise, in any case. You know what might happen, what I told you. I must be mad to even consider dragging you into that insanity.” He didn’t try to hide his raging hard-on; his cock reared up against his stomach to refute everything he was saying, making its own demands. “Yes.” But she still wanted to. She watched as he left the room, her gaze lingering on his wellshaped butt, the muscles curving into his strong legs. Evan Howell was the sexiest geek she had ever seen. She tried to persuade herself that Evan was right to walk away, and she forced herself to think of reasons why it wouldn’t work between them. He was a felon, a man she hardly knew. Her feelings for Evan could be the rebound from Archie. No, wrong. She’d been over Archie for a while; she just hadn’t told him earlier. She still felt guilty for that. That might be why she had such vivid dreams about them together. While she couldn’t remember the dream in the hotel, she knew it involved Archie in some way, and she remembered this one, the way Archie’s face changed to the stranger’s sinister features. She shuddered and drew the covers more snugly over her. She’d think of Evan instead. No harm imagining where that scene could have led them. Still telling herself she shouldn’t think of Evan that way, she fell asleep, dreaming of a warm, male body holding her close.

*****


67

Sophie was sitting on the sofa, reading one of Evan’s Crowley books, when the bell rang. Evan looked up from his work and saw him first. “It looks like your Archie has tracked you down.” “What?” Sophie looked at the screen. She’d been there barely a week. “I wasn’t expecting him for a while yet. He had the dig to conclude, his reports to make. We planned to get married and have a working honeymoon. He must have closed the dig in record time. That’s not like Archie.” Evan shrugged. “He might think we’re an item. Do you want him to carry on thinking that?” She bit her lip and considered. “It might be for the best. If he thinks there’s any hope, he might hang around.” It was dangerous, being this close to Evan, but Sophie wanted it. The warmth in Evan’s eyes when she consented told her he was still interested in her, and she knew she felt the same about him. They had danced round the issue for days, while they’d researched, and got used to each other. They’d even exchanged a kiss or two, but of the friendly, casual variety rather than the deep, exploring kisses Sophie wanted but knew she couldn’t risk. It was too soon, she kept telling herself. And she still wasn’t sure about Evan. She trusted Harry Bent and his instincts, and he didn’t like Evan Howell. Evan hit the button on the security console that gave the concierge the go-ahead to let Archie come up. Sophie watched him lean back in his chair and stretch his arms above his head. Evan could work without pause and not realize he’d been gone for hours. There were things he definitely avoided talking about. His murdered sister for one. Mention of her tended to make him clam up or change the subject quickly, apart from discussions of her as one of the victims of the serial killer. True, he was as gorgeous as she could ever want, but that wasn’t always enough. It hadn’t been with Archie. Archie strolled inside when Evan opened the door for him, and stared at their surroundings. Sophie felt a jolt when she saw him again, as if her old world had intruded on the new. Dressed with his usual carelessness, he appeared almost slovenly next to Evan’s neat white polo shirt and black jeans. Sophie stood smiled warmly. “You’re here early, Archie.” “Yes. The dig was rained out, so we finished early. Then the Met wanted me to start as soon as I could, so I thought ‘why not?’” “Was the apartment ready for you?” The apartment they were to have shared together. “Yes, but I can’t keep it. I can’t afford it.” He glared at Evan, who promptly disappeared into the kitchen with a brief, “I’ll leave you on your own to talk.”

68

Lynne Connolly

“It’s a surprise to see you here.” Archie looked around, taking in the large room. His gaze rested on the sleeping platform, where the bed was prominently on display. The room Sophie used lay behind it, and the door could have easily led to a closet or a bathroom if the viewer didn’t know better. So to all intents and purposes, this was a big loft apartment with one bed. “What’s surprising about it?” “Your Evan’s a felon, isn’t he? And he works for the CIA. I didn’t know they paid that well.” His sneer showed what he thought of “your Evan.” “He has some money of his own.” Sophie found she didn’t want to discuss Evan with Archie. It seemed an intrusion of his privacy and hers too. “What made you take up with him? Why, Sophie, why?” The sneer disappeared, replaced by a hangdog look. Sophie preferred the sneer. Neither expression reflected the Archie she knew. “You made it bloody difficult for me to do anything else.” Without knowing why, Sophie tossed a cushion over the Crowley book. “What got into you, ‘taking up’ with Gwyneth like that?” She deliberately threw his own phrase back at him. “I don’t know.” For a brief moment, Sophie saw the real Archie -- the big, handsome archaeologist, the man who loved his job and loved his playtime, the man she’d fallen for five years ago. Then it was disappeared, overlaid by this new Archie, the one she didn’t know. “She was game. If you hadn’t wanted to join in, you might have just said so, instead of storming off like that. We could have talked it over, couldn’t we?” He paused. “We always could in the past.” “Yes, but you made that impossible.” Gone and done, now, in the past. Not worth discussing anymore. “Had you met this Evan chap before?” “Not before that day.” The sneer came back. “And a one-night stand seemed a good idea. At least I knew Gwynnie! We’re two of a kind, Sophie. We should try again. Perhaps we can have some fun this time. Fancy a threesome with this new guy of yours? You could have both of us fucking you at the same time.” That sounded puzzlingly familiar, but Sophie didn’t wait to remember. She knew what her response would be. “Piss off, Archie.” It was at that point that Evan chose to return. “However we met, whatever we are now, is none of your business, Hamilton,” he said. “You have no rights over Sophie anymore. Have you finished your discussion?” Sophie glanced at Evan. “Not quite. Sit down, Archie.” Archie found a chair, one that was rarely used. The leather creaked when he lowered his big frame into it, but the seat held. Evan sat next to Sophie.


69

Archie handed the brown paper bag he carried to Sophie. “Some things you forgot.” “Thanks.” She didn’t think she’d forgotten much. “So are you fixed here now?” “I start on Monday. They’ll spend a week or two letting me get the hang of the place. They want me to do a couple of summer digs; otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed. I’m going to dig over an old plantation in the South next season.” He continued to talk. Sophie remembered Archie’s excitement when he’d landed the prestigious job, but it wasn’t the prestige that attracted him; it was the chance to conduct digs in different places and all the possibilities that held. Sophie watched, wondering what was missing. It took her a little time to work it out. Enthusiasm. Archie entirely lacked the quality that had made him so lovable and so endearing. It was how he’d drawn her to him in the first place, his enthusiasm for the subject they shared and his love of discovery. It had gone. Archie described his new job carefully but showed no preference for one duty over another, one job over another. It was as though a highly efficient automaton had taken over where love had died. Sophie could hardly to bear the words she heard. The man before her was a parody of Archie. At least she knew now she had made the right decision to leave him. She didn’t know this version of Archie, and she didn’t want to get to know him, either. He couldn’t leave soon enough for her. Archie/Mordred watched the man on the sofa and wished he could develop his psi skills faster so he could kill him with his glare. This man had taken his Sophie, and he would pay for it. He wouldn’t have her for long. Now he’d seen them together, the man’s arm curled loosely over the back of the sofa, covering her with a protective presence, Archie knew he wanted her back, if only to humiliate her and drive her away on his own terms. No, he wouldn’t drive her away. He’d keep her or kill her. Fuck her to death. Make her forget anyone but him. As he sat across from her, staring at her, Archie let his mind wander in delicious ways. He’d tie Howell up, make him watch while he took Sophie any way he wanted. Make her pay for daring to leave him. Missionary, doggy-style… Then he’d shove his prick into her ass without warning. It didn’t matter if he hurt her; she had to learn who her master was. And Howell would watch every minute of it. Smiling salaciously, Archie leaned back, reveling in his new power. In New York, Archie had made sense of some things. In England, all his thoughts had been of vengeance and power. He’d met his mother here in New York, drawn to her by a power beyond his control, and she had known him at once, even in this new body. Now he knew where he belonged. Why he was here. Archie and Mordred had become one, the knowledge and body of Archie, the spirit of Mordred. The expertise and knowledge of this new world had merged into Mordred’s dark, vengeful nature. He had one person to thank for his transformation, and she wasn’t in this room.

70

Lynne Connolly

He remembered why he had come. Why he had really come. “Sophie, I need to ask you something,” he said, remembering to avert his eyes slightly as though ashamed of what he was about to ask her. “I’m sorry about this. The thing is, it was in the report, and they want it back.” “Want what back?” There was genuine puzzlement in her tone. He wondered anew what he had ever seen in that stick-thin figure, that wiry, twisting hair. He just knew that he did still want her and hated himself for it. He just needed to get her out of his system. Gwyneth had been soft and buxom, a body to sink into. He almost regretted leaving her behind. “That whistle, the aulos. The one I gave you on your last day. English Heritage wants it back. I’m sorry.” Her brow cleared. “No problem. I’ll go and get it.” “Thanks.” An awkward silence fell as Sophie left and climbed the stairs to the sleeping platform. To Archie’s surprise, she crossed the open area and went through a door. From what he could see, a room lay beyond. He’d thought that door led to a closet. Wasn’t she sleeping with the bastard, then? Glancing at Howell, he saw the man watching him. He could read nothing in that dark gaze, even though he groped for a link. His new skill was still in its early stages, but with someone this close, he ought to be able to read his mind. A hard barrier blocked his way, just like those machines outside that had barred his entry until he’d petitioned to be allowed into the inner sanctum. The Mordred in him remembered. Arthur had always been like that, barring his own son from his inmost council. Not something he intended to continue. It would be a pleasure to kill Howell, pure pleasure. But not yet. “You’re not fucking her?” Nothing like asking straight out. Howell raised a black eyebrow. “I’d say that was none of your business, wouldn’t you?” On the whole, Archie couldn’t believe a man wouldn’t fuck any woman who came his way, and he didn’t think Howell any different. The man had the stance of a predator and the still attitude of a hunting cat. Sophie came back, clattering down the open staircase without thinking, a sure sign of how used she’d got to this place. “I’m sorry, Archie, I can’t find it.” He shrugged, pasting a careless expression on to his face. “No hurry. I said I’d post it back to them when I found it, but your problems were more important. Just drop it off at the Met when you find it, will you?” She nodded. “When you can. I’m sorry about Elaine. It was all over the papers when I got here. You’re all right? I still want to be your friend, Sophie, and I wouldn’t be that if I didn’t notice that look of worry on your face. And you’ve lost weight, haven’t you?”


71

Sophie shrugged, but Howell turned his attention to her immediately, an open look of concern that did something to Archie’s insides. Jealousy twisted his gut. He might not want her anymore, but no one else should have her. He’d made her his, and once his, she was his for all time. “You didn’t say anything,” Howell said, accusingly. “You shouldn’t let me get so involved with my work. I’ll make sure you eat from now on.” Then the bastard leaned forward and twisted one of her curls around his filthy finger. When they turned back to him, Archie remembered to keep his bland smile. They would pay but not now. “I should go. I’m keeping you two from something.” “No, no, Archie. Nothing at all. Stay and talk if you want” It would choke him. “That’s all right.” He stood, feeling stifled. He had to get out of there. “Just drop the aulos off when you find it.” He turned at the door. “Do I just let the door close behind me?” “Yes. It’s getting in you’ll find hard.” Maybe it would, if he used conventional methods. Out in the street, Archie took a few deep breaths before setting out for the subway. Mission accomplished. Well, some of it, anyway.

***** Bull’s Art Gallery was in the middle of the fashionable and expensive Upper East Side, conveniently close to the Metropolitan Museum. Any patrons wishing for artwork of their own after feasting on the glories in the museum could indulge here. At a price. Artists vied for a showing at Bull’s. Archie didn’t go there to display his art. He lived there now, with the proprietress and her daughter, the lovely Anna. Anna was tall, impossibly thin, and elegant, and wore her shiny black hair in a bob, the ends just touching her chin. She was all angles, sharp hip bones projecting through the tight, black skirt of her designer suit. Her slight smile was all Archie would get. “Is she in?” “Go through. She’s in the office.” Anna stayed out front, watching the few patrons taking their time with the cool abstracts on display. Archie glanced at them, but his taste had never been for the ultramodern. He passed through a door into the office. Mrs. Bull sat behind a large desk, clear of papers, except for one tray, and the latest Apple notebook to one side. The smile she gave Archie when he entered was more than she usually showed to any of her clients, however much money they had just spent. “Good morning, my son. Did you get it?” Archie shrugged. “Not today. She couldn’t find it, but she’ll drop it off at the museum when she finds it.”

72

Lynne Connolly

The smile turned to a frown. “We need that aulos. We can’t call for the sword if we don’t have it.” Mrs. Bull was an older version of her daughter. She’d had only the minimum cosmetic surgery done. People didn’t want to buy their art from a girl, she’d told Archie; they wanted a woman of substance. The substance was kept in check by vigorous dieting until the body had gained an unnatural thinness, and her head looked too big for her body. Not that Archie would have dreamed of telling her. Her black hair clung like a helmet to the angular bones of her head. Archie gave her an indulgent smile. “And we need the sword. What makes you think it’s not close to the aulos? I could always apply for an extension to the dig and go back on a special project. I think they’d give it.” “No.” She spoke briskly in a clipped way, as though she had little time left. In fact, she had more than most people. When this body wore out, she would select another and move on without looking back. She had always remained Morgause inside. His mother. Her name mattered little, about as little as his did. Now he was Archie, freed by that one blast of the aulos. But without gaining possession of the instrument, he’d always be vulnerable. As would she. This time they would succeed. They couldn’t fail. “No, Arthur would never have done that. He was too wily to make it obvious where the sword lay. We must call Excalibur to us with that whistle. And then destroy it. And then, my son…” She lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eyes. “I’ll have you back. You will have what is yours by right of birth and by right of conquest. I will ensure it.” Archie smiled, feeling his lips curve. He’d never tire of such simple human sensations. Several hundred years bound bodiless to the earth will do that to a man. “We’ll get it. I’ve been in the apartment, seen how matters stand. They’re trusting in the high tech security encircling them.” Mrs. Bull chuckled, a sound to chill the unwary. It warmed Archie. “We can get through that as if it doesn’t exist. I love people who feel perfectly safe once they have taken certain elementary precautions. They’re at their most vulnerable when they feel at their safest.” Archie joined in the laughter. He’d tried his new powers just the other night. He’d try them again tonight. And when they were enhanced, as they would be in a day or so, they would be better still. “What about Sophie?” Mrs. Bull shrugged her narrow shoulders. Her jacket, carefully padded and tailored, took the shrug in its stride. No wrinkle showed her movements. “She’s nothing. Do what you want with her. But don’t kill her yet; we might need her as leverage against Howell.” Archie’s lips formed something perilously like a snarl. “Howell! Can we kill him?” “In a way.” She leaned back in her chair. “We need that aulos first, but there’s more to Howell than that. He may be the one I seek -- the one with the shade of Arthur sleeping inside him.”


73

“What makes you say that?” Jealousy sliced through Archie. He hadn’t told her what he’d instinctively recognized. He could have been wrong. He’d recognized Howell as Arthur at the moment of rebirth, when the transformation still confused his senses. He couldn’t trust his instincts then, but they still shouted at him. Mrs. Bull fixed him with a chilly stare. “He looks like him. Yes, I remember. But that is deceptive, as we both know. Arthur sleeps until he is woken, and only Arthur knows where to find Excalibur. Your little friend woke you, and a second blast will bring either Arthur or the sword to us. Either will do, though the sword would be best. If Arthur sleeps in Howell or is linked to him, he will come to us, and he’ll bring Excalibur with him. He won’t be able to stop himself.” “And then Arthur will take over where he left off.” And he would be second best again. If Mordred could help it, that would never happen. Once that sword was back in his hands, he would make sure of it. “No, he won’t. This time he will see that his best opportunities lie with us.” “Are you sure of that?” Archie moved toward the kettle. He loved that she had bought a teakettle just for him. “Oh, I’m positive, my dear boy. Remember what you were like when you were revived? Well, that will happen again, and we will be there when it happens, when he’s still weak. Arthur joins us, or he dies. It’s as simple as that.” She smiled in a way that was entirely Morgause, knowing and evil. “We need to lure them out of that apartment, so I’ve arranged for someone to take the fall for the murders.” Archie turned, a brow raised in query. “Who?” She waved his concern away. “An old lover. Someone who doesn’t matter anymore. They’ll think the case is solved, and Sophie’ll move around freely. She still has the aulos, and I want it.” She chuckled. “I’m going to get it too. Even if it means we have to kill them both.”

74

Lynne Connolly

Chapter Eight Evan worked late into the night, long after Sophie had gone to bed. He tapped out a code and was satisfied to see it absorbed into his model. He could work like this for hours before realizing it was far too late for him to go to bed. Usually he would go to the gym for an early workout, a habit he’d gotten into in jail. They hadn’t allowed him computers, but before he had gone completely insane, he’d discovered the high he could drive himself to in the gym. He no longer needed the high, but a daily workout had become part of his life. Another code, another acceptance, but he wasn’t so lucky the third time. The last code he tapped in was emphatically rejected, nearly crashing the system. Evan sighed. The phone rang, and he grabbed it before it could wake Sophie. “Yes?” “Harry Bent.” Evan checked the line -- not secure. There was only so much he’d say over an unsecured line. “Isn’t it a bit late for you?” Bent chuckled. “The FBI never sleeps. Except I’m heading home now. We’ve got him.” “Yeah?” That sounded a bit pat. Still, sometimes they got a lucky break. “A guy called Reed Harris. We’ve been watching him for a while, but he came in tonight and confessed.” “You’re closing the case on the grounds of a confession?” “You know better than that, Howell. We have enough evidence too. Bloodstained knives with types that match the victims, accounts of the murders. He wrote them down in a pseudoreligious rite. He made it up himself from what we can tell. Thought he was some kind of latter-day messiah sent to cleanse the world. But you were right, he did want Sophie.”


75

Evan hissed a breath between his teeth. He couldn’t bear the thought of Sophie in trouble. “Why?” “Serial killers often hang around the scene of the crime, and Harris was no exception. He saw Sophie at the location of one of the previous murders. He tended to go for slim women with longish, dark hair, and he marked her as his. You know serial killers have a type?” “I’d heard something like that.” “Guess you might have met a few in your time.” “Guess I did.” Instead of sending Evan to a white-collar prison, the authorities had decided to make an example of him and sent him to a facility containing some dangerous types. Make a man of him, they said. It had nearly made a woman of him a time or two. But the serial killers were on death row. They didn’t mix with the rest of the prisoners. Evan didn’t bother to correct Harry Bent. It was just Bent’s way of saying he’d investigated Evan thoroughly. He didn’t blame him. “Harris did kill the wrong woman. Sophie’s roomie looked something like her, and in any case, she had the look of the women Harris liked. He tended to kill first and mutilate afterwards. Not because it was more humane, but he didn’t like them to struggle when he was ‘engraving’ them, as he put it. So he killed Elaine, then realized his mistake after. He mutilated her, but he couldn’t live with his mistake when he stripped her and discovered she was a natural blonde. She dyed her hair dark. It turned him because she was out of his pattern.” “It makes a twisted kind of sense.” But too pat. Too easy. “Sophie’s officially on vacation. Tell her to take her time coming back, but we’ll be glad to see her when she’s ready.” “Sure. Thanks.” Evan hung up and leaned back in his chair, absently watching the screens in front of him. Time for coffee. He was coming back from the kitchen, mug in hand, when he heard the scream. Pausing only to balance the cup on a nearby ledge, Evan took the stairs two at a time and threw open the door of Sophie’s room. She sat bolt upright in bed, her pale form just visible in the light filtering in through the open door. She was completely naked. She stared at him without recognition. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out other than a horrible choking sound. Evan took the two strides to the bed, one arm reaching for her, another fumbling for the bedside light switch. The light came on, cool and clear, showing him the blue tinge to Sophie’s lips. Evan swept her into his arms, sheets and all, and made his way to the bathroom, snapping on the light as he went through. He searched his mind for the emergency procedures, knowing he had to get her airway clear, but not knowing how.

76

Lynne Connolly

“Sophie!” She didn’t seem sentient, as though she was dreaming. The tinge on her lips was increasing, purpling as he watched. Her breath came shorter, as though about to give her last breath. This was happening too fast. She sagged in his arms. All her muscles relaxed, and she stopped choking. His heart hammering in his chest, Evan turned her, preparing to give mouth to mouth. He wasn’t sure he could do it right, but he had to try. Sophie stared at him, and he saw recognition in her eyes. The blue tinge around her lips had gone. She was awake. Evan gathered her into his arms and held her tight, relief flooding him. He never, never wanted that fright again. He felt her begin to shake. Shock. He picked her up and carried her back to the bed, depositing her on the crumpled sheets, and then went to the big cupboard and found the extra comforter. When he turned back, she was staring at him, the sheet clutched to her breasts. “Evan? What happened?” Her voice sounded dry and hoarse. He threw the comforter over her shaking body. “I don’t know. You were choking. What can you remember?” She buried her face in her hands. “I had that dream again. Archie came to me.” “Wait.” Evan went to the bathroom and poured a glass of water, returning to offer it to Sophie. “Here, drink this.” Sophie couldn’t take the glass because she was shaking so much, so Evan held it for her, one arm around her shoulders to hold her steady, trying hard not to think about the tempting body under the bedclothes, a body he knew was completely naked. “Can you tell me now?” He wouldn’t let her talk again until she’d drunk half the glass. She nodded, and he put the glass down so he could put both arms around her. He needed to hold her tightly and safely, as much for his sake as for hers. She leaned on his shoulder and looked up at him, her blue eyes meeting his with an honesty that took his breath away. “Archie said he loved me, that he’d made a mistake. He asked me to forgive him. Then he changed, Evan. Into someone else. His face changed as I watched. A man with long, dark hair and black eyes. They burned into me. People say that as a metaphor, but they really did.” As Evan watched, her eyes filled with tears, but other than a sniff, she showed no sign of crying. “They hurt, as though he was flaying my skin off. Then he put his hands around my throat, and I felt a pressure from inside, as though I’d swallowed something that was choking me. That’s when it all changed. I heard a woman’s voice shout, ‘That’s enough!’ and he let go. Is there another woman here?” “No.” He lifted a corner of the sheet and dabbed at her tears. “Nobody but you and me.”


77

She tried a shaky smile. “I’ve never had a dream that vivid before. I think, if the woman hadn’t stopped him, Archie or whoever it was would have killed me.” “You were certainly choking for real. Would you like some more water?” “That would be nice.” He was loath to leave her again, afraid she would somehow have a relapse, but she needed the water. He fetched a bottle of mineral water from the fridge downstairs this time and brought up another glass, full of ice. Even though the choking had been the result of a dream, it had scared him beyond thought. Sophie was sitting up in bed, holding the empty glass. When she turned to take the fresh glass of water from him, he saw a shadow on her neck. “Hold still,” he ordered, and moved the sheet away. Five marks. Fingerprints. He checked the other side. Three there. Low down, as though someone had been pressing down on her throat. He was the only other person there, and he hadn’t yet slept. “Oh God!” “What?” Silently he fetched her portable mirror and held it so she could see. She paled. “Evan, what is this?” She turned an accusing gaze on him.

Convict. Fighter. He couldn’t blame her. “I didn’t do it, but if it makes you feel safer there’s a lock on the door.” He drew back, not touching her anymore, waiting for her to order him to leave. She stared at him, beautiful eyes wide with an emotion he couldn’t interpret. “What are you talking about? Why should I care if there’s a lock on the door?” She paused, lifting her hand to her throat. It was a slender hand, untouched by calluses from her work. She must take care of them. He shuddered when he thought of those fingers on his skin, rousing him to a frenzy of need. He’d been burning for her all week, holding on to his sanity by a thread. “Evan, what is it?” He stared back, unable to articulate what he felt. If she sent him away now, all the feelings he had about himself would be confirmed. That he wasn’t worth loving, that he was missing something, somehow. That his experiences in prison had brutalized him so he couldn’t behave like a regular human being anymore. Life would go on. It would just be missing some of the things his mind sometimes yearned for, before he distracted it with monitors and networks. “Evan, you won’t leave me, will you?” He let his breath out in a soundless sigh. “I’ll be here as long as you want me.” He meant it. Every word. “Then don’t go.”

78

Lynne Connolly

“You don’t think I…” He made a helpless gesture. Her eyes reflected her shock. “Of course not! I know you didn’t do anything. It sounds silly, but I know you wouldn’t.” “No, I wouldn’t, but there’s no reason for you to believe that. I’ve been in jail. I’m a solitary person. I’ve studied the wilder side of life. Many people would consider me the prime candidate.” “Not me.” She meant it. With a rush that felt like fresh blood to his brain, Evan knew Sophie meant it. Not naïveté, not ignorance, but belief, belief that went deeper than thought, deeper than reason. “Sophie!” With an exhale, he opened his arms wide, and without hesitation, she went to him. He held her. He smoothed her body through the sheets, relieved to find her trembling had stopped. “Do you want me to stay?” “Yes. I don’t want to be alone. I want to be with you.” She lifted her face to him, and he saw her surrender. Everything she had she would share with him, everything she was she gave. Evan drew breath at the enormity of her offering. He wouldn’t take it lightly, wouldn’t waste it. He’d wasted enough opportunities in his life. Not this one. Keeping his gaze fixed on hers he stood and scooped her up in his arms. “You don’t want to be alone? Neither do I, Sophie, neither do I.” He took her to his bed on the sleeping platform and deposited her gently on the pristine sheets, removing the ones she had wrapped around her and drawing his comforter over her with a reverence even he hadn’t known he possessed before. Still looking at her, he undressed, letting his clothes fall where they would. Then he joined her. “I’ll stay with you,” he murmured, drawing her close. “Sweetheart, can you stay awake a few minutes longer?” “Oh yes.” The look she gave him took his breath away, but that wasn’t what he meant, God help him. But he wanted her badly, and he debated if he should tell her Bent’s news now or just make love to her. He touched his lips to hers in a kiss and settled her comfortably in his arms. “Sophie, I had a call from your boss. They’re pretty sure they’ve got the guy.” “Really?” Her eyes widened. “Really. They have evidence and a confession. When he realized he’d killed the wrong woman, he turned himself in.” “So he did want me.” He sighed. “Yes, he did. He’s in custody now. Bent says take some vacation time. We’ll talk about it in the morning.” “I don’t have anywhere to go,” she mumbled, still more asleep than awake. “You don’t have to worry about that. Sleep, Sophie. I’ll be here.”


79

“Don’t you want to…” She paused. “Not tonight. You’re exhausted. Unless you want to. It’s enough to have you here, to look after you.” He laughed shortly, self-derisory, but with a center of gladness he didn’t want to suppress. “I don’t want anything to get in the way of us enjoying each other. Your experience tonight needs some thought. It needs some consideration.” He lifted himself on one elbow and picked up one of her curls. “When we make love, I want you awake and ready for me. You’re tired, Sophie, and scared. I’ll look after you tonight. I won’t leave you, I swear.” “Thank you.” She lifted her hand to caress his cheek. He turned his face into it and kissed the palm. He lay down again and drew her to him. His insistent erection didn’t matter right now. He wanted her to feel safe with him, to feel wanted and needed for her own sake. Nothing was as important as that. He slept, content.

***** Sophie awoke first. She faced Evan, tucked into the curve of his shoulder. It would be nice to find out the time, but she would have to move, and she didn’t want to wake him. She was warm, snuggled in a cozy nest with him, their own special nest. Sophie felt content and happy, even after the wrenching dream of the night before. She could feel the marks on her neck, low down, as though someone had held her in place while stifling her. She would have to find a high-necked shirt to wear if she didn’t want people to ask questions. As she watched, Evan opened his eyes. Pleasure warmed the dark depths. “Morning.” “Good morning.” When he leaned over to kiss her, it felt natural and right. She let herself enjoy. His mouth was as warm and welcoming as his body; his chest touching the tips of her nipples in a tantalizing caress of nerve endings. Sophie opened her mouth and let him in. He accepted the invitation, his tongue sliding into the depths of her, opening her for him. The intimacy shook her. It was as though they already knew each other, although the delight of discovering still lay before them. Sophie felt no fear, no apprehension, but a delicious anticipation of the pleasures to come, the pleasures they would discover and share. His hand came up to cover her breast, gently caressing, cupping the weight in his hand. His groan reverberated through her whole body; his arousal resonated through them both. He finished the kiss and drew back, but his hand stayed on her breast. “Sophie?” She said nothing, but gazed up into those fathomless eyes and gave her permission with all her heart.

80

Lynne Connolly

“I’ll make it good for you, I promise.” He bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth, caressing with his tongue, making her feel every nerve, every sensation. Sophie threw her head back against the pillow and curled her arm around him, feeling the muscles of his back tense under her hand. “That feels so good.” She wanted to tell him more but couldn’t find the words. She spoke with her body, let it move the way it wanted to, responding to his caresses. He whispered encouragement, murmured it against her flesh, warm and exciting. This had never felt so right. Mutual pleasure and mutual desire. Reaching up she stroked his chest, firm with muscle, lightly furred with dark hair. “Mmm,” he murmured, smiling down at her. “That feels good. Touch me. Feel me.” He caressed her body, smoothing his hand down her side and stroking her until she felt like a cat, relaxing under his caresses. A tension began in her, feeling like a thread drawn taut. But it would never snap. He wouldn’t let it. His mouth followed his hands, trailing damp kisses over her skin. He came back up the bed, his eyes blazing with passion, making Sophie catch her breath at the need she saw in him. The wanting. He drew away and reached his hand out to the small locker that stood by the bed. Then he tore his gaze away from her and opened a drawer. “Fuck it!” “What’s wrong?” “I’m out of condoms.” She took his hand. “You don’t need them. I’m on birth control.” “Oh, Sophie!” He leaned forward and kissed her, leisurely and long, then drew back. “You take my breath away, showing me trust like that. But we can’t. If we make love unprotected, I’ll enter you in more ways than one. Once the link is made, it can’t be undone.” “What link?” Her mind fogged with passion, Sophie found it hard to think. “The mind link. Remember, I told you.” Yes, she remembered now. “I don’t mind.” She did, but not now. She wanted to know just how much of a connection he had with the other women he’d slept with, how many, and if she’d have to live with the knowledge that they shared him too. Only now did she realize how much that meant to her. It took some work to push the thought away, but she didn’t want to spoil their first time together. His hold on her loosened. “You will. It means never being alone, your mind always merged with mine. We can’t break apart.” “Can you make me do things against my will?”


81

He smiled. “No more than you can make me do anything I don’t want to. Not yet, Sophie. Now is not the time to learn a new skill.” “Oh.” She pulled back, struck by a new thought. “Wait, I have some condoms!” “I thought you said you used the Pill with Archie. Why would you need condoms?” She smiled. “Condoms are useful for archaeologists working in the field. They can hold samples until they can be analyzed. Keep them clean when it’s pouring with rain. When you find a little tiny bit of something, you can use a condom to keep it safe. You know samples of pottery, that kind of thing.” “I’ve never heard that before.” He let her go, grinning. “Just as well I know you, otherwise I wouldn’t believe that in a million years. Hurry, then, or we’ll have to start all over again. On the other hand…” Sophie laughed and heard his responsive chuckle as she went to fetch her purse, where she knew she had several condoms. He was right. This was their first encounter and their first step into real intimacy. It wasn’t the time to get involved in something as permanent as the mind link he had described to her. It could even prove to be embarrassing. To her embarrassment, the other considerations hadn’t crossed her mind until he drew back. She must be in deeper than she thought. In her room, Sophie found her bag, but couldn’t find the condoms at first. Not until she emptied it on the floor, too eager to be back with Evan for careful searching. Her hand closed on a foil package. Then with a wicked grin, she picked out several more. A curved object lay under another. It was the aulos Archie wanted, coming to hand easily although she’d searched her purse several times looking for it earlier. Carrying the condoms, she made her way back to Evan. With a welcoming smile, he threw back the covers, his cock jutting out heavily toward her. She slid in, felt his arms going about her, and handed him the packets. He put them aside and pulled her close, his mouth descending hotly on hers. His heat burned through her, his cock a brand against her thigh. Precum seeped from it, and she rubbed against it, wanting to know everything about him, especially how he tasted. But there was no time now. He rolled her onto her back, coming over her, all masculine strength and control, but not overwhelming her, as Archie had done. This was different. It was Evan. Their kiss ended, and Evan dropped kisses over her cheeks, down her neck to the vulnerable hollow at the base of her throat, tickling it with his tongue before he moved on, down to her breasts. He groaned, his breath feathering across her sensitive skin. “Sophie, you are lovely. You’ve been driving me insane this past week. I want you so much.” “Me too.” She gasped as he dragged his tongue over her nipple and sucked it into his mouth. She arched, pushing him up, her body almost completely off the bed.

82

Lynne Connolly

“Do you know?” he murmured hotly against her skin, dropping small kisses over her breasts. “Do you know how much I wanted to do this? You’ve been driving me crazy, woman. You taste so good. I’ve been fantasizing about this. It’s better than I ever imagined.” Without warning, he sucked her other nipple, his tongue flicking over the tip, making what was already sensitive nearly unbearable. His hand swept down her side, over the indentation of her waist, the flare of her hip, and farther down to the downy curls covering her mound. He inserted one finger into her heat and groaned, the sound only slightly muffled by his frantic sucking at her breast. She cried out, the sound echoing around the spacious apartment, and he lifted his head, watching her as he breached her for the first time. His finger sank into her body, and she closed her eyes in sheer ecstasy. “No. Look at me, sweetheart. I want to see what I do to you.” She opened her eyes. Strands of his hair stuck to his cheeks and forehead, his dark eyes gleamed with the promise of what was to come. Evan was all wicked demon, his face flushed with passion, but she had the feeling that looks were deceptive and Evan was the angel to Archie’s demon. Enough. Archie was gone, in the past. And she wanted this, wanted Evan. He rose above her and reached for one of the foil packets. She watched him tear open the packet and roll the latex over his flushed, hard cock. “God, don’t do that!” She hadn’t realized she’d been licking her lips, but she stopped and flushed guiltily. “Sorry.” “I just want this to last. But I have a feeling it won’t.” He came down to her and took her mouth in a ravishing kiss. At the same time, she felt him pushing into her, one hand guiding his cock into her wet heat. Sophie lifted her feet to twine them around his legs, urging him deep inside her. He thrust, and she cried out in a half groan, half yell, of pure delight into his mouth. He pushed his tongue into her mouth in counterpoint to his hard, deep drives into her body. Her breasts crushed against the hard muscles of his chest as he pulled her into him, melding them, one being, one thought between them. Need built between them, and he stared down into her face, the skin over his cheekbones taut with tension. “Oh, baby!” he whispered, his lips slowly curving in a smile. “You feel so good, sweetheart. But I don’t think I’m quite there for you.” “You feel good too,” she managed to say, lifting her hand to rest it on his shoulder. He turned his head and touched his lips to her fingers, licking between them in a way that made her shiver.


83

His body, hard in hers, temporarily at rest, lifted and dropped, with a wriggle at the end that made her squirm and gasp. “It’s there, is it?” His delighted purr reverberated through her, and without warning, he lifted and slammed down into her. Sophie arched, screamed, and came, as if he’d found the magic button inside her that turned her on. He responded with a gasped, “Oh yes!” He dragged his body off hers to lift up and then pushed once more. His beautiful body shuddered, and he gave a wild cry before his body exploded in hers in a series of hard jerks. He fell to one side, his eyes closed, and he gathered her close with one arm. The door to the apartment opened and closed with a heavy thump. It faced the sleeping platform, so whoever entered could see the bed, but not who was in it. Evan sat up at once, his body shielding Sophie, so she couldn’t see who had just come in. When she felt him relax, she knew it was all right. “Miranda, when will you learn to knock?”

84

Lynne Connolly

Chapter Nine A female voice called out from below. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t realize you were back. Didn’t you go to England? Didn’t you like it? I wanted to use that macro you wrote for me, and I can’t find it on my computer. I know where it is on your machine.” Sophie heard a few clicks and the computer hummed into life. The woman continued, oblivious to her presence. “Do you want coffee?” “Miranda, we’re not alone.” His voice stopped her in midbabble. Evan moved aside, revealing Sophie, after he had drawn up the sheet to cover her breasts. There was a silence. Sophie saw the head of a silver-haired woman, so silver she suspected a little help at the salon. She couldn’t see the rest of the person. A touch of humor entered Evan’s voice. “You could have knocked, you know. Miranda, please meet Sophie Adams. Sophie, this is my mother, Miranda Howell.” “Oh my goodness, Evan!” gasped the voice below them. “You thought I was celibate, perhaps?” “Well, nearly, especially recently.” The head disappeared, and her voice drifted up to them. “I’ll fix coffee. Have you eaten? I guess not. I’ll find something.” Evan turned to face Sophie, smiling, his expression softer than she’d ever seen before. “I’m sorry. She never knocks. She’s the only person who can get in without knocking except for us. Do you mind?” Her face flaming, Sophie began to see the funny side. She had felt like an adolescent girl, caught in flagrante with her boyfriend, but she was a grown woman, and she certainly wasn’t ashamed of what she did with Evan. He leaned forward and gave her a gentle kiss. “I’m sorry. Does this ruin things for us? Please say no, Sophie.”


85

“No.” He closed her mouth with another kiss, this one needy and passionate. “I want you very much. I have since the moment I saw you, and now that we’ve made love once, I want you even more,” he murmured before he turned to throw back the sheets. Sophie wanted him too. As she went to shower and dress, she remembered their lovemaking and wished they could have shared the shower. She dressed quickly, in a pair of black DKNY jeans and a high-necked, ribbed top, also black. Stopping to brush her hair, she didn’t tie it back, and only applied a little makeup, just blush and mascara. She had enough vanity to want to present herself decently to Evan’s mother but too much pride to overdo it. Evan waited for her outside her door; he wore faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt. He bent to kiss her and took her hand, leading her to the stairs. They went down together. Mrs. Howell sat on the Barcelona chair. She had pulled out a table from the wall, one Sophie hadn’t noticed before, because when closed, it slotted into a space precisely cut out to receive it. The inviting smell of fresh coffee filled the apartment, and the table also held orange juice and plates of toast and eggs. Without hesitation, Miranda took Sophie’s hand, smiling an unshadowed welcome. “Well, I’m delighted Evan has found a girl, and someone so pretty too! He’s never brought anyone here before. Have you the proper clearance from the ever-vigilant Cristos?” Evan drew a chair back for Sophie to sit and dropped a light kiss on her head before going to take his own seat at the other side of the table. Sophie hesitated, then reached for the coffeepot and served them all while Evan brought his mother up to speed. “Sophie’s a consultant at the FBI. Her roommate was killed by the same person who killed Meghan, so the Agency wanted to put her in a safe house. I persuaded them to leave her with me.” “Just as well you have a safe house, then.” “I would have gone with her if they hadn’t let her come here.” Sophie stared at him in shock. She never knew he’d planned to do that. He reached over the table to take her hand. “Miranda, if you begin matchmaking I’ll kill you. It’s in the early days still.” Very early days. Sophie appreciated his words, but withdrew her hand so she could eat. She was hungrier than she could remember being since she had left the States to go to England for her marriage to Archie. “Whatever,” his mother said with a careless wave of her fork. “But I’m delighted to meet you, Sophie. What do you do for the FBI?” “I’m a forensic archaeologist.” Mrs. Howell lifted her head, her lipsticked mouth curving in a smile of sheer delight. “You’re English! Did Evan go to England to fetch you?” Evan interrupted her reply. “Yes, I did. That’s why I wasn’t away long. Miranda, you must promise not to let people know she’s here. Cristos still thinks she might be a target. The

86

Lynne Connolly

Bureau sent the all clear, but I’m not sure they’ve caught the perpetrator. Besides, I want to be absolutely sure.” “Oh goodness, no! Of course I won’t tell!” Sophie found herself warming to Evan’s mother, a slim, impeccably groomed woman, dressed in a skirt and blouse, the jacket of the suit carefully draped over the back of her chair. Unlike most beautifully dressed women, she didn’t intimidate Sophie with her style and presence. She moved easily in her expensive clothes, and from the way she attacked her eggs and toast, didn’t seem to be the type who lived on rice cakes and water. The meal was accomplished with some laughter and a great deal of inconsequential chatter, seemingly effortless, but Sophie knew that kind of poise and confidence was only achieved with a great deal of effort. Evan got along very well with his mother. Sophie wished her own relations with her surviving parent were as easy, but her mother had been understandably nervous and tense since her father’s murder. They tended to irritate each other in close quarters. After the meal, Sophie helped Evan clear up, and Mrs. Howell went to work on the computer. “I won’t be long.” “Take your time,” Evan said. “I want to take Sophie in to the office.” It was the first Sophie had heard of it. When she turned an inquiring look to him, he touched his finger to his lips in a gesture for her to say nothing. She trusted him. When he went upstairs and returned in a short while in a pair of leather trousers, a leather jacket, and heavily buckled biker boots that made her salivate, he grinned. Damn him, he knew exactly what she was thinking! He handed her another jacket. “We’ll go on the bike. It’s quicker.” Filled with doubt, Sophie had to ask him, “Should I leave the apartment?” He took Sophie’s hand. “You can stay here if you feel safer, but I’d rather have you with me where I can take care of you. Do you really think you’re in danger?” “No, not on a trip like this. We can go door to door.” Unable to resist the challenge in his eyes, Sophie grinned. Bidding his mother good-bye, Evan took Sophie out of the apartment, the first time either of them had left in days, apart from Evan’s quick forays to buy fresh groceries. He explained the reason for his sudden decision. “We should tell Cristos about your dream, and show him the marks while they’re still there. They’re fading fast. Did you notice?” She had but had no way of explaining the phenomenon. Last night, the marks had been red and angry, and she’d been sure they would leave livid bruises behind, but they had faded quickly.


87

The building had an underground car park. Evan went first and led the way to a gleaming black Suzuki. He unlocked the box at the back and handed her a helmet. “We can take the car if you prefer, but this is quicker in the city.” She gave him a cocky grin. “I think I can manage.” He glanced at her, strapping his helmet tightly under his chin. “If we’re allowed out now, I’d like to take the aulos to Archie later. I don’t want to give him any excuse to bug me. I brought it with me.” “You’re probably right. I’ll take you.” “Thank you.” He got on the machine and turned the key, gunning the engine into life. “Have you ridden one of these before?” He had to shout as the sound filled the enclosed space. “Yes, but not a monster like this,” she called back. He waited until she settled behind him and clasped his waist before he drove off. The journey was interesting. Obviously at home on the machine, Evan drove with bare inches to spare between them and the stationary vehicles. At first nervous, Sophie soon settled back to enjoy the ride, confident in his ability to get her to his office safely. Fifty-seventh Street was busy, full of hotels and swanky shops. Evan stopped at the side of a tower block near the CBS building, where a barrier prevented transport entering. He found his ID and turned to Sophie. “Did you bring your FBI ID?” She found it in her purse and handed it to him, following his example when he took off his helmet, so the security man could examine their faces against the photos. He consulted a list before he gave her a visitor tag to wear and let them through. They passed through another checkpoint before parking the bike. They left the helmets in the lockbox and took the elevator. “I never realized the CIA had an office here before I came to New York,” she remarked. “Some office space the Company had no use for,” Evan said. “They let Cristos use it because it’s far enough away from Langley not to embarrass them.” Sophie was still laughing when the elevator drew to a halt. Sophie knew this environment. She saw glass-paneled offices, with a central area of cubicles containing desks, monitors and papers. The occupants glanced up as they passed. No one greeted Evan, but stares followed him as he led the way to an office in the corner of the building. A brief knock and a “Come” and they went inside. The office looked reassuringly normal, a large mahogany desk on the carpeted floor, a few filing cabinets at one end, and a more casual seating area at the other. She was relieved to see no crystals, tarot cards, or

88

Lynne Connolly

scrying mirrors. Knowing her clichéd response was probably usual in this place, Sophie hid her reaction and took Cristos’s hand when he held it out in polite greeting. They sat in front of the desk and waited while Cristos tapped out a brief instruction on his computer. “You’ve come to report in or something else? You should have called ahead, Howell, or arranged an online conference.” Evan wasn’t abashed by the mild reprimand. “Do you really think Sophie’s still in danger? Bent thinks he’s caught the serial killer, so is there any more cause to worry?” Cristos regarded him closely through narrowed, pewter eyes. “I prefer not to take unnecessary chances.” “We do have something to tell you, Cristos. I don’t know how significant it is.” Cristos’s interest sharpened. “Sophie had a dream last night.” Evan smiled at her. “Tell him, Sophie.” Sophie told Cristos about her dream, keeping it as calm as she could manage and skimming the more personal details. When she wavered at one point, she felt Evan’s reassuring presence and took strength from it. She’d been more distressed than she cared to admit. At the end of her recitation, she pulled her stretchy top down far enough to show Evan’s boss the marks on her neck. He came out from behind his desk to take a closer look. “You should have taken photos of these. They’re fading fast.” “She was extremely distressed. Her needs were more important,” Evan replied unrepentantly. “Nevertheless, this is the kind of evidence I need. I want your account written down, Dr. Adams, just as you told it to me. You may use my computer.” So Sophie moved to the other side of the desk and typed up her experience, just as she remembered it, but without the more personal conclusion to the episode. When she’d finished, she sat in Cristos’s chair and picked up the coffee someone had brought for them. “Well, what do you think?” Evan asked. He looked anxious, a slight frown creasing the skin between his black brows. Cristos steepled his fingers under his chin and regarded Sophie with a penetrating stare. “I think I need to interview Reed Harris. It’s highly likely that he is the murderer, and if he is, he probably sent you the dream. I’ve come across this before, the ability to project violence in a dream, even compel in one. It’s a devastating weapon. One the Company would love to utilize, but people who can use dreams this way are both highly skilled and rare. And since it uses compulsion, Talented society bans it. There is one person that I know of. It could be that Harris is another.” “If you only know one, it’s so rare it’s off the scale,” Evan commented. “Someone who can do this is powerful and dangerous. No door can hold him out.”


89

“What can we do?” Sophie didn’t like this. A month ago, she would have dismissed the whole thing with laughter, but it had happened to her, and she could no longer deny it. The marks were there, and the dream had shaken her badly. “First, you must not sleep alone until I send you word otherwise. There must be someone nearby to wake you if you dream. Wake and the spell should break. Do you want me to assign a female agent to you?” “No need for that.” Evan’s voice came firmly. “I’ll do it.” Cristos glanced from Evan to Sophie and waited for her nod of assent. It was the second time today she had blushed, which made it twice this decade. “When I get to Harris, I can neutralize his ability and you should be safe after that.” “Do you think Archie Hamilton had anything to do with this?” “Do you?” Cristos shot right back. “Not the Archie I was engaged to. But he’s changed.” “It’s unlikely he has anything to do with this affair,” came the director’s reply. “Your Archie is an ex-fiancé and probably a jealous man. Archie Hamilton has never shown any signs of psychic ability. Did you know he’d been tested?” Startled, Sophie shook her head. Cristos smiled. “It happened when he was at university. He volunteered to be tested for psychic ability, as many students did for the payment offered. What he didn’t know was that the results went into a database, which comes to this office. There was no evidence of any psychic ability at all, and we test for false results. It’s pretty comprehensive. So I think we can discount his involvement and look elsewhere.” Leaving the office an hour later, Sophie felt bemused by the information offered her so matter-of-factly, as if it was a provable fact. “You have to come here with an open mind,” Evan explained. “I came here a computer geek, but I learned there were more things than I had ever dreamed of.” “Horatio.” He frowned at her. “Excuse me?” “Hamlet. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’” His brow cleared. “Oh.” “What do we do now? Are we going to return the aulos?” “Not immediately.” In the elevator, he punched the button, then turned to face her. “I thought you might like some lunch. I know a little restaurant not far from here. Is Italian okay?” “I love it.”

90

Lynne Connolly

He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the mouth. “Then that’s settled. A long lunch, then a trip to the Met to get rid of that whistle-aulos thing. Then home.” “And?” She prompted, a wicked smile curving her lips. “That all depends on you,” he said in an intimate tone that made her toes curl.


91

Chapter Ten Evan dropped Sophie outside the museum doors. “I need to find somewhere to park the bike.” “I’ll go ahead,” Sophie told him. “The place is still full, so I’ll be perfectly safe.” “Are you sure?” He frowned. “I don’t like the idea of you facing Archie on your own. He might not be a murderer, but the last time I saw him, he wasn’t in a friendly mood.” “I’ll be fine.” She pressed her fingers to her lips and then transferred them to his. She couldn’t get closer to him in his visored helmet. He bit the tip of her finger in a playful nibble. “All right, but I’m coming after you if you’re not back out here in twenty minutes. Keep your cell phone on.” “Sure.” Sophie took one look behind her before entering the great museum. She’d been here before. Part of her envied Archie, getting a job here, talking to other academics every day, pursuing studies part of her never wanted to leave behind. Archie worked in the medieval art section, curator for the fragile wooden religious sculptures, a subject he’d made his own in his doctoral thesis. Sophie stopped at the main desk and asked for him. The assistant made a call. “He says to go right up,” she said, giving her yet another visitor’s pass similar to the CIA one she’d worn earlier. She clipped it into place. The guide grabbed a map of the museum and sketched a route for her in pencil. Sophie followed the route, resolutely keeping her eyes away from the treasures on display. If she stopped to examine them, she would be lost. Perhaps she could come here with Evan one day. From the moment they’d met, it had become inevitable somehow.

92

Lynne Connolly

Sophie felt the warmth and dampness at the juncture of her thighs when she remembered how good he’d felt that morning, how his kisses heated her right through, the way they fit together so perfectly. Hastily she pushed her thoughts away. After the leisurely lunch they’d shared, it would have been wonderful just to return to the apartment and make love again. Later. When she’d done this one thing. Her thoughts proved her undoing. Sophie came to and realized she was lost. She must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. The Met was huge, like the British Museum and the Victoria and Albert rolled into one. Someone had said that the V & A had forty miles of display shelves. No wonder it made visitors’ feet ache. She wished she were there now. Sophie knew the great Victorian museum well and was unlikely to lose herself there. She heard the disembodied voice on the speaker announce the museum was about to close. Her visitor’s pass should take care of that, but she had no desire to linger. Ten minutes of wandering found her in the section devoted to European sculpture, close to her destination. Eighteenth-century figures, some life-size, some larger, pieces of time frozen in marble, loomed over her as she passed. Passing through to the medieval section, she saw Archie’s familiar shock of blond hair. He was talking to a couple of visitors. When she drew close, she heard him discussing one of the Madonnas. “It’s in limestone, so it was a prestigious work. Late in the period, about fourteen-twenty.” Trust Archie to settle on the dry historical details instead of the sheer beauty of the piece. The sculpture took her breath away, an intimate study of a mother and child. The Madonna was lost in love for her baby. She had an open book on her lap and was teaching the child, but her hands, tender and careful, spoke of her care. Sophie fell in love with the work. It spoke to her through time, the miracle she searched for in all her studies, a connection to the past. Archie saw her. He extended his arm in welcome, as he always did, but this time she didn’t go and stand within its circle. The visitors drifted away, and she went forward, reaching into her purse. She wanted this over with. “It’s nice to see you here, Archie.” Part of her meant it. Archie fitted in here, and she hoped it would make him content. “You should be here too,” he said, his voice an intimate murmur. Sophie stepped back in an effort to stem the intimacy. She intensified her search. “The aulos was here a minute ago. I touched it when I came in to make sure I still had it. I’m sorry I kept it, but I forgot what with -- everything else.” A man approached them, and Archie introduced them so she was forced to abandon her search. It was Archie’s boss. “Dr. Hamilton has told me about you. It would be a pleasure


93

to see more of you, Dr. Adams. He says you’ve made a special study of alphabets of the period.” Ten minutes later, Sophie spotted Archie’s self-satisfied grin and knew he’d managed to distract her from her purpose. The room was almost empty now, attendants ushering the visitors toward the door, firmly but quietly, so she hadn’t noticed before. She brought her narrative to a halt. “I brought something for Archie from the Tintagel dig, but I seem to have mislaid it.” Archie’s grin changed to a frown. “Are you sure? Did you come straight up here, or did you stop on the way? I’m sorry, but English Heritage is insisting we find it.” “Excuse me.” The man she’d been talking to left in the direction of a private door. Sophie sighed. She bent and upended her purse on the floor, anxious to find the aulos. The second time she had done it in two days, but there were no condoms this time. She’d given all those to Evan. The fucking thing wasn’t there. She rummaged through the items, but it wasn’t there. She stuffed everything back and got to her feet, to find Archie, alone now. “I must have dropped it. I checked it when I came in, so it has to be here somewhere.” “Unless someone’s picked it up.” Archie’s mouth firmed into a disapproving line. “Let’s retrace your steps. Maybe we can get lucky and find it.” There was nothing else they could do. Sophie reached for her cell phone to call Evan, but couldn’t get a signal. “There are some blind spots in here,” Archie told her. “Try again later.” They passed back through to the European sculpture department. “Where did you go?” Archie demanded. Sophie told him as best she could. Archie heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Come on, then.” Walking slowly, ignoring the treasures on display, Sophie looked only at the floor. She saw nothing. Then a screw of paper distracted her. Nothing but a candy wrapper, carelessly discarded by a visitor. Archie’s voice came softly from her left. “Won’t you let me make it up to you, Sophie?” “Make what up?” She didn’t understand his question at first, because she was so intent on her search, but then she looked up. A large marble statue dwarfed Archie, towering above him on its plinth, the figures twisting in their own particular agony. “Oh. No, Archie. Your behavior that night wasn’t all of it. I’d known it was over between us for some time, and that just confirmed it.” “What did I do wrong?” He sounded so lost she knew she had to tell him the truth. He needed to move on, and without knowing, he might not find it possible. “It had been dying for some time, Archie. I’m sorry. You were so good to me when I lost my father, but, Archie, we couldn’t have based a marriage on that.”

94

Lynne Connolly

He stared at her, his cold eyes turbulent with anger. “Don’t you think you owed me that?” He broke the contact sharply. “I’ll go over there. You look through that door.” Sophie was relieved to be free of Archie. His presence menaced her, his anger a reprimand to her for her behavior, as though she had done wrong on that terrible night in Tintagel and not him. She moved on to the next department, African art. Glass cases held masks and statues in a style completely foreign to Sophie. She had never studied this area of art, and found the figures repulsive in a visceral way she’d never understood. Anxious to escape from here, she searched the floor. Sightless eyes followed her every movement, waiting for something. Sophie felt for her mobile phone, but it had gone. Had she dropped it? She must have done. It wasn’t her day for finding things. With a clunk, the main lights went out, replaced by dim spotlights. The museum had closed for the night. While this didn’t faze her, or at least she told herself so, Sophie didn’t like it either. The walls, a dark brownish maroon closed in on her. The masks laughed at her, their open mouths mocking her dilemma. Sophie tried to concentrate on finding the aulos, searching for a silver gleam under the cases. When she stood, she thought one of the masks had moved. She was sure that case had an empty space where a pale brown African mask now sat. Moving away quickly, she turned her ankle and fell heavily, crying out in pain. A face stared at her, ebony and elongated, above a body so stick-thin it could never have existed in real life. Except that it did. Dark eyes glittered behind the mask. There was no space for a human being to hide. She watched, unable to take her eyes away, sitting up and reaching for her ankle. Every cell in her body screamed for her to get away, go now, run! When she glanced away, a movement caught her eye. She turned back. A second figure was closer to her than it had been a moment ago. She was sure of it. The ivory face stared at her with living eyes, the only live thing in the face. Sophie caught her breath but couldn’t scream. Her voice had gone, her breath with it. When she looked in another direction, another statue seemed to have moved. Then she turned her head to look behind her. The ebony statue loomed over her, eyes glittering bright in the unforgiving, stiff face. This was no time to panic. Sophie took a deep breath, then another, listening, trying to hold her thoughts together. A rattle told her when the ivory figure moved. She didn’t look around this time, fully aware of what she would see. Instead she tested her ankle, pressing her heel against the floor. It held. Just a twist, then. Drawing her good foot under her, she got to her feet. A twinge of pain but the foot held. She could get out of here. That was better. She was taller than all the figures. They clustered around her, creaks and rattles telling her when they moved although she never caught them at it. Reaching out


95

with her senses, she felt them moving closer. When they got too close, she turned. Something told her that when they touched her it would be over. Could she jump over one? It seemed to be her only chance of getting away. She bent, ready to spring, trying not to think of failure or her damaged ankle that could well let her down. “I wouldn’t.” The voice came soft and amused. Sophie turned her head to see Archie leaning against an opening. “The slightest touch and you’re lost.” “They’re just statues.” Sophie was pleased to hear no quaver in her voice. Another rattle told her the ebony statue had moved closer. She had barely a square foot of ground now. “They’re receptacles.” Archie’s voice, deepened from his usual musical tenor, gained a harsh edge. “They hold lost souls.” “What?” Sophie worked hard at keeping her voice steady. She couldn’t control the pitch, and it came out too high. “They’re artifacts. Just figures carved in Africa.” “Useful receptacles for lost souls.” Archie lifted his hand and the rattling stopped. The figures no longer moved forward, although the eye sockets still glinted with wicked life. “There are many useful receptacles in this place. Caskets, goblets, flasks. Any hollow vessel will do. Once you learn the trick, it’s easy. You kill the body and save the soul, placing it in another vessel and binding it before it escapes. It happened to me, and now I do it to others. It will never happen to me again.” He moved closer. Before Sophie’s horrified gaze, he seemed to shrink a couple of inches. His hair darkened in the glimmering light, grew to touch his shoulders, tendrils reaching below as though grasping for her. Medusa locks. To look Medusa in the eyes meant death. Sophie’s breath hissed through her teeth as she recognized compulsion in his dark gaze. His eyes were no longer blue. They looked black in the dark light, the gaze fixed on her face. “Archie, what are you doing?” This time she kept her words steady and clear. “You may stay here with your little friends, or you may come with me.” The grating voice wasn’t like Archie’s at all now. Even his slight Scottish lilt had gone. “What happens if I come with you?” “We find that aulos, of course.” There was a pause while Sophie waited. “Evan, where are you?” Didn’t he say he had a gift? Not a gift they had shared, she remembered. Could he hear her in any case? “Cristos!” She knew Cristos had the gift of telepathic communication, but could he hear her now? No response came. She was on her own. She stared at Archie but avoided meeting his gaze directly. The image didn’t remain stable, it flickered in and out, hair gleaming darkly, then a golden strand meeting the light. Like a candle guttering before dying. But there was always a bright flare before it disappeared. A flare that would take her with it.

96

Lynne Connolly

“After we find the aulos, we adjourn to my office and discuss our future. Sophie, you didn’t mean to leave me, did you?” The voice became low and monotonous, the harsh edge almost disappearing. “You meant to teach me a lesson.” Sophie searched her mind for something to keep him busy. While he talked, the statues were still. Someone might come, or she might think of something. “Where’s Gwynnie?” “I left her in England. I didn’t really want her, you know, not above a night or two.” “I didn’t think you wanted me back.” He shrugged. “It might be amusing. You know where that aulos is, Sophie. You own it; you control it. Had I not given it to you, it would be mine.” “What’s so important about that thing? I thought it was modern, just an old ARP whistle you said.” The whistle seemed to dominate Archie’s thinking. There must be something about it, something he wanted. Could it be the scratches? “It’s not the aulos. It’s what it brings with it.” “What’s that?” He smiled, the ends of his thin mouth turning up in a cruel sneer. “You think I’ll tell? Are you wearing a listening device or something?” The smile faded. “Are you?” The edge returned to his voice, the note of compulsion disappearing. She’d worried him. Sophie tried a step, but a rattle told her the guards were still on duty. “You’ll have to come here to find out.” She lowered her own voice. She couldn’t hypnotize, but she could try to sound seductive. If he still wanted her, she had that weapon. He moved closer, and a blue gleam danced in the depths of his eyes. Sophie tore her gaze away, realizing he was trying to do some kind of hypnotism. He moved closer, and one of the figures moved away. She saw it step back with a jerky rhythm. “Touch them and you’re lost,” he said again, smiling. “They’ll draw you in, like dust to a vacuum cleaner.” She pushed away the thoughts of her guts being sucked through a tube, until only her skin was left to collapse on the floor. She felt sick. What was wrong with her? Was she dreaming? It felt real. The figures stood perfectly still, but their eyes glinted at her, the whites catching the light. Archie stood before her, the stranger and the man she knew alternating, flickering as though something else lit him, not the low lights that illuminated the galleries. If this were science fiction, Sophie would have expected him to be a hologram. She reached out a hand and touched him. He was no hologram. Growling he grabbed her arm and pulled her close, against his chest. “This is where you belong.” He bent his head to join their mouths.

*****


97

Evan came to, shaking his head to rid himself of the cobwebs. He sat on the sidewalk in front of a side entrance, his bike on its stand in an alley close by. How could he have done such a stupid thing? Twenty minutes he’d said, but dusk was falling fast now. He pulled out his cell phone and checked the time as he hit the button to dial Sophie. An hour. She’d been gone an hour. He couldn’t get a response. He set the phone to redial, so when she moved out of her blind spot, it would call her straightaway, and then went in search of an open door. It took him ten minutes to find one. Ten minutes of increasingly frantic searching. Evan couldn’t understand why he couldn’t find a security guard. Priceless treasures packed this place. Where were all the guards? He found a side door open. A guard slumbered peacefully in front of a bank of screens, all showing different parts of the museum. Eerie, to see the galleries clear of people. He cleared his throat. The guard snored. “Hey!” Evan yelled in his ear. The guard slumbered on, hands folded over his chest. This couldn’t be right, guards in a place like the Met asleep on the job. A thrall. The whole place was under a fucking thrall. His heart in his throat, Evan vaulted the counter to land beside the guard. He must find Sophie and then get out of here. His wanted to race off, shouting for her, but in this huge building, he wouldn’t find her for some time. Time he didn’t have. Tension coiled in his stomach. Evan sat down at the security guy’s keyboard and punched a few of the buttons. The views changed. He couldn’t see anyone in any of them. No guards, no other people. Something was wrong, badly wrong. He scanned the rooms as quickly as he could. Now he knew the guards were out, he could look faster. Any movement would do. Flicking through the static screens he hit the keyboard without looking, all his attention on the screens before him, moving his head to scan them steadily.

“Sophie! Where are you?” He heard her. In his mind, he heard her calling his name. Nothing else, just her voice, as clear as if she stood next to him. “Evan!” Then he saw her on a screen. The dimly lit room she stood in had small, stiff figures surrounding her in a circle. They didn’t look human. They weren’t human. He leaned closer, trying to decipher the figures, but he couldn’t see them properly. A shadow moved in the corner of the screen. There was someone else in the room with her. Oh God! His senses went on alert. He could see the waves of power radiating from the man advancing on Sophie. He checked the location of the room, the number on the screen. Behind him lay a stack of floor plans. He grabbed one, thumbing through to find the location, then stuffed another one into his pocket, just to be sure he wouldn’t get lost. Taking one more look at the map,

98

Lynne Connolly

Evan took off past the slumbering security guard. He vaulted the counter again and headed for the stairs. His own footsteps were the only thing he could hear. Occasionally he passed a guard, always asleep, slumped in a chair or propped up against the wall. It looked like Sleeping Beauty’s castle. He prayed to God that Sleeping Beauty was still awake. He went up the stairs and into the first of the rooms on that floor, cavernous, lit only by small spotlights set into the walls. Spooky. He suppressed his shudder and slowed down, stopping to consult the map. He cursed when he saw how far he had to go. He could feel it, the tension, drawn tight, like the air just before lightning struck. He raced across the floor of the wing, dodging around the cases that contained priceless works of art, trying to construct some kind of strategy. It looked to him like a hit, some kind of burglary, but the thrall and the power surging through his responsive body told him that if it was, the thieves had gifts that might make them Talents. Sophie could be in the room with an armed thief, and those guys didn’t take prisoners. Any moment he might hear the shot. Pausing just for a moment, Evan strained to listen. At first, he heard nothing. No feet on the floor above him, no conversation, no movement. Then a murmur, a harsh male voice with a British accent, one he’d never heard before. He was too far away to hear what the man was saying. He would have a better advantage if the man didn’t know about him. If they hadn’t heard him racing up the stairs, then they wouldn’t know he was here. Rifling through his pockets for a weapon, he found small change, his keys, and right at the bottom of the pocket of his leather biker’s pants, his Swiss Army knife. Breathing a sigh of relief, he drew it out and extended the blade. He kept it in his pants pocket because it had a few useful tools on it he could use on his bike if he needed to -- a screwdriver, a spike, the knife itself, now blunt, but better than nothing. His father had given it to him, so perhaps utility was stretching it a bit too far. Winging a silent prayer of thanks up to his dad, wherever he was, Evan crept forward. His boots creaked a little, but stopping to undo all the buckles would make even more noise. With all the stealth training he’d received -- too little it seemed to him now -- he approached the room where he could hear voices, the room where he’d seen Sophie earlier, surrounded by those grotesque little figures. And the shadow. He could hear them now, but he didn’t wait to listen. The power centered here, but it had no effect on him. He was aware of it, and he fought it. Sophie stood locked to a man, a tall man with blond hair and a strong, muscular body. His head was bent to her, and they were kissing.


99

Evan’s heart sank. Perhaps Archie had persuaded her after all. He would be disappointed, but it seemed his life was one disappointment after another. Why should this be any different? He called himself any kind of idiot. The thrall extended to him; he felt its potency. It would affect Sophie worse, and the man holding her exerted it, so she wasn’t kissing the man of her own free will. He took a deep breath and sauntered forward. No need for stealth now. As Archie lifted his head and looked around, Evan saw the deadly intent in his eyes. Nearly too late. Archie went for him. Head down, charging like a bull in heat. Which he probably was. Sophie gave a small scream. Then Evan saw the tears in her eyes, wet tracks on her cheeks glistening in the pale light, and he knew for sure this was no reconciliation. Evan only just had time to dodge aside and watch Archie spin around, ready for him. But this time Evan was ready too. Archie’s blue eyes glittered like a feral creature’s in the dim lights. “Perfect,” he growled. “Both of you at once. Come here, little man. Sophie, have you ever seen a man die before your eyes? You’ve seen plenty of bodies, but never one that was alive one moment and dead the next. It’s one of the thrills of your life, seeing that. And once seen, never forgotten.” The men faced each other. Evan remembered his training, formal and informal, legal and the other kind. The kind that worked. In situations like these, the training he’d learned the hard way, in jail, was always best. He took his stance, feet wide apart. “You don’t get to Sophie any other way except through me,” he said. He didn’t take his attention away from his adversary. Archie was heavy, but he knew from their previous encounter that his fighting was without guile. Archie came at him, fists up, head down. Evan was ready for the swing. If it had connected it would have been a punishing right, perfectly balanced. A boxer’s punch. Evan countered with martial arts, taking him off balance and ducking under the blow. Evan went for the metaphoric jugular, or rather, the balls, jabbing with a swift, hard chop, but Archie twisted, and the strike landed on his thigh. He still had the knife, but a useless stab into the meat of Archie’s leg might leave Evan unable to wrench it out, and a stab to the stomach would probably kill his opponent. He had no desire to be sent back to jail for killing a man he despised. He kept the knife in his right hand, but used his left to deliver another blow as he spun around. Archie’s next punch landed just above the stomach, knocking Evan off his feet. He heard a “Stop it!” from behind him, but ignored it. He saw in Archie’s eyes that he’d have to stop Archie, or he’d try to kill them. Evan had no time to wonder what was going on, no time to see if Sophie was all right. Only time to face this man with murder in his eyes.

100

Lynne Connolly

Looking for an advantage, Evan concentrated on riling Archie. “Did she say no, Archie? Not surprising. Can’t keep a woman, can you? Gwyneth didn’t follow you here, and Sophie doesn’t want you anymore. You’re poison, man.” A dark flame flickered in Archie’s eyes, taking Evan unawares. That flame didn’t belong to Archie’s light blue eyes. It couldn’t have been a reflection. It was something else, something darker. Something to fear. No. Only if he allowed it. Evan watched for Archie’s intent. It showed first in his eyes. Archie reached into his pocket and drew out an object he touched, extending a gleaming steel blade. A flick knife. It easily outclassed Evan’s short, blunt pocketknife. Evan took a brief moment to assess the blade and the way Archie held it. While he looked, the grip changed from something clumsy to a professional grip, thumb along the blade, ready to swing the lethally sharp dagger where it was needed. Whoever wielded that knife like an assassin, it wasn’t Archie anymore. His opponent smirked, death in his eyes. Evan gave him no more chances but went in. Flipping his knife from one hand to the other, Evan took Archie by surprise, going in with his hand open, catching Archie’s forearm, the one that held the flick knife. He pushed, using balance and surprise to bring his right arm forward, and this time he hit his mark. Right in the balls. The response was the instinctive one of every male. Archie’s arms swung toward his stomach. Evan waited for it. Catching the arms, ignoring Archie’s howl of pain and rage he yelled, “Run, Sophie!” “I can’t,” she called back to him. “I’m hurt.” Swearing, Evan knew he had to finish this. No quick getaway. He brought his fist up past Archie’s flailing arms, ignoring the blow that landed on his biceps, and connected. Archie fell and landed on the floor with a crash that caused several echoing thumps behind him. He turned. Sophie stood in the middle of a circle of African statues, some flat on the floor. He went to her, but she stopped him. “Don’t touch them!” “Why not? Are they fragile?” Sophie glanced at them and something changed in her eyes. Relief surged in to replace the terror he’d glimpsed before she looked away at the figures and then back at him. “They’re gone!” “What?” Unable to bear the separation, he crossed the room and took her in his arms, holding her tight for a quick hug before releasing her. He kept hold of her hand. “Let’s go.” Archie was out cold, the knife clutched in his hand. “He wasn’t Archie until you came in,” she whispered, her voice quavering with emotion. “He didn’t even look like Archie.”


101

Evan spared him a glance. He looked very much like Archie now. An unconscious Archie. Almost dragging her, he took her out of that room. Those masks and statues with their stylized faces and bodies gave him the creeps. “We have to get out of here.” “Yes.” When she stumbled, he stopped. “What is it?” “I turned my ankle.” “Can you manage, or should I carry you?” “I can manage.” They made it across the floor and down the staircase, Evan watching Sophie in case her ankle was worse than she claimed. As she’d said, she managed, but he wanted to get her home where he could look at her ankle, apply an ice pack, and just hold her. They didn’t stop until they stood outside the building. Evan felt he could breathe again and stood, pulling the cool night air deep into his lungs. He found his cell and sent Cristos a terse text message before he climbed on the bike. Sophie climbed behind him and gripped his waist tightly, much tighter than she had on the way here. He would stop if he felt her hold slacken. Evan took chances he wouldn’t normally have taken, too anxious to get her home to concern himself with mundanities like traffic. She was hurt, tired, and frightened. Every primitive cell in his body wanted to get her to safety and then ensure her complete safety. When she leaned forward and rested her head on his bent back, he wanted to roar in triumph. Parking the bike, watching Sophie slump while she waited for him, Evan wanted to pick her up and carry her the rest of the way, but a warning spark in her eyes told him he was probably better letting her make her own way there. No wilting violet, his Sophie. Cristos waited for them outside the apartment. Evan had one arm around Sophie, supporting her, but managed to get the palm print and iris scan done without letting her go. When the door opened, he motioned for Cristos to go through first, then succumbed to his primal instincts and swung Sophie into his arms to carry her through. He didn’t understand at first why Sophie shuddered. Then he realized the small lights he always left on while he was out were too much like the lights in the museum. He flicked a switch on the wall, and the room blazed into life. Cristos immediately went to the windows and closed the blinds while Evan deposited his precious burden on the sofa, taking care not to twist her foot. He went to the kitchen and opened the door to his freezer, grabbing an ice pack and cloth. When he returned to the living room, he went straight to Sophie and sat down on the sofa, lifting her feet gently onto

102

Lynne Connolly

his lap. He busied himself removing her tennis shoes and applying the ice pack, wrapped in the cloth, to her ankle while she told Cristos what had happened. At points in her narrative, she stopped, but a quiet “Go on,” from Cristos reassured her, and she continued. Other than that, neither man interrupted her. Some of her speech confused Evan, and when he exchanged a glance with Cristos, he saw him frown. Her voice only shook a couple of times. Evan felt proud that she could do this, face this living nightmare. “The figures -- are they usually in the museum?” Cristos asked when she had concluded. “I believe so. I’ve always thought them a little disturbing. How would they get out of the cases?” Cristos shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s clear Hamilton put you under a thrall, but Evan wasn’t in one and he saw them too. There is one thing I can try.” “Yes?” Evan knew what was coming. “I can examine your mind and see if you were under a compulsion. I have some abilities; I think you must have guessed that. Will you give me your permission?” “Of course. This must end. I want it to end.” Evan stood up and put her feet gently on the cushions, preparing to go and find another ice pack, but at her silent entreaty, he stopped. “You want me to stay?” She reached out her hand. “Yes, please. If you don’t mind.” What else could he do? He was warmed by the knowledge that she wanted him, trusted him even. He admired her courage in facing this, when so many other people would have run away. For everyone who could face these horrors there was someone who would claim it was only a dream. They didn’t know, and they couldn’t face something that turned their ordered world upside down. Sophie had faced it without a qualm, and didn’t give any excuses. He went to the other end of the sofa and perched on the broad armrest so he could take her hand. He watched Cristos reveal his Talent. It took a great deal for Cristos to do this. The scientific basis of the research Department 57 did was far less important than Cristos led outsiders to suppose. The Department centered on several Talented individuals who possessed gifts usually dismissed as nonexistent, but Evan no longer doubted. He’d seen one person teleport a box across a room, someone else project a vision of a griffin into the minds of everyone in the room, including himself. More than that, he’d seen a man transform into a dragon and back again. And he had his own gift, one that could, if he allowed it to be researched, be lethal in the classic honey trap. That was why he had kept it secret. He had no wish to become a seducer with a difference. Cristos got to his feet and shed his close-fitting suit jacket. In shirtsleeves, he


103

approached Sophie, leaned forward, and put the tips of his fingers to her temples. “Physical contact isn’t necessary,” he explained, “but it helps.” Sophie stared up into Cristos’s pale eyes, and Evan felt her grip on his hand increase. He returned the pressure, just to let her know he was here and he wouldn’t allow anything more than what Cristos had offered. Five minutes of silence followed. Tense, pulsating silence. His windows were soundproof so no sound seeped in from the street outside. Evan concentrated on keeping his breaths deep and steady. He had never allowed Cristos to examine him like this. He might see too much. But his boss had examined him from a distance and perhaps knew what he should not. Cristos’s marriage to his mother had occurred while Evan was living at home. The marriage hadn’t lasted long, but Evan had learned much about Cristos that other people didn’t know. Nothing he could use against him but useful, small pieces of information that added up to the whole person. He’d heard Cristos described as enigmatic and cold, but he had seen him first thing in the morning, yawning over tea and toast, and he had seen his devastation when his mother had decided she didn’t want him anymore and reverted to her previous name after the divorce. He had offered Evan friendship, but at that time, Evan had rejected it. He felt differently now, but friendship was no longer an offer. Camaraderie, however, was firmly in place. Cristos drew back, his face strained with effort. Evan bent over Sophie. “Are you all right?” She gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. I feel better, if anything.” Cristos leaned back, no trace of his recent efforts on his smooth features. He didn’t put his jacket back on, but his white shirt was spotless, and his tie exactly placed. “There is no compulsion,” Cristos said. “No evidence of hypnotism or another mind making you see what you should not. You saw what you thought you saw. Which takes us to another conclusion.” Evan kept his attention on Cristos. “What would that be?” “Someone in New York, or nearby, has tremendous power. Someone we don’t know about. I can’t tell you how rare that is. What is more, it seems this person is a power for evil.” “Archie Hamilton?” Cristos shook his head slowly, biting his lower lip in thought. “Not entirely. He may have some power, or he might be the vessel for someone else. It won’t be any surprise to you to know I’ve had him investigated. He’s given up the apartment he was to share with you, Sophie, and found lodgings with Mrs. Bull, of the art gallery. He has struck quite a friendship with her daughter, Anna. We know about the Bull Gallery. It seems to be on the level. Mrs. Bull makes good deals with good artists and is astute enough to know the right people to sell to. There are no anomalies in her work, no financial irregularities, and nothing to say she isn’t what she claims to be.” Evan knew Cristos. “But…?” he prompted.

104

Lynne Connolly

“But,” Cristos replied, fixing Evan with a glare, “but, some of those customers are curious, to say the least. The usual retired company directors and corporate accounts, but a few oddballs. Recluses, people we have been interested in but found nothing about so far. No outright criminals, no mob or gang connections, nothing politically dubious, but people whose source of wealth can’t be traced, well-placed people who connect a diverse collection of other people.” Sophie started, and Evan looked at her with concern. “Elaine worked there, at the Bull Gallery.” Cristos nodded. “Meghan Leroux was to have an exhibition there.” If he hadn’t said it, Evan would have done. “That makes the Bulls prime suspects in my book.” “And the Bureau’s. They’re being watched very closely. So far, nothing, but either the Bulls are involved, or someone is using the gallery for their own ends.” “What do you think?” Sophie was alert, her chin up and slightly tilted, listening to Cristos. “I think, Dr. Adams, that we have to be very, very careful. If these people are causing disturbances, they are clever. They have access to resources easily equal to ours. It also means they want something.” “The aulos. I think I dropped it in the Museum.” “No, not just that. There has to be something else, not something of monetary value. They have enough money.” “Something of power.” Evan spoke quietly. “Indeed. I want you to do some searches, Evan. Online. Be careful. Cover all your tracks. Go in stealth and then more stealth. I can give you some names. We need a link, perhaps a Web site that looks innocuous, perhaps a financial link.” Evan nodded. “And I want you in this apartment,” Cristos told them. “House arrest again?” Sophie frowned in annoyance. “Call it what you like. You have something they want, or they think you have. If you did drop the aulos somewhere in the museum, you still know about it, and they might seek you out to hurt you.” Fear clutched Evan. Cristos was right. “I’ll go with her if she goes anywhere. If these people are using telepathic skills, the security on the doors won’t keep them out.” Cristos sighed. “You’re right.” He shot Evan a sharp glance. “You know and I know that you have psychic abilities. I haven’t told anyone, and I don’t intend to, but in return, I want you to take care of Sophie. I would also like to test her.”


105

At Sophie’s alarmed protest, Evan touched her shoulder, trying to convey reassurance. “Only the standard tests for some psychic ability. You know, the cards with symbols, that kind of thing. But if you don’t want to do them, he can’t make you.” “Can’t I?” Cristos’s eyes glittered with menace. “No.” Evan faced him squarely. “You can’t.” Cristos shrugged. “It might help.” “I’ll do them. I don’t mind.” Evan increased the pressure on Sophie’s shoulder for a moment. Cristos got to his feet. “I’ll e-mail you those names in a series of separate mails. All encrypted.” “Of course.” Cristos shot Evan a quizzical look, but he refused to respond. He saw Cristos to the door, careful to ensure he secured the door properly behind him. Then Evan went back to Sophie. “He’s right, you know. We have to stay here until we know what we’re up against.” “Pity.” She sighed. “I enjoyed our lunch.” “We’ll do it again when this is over. I promise.” His heart warmed when he remembered the lunch and turned to heat when he looked forward to the ones to come. “I enjoyed it too.” He went over to the computers but had no enthusiasm for it. He wanted something else. He smiled. If anyone had told him that at sixteen, he wouldn’t have believed them. “I’m tired. Would you mind if I had an early night?” He turned. “Of course not. Would you mind if I joined you?” He asked half in jest, afraid she might not want it as much as he did, that their previous lovemaking was a one-off. Hell, it was his apartment; he had to give her the option of turning him downing. She got his meaning immediately. “No. I want you.”

106

Lynne Connolly

Chapter Eleven Sophie hadn’t realized the true meaning of the phrase “burning eyes.” She did now. Hardly had she gotten to her feet when she found herself swept up into his arms. Holding her close, Evan moved rapidly across the large living space in the direction of the staircase. She kept her gaze on his face and saw the hunger there, reflecting the hunger she knew lay deep in her own eyes. He laid her on the bed, and Sophie had a fleeting thought that it was as well no one had moved it, for he didn’t take his attention from her for a moment. Only then did he follow her down and take her in a deep kiss that robbed her of all reason. He propped himself on his elbows and stared down at her. “You want this? Really? Because, Sophie, if you stay in this bed tonight, you’re never going back to the other one unless it’s with me.” “Oh yes,” she said. “This morning you were stressed, and I was desperate. I knew I’d have to give you the choice next time. I couldn’t take it for granted. I’ve wanted you since I first saw you, baby. A fairy covered in dirt, fresh from uncovering secrets hidden for centuries. I wanted to take you into the shower and wash every beautiful inch of you and then take you to bed to keep you warm. Now I know you better, I want a lot more than that.” She saw the question in his eyes and knew it was reflected in her own. “I want this, Evan.” He kissed her and caressed her body, long sweeps of his hands from her hips to her underarms and back again, cupping his hands to fill them with the curves of her bottom. She reciprocated, touching his back, feeling his muscles move and flex under her hands. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it free of his pants, and heard his chuckle. “In a hurry, are we?” he teased, lifting himself on one elbow. She replied with a smile. “You might say that.”


107

“Well, we’re here until Cristos tells us otherwise. We might as well make the most of it.” He glanced at her, and she smiled to show him she knew he wasn’t serious. He ran his hand along the buttons of her shirt, undoing them as he went. She busied herself with his shirt. “Do you always do what Cristos tells you?” “No.” His voice lowered to a dark purr. “But I don’t buck his authority just for the hell of it. The decision made sense.” He had undone her shirt. She sat up so he could take it off her. She leaned forward and slipped his shirt down his arms, wanting to touch his chest. It was strong, with well-defined muscle, hot to her touch, and lightly furred. “You feel good.” His gasp told her he enjoyed her caresses. “So do you.” He opened her shirt and put his hands on her. She responded with shivering recognition. He felt right, his touch a welcome thing. Sophie flinched with the extra sensitivity, as though her experiences that night had opened something new inside her. She needed this intimacy, with this man, as she had needed no one in quite that way before. She smiled up at him when he reached around to unclip her bra and kept her eyes on his face, watching his reaction. Her response seemed new. The intent was new; the need was new. This morning, they had succumbed to pure desire. Tonight it meant so much more. Desire was still there, but both knew this meant more than that. When she undid the button on his trousers, he gave her a grin more redolent of a cheeky boy than a haunted man and stood for a moment to slip off the remainder of his clothes and kick them onto the floor. Sophie would have done the same, but he stopped her with a hand flat on her stomach. “Let me.” He undressed her with agonizing slowness, lingering on every inch of skin he exposed, sometimes dropping soft kisses on her skin, sometimes caressing with his hand or just looking. Sophie lay open to him. “You are beautiful,” he breathed. “Truly beautiful.” Sophie gave a short, skeptical laugh. “Archie thought I was too thin. He kept trying to build me up, said I needed the stamina for all that fieldwork.” “I don’t do fieldwork,” Evan reminded her. “And I love your delicate body.” He touched her chin, turned her so she looked at him. “You should believe me, not anybody else.” He bent to give her a kiss that made her arch up to him, hold him close. It was wonderful to be cherished, to be caressed with such single-minded passion. He wanted her -Sophie. She couldn’t doubt that any longer. With a few tiny kisses, he slid out of her arms and down her body, kissing and caressing. He lingered at her breasts, taking each nipple into his mouth in turn to curl his tongue around the tips and lick until she stirred restlessly under his hands.

108

Lynne Connolly

With a sound of appreciation, like a man enjoying a delicious morsel, he continued down her body. Sophie wanted to do the same for him. She wanted to caress him, kiss him, and learn him, but he had claimed that privilege and was giving her so much pleasure she didn’t want him to stop. “Evan!” His mouth touched the curls at the top of her legs and moved on, down to her thighs. Sophie couldn’t stop her groan of disappointment. He looked up, his breath heating her leg. “What is it? Did you want something else, maybe?” His grin told her he knew precisely what she wanted. Sophie couldn’t ask. Some men didn’t like performing oral sex, and she wanted this to be perfect. “It doesn’t matter. This is lovely.” “Oh, it matters. What you want, I want. Please, Sophie, tell me.” “I want --” Sophie took a breath. “I want you to kiss me -- there.” “Here?” He eased her legs apart and touched her just inside the lips of her sex. “Yes.” Sophie wet her lips that had suddenly gone dry. “Lick my pussy, Evan.” He sank down and buried his head between her thighs. At the first touch of his tongue, Sophie’s body jerked up in response. Fire jolted through her body, but his hands held her thighs firmly, and she couldn’t have escaped him even if she’d wanted to. She didn’t want to. He caressed her, bathed her in warmth and wetness, and then drew her clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the tip, making her feel every nerve, every tiny millimeter of skin. “Oh God! Oh, Evan!” He chuckled, sending a spurt of hot breath onto her sensitized skin, but didn’t stop. It didn’t take long. It usually took Sophie much longer than this, but Evan seemed to know precisely what to do, and he did it. He plunged his tongue deep into her, drew her clitoris into his mouth until he sent her mindless with need. Heat rippled through her body, urging her higher. Her orgasm came swift and hot, bursting her body into fragments of sparkling delight, and she opened her mouth and let loose a scream, long and loud. Dark hair disheveled, cock hard and needy, Evan came back up the bed to her, feeling under the pillow with one hand. He sat back on his haunches and opened the foil packet, one hand on his penis, smoothing the moisture over the head. “It’s yours, Sophie,” he murmured, the devilish whisper reaching right inside her. “In a minute, I’ll give you all of it. Every inch.” Sophie reached forward and put her hand over his. Together they put on the condom, eased it down, and then he leaned over her.


109

“I might have to go out for more of these,” he murmured, pushing between her legs, then sliding over her in a motion that made her want everything, all of him. Now. “We can manage without bread, but not these. I have a feeling we’ll run out before the night’s over. Oh, baby!” He entered her on her responsive chuckle. The short laugh abruptly stopped. Sophie arched her back and tilted her hips in an instinctive response, designed to help his entry, but he needed none of it. He pressed into her steadily until he was fully enclosed by her body, watching her response. She let him see her pleasure, trying to put her emotions into her eyes. This was right, as it had never been before, as it could never be with anyone else. “Oh God, Sophie, you feel so good!” His lips found hers, and he entered her with his tongue. She tasted herself on him, and it drove her wild. She met his thrusts, shoulders hard against the pillows, hips off the bed. Warmth blossomed deep inside her body. Again? So soon? She groaned into his mouth, felt him greedily absorb her cries, and then he pushed his upper body up and away, thrusting into her wildly, his rhythm secure, the depth of his penetration increasing with every stroke. Sophie’s body softened and heated for him, the natural flow of her body’s juices encouraging his hard thrusts, easing his pushes so he went deeper with every stroke. He lifted his head, eyes open. Sophie kept her eyes open too, staring into his dark, impassioned gaze. A heavy lock of black hair fell across his forehead, but he didn’t notice. He was lost in her, his face intent, lines of tension around his sculpted, kissable mouth. As she looked at him his face warmed, the expression in his eyes softened. He lifted one hand and cupped her cheek in a gentle caress. “What are you doing to me?” “I could ask you the same thing.” “Sophie, I swear, nothing has ever felt this good before.” He laughed, a sharp bark of sudden unshadowed mirth. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day. Could hardly keep my mind off it.” “Have you?” “You bet.” He swooped down to take her mouth again, lavishing her open lips licks and deep penetrations of his tongue. Sophie responded, caressing his mouth, pushing her tongue against his to share the feeling of belonging. The intensity of her took her by surprise. She had thought she wanted to spend some time on her own Archie, but now she couldn’t bear the thought of being without Evan.

with then need after

He pulled away and let his body cover hers, still fully inside her. He stopped moving. When she gyrated her hips, he put down a hand to stop her. “If you carry on doing that, I’m not going to be able to control myself,” he murmured. “I don’t want to come just yet; I want to stay inside you forever.” “We have all night,” she answered, her lips next to the skin of his shoulder. Without warning, she bit, not too hard, but enough to send him jolting above her. Wickedly, Sophie

110

Lynne Connolly

nipped at his shoulder and neck, finding a particularly sensitive spot that made him crazy. It was time she got some of her own back. She lavished attention on it, licking and sucking, crying out as he increased the speed and depth of his thrusts inside her. When she felt the tension coil in her stomach, she gave herself up to it, felt the blossoming that filled her with light, and finally broke open in an explosion of intense heat. She cried his name, and after the first few cries, he joined her, his body convulsing as hers contracted around him. Sophie lay quietly, accepting him, knowing him. When he’d finished, he rolled off her immediately, but kept his arms around her, so she went with him, tumbling across the crumpled sheets to the clean, cool smoothness on the other side of the bed. Both were out of breath, with more than just physical exertion. It was more than Sophie expected, more than she hoped for, more than she knew. Evan was the first to speak. “What was that?” He sounded bewildered, where she was finally sure. “Don’t you know?” She smiled, feeling lighthearted and frivolous, but this was dissipated by his next words. “Is this love?” She turned her head and gazed at him, meeting his eyes. Faltering, she remembered her life’s disappointments. But this was Evan, and he deserved an honest answer. “I think it might be.” “I don’t know. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before.” He lifted the sheets and swung out of bed, heading for the bathroom. He wasn’t away long and returned to slide into bed and take her in his arms. “I haven’t had a huge amount of experience.” “Neither have I.” He laughed, the movement making her breasts move against his chest, his body hair caressing her sensitive flesh. “More than me, I’ll bet. I wasted two years in jail when I should have been working my way through the female population of New York. When I came out, I seemed to have an attraction for a certain kind of woman, but I didn’t take up many offers.” “What sort of woman?” “The kind that likes it rough. Wants a jailbird to fuck them silly.” His voice sounded so bleak Sophie reached out to him instinctively. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the fingers. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” “What about in jail?” She couldn’t help but ask, and then wished she’d bitten her tongue out. She didn’t want to know. He surprised her when he laughed. She hadn’t expected laughter to come from such a terrible experience.


111

“Let’s just say I learned not to bend over in the shower to pick up the soap.” His enjoyment of her shock was catching, and she smiled too. “Someone tried it once. I fought back and instead of beating me to a bloody pulp, the man decided to teach me to fight, to make me his pet project. He got his kicks somewhere else. I wasn’t his type, he said. It amused him, I think, to turn a geek into a fighting man. I learned a lot in jail, not all of it bad. I learned how to fight dirty, and that computers didn’t have to be the center of my life. Because I was jailed for hacking, I wasn’t allowed near any form of computer.” She drew a sharp breath. “That must have hurt.” The warmth in his eyes was more than desire. It held tenderness. “Only at first. I switched my college studies to literature and learned how to fight. It probably saved me from being a pale, nerdy geek for the rest of my life. Not that I’ve anything against geeks.” She chuckled, spreading her hand over his taut stomach, feeling the muscles tense and relax to her touch. “At Tintagel, when you called yourself a geek, no one believed you.” He smiled. “People rarely do. I found the gym ate away a lot of hours, and I could exercise in the cell too. It’s good for the brain, or so they tell me.” “I know what it’s good for,” she murmured, sliding her hand over his firm stomach. He watched her, his expression turning intent. “Sophie?” “Yes?” “Let’s call it love. For now, anyway.” Sophie didn’t allow the casual-seeming words to block his real meaning. His eyes said it, his embrace held it. He meant it. “Let’s.” So did she. She slid her hand slowly down her body and grasped his cock, reveling in his gasp of pleasure. “On the other hand, you can call it what you like, as long as you don’t stop doing that.” He fell back against the pillows. Sophie pushed the foreskin down his already hardening cock, savoring the miracle of his response. She’d never felt this happy before, never been able to express herself so freely with her body. Evan made her feel safe and wanted. Watching his face, she sat up and let the sheets fall off her body. She loved the look in his eyes, the dark appreciation gleaming in their depths. She wanted to show off for him, display herself for his pleasure. It gave her a sense of power new to her experience. Lifting one leg, she straddled his body, taking her time, letting him see whatever he wanted to see. His gaze roved over her body like a lick of flame, heating where it touched, and settled on her crotch. “Beautiful,” he murmured. She didn’t contradict him. If he thought she was beautiful, then she must be.

112

Lynne Connolly

“So are you,” she answered, settling on his abdomen. Leaning forward, she ran her hands over his chest and flat stomach, pausing to tweak his nipples. He drew a breath in sharply between his teeth. He liked that, then. She rolled them between her fingers, bent down to take one in her mouth and flick her tongue around the tip. His low groan told her he enjoyed it. She rolled her hips, allowing her wetness to come into contact with his lower stomach, and laughed low in her throat when he moaned louder. “Sophie, where did you learn this?” He gasped. “Never mind. I don’t care.” “I didn’t learn it. I’m making it up as I go along. Just like a storyteller.” She let her breath heat him, then blew cold air on the wet nipple, pleased when it puckered and peaked for her. “Tell me another story,” he whispered, his voice a dark temptation. “I love your stories.” Sophie smiled against his skin and lifted up again, to bathe in his heated gaze. She slid her hands up her body, shaping her waist and lifting her breasts before letting them fall again. She’d always felt her breasts were too small to interest a man, Evan proved her wrong now. He reached for her, but she inched back, teasing him, and came into contact with his cock, rearing behind her. She lifted and let it through to the front of her body, leaning against his raised knees. She brushed the very tip with the end of her finger and felt the soft, hot skin pulse. It seemed to strain for her touch, unashamedly begging for attention. The slit at the tip expanded, and a drop of moisture seeped through. Smoothing her hands up and down his length, she watched Evan moan softly and close his eyes. When she leaned over and tasted him, he murmured her name. He tasted salty. She wanted more. She lifted her head. “Watch me, Evan. I won’t do it until you watch me.” She had never felt as wicked as she did when he opened his dark eyes, his gaze molten and devouring. She licked him. He responded with a moan. She bent and opened her mouth over him. “Ah, Sophie, you’ll kill me!” She concentrated on learning him with her tongue, running it over the head, as though he was a particularly delicious ice-cream cone. Then she sucked and felt his ass come off the bed. She pushed him back down. The power of having Evan Howell helpless under her assault intoxicated Sophie. She glanced up, saw him watching her avidly. Concentrating on his pleasure, on her pleasure in it, she worked him, pulling and caressing, touching. Her hand curved around his balls, and she caressed them, felt them move in the sac. She squeezed gently, synchronizing the movements of mouth and hands, working him, driving him to cry out for mercy. He didn’t actually use those words, but when she heard his hoarse cry and felt the balls tighten, she pulled away and would have risen up, taken him inside, but he stopped her with one hand on her thigh. He held a foil packet. She took it and tore it open.


113

She enjoyed smoothing the soft latex over his cock, though she regretted the necessity. Wet from her mouth, it was an easy job, and she took a little more time over it than she needed to. By that time, he’d regained a little of his control. His gaze was less wild. When she lifted up again, she did it with his aid, his hands around her waist. She paused just before taking him in, considering his beauty and her desire. Arousing him had a similar effect on her. She hadn’t known having a man watch her would make her so wet, so needy. Now she only needed one thing. His cock deep inside her. With one firm plunge, she took him in, calling his name. She slid forward so he could touch her breasts, caress them and play with them as she had played with his nipples earlier. Pushing herself into his hands gave her the leverage to work him as she wanted to, drive herself toward the light. He reached her G-spot without effort, caressing and rubbing against it. The feeling grew, became almost too much to bear, and his murmurs of encouragement, his hands on her body, only drove her on to find her own fulfillment in him. On him. Hearing only his words, and their bodies coming together wetly, violently, Sophie shuddered with Evan buried deep inside her. He gripped her hips and forced her onto him, making her squirm in pleasure. The squirming increased the delight forming deep inside, deeper than her womb, deeper than anyone else had ever reached. “I can’t stand it,” she gasped. “Oh yes, you can,” he answered, pushing impossibly deeper. With one keening cry, Sophie came apart. Her world shattered; her body dissolved into an arrow of hot, burning desire. Evan held her steady, held her secure, worked inside her until her contractions ceased, turning into satiated delight. She opened her eyes. He still watched her, his eyes blazing with want. “I have never in my life seen anything so erotic. I have never wanted anyone more, wanted to see anyone explode like that. Come for me again, Sophie. Come until you fall asleep in my arms, on my body, until you forget everybody but me. Soak me with your come. Melt me, baby.” It was too much. The feeling built and burst, Sophie was no longer sure who was doing what to whom. She threw back her head and let her cry of fulfillment fill the large room with echoes, letting everything go in the sheer moment of release. His body convulsed, jackknifing off the bed, only his hands holding her safe. Crying out in his turn, his bass groans joining with her higher cries, they strained together and achieved their peak. Sophie fell forward, and Evan caught her, settling her on his body where, for now at least, she belonged. She felt herself sliding into sleep, unable to stop the descent. Exhausted from the day and from the bout of energetic lovemaking, lulled by his low murmurs, Sophie fell asleep.

114

Lynne Connolly

***** When she awoke, it was to the gentle drift of his hands. Smiling, she asked him, “How long was I asleep?” “An hour, maybe two,” he said. “Sit up. Have something to eat.” When she sat, he threw a shirt over her shoulders and pulled up the sheets. Incredibly, after preening for him so shamelessly earlier, she felt shy. He was gloriously naked and must have been awake for some time, for a tray of snacks stood on a small table next to the bed. He slid into bed next to her. “I meant to feed you, bathe you, and perhaps make gentle love to you when we got home. Not to fuck you in quite such a firestorm.” He kissed the end of her nose. “I was incredibly selfish. I’m sorry.” “If that’s selfishness, I don’t mind it in the least.” She leaned back against the pillows, more at ease now. “I needed something like that, though I didn’t expect it. The museum scared me so much, I needed to be taken out of it, and I can’t think of a better way.” “Shall I take you back there to kill the ghosts? If we go into that exhibit again, will you treat me the same way when we get home?” He smiled, but she couldn’t repress an involuntary shudder. He reached out for her, and she went to him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t joke.” “Yes, you should. It’ll pass.” Sophie had no intention of allowing that experience to dictate her actions. “What do you really think about what happened? Why were all those guards asleep?” “We’ll know in the morning, but I think Cristos was right. Someone powerful set a thrall over the building. Remember Sleeping Beauty, where the whole castle fell asleep? Something like that.” “What about the figures -- and Archie? I didn’t imagine it, Evan. I know I saw him change into somebody else.” He stroked her hair, and she relaxed against him. “Either the thrall or it really happened. In which case, we’re talking possession.” He shuddered. She put her hand on his chest, feeling his heart pump beneath her palm. “What do you think?” “I don’t know for sure.” A few moments went by before he spoke again. “Compulsion maybe. Compulsion is banned in the Talented community. If anyone made Archie do something against his will, that is against the law, and it won’t go unpunished. Between you and me, if Cristos did find it, he wouldn’t report it back. It would be dealt with in-house. It could be a terrible weapon in the wrong hands. With the world the way it is, it might be better to suppress that kind of knowledge.”


115

“Compulsion?” Sophie thought it over. “How terrible!” “It might be what happened. Or it could be memory. Some people think we’ve lived before, and we retain memories from previous lives.” “Do you believe that?” “I’d like to. It would explain a few things.” He lifted her away from him. “When I first saw you, I thought I’d seen you before.” He smiled and shook his head. “I don’t know. But I’m glad I found you now.” “So am I.” He bent and kissed her so gently she thought they might both melt. “Come on,” he said against her mouth. “Let’s shower. How’s your ankle? Can you stand?” “I can hardly feel it now. It was only a twist.” Evan was a considerate shower-sharer, she told him as he rinsed her back for her. His rich chuckle told her he enjoyed the compliment. “A shower is better shared.” “How do you know that?” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “I’m just learning.” She lifted her hair into the warm stream cascading down on her. Evan found the shampoo. He poured a puddle into his hand and worked it into her hair. Sophie loved the feel of his fingertips on her scalp, massaging gently. It made her wonder what a full-body massage would be like. Tingling warmth in the depths of her abdomen eagerly anticipated the experience. “Sophie, tell me if it’s not my concern, but I have wondered something.” She let him speak, closing her eyes against the suds that cascaded down her face. “When I first met you, you were to marry Archie. Yet that evening I never felt anything between you two. You didn’t seem connected. I don’t really know what I’m saying, but I saw you and wanted you, and I didn’t think Archie stood in my way.” “Did you?” The water ran clear now. Sophie lifted her head and opened her eyes. “Want me that soon, I mean? I liked the look of you, but I didn’t want to get involved with anyone else at the time.” “What about now?” “Now you deserve to know what kind of butterfly you’ve hooked up with.” They stood together, his hands gently sifting through her hair to get rid of the remaining suds. “I want you to know how fickle I am, Evan.” She wanted to be honest with him, this man she was falling deeply in love with. “Archie was good to me when my father was murdered. I mean really good. I had an essay due; he finished it for me. The university offered me leave, but I didn’t want it. It would have given me nothing to do, and I needed something. Archie was good, kind, understanding, and he looked after me. Just what I needed.” Evan’s dark gaze gave away nothing of what he was feeling inside, but now she had started, she had to

116

Lynne Connolly

explain. Even if it meant losing him. “We got engaged and moved in together. But over the past two or three years, I tired of his dominance. He always has to be in control. He’s not an autocrat or anything like that, but if I got something, he had to have something better. I got my doctorate first, and he was always teasing me about it, as though it really meant something and he didn’t want to admit it.” She moved closer, and Evan responded at last, wrapping her in his arms and reaching for the dial to turn off the water. “When you turned up, I was wondering what was wrong with me, why I couldn’t care more for the man I was supposed to marry. I’d already decided to leave him.” He lifted her out of the shower and wrapped her in a large, soft towel. “Sometimes it happens. What you need in one part of your life isn’t always what you need later on.” “I know you’re right, but I still feel bad about it.” He patted her dry. Sophie enjoyed Evan babying her. It didn’t have the controlling overtones it had when Archie had done it. Evan made her feel cherished and pampered. Not owned. “Don’t. Besides, you said Archie had changed.” “Completely. It’s as though he isn’t the same person.” Evan’s hands stilled on her body. She lifted her head to see an abstracted look in his eyes. “It’s sounding more like possession.” “Do you believe in that?” “I’ve seen it. I might even have felt it.” His attention returned. He reached for another towel and began to dry himself. “Yes. Possession. A terrible thing, the ultimate invasion of privacy. When people begin behaving differently, it’s usually a psycho thing, but sometimes it’s not. Mind control taken one step further. Possession of another’s body.” “And you think that’s happened to Archie?” “Maybe.” He finished toweling himself and let the towel drop to the floor. “Sophie, I’ll be honest with you. Cristos has a secret project, one he doesn’t want people to know about. He touched on it earlier. He believes a strong mind can take over a weaker one, not in the way of compulsion. We’re doing studies into some scary phenomena. Ghouls, dead bodies taken over by a spirit. The body continues to decay, and when it’s done, the ghoul moves on. Cristos believes a live body can be taken over in the same way. He’s developing a theory, something along the lines of a profiling chart. When a person changed, how, if there was any trauma, what precipitated the change. He wants to rule out the psychological elements and keep the paranormal. Even the Talents the Department employs don’t know about that project.” Sophie shivered, but she wasn’t cold. “Is this real? You mean it?” His mouth firmed to a hard line. “Yes, I mean it. I’ve seen it.” “Seen it?”


117

“Seen the change.” He paused, turning half away from her toward the door. “I think I saw it recently.” “Who?” She knew, but she had to hear it from him. “Archie.”

118

Lynne Connolly

Chapter Twelve “Oh God!” Sophie clapped her hand over her mouth, horrified. “You’re right, I know you’re right. How could such a thing happen? Why?” “I don’t know. Something causes the change, but it’s not always obvious to the witnesses.” They looked at each other, recognition sparking in them both. Sophie articulated it. “The aulos. That night in the pub at Tintagel when Archie collapsed. He was himself until that point. Then when he came to, he seemed to have changed. He drank, he lost the spark for his work, and he -- changed.” “Then that was the moment. Someone else has taken control of Archie.” “Will he still be in there somewhere?” “It’s impossible to say.” Evan came back to her and folded his arms around her. “It’s late. Come to bed, eat, and sleep. I’ll contact Cristos in the morning.” “Will you tell him what I told you about the murder?” “But I won’t if you don’t want me to.” She shook her head wearily. “Tell him. He needs to know.” The remembrance of that night at Tintagel made Sophie’s head throb, the way it had all day afterwards. When she put her hand to her head, he soothed her. “Headache? Want some Advil?” “I’d prefer paracetamol. I have some in my bag.” Evan tucked her up in bed and then went downstairs to fetch her bag, the one she had miraculously brought back with her from the museum. If she hadn’t slung it firmly across her body, she doubted she would have remembered it. Reaching inside for the pills, Sophie’s hand closed round a familiar object. One she’d thought was lost.


119

Slowly she drew it out. It was the aulos. “I-I don’t understand. I couldn’t find it in the museum.” Evan reached out. “May I see?” Sophie put it in his hand. “Archie was so keen to find it. Now we know why.” He glanced at her, his concern evident. “Some of it. I think there’s more.” “It’s silver or base metal. It would have deteriorated if it had been in the ground a long time. The only metal that survives more or less intact is gold.” “It’s not gold,” Evan said, turning the object over in his hand. “I’ve seen these marks somewhere before. They’re faint; I can’t make them out properly. You’ve looked them up?” Sophie shook her head. “I only just rediscovered it when Archie asked for it back. Then all I wanted to do was get rid of it -- and him. Do you think it’s the aulos or the runes he wants?” “I’m not sure.” He put it down on the table. “We’ll look at it later, now that we’ve found it.” “How could I have missed it?” Sophie asked wonderingly, staring at the object. “I know it was there when I entered the Met, but when I was with Archie, I couldn’t find it anywhere. That’s what he asked me for. Just that thing.” “Wait a minute.” Evan picked up the aulos and went downstairs. Sophie heard the hum as the tower booted and went to the balcony to see what he was doing. She watched Evan pull out the shelf where he kept his scanners. She recognized one from her fieldwork, the kind that could scan 3-D objects. He put the aulos in the box and set it off. Sophie went back to the bed and found the coverlet to wrap around her, then the headache pills. Evan had brought her some orange juice. She downed the pills, then went downstairs. He welcomed her, opening his arms. She settled on his lap, felt his arms close around her. “You won’t be able to type very well.” He nuzzled the top of her head. “We’ll manage.” His chair was on wheels. He scooted it closer to the keyboard and picked up the mouse. With a few clicks, he’d opened his graphics program, and the scan came up on the screen. Evan flattened the image, and the runes became clearer. They studied it together. Some of the scratches were too faint to see properly with the naked eye, so Evan increased the contrast and converted the image to monochrome, black on white. Sophie stared at the figures haphazardly scattered across the surface of the aulos. She saw some familiar shapes now; the scratches became definite lines, and the whole design lay before her. She leaned closer to the screen. “Runes are distinctive and regional. They can be centered on a religion, a culture, or even a village.” They were vaguely familiar, but she

120

Lynne Connolly

couldn’t place them. “These don’t look very Germanic. I think they have more in common with early Celtic symbols.” Evan nuzzled her neck. “I love a clever woman. It makes you so sexy.” “Evan!” Sophie tried to be serious, but the sensations he gave her were too good to ignore, and she leaned back into his arms and let him take her in a deep, passionate kiss. “We’ll never get anything done,” she murmured against his lips. “Depends what you call anything,” he replied. “You have a headache. You should eat something and get into bed. I only scanned this so we wouldn’t lose the damned aulos again.” He stood, lifting her up with him, the coverlet trailing behind them, and carried her upstairs to deposit her on the bed. “Now may I serve my lady?” He bowed in a courtly gesture. Sophie giggled. “You sound almost English.” “Must be all that Masterpiece Theatre I watched as a kid. I watched more when I was studying for my degree.” He busied himself loading a plate with crackers, cheese, cherry tomatoes, and a few other morsels from the tray beside the bed. “Here. It shows how much I think of you, giving you crackers in bed.” “I’ll be careful,” she promised. The food did help. The pressure in her head began to decrease; she could feel it easing away. He poured them more juice and made sure she ate before piling the remains on the tray and putting it aside. After shaking out the bedclothes, he slid in beside her and took her into his arms again. Sophie rested on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, feeling more at peace than at any other time she could remember. “We must have made quite a mess,” she murmured. “Do you have a vacuum cleaner?” He chuckled. “Somewhere. I thought of hiring help, but I don’t think Cristos would appreciate the security lapse. He’s very fussy.” He leaned over and picked up the remote that controlled the lights, dimming them. “Evan?” “Hmm?” His voice came sleepy. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but I’ve wondered how you manage a loft in Tribeca on a CIA agent’s salary.” “Ah!” He chuckled. “Thought I was still hacking into Wall Street, did you?” His hand moved over her breast in a lazy caress. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s not as exciting as that. Dad was part owner of an ad agency. When he died, I let Miranda use my share of the money to invest with her own, and she did us proud. If you marry me, you won’t need to worry.” “Marry?” There was no reply. Evan had fallen asleep.


121

Chapter Thirteen When Sophie woke, she was alone in the bed, the sheets tumbled around her. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and sat up. The now familiar hum of the computer was in the air, and the welcome scent of fresh coffee teased her nostrils. Muzzily she took stock. Her headache had gone, and Evan had said something so amazing just before she fell asleep she was ready to admit she had dreamed it. She threw back the sheets and went to the guest room to find her robe. She wanted to know what he’d discovered. When she went down the stairs, he looked up and smiled. Sophie wondered how she could ever have thought of Evan as forbidding and dark. Shadows seemed to have passed from his face. Going to him for a morning kiss seemed so natural she could have been doing it for years, except for the thrill she felt coursing through her body when he slipped his hand under her robe and caressed her waist and hip. He drew back and examined her face, care and anxiety in his gaze. “You look better.” “So do you.” He grinned and turned back to the computer. “I think I’ve found something.” The screen still showed the scan of the aulos, but he’d switched on other screens, and they showed various research sites and a page from Google. He picked up a book that lay open on an unused keyboard to one side of him. “Here.” It was one of his Crowley books. Turning to the front, she saw it was the Book of Thoth, and she realized it was about the tarot deck. There was a drawing on the page. Sophie studied it closely. Then she saw what he meant. “It’s the Fool,” Evan said quietly. “The searcher of truth, the seeker, the Green Man, Robin Hood, the Pilgrim. It’s not the symbols on the card; it’s the shape of the man on the page.”

122

Lynne Connolly

It was true. The Fool, grinning inanely, wide-legged, arms outstretched horizontally, two great circles extending from his head to his knees and ankles. A tiger bit one leg, a pile of discs lay disregarded behind him, a crocodile curled below him. “That’s it! That’s the rune!” Sophie stared at the picture, then read the commentary.

Air, the father and mother of manifested existence. The Green Man of spring, the Holy Ghost, Harpocrates, or Parsifal. The bisexual Zeus, Dionysus Zagreus, or Bacchus. Baphonet. The Ox. Scintillating intelligence. The power of divination. His perfume is Galbanum, his weapon the dagger or the fan. An original, subtle, sudden impulse or impact, coming from a completely strange quarter. A bearded ancient. “What does all that mean?” “It means that someone knows Crowley and knows the power hidden in the Book of Thoth. This is someone who has studied for many years. I’ve only just begun to scratch the surface of the book, and some of the information terrifies me. This is a rune of power, the hidden shape in the card made by the Fool’s body. You won’t find this in any country churchyard.” Sophie stared at him. He meant it. When he spun his chair to face her, she saw only worry and a deep concern. “This isn’t a fashionable area of study. Eventually it drove Crowley mad, and he ended his life a travesty of what he could have been. Any study of sexual magick leads to Crowley.” This was almost beyond Sophie’s understanding. Only her studies of ancient British religions had prepared her for such pragmatically fantastic confessions. “So what do we do now?” “Tell Cristos and keep thinking. So far I have no idea what the rune means, except that the Fool stands for the searcher after wisdom, Everyman. He’s been associated with several other historical figures and legendary ones. Robin Hood, for instance.” She knew a little about this. “Arthur.” “Yeah.” He gave her a thoughtful glance. “And you were digging in Tintagel when I met you. It could be nothing, but I don’t like coincidences.” Neither did she. Evan settled her on his lap and picked up the TV remote. “Guess we’d better check the news. See what they’re saying about the serial killer case.” He flicked a button, and the large screen at the other end of the room glowed to life. It was already set to a local news channel. The reporter was discussing the arts news, a new exhibition at the Guggenheim, one that ordinarily Sophie would have liked to see. The talking head on the screen, an attractive African American woman in a red jacket, turned the topic to the theatre and briefly discussed the latest productions, before turning back to the man in the studio with, “And back to our main story.”


123

The man in the studio spoke rapidly and confidently. “The murder at the Astor Hotel brings the tally of this new serial killer up to four. All the victims were single young people; all were killed at night and with this special method. The police have informed us that this symbol was carved into the chests of each victim.” For a moment, the symbol gleaming on Evan’s computer flashed on the TV screen, a line drawing, black on white. Sophie clutched Evan’s lower arm tightly. “So far the authorities have been unable to interpret the symbol, and they would appreciate help from any member of the public who knows what it means. Meanwhile, police are warning all young people not to open their doors to anyone they don’t know after dark.” The screen widened to show someone else. Sophie knew him, a colleague at Quantico. “The FBI is involved in this case now. Professor Baum, what can you tell us about the killer?” The man was an ex-field agent in the serial killer unit. Usually Sophie would be very interested in what he had to say, but the words seemed to make no sense. She turned her head to look at Evan. He was furious, his mouth compressed into a tight line, a deep crease between his brows. “What idiot decided to make it public? God, this could be bad!” “What do you mean, ‘could be’?” He put his hand over hers and lifted it, wincing theatrically. “Yes, I’m sorry. That was unfortunate. But it might be bad for you. If the press discovers you were Elaine’s roommate, they’ll be after you like a pack of dogs.” “What about you? You were Meghan’s brother!” “And,” he finished, “we’re together.” They stared at each other, ignoring the discussion on the screen. “Will they suspect us?” “I don’t think so. I have an alibi for the time Meghan was killed. Have you?” “When was she killed?” “September twenty-fourth.” Sophie thought back. “I was in England then. My leave started the week before.” She felt his deep sigh of relief against her throat. “Thank God. We were both out of the country when Elaine was killed.” She turned back to him. “They didn’t say who the victim was.” “No.” She saw her troubled feeling was reflected in his eyes. “I don’t like this, Sophie. We don’t know what that symbol means, and now they’re making it available to all? Why would they do this?”

124

Lynne Connolly

“I don’t know, Evan. In Britain, it’s usually when they want someone else involved. It’s often a message to the murderer, not the general public.” “It’s a rune of power. Broadcasting it could be the very thing the murderer wants.” “Someone thought of that.” She motioned to the book, now lying open on the desk behind them. “Didn’t you notice? The rune has two circles, and the diagram on the TV only had one.” His eyes softened. “So clever. I love a clever woman.” He leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on her mouth. She relaxed into the kiss and let herself sink into his waiting arms. His mouth froze in place on hers, and when she opened her eyes, she saw he wasn’t watching her anymore. His gaze was fixed on the TV. She drew back and turned around. With Evan’s arms holding her, she saw the picture of someone she knew well. The commentary, until now blocked out of her attention, returned. “There are marked similarities with the recent murder of Miss Gwyneth Coulter in England. Miss Coulter’s body was found in the village where she had been staying during her work on the archaeological dig at the ancient castle of Tintagel, reputed to be the birthplace of the legendary King Arthur. Her mother reported she had never arrived at home after the closure of the dig, despite her expected return to work as a lecturer at Birmingham University. After an extensive search, her body was found behind the public house where the archaeologists ate their meals.” Evan’s hand rubbing her back didn’t dissipate the chill creeping up Sophie’s spine. The picture changed to the pub where Sophie had sat with Evan so short a time before. This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t. “Her body was discovered two days ago and had been on the site for at least a week.” The commentary was so calm, so impersonal, as if it didn’t matter at all. Sophie wanted to hit someone. “Inquiries are ongoing. However, the authorities consider it significant that a similar symbol was discovered carved into Miss Coulter’s back.” The scene changed back to the expert in the studio. He postulated that the carving was a coincidence, as it wasn’t exact and other factors were not present. “Serial killers are often obsessive about details. The discovery of these details are vital for the identification of the murderer.” Sophie didn’t realize she was crying until Evan pulled her back to face him. She sobbed, hearing his soothing murmurs, knowing that he was disturbed from the shaken quality of his voice. “Sophie, sweetheart, don’t cry. Please, love.” A sharp ring from somewhere above her head jolted her back to earth. Evan sighed. “My cell.” Wiping her eyes, she got off his lap and watched him walk upstairs, the fluid movement of his body reminding her of his strength and tenderness. She found a box of tissues on the desk and cleaned up, mopping her eyes and blowing her nose with a determination she was still far from feeling. She heard the murmur of his voice as he answered the phone. He came back down the stairs to her, phone in hand. “Cristos wants us on the scene. He’s sending a car.”


125

“Why?” “I have no idea.” He raised the phone to his ear. “Why?” Sophie found the remote and muted the TV just as the scene changed to that of the latest murder. A reporter spoke to the camera while police officers moved around behind him, setting up the inevitable tapes to isolate the scene. Behind the scene a silver-haired, tall man stood talking into a cell phone, his immaculately suit-clad back to the camera. “If you turn around,” Evan said into the phone, “you can wave to me. You’re on camera, sir. You might want to move to your right.” The silver head went up, but unlike 90 percent of the population, who would have turned around to confirm what Evan said, Cristos moved away from the camera. He wasn’t well known to the public, but there would be someone who knew him, who would spill to the nearest newspaper or TV commentator. There always was. “Why do you want us there?” Evan listened to the reply and glanced at Sophie. “The TV station has linked this to Miss Coulter’s murder. Did you know about that?” The reply made him frown ferociously, black brows snapping together. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Sophie gave up. She went upstairs to shower and dress. Evan arrived while she was still in the shower. Without speaking, he shed his clothes and joined her. He reached for her and held her close, hot water raining down on them. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. That you should hear about it like that. Was Gwyneth a good friend?” “I thought she was. That night, when Archie turned, he said they’d talked about a threesome but hadn’t done anything yet. I believed them. Gwynnie couldn’t have hidden that from me if she’d already slept with Archie. She was too transparent for that. When I could think about it clearly, I thought she had joked about it with him, and it had grown more serious. But she was my friend. Not a close friend, but I knew her and liked her. Oh, Evan!” She lifted her head to stare at him, and he drew close, all concern and comfort. “The thing that worries me most is that it might have been meant for you. If it weren’t for that falling out, you’d have been with Archie that night. Somebody might have been sent for you, and seeing Gwynnie with Archie, assumed it was you.” “Or perhaps someone who liked me wanted to kill Gwynnie for taking Archie away from me.” He stared at her, biting his lip, the water cascading over them. “Maybe. Sophie, I won’t give you up. They’ll pressure you into going to a safe house, but I won’t let you go unless I’m with you. We’ll find him, sweetheart. And we’ll stay together.” She nodded. She didn’t want to leave him. She had come to look on this loft as home, more home than she’d known for years, and she knew it was safe. Without Evan, she would lose her anchor. “I’ll talk to Cristos, get him to call in all the favors he has. You won’t be alone. Do you mind?” “No.” She didn’t mind at all.

*****

126

Lynne Connolly

The car arrived just as Sophie was putting the finishing touches to her appearance. She’d dressed in a dark blue skirt suit, flesh-colored tights, white shirt, and tied her hair back with a plain barrette. She kept her makeup understated but formal and, looking at herself in the mirror, she was satisfied that she presented a neat appearance that hopefully would blend in with the other agents and officers present. When she went out, Evan, also formally attired in gray suit and tie, pulled a face. “I prefer the other Sophie, but you do look very fine. Scary.” “If I saw you like this, I would never have dared to approach you.” Evan looked untouchable, his broad shoulders set off by a suit that was obviously not off the peg. “Armani?” He grinned. “Hugo Boss. Call me patriotic.” Not a hair stood out of place. His cuffs shot the requisite half-inch from his sleeves, and his shoes gleamed with polishing. The word “immaculate” could have been coined for him. Sophie studied him through narrowed eyes. “I can’t wait to see you in a tux.” He laughed. “I only wear one when it’s absolutely necessary. Still, from the look in your eyes, it might be fun.” His meaning was unmistakable and gave Sophie a vivid picture of herself slowly undoing every button, slipping a silk-lined tuxedo off his shoulders, feeling that strong chest under the silk of a tailored shirt. It might be interesting at that. The car arrived, and while it wasn’t the limo that had brought them to New York from the airport, it was a sleek, black Lexus, discreet but comfortable and fast. The driver hardly exchanged two words with them but gave them the security tags they would need. The journey was swift. Once seated, Sophie reached for Evan’s hand, which closed tightly about hers. She guessed he needed as much reassurance as she did. Sophie and Evan slipped through the crowds at the hotel entrance. They knew better than to clip their tags on there but instead headed for the elevators. They stopped at the correct floor. At the end of the hallway, a police officer lounged by a barrier, a clipboard in one hand. When they showed their tags, they had to wait until he’d checked his list. “You’re not listed here,” he said. “Good.” Evan took Sophie’s elbow, ready to turn her around to leave. “You don’t get out that easily, Howell,” came a voice from the open door of one of the rooms. He nodded at the officer. “Let them through.” He unclipped the rope, and they went through. Sophie stared at Cristos. Evan asked, “Who is it?” “No one we know.” Only Evan might have noticed the slight dip when her tense shoulders relaxed. Cristos barely gave her a glance. “A Frenchman, one Jean de Tineville. Come with me.”


127

He didn’t take them to the murder scene, but to another room adjoining the center of all the activity. Here it was quiet, only one other operative sitting in front of the inevitable laptop, set on the ledge that served the room as desk and vanity in the ordinary course of events. Evan nodded a greeting to him, and he nodded back. Cristos closed the door. “The man was a French businessman, thirty years of age. He shouldn’t be here. The last his family knew, he was leaving his home in Lyons to attend a conference in Paris. That was a week ago. He took a flight here almost as soon as he left home and seems to have been searching for a person. We’ve looked at his laptop. He was searching through the classifieds and the online guides to the city. The Agency is trying to discover his movements in the last week, but my guess is he was following leads.” Evan shrugged. “It looks as though he found whoever he was looking for.” “Unless someone else found him first.” Sophie could think properly now she knew the victim was a stranger to her. “He was discovered this morning when the maid came in to change the linen. About ten. His wife’s on her way, and hopefully we’ll know more then. We’re having the suspect in prison released. He was framed, which gives us another lane of enquiry.” “Any theories?” Cristos fixed him with a frowning stare. “The case is classic, the M.O. is precise. Unlike the one in England.” “Are they officially connected?” “No. The profilers aren’t happy. There were a number of differences in the cases.” Cristos turned his attention to Sophie. “I’m sorry. Gwyneth Coulter was your friend, wasn’t she?” Sophie nodded. “Do you think they thought she was me?” She hesitated, but this was no time to be coy. “She spent the night with Archie. So if someone had been seen her with him, he or she could have assumed it was me.” “It’s a possibility.” Sophie and Evan turned when the door opened. Harry Bent came in and closed the door behind him. He wasn’t wearing his waistcoat, but otherwise looked exactly the same as when Sophie had last seen him. The brown suit was even more crumpled, and the shirt was Harry’s usual white, the tie untidily knotted and not quite pushed up into place. “Sophie, I’m sorry,” he said immediately. It was unusual for Bent to address her so informally. It was a measure of his discomposure. “If I’d known they were going to release the information, I would have warned you first.” Cristos frowned. “Who did it?” “NYPD.” Both Cristos and Bent grimaced, united in their mutual dislike of the police department that insisted on investigating murders committed on its own turf. Sophie

128

Lynne Connolly

repressed a smile of recognition. “They were all over the place this morning. Had a half-hour head start and made the most of it.” “And why would they release the information about the symbol?” “The commanding officer took the view that he wanted to let the murderer know we’re on to him.” “More likely it’ll fetch all the nuts in New York State,” Cristos muttered. “It’s some kind of symbol.” Abruptly he turned to face Sophie. “Have you made any progress on identifying it, Dr. Adams?” “Evan has,” Sophie said. Cristos’s attention immediately turned to his operative. “Spill.” Sophie was uncomfortably aware of Bent’s perceptive look. She had used Evan’s first name, revealing a wealth of intimacy. “It’s a symbol from Crowley’s Book of Thoth,” Evan said quietly. Cristos’s mouth turned down in an expression of distaste. “It’s the symbol used to shape the card of the Fool from the Major Arcana. We don’t know what it means, or why it was used, but that’s what it is. A rune of power.” “That’s why I couldn’t identify it,” Sophie added. “I was looking for runes with an identifiable root. This has no alphabet, and comes from a tradition established in the late nineteenth century. My references were all wrong.” “Hmm.” Cristos stroked his chin in thought. “Where does that leave us?” Sophie watched the operative with the laptop. He was busy inputting the information into a model, probably something concocted by Cristos. She saw Evan look in the same direction. Then he moved across the room and took an open interest. “We can investigate people who have that kind of interest.” Bent strolled across the room, toward the men at the computer. Without looking around, the operative minimized the screen. Cristos watched, no emotion at all on his face. Bent turned back to them, equally impassive, but Sophie caught a glow of irritation in his eyes before he killed it. “Are we talking Wicca, magic, that kind of thing?” “Probably.” Cristos sighed. “Look, Bent, you and the rest of the Bureau despise our department, but we’re useful for some things. I’ll have the obvious inquiries made.” “Sure.” Bent didn’t sound enthusiastic. He took a turn around the room, ending up facing Cristos. “Okay, since we’re here, let me make this clear to you. This is an FBI case. If I find you’re holding out on me, I’ll have Sophie moved to a safe house tomorrow. And you won’t be able to find her.” “Don’t I have a say in this?” Sophie took a step forward, indignant. Bent shot her a heated glance. “No. These murders are coming too close to you. I don’t like you and Howell together because he’s shaping up to be a target. One hit’ll get you both.”


129

“He’s right.” Sophie was startled when Cristos agreed. Instinctively she moved closer to Evan. “I don’t want that.” “If Howell’s loft weren’t so well secured, I’d insist on it,” Cristos said. “As it is --” He exchanged a speaking glance with Bent, allies for once. Bent returned his attention to Evan and Sophie. “We want to get this bastard before he gets any more notches in his belt. Now the NYPD, in their exalted wisdom, has decided to put some details in the public eye, we’re in danger of copycatting. I want this sealed down tight.” “You’re right.” Cristos moved to pick up the TV remote. He flicked on the set, muted the sound, and switched to the news channel. “We’ll have all the nuts in the city coming out to play.” “Do you think this perp is a nut?” “I wish.” Cristos turned to bent. “Profiling’s your thing. What do you think about the British murder?” Bent frowned and drew his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. As if by rote, he pulled out a cigarette and tapped it on the pack. “I wouldn’t,” Evan said. “We’ll have the hotel security in the mix.” He motioned to a smoke detector, screwed to the ceiling. “That’ll be set to detect a hot breath.” Bent’s sigh might have set it off. He replaced the pack in his pocket. “Can’t smoke anywhere these days. People would rather have the Black Death than a pack of cigarettes. I’m sorry about your friend, Sophie.” Sophie nodded and felt Evan close to her. She didn’t have to look. “We’ll need to question you. Both of you. It seems you were in England at that time, Howell, though you didn’t exactly make it public. It’s got to be done.” Sophie nodded. “In this room, I can say we suspect neither of you. You both have alibis for at least one of the murders, and the British girl apart, they have the same signature.” He dipped his hand in his pocket again, and this time came up with a notebook. He opened it and consulted his notes. “From the profiling we’ve done, the sex of the killer is undetermined. Do I have to go through the procedures we took?” Cristos shook his head. “You’re one of the best, Bent.” He paused. “Since nobody’s here to hear me say it.” “Okay.” Harry’s lip trembled very slightly as he returned to his notes. She knew from experience that he had a sense of humor, though he usually chose not to show it. “Statistically, a serial killer is a man, but none of the victims were sexually assaulted, so we don’t know for sure. Except your friend.” He closed the book. “Sophie, you don’t have to prove anything. This woman was a friend of yours. Do you need to hear this?” Sophie felt Evan’s arm go around her shoulders. “Don’t stay, Sophie.”

130

Lynne Connolly

She knew that to hear this would haunt her dreams, and she knew they were right. “I’ll go and view the murder scene.” “Do you want me to come with you?” She shot Evan a withering glance. “No.” She wasn’t that feeble. Sophie went to the next room, where the victim still lay. She went through the chronology in her mind. The first victim, a student, killed in her mother’s apartment while her mother was out for the night, then Meghan, in her apartment, then Elaine, and now this man. If Gwyneth was part of the pattern, that made five. She showed her security tag to the detective at the door of the room, reflecting ruefully that she owed this level of clearance to Cristos and not to her job with the FBI. Entering the room, Sophie smelled blood and automatically went through her usual procedure, steeling her nerves and stomach, taking a pair of latex gloves from the box by the door and snapping them on before she moved further into the crime scene. Her job was to examine the scene as a whole, just as she would an archaeological dig, to assess it, notice the pattern, then, later, put the samples and scientific evidence together. Since so many people had passed through, this was far from a fresh scene. The man lay on the bed, naked. Sophie recalled the descriptions from the other scenes. Not all were naked, though all were in a state of undress. Gwyneth had been sexually molested. The others had not. She moved forward, under the stares of the six people in the room. “Assistant Director Bent asked me to take a look at the symbol. It’s my specialty.” She reflected ruefully that she was beginning to use the American phrases like “specialty,” naturally. The people nodded and returned to their work. To the accompaniment of regular flashes from the photographer taking pictures of every part of the room, she bent over the body. The victim lay spread-eagled on the bed, the symbol carved deeply into a chest that must have once been attractive, but now only served as a canvas for the gory design. Summoning up a mental picture of the Fool card, she traced the shape. The proportions were almost exact. Two circles, not the one shown on the TV, no doubt as a way of recognizing the murderer when he finally showed up, overlaid the stick figure used to delineate the Fool. Flaps of loose skin spoiled the design, cut deeply and with care. “What was used for this?” The pathologist, a woman Sophie knew from the FBI office, came up to stand next to her. “It’s very precise, isn’t it?” Dark hair tied back severely and covered by a blue plastic cap did nothing for her beauty, but her face was pure, the bones clearly outlined. An angel come to minister to the dead. “Not a knife. Too exact for that. My guess is some kind of scalpel, but with a broader end. The cuts form a kind of groove, and there are some specks of flesh on the floor, as though the murderer shook the instrument free.” “So a surgical scalpel.”


131

“Or a specialist model-maker’s tool.” Sophie nodded. When reconstructing a face from a skull, the artists used specialized instruments. She’d built up the clay on the pins herself, though she couldn’t add the finishing touches that made the reconstruction come to life. Someone else had always done that for her. The instruments were precise and specifically made. Something stirred in her head. “My job involves using those kinds of tools. Is this the first time it’s been used?” “Yes.” The pathologist consulted her notes, clipped to a board in her hand. “Previously the lines weren’t so precise and probably cut with an ordinary scalpel or sharp-pointed knife.” “So the murderer has only just discovered the tool.” “It’s a significant difference.” “What is?” Harry Bent’s voice came from behind them. Sophie had been so concentrated in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed anyone else coming in. Now she knew without turning around that Evan had come in too. Her senses flared and relaxed in his presence, her sensitivity reached out as though she already felt his touch. She explained her theory. “The murderer has used a new tool. A modeling tool, or a specialist’s scalpel with a shallow groove cut in the tip. I know the kind of thing. I use them in reconstruction.” She glanced up at her boss. He put his thumb to his mouth as though to bite it, then moved it away again as the latex came into contact with his lips. “Interesting. A significant change but designed to improve the quality of the design. The carving is just as careful.” Sophie felt her bile rise and swallowed it down. If she vomited here, she’d be banned from future crime scenes. She didn’t often feel squeamish, but considering the way the murderer had taken time and care over the design made her want to vomit. It spoke of cold calculation. “New York has its own Jack the Ripper.” “No. The murderer doesn’t mutilate like the Ripper did. This isn’t a sexual murder. There’s no sexual frenzy here, no secretions anywhere in the room, if it follows the pattern. It’s cold. The killer could be separated from reality in some way, most likely a psychopath.” Bent didn’t mean that in the casual, conversational way. He meant a real psychopath, the most terrifying kind of killer, one who worked on his own system of values, which clashed with what society and ordinary morality dictated. “What about a multiple personality?” she ventured. Bent heaved a sigh. “If it is, I’ll make a career out of it. I can’t think of another serial killer who truly suffered from that disorder. I’ll get back to the office and see how it all stacks up.” “Can you send me a copy?”

132

Lynne Connolly

Bent frowned. “Not over the ’net. Not secure enough. I’ll get a thumb drive to you by courier.” He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the door. “But don’t forget who you’re working for, Dr. Adams. You’re mine.” “I won’t forget.” “You shouldn’t be on this case at all now. It came too close to you. Do you think Elaine was mistaken for you?” A hand touched her shoulder. Evan. “It could be. But her body type wasn’t mine. It would have to be someone who didn’t know what I looked like.” “Perhaps the same person killed Gwyneth. Mistaking her for you, knowing your name but not what you look like. I’ll get on that too.” Bent faced Sophie. She was glad to have an excuse not to stare at that pale figure on the bed, streaks of clotted blood marring the sheets and the body. But the carving had been after death. It would have made a worse mess had it been done while the victim was still alive. Sophie shuddered, not something the onlookers would have observed because it was slight and quickly repressed, but Evan, in contact with her body, would feel it. “Did you know Meghan Leroux?” Sophie shook her head. “But you know her brother.” “Yes, but I didn’t meet him until after her death.” Bent’s chin lifted to confront Evan, standing just behind Sophie, his hand now resting lightly on her waist. “You went to England.” “I wanted to know the details you wouldn’t share with us. It might have been wrong, but nobody ordered me not to, and I thought Sophie might tell me something.” “Did she?” The question came sharply, barked out. “No.” Sophie wouldn’t have cared if Evan had told her boss, but she warmed to him. He risked a reprimand or worse for lying to a superior, even one from a different agency. Bent stared at Evan suspiciously through narrowed eyes. “So you went all the way to England.” “Meghan was my sister. I was upset, and I had some compassionate leave so I went. I’m glad I did.” He squeezed Sophie’s waist. “After we hooked up and came home, Cristos learned more about the case.” Bent opened his mouth and closed it again without speaking. Abruptly he turned to Cristos. “Is this any of your doing?” Cristos stared at the body on the bed. “Mine?” “No, dammit, not that! Your operative linking with mine.”


133

“No. I followed them to England because I wanted to tell Dr. Adams about her roommate. You know I wanted in on this case, and you know why.” “The symbols.” “That and -- other things.” The other people in the room were ostensibly going about their work, but a brief pause fell in activities. There had been gossip, then. “Elements of this case impinge on my area of expertise.” Cristos was picking his words extremely carefully. “The belladonna used to drug the victims. Was it used here?” Bent shrugged. “Too early to be certain, but we’re taking the assumption that it was. A used coffee cup was recently washed out, so it seems probable.” “Not atropine?” “Not in the other cases, no. Surgical atropine is readily available. It’s controlled, but it’s used in eye operations, so it’s not too difficult to get some. But this was the plant, not the refined drug. Probably crushed and made into a tea, and the tea used as an elixir.” “Doesn’t it flavor other liquids?” Sophie asked. She remembered that from her studies. Bent glanced at her. “Yes. It has a bitter taste. That’s why we’re thinking coffee.” “There’s another way.” Sophie had his attention now. “Medieval witches used to make an ointment from it and rub it on the base of their spines. That’s why they thought they were flying. The hallucinogenic properties of the plant are very strong.” Bent whistled through his teeth. “Jesus!” He spun around and addressed everyone in the room. “Hear that? Why didn’t one of you pick that up?” His glare settled on the pathologist. “See to it as a matter of priority.” The pathologist shot a disgruntled look at Sophie. “Yes, sir. I’ll reexamine all the bodies. We found remains of belladonna in their stomachs, though. Not enough to kill. The victims were killed by a stab in the back, up through the ribs to the heart.” “It didn’t spoil the design on the chest that way,” Evan remarked. Sophie found tears breaking their way through the hard shell she’d imposed on herself. Evan’s comment made in deliberately emotionless tones reminded her. They were talking about his sister here. She knew he felt the loss deeply, and she knew him well enough now to realize how much he hid from the world at large. He had originally traveled all the way to England to discover something -- anything -- about Meghan’s death. “Why was it done so carefully?” Bent mused. “Why was it so important to get the design right?” Cristos suggested an answer. “Because it’s a rune of power.” The occupants of the room gave up all attempts at activity and turned to stare at him. Only Sophie was fully aware of the meaning. With a smile, Cristos indicated with one elegant gesture of his manicured fingers that she was to continue.

134

Lynne Connolly

“In the old days, they used to believe that certain symbols held power,” she explained. “Special alphabets were developed just to exercise that power. You’ve all seen a pentagram, from movies and jewelry. You know what a cross is. In the Second World War, the French Underground used the Cross of Lorraine as an identification sign. They are all runes of power in a way.” “And they’re magic,” the photographer said, sneering. “It doesn’t matter what we think,” Sophie said calmly. “Not in this case anyway. Whoever did this believes the symbol holds power of some kind. Which is why Assistant Director Cristos is interested in the case. He doesn’t swallow all this stuff whole, he merely researches it and the people who do believe it.” “The way I heard it,” the photographer continued, “Assistant Director Cristos takes part.” Cristos shrugged. “We have open minds. I have contacts who may know more, if only because of the company they keep and their beliefs. They have no love for murderers, any more than anyone else does. I’m sure they’ll be only too eager to help.” The photographer turned back to his work. Soon bright flashes came from the bathroom as he completed his survey of the hotel room. “If you could send me some detailed photos of the symbol, I’d be grateful,” Cristos said to Bent. The atmosphere had settled from rivalry to a kind of peace, and then it changed again. Sophie stood by the window with Evan, out of the way of the scientists. A stranger entered, dressed tidily in off-the-rack shirt and trousers, jacket slung over his shoulder, one finger hooked through the label. Sophie didn’t need to be told this man was neither FBI nor CIA. “I see you’ve made yourself at home,” he growled at Bent. “Doing my job,” Bent said. “I’m to make an office available to you at the precinct.” It didn’t sound as if the officer liked it much. “Thank you, Captain. I don’t think it will be necessary. We’ll work this one out of my office.” “It’ll be there if you want it. Sir.” The last word came reluctantly. With one contemptuous glance around the room, the NYPD man left. “We have history,” Bent explained briefly. He walked across to Sophie. “This is getting too close to you. By rights I should take you off the case, but I need your expertise.” “Ditto,” Cristos laconically remarked, openly fixing Evan with a steely-eyed glare. Bent gave Cristos an almost comradely grin. “I’m going to order you to go back to that apartment and stay put.” “Both of you,” Cristos put in.


135

“What about groceries?” Until now, Evan had gone out once a day for milk, bread, and other necessities. “I’ll have them sent in. You’ll take them at the door from one of my agents. I’m not taking any chances with you. I’m convinced this is the worst kind of serial killer, frenzied and escalating in violence. Whoever did this is clever, cold, ruthless, and by any standards, completely insane, working on a value system so different from ours it might as well be from outer space. We don’t yet know what sets him -- or her -- off, what his trigger is, but I’ll be working to find it.” Sophie turned to Evan. “It’s your apartment. How do you feel about it? If you don’t want to take the risk, I’ll go to the safe house.” She stared at him, her heart in her mouth, praying he would give the right answer. There, in front of everyone, he lifted his hand and touched her cheek. “I’m fast coming to think of it as our apartment. There’s no question, Sophie. We stay together.” She smiled, and for her, there were only two people in the room. Harry Bent cleared his throat, jolting Sophie back to the unpleasant here and now. “We’ll get you back to the apartment, and you’ll stay put.” “Yes, sir.” Evan took her hand and they left the room together.

136

Lynne Connolly

Chapter Fourteen “There’s something to be said for house arrest.” “Is that what this is?” Sophie lifted a languid hand, and Evan took it, kissing her fingertips. “We have nothing to do but rest and keep safe.” He stared down at her where she lay in the tumbled sheets, her hair a mass of curls. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. He saw no fear, no false modesty. He wanted to keep it, keep this. “We’re both on leave in any case. I do have some work, enough to stop me taking shameless advantage of you all day.” “I don’t like the idea of him out there.” “If it’s a he,” Evan reminded her. “Except for Gwyneth, there was no sexual assault.” “Was it assault?” Sophie asked. Evan stared at her, trying to think. Gwyneth had been a friend of Sophie’s. It was worse when you knew the person. “Tell me,” Sophie said. “She’d been with Archie a couple of nights before, and he could be very --” “Vigorous?” he finished for her. “No, it wasn’t that. It was an assault, quite a frenzied one from what I heard. I didn’t want to tell you.” “That’s all right.” Loosening her hand, she caressed him gently, stroking his hip and his belly. Even when they weren’t in the throes of passion, she made him melt, distracted him so he didn’t care about anything else anymore. The last time he’d felt like that, he’d been sixteen, just discovering what he could do on the computer, fascinated by the flickering screen that opened the world up for him. Now the world had shrunk to one woman. He wouldn’t want it any other way.


137

Sophie smiled up at him, and he couldn’t resist even though their store of condoms was already running dangerously low. Evan didn’t like the idea of putting them on a grocery list for another agent to get for him, but he’d rather do that than go without. He bent to give her a kiss that was soft and loving, rather than the prelude to another passionate encounter. He’d hated telling her about her friend. “Are you okay?” he asked, threading his fingers into her hair. “Yes. I needed to know.” “I know.” He drew her close and pulled a sheet over them. “Are you ready to sleep now?” For an answer, she snuggled in close. He reached for the remote and turned the lights off, so he could watch the city. He lay on his back, Sophie in his arms. He rarely bothered with the blinds, preferring to see the living work of art outside the large windows. Usually it gave him comfort to know that, behind those lights, there was a person going about his or her business, someone unconnected with the murky world in which he’d found himself, someone who led a happy, contented life. Sometimes he’d make up stories about them. Now he had found contentment with the woman in his arms. The sex was spectacular, completely involving, taking him to heights he hadn’t known with anyone else, but during the day when she read or joined him at his computers, he felt a tranquility that was wholly new. He loved looking after her or letting her care for him. Even his work was better now he had someone to talk it over with. He loved her. No doubt remained in his mind anymore. It was too soon for Sophie -- he knew that -- but he longed to tell her and hear her response. She needed time to put some space between Archie and himself. Meantime, while he wished the reasons were different, being holed up with her in a comfortable apartment was not against his nature. Evan watched the city until he felt sleepy, then curled over on his side, holding Sophie close. Just as he was sliding into sleep, he felt her move. Her body jerked and her knee came up, perilously close to the tenderest parts of his anatomy. Evan moved but didn’t release her until she gave a cry and rolled onto her back. She was dreaming. From the sounds she made, it wasn’t a pleasant dream. Evan lifted himself up on one elbow and gripped her shoulder. “Sophie! Wake up!” She groaned and moved, trying to shake him off. Afraid he would hurt her, Evan released her, but she jerked away from him with such violence he grabbed her to stop her falling off the edge of the bed. Evan pulled her to the center of the mattress and moved over her. “Sophie!” She began to mutter, and words became distinguishable. When she cried, “Archie! Don’t!” He reached for the remote and turned the lights back up, one arm across Sophie’s

138

Lynne Connolly

waist to stop her moving over to the edge of the bed again. She twisted against his arm, crying out in a piteous tone she would never use when awake. “Sophie, please!” Evan was seriously concerned now. If he hadn’t been holding her, she would have thrashed her way to an injury. Her arms and legs flailed, as though fighting someone he couldn’t see, but someone she was deeply aware of. Her cries of alarm increased in intensity. Why couldn’t he wake her? She should have woken by now, but her eyes remained tightly shut. He lifted one hand to her hair, which was tangled around her neck and face, strands getting caught in her open mouth. When he pulled it aside, he saw marks. Finger marks on her throat, replacing the ones that had only just faded. The red marks deepened and dimpled, as if unseen fingers were pressing in. Sophie’s cries turned to choking, and Evan’s heart faltered. He had to wake her; he must! He clawed empty air when he tried to discover what was making the marks. They deepened as he watched. He picked her up, scooped her off the bed, and swung her around, none too gently. There was little time, and if this didn’t work, she might be dead before he could wake her. No longer doubting anything Cristos had told him about possession, his mind totally sure, he carried her into the bathroom and swung her down onto her feet. It made no difference. Her eyes were still tightly shut, her body limp with exertion, damp with sweat. Evan prayed the shock wouldn’t be too much for her. He reached into the shower, turned it on cold, and stepped in, taking her with him. The cold jets made him gasp. He adjusted the pressure to a needle shower, then forgetting his own discomfort, held Sophie tight, arms to her sides in case she started to flail again. Sophie went completely rigid. Evan held her under the showerhead. “Come on, darling. Sophie, wake up, wake up!” At last, she heard him. She murmured his name, so low he saw the shape of the name on her lips rather than heard her. He called her name, his voice echoing dully in the small compartment. He saw her take her first breath, a deep, lung-filling heave that lifted her breasts and brought some color back to her lips. Breathing a fervent prayer of thanks to any god who might be listening, Evan held her upright and waited, watching her chest move as she breathed. Her eyelids trembled, then fluttered. Evan drew her closer and heard her teeth chatter, then her voice, low and stuttering. “Oh, God!” Evan leaned her against his body while he reached around to soften the shower spray and warm up the water. She was shivering with the cold, but she’d needed it. It was the only thing he could think of, other than brute force. He’d been scared enough to consider trying it.


139

When the water warmed, she relaxed against him. The wetness on his shoulder wasn’t all shower water. He murmured soft words to her, words meant to soothe and reassure her. “It’s me, Evan. Don’t worry, you’re back; you’re back.” Holding her close, Evan felt her breathing, now soft and normal, and just held her, savoring the moment. He’d nearly lost her. “Evan, what happened?” He drew back, and gazed down into her face, smoothing strands of hair back off her cheeks. “You had a dream, and I couldn’t wake you. You have the same marks. Fingerprints. I saw them press in, Sophie. This is bad; this is really bad.” She lifted her hand to her neck and winced when they skimmed the marks. “You should take pictures of them.” Her voice sounded low and hoarse, and she cleared her throat. “Cristos asked you to.” “Damn Cristos!” “Evan, please.” The last thing he wanted was for her to get upset. He lifted her out of the shower and reached for a large towel to wrap her in and another for her hair. He wanted her warm and cared for. “I’ll do it, Sophie. Just let me look after you now. You scared me to death.” “You were scared!” She tried to laugh but choked instead. Evan put her back into bed, towels and all, and went downstairs. He brought a large pitcher of water and a couple of glasses back with him, booting up his computer on the way, and grabbing his camera off a shelf. Sophie had removed the towel covering her body and pulled the sheets up. She sat up, scrubbing at her hair with the smaller towel. “I heard you, but I couldn’t answer. Archie was here and another woman, an older woman I don’t know. She was smiling while he strangled me. Evan, what’s going on?” “I don’t know. I’m calling Cristos.” He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, but she stopped him, putting her hand over his. “Evan, think. This apartment is a designated safe house. It’s being watched by our side, and for all we know, by them too. Only three people have free access to this apartment. If you didn’t believe in the power of dreams, in possession or telepathy, who would you think attacked me?” “Jesus!” He’d been too busy ensuring her safety to concern himself with reason. But now he stopped to think, she was right. There were only the two of them here, under virtual house arrest. Not only would Archie ensure Sophie’s death, but he would make it almost certain that Evan would be accused and convicted of it. Foolproof. He was a man with a questionable past. Who better to frame?

140

Lynne Connolly

He picked up the camera. The marks would fade fast, if they were like the last ones, but right now, the impressions were deep. He moved in close and took numerous photos of the marks, hating the necessity, longing to hold her close and love her. “It’s done.” Leaving her drinking the water like a refugee from the Sahara, he ran downstairs and downloaded the pictures. He went back upstairs and slid into bed with her, holding her close. “You can’t go to sleep again. At least on your own.” A plan was forming in his head, but he needed confirmation, and in case it didn’t work, he needed to tell someone else. He picked up his phone. “I have to tell someone. Cristos seems like the only one.” “For heaven’s sake, don’t tell Harry Bent. He’d have you in custody before you’d finished the second sentence.” Holding her close with one arm around her shoulders, he hit the number. Cristos answered within five rings. He must sleep with his cell phone. A fleeting thought crossed Evan’s mind. Did he sleep with anyone else these days? “Yes?” Cristos didn’t even sound sleepy. “There’s been a development.” “Stop there. No more on an unsecured line.” The command came quickly. “I’m at the office. I’ll be round in ten minutes.” Evan doubted it, but at this time in the morning, the traffic must be thin. His cell phone said 2:10 a.m. when he pressed the button to terminate the call. “He’s on his way,” he told her. “I’ll make coffee to keep us both awake.” By the time Cristos arrived, the coffee was on and Sophie lay on the sofa downstairs, wrapped in her robe and covered by the comforter from the bed in the spare room. Cristos was dressed in his usual immaculate fashion, but more disheveled than Evan could remember seeing him in working hours. His tie was loosened and his trousers held definite creases. It must be unusual for Evan to notice it in his current state, when he’d fixed all his attention on the woman he loved. Evan saw his foot tap a couple of times before the door opened for him, and knew his boss was unusually agitated. Good. He should be. Cristos took in the scene in a single glance. “Tell me,” he said, his pale gaze swinging to Evan. “Sophie had another dream. This time she almost died. We need advice. She can’t stay awake until this person is caught.” Cristos moved to Sophie, who pushed the comforter aside so he could see her neck. The marks were already fading, pink instead of the angry red of five minutes before. Cristos turned to face Evan, one eyebrow raised. Evan punched up the jpeg on his largest screen, the flat screen erected on the shelf above the main keyboard.


141

Cristos nodded and turned back to Sophie. “We could try drugs. If we put you deep enough into non-REM sleep, that would probably do it. But if he could get to you there, we couldn’t do anything to help you. We have people called Sorcerers working for the Department, and I’ve put out a call for one, but they’re all away or working on other assignments. I should get one to you by tomorrow evening.” Sophie nodded. “I’m willing to try whatever you suggest.” “No.” Evan strode forward to stand behind Sophie’s head, resting against the sofa cushions. “I can’t stand by and watch her die. There must be another way.” And he didn’t want anybody that deep inside her mind. At least, anybody but himself. He knew what he’d do, but he needed a few minutes to think his plan through. “None without risk.” Cristos pulled up one of the Barcelona chairs and sat down. “Tell me about the dream, in detail, please.” Sophie took a deep breath, and even in his anxiety, Evan’s cock twitched in response to the rise and fall of her breasts. “I was in a room I didn’t know, but it wasn’t an exceptional room. There was nothing distinctive about it. It could have been a hotel room. Archie was there, with a woman I didn’t recognize, an older woman. Black hair, American accent, but she didn’t say much. Archie asked me for the aulos again, but when I said no, he lost his temper and started to throttle me. The woman told him not to, but she didn’t seem to care very much. ‘She’s nobody,’ she said once.” Sophie paused and lifted her hand. Evan took it, knowing she wanted reassurance. He stroked his thumb across her palm in the gentlest of caresses. “She spoke to him by name once. She didn’t call him Archie. She called him Mordred.” Cristos was studying the image on the screen, but at those words, his head whipped around to face her. “Mordred? Are you sure?” “I wouldn’t mistake that.” “You know who he was?” Sophie grimaced. “Yes, I know. It’s a legend. We find Arthur fanatics everywhere in Britain. Some people even claim he was a Scot. The legends vary, but in the most popular version, Mordred was Arthur’s son by his sister Morgause, and was exiled because the king couldn’t stand the sight of him. Mordred caused Arthur’s downfall, wanting the throne for himself.” “Merlin was in thrall to Niniane by then,” Cristos murmured. “Yes, he was. I read the main versions of the legend because my specialist period was the period between the departure of the Romans from Britain and the Norman Conquest. I also did some work on the medieval period. I was more interested in what the Arthur legend showed about the society in which it was written, but I looked into the origins of the legend.” “And your conclusions were?” Cristos gently prompted.

142

Lynne Connolly

Sophie shrugged, and Evan realized what Cristos was doing. Talking about her area of expertise helped to relax Sophie from the tense, terrified person he’d roused from a neardeath sleep back to the rational academic. “That the stories are just that, legends. Perhaps based on a very different reality.” Cristos nodded. “Could there be any possibility that Arthur did exist?” Sophie smiled and released Evan’s hand. Taking Cristos’s glance as a request, he went into the kitchen to get the coffee, although, if the night went as he planned, they wouldn’t need it to help them stay awake. He was out of his depth here. His work for Cristos was essentially practical, developing computer systems and programs to help the more esoteric side of the work. He kept his Talent close to him and refused to take part in experiments or studies, knowing how devastating an espionage weapon it could be and unwilling to help anyone gain the Talent for themselves. The unknown terrified him; it always had. He’d fought to move to another department -- there were many who wanted his expertise -- but Cristos had hung onto him with a combination of threats, strength, and bribery. Evan could stay here in New York instead of moving to, say, Virginia, his salary was as good as his grade could get, and he was provided with a range of interesting challenges he’d be hard put to find anywhere else. They were still discussing Arthurian legend when he returned with the coffee. Exchanging a glance with Cristos, Evan saw he had succeeded in calming Sophie. She was even smiling. “No, I don’t think Arthur sleeps somewhere under Cadbury Hill. The only thing that will save us from disaster is ourselves, if it should ever come to that.” She met Evan’s eyes when he brought her coffee to her, and smiled. Evan wondered if she realized just how intimate the look was and decided he didn’t care, as long as she kept it for him. Suddenly Cristos was all business. “There is another way.” He stared at Evan. Evan lifted his chin, gripping his hands together, his mouth set in a firm line. He might have known Cristos would realize the solution lay with him. “Think about it. You can join her in her dreams and help her to fight. You’re right; putting Sophie into a deep sleep will endanger her. If they can reach her there, that’s it. But if you do what you need to do, you can help her.” He paused, taking a deep drink of the scalding black coffee Evan had just handed to him. Evan regulated his breathing and knew he had to overcome his panic at hearing someone else mention what he was still tentatively considering. He’d been dancing around this solution, hoping they could find some other way. But there was none. The terror was his alone. He’d been with Meghan when she died, had suffered the cuts, the agony of knowing this was real, that it wouldn’t stop until she died. If he hadn’t ripped himself away in time, he might have died too.


143

It would never stop hurting, but Sophie had nothing to do with that time and the despair he’d felt then. Now he had to be strong, or he might lose her too, and he couldn’t bear to think about that. Cristos stood and picked up his jacket. “I’ll leave you to it.” He groped in a pocket and drew out a small medicine bottle. “The choice is up to you. These are powerful sleeping pills, Sophie. They’ll put you under, but no more than two in twenty-four hours. I would suggest Evan keeps them and doles them out to you, if you decide to go that way, to avoid accidental overdosing.” He tossed the small bottle to Evan. “You don’t suspect me?” Cristos’s mouth turned up slightly. “No, but you know other people will. If Sophie dies, you go down or worse.” “Nothing’s worse.” Evan said it softly, but knew it to be true. Cristos sighed. “It’s up to you. But whatever you decide, keep me up-to-date.” He put on his coat in a few quick, efficient movements. “I’ll see myself out.” The front door clicked shut behind him, and the automatic locks dropped into place. Silence fell. “Evan?” Sophie’s words came softly. “Yes?” He hadn’t moved from his place behind her. Now he swung around and went to the window, staring out at the city he loved. Sophie came up to stand beside him. “Lovely. It’s beautiful here.” “It is.” He reached out to her and felt her hands twine with his, making him complete. “But it’s nothing if I don’t have you.” Outside, on the street, car lights twinkled, the occasional color of brake lights and indicators breaking the sparkle of pure white. When Evan looked up, he saw the inky black sky scattered with stars, echoing the lights below, reminding anyone who cared to look what eternity looked like. “Evan, it will always be beautiful, with or without us.” “I know.” He turned to her suddenly, his decision made. “I’m game if you are.” Her tremulous smile told him all he wanted to know. “What else can we do? I’ll take the pills if you have any doubt.” Going down into the depths of nothingness frightened Evan more than anything else he could think of. He had a shrewd suspicion she shared his fear, but at least he could admit it. That was some kind of progress. Toward what, he didn’t know. He couldn’t let Sophie go there alone. “Cristos is right. If you dream, I can enter your thoughts when we’ve linked. But you can enter mine anytime as well. We’ll be able to build a barrier in time, but for the first week or two, we’ll be connected, one person, one thought, one mind. This means intimacy you can’t imagine. It might kill what we have.”

144

Lynne Connolly

Her anxious look warned him what she was about to say. “You link with everyone you have sex with? You can see them, feel them, whatever they’re doing?” Heat flashed through him when he realized what she meant. She was possessive; she didn’t want to share him. “I built a barrier. So did they. But it took time, and it isn’t entirely successful.” “Can’t you use the barrier you have already?” He shook his head. “I can try.” Fleetingly, he thought of Meghan. Shutting her out had been the worst thing he’d ever done, knowing he could do nothing except save himself. He wouldn’t do that again. “We could join Cristos’s secret project.” “The possession thing?” Her still, smooth face was the only thing he wanted to see at the moment. He couldn’t imagine never seeing it again. If they failed, this time they’d go together. “He’s found some very Talented people, people who can naturally control and connect. Some have been suffering from their gifts, not knowing what to do with them, and others have learned how to control their gifts. They learn from each other. I’m helping. As well as developing systems for the department, I’m trying to develop micro implants. They’re injected subcutaneously and connect with the systems by a kind of radio link. It’s supposed to enhance the natural abilities, but I’m also trying to help them control it.” “Have you done it?” He nodded, waiting for her rejection. This was wild side stuff, something the rational Sophie would have to see for herself. “In some cases.” “In your own?” “No. I refused to use my powers. Until now. For you, Sophie, I’m ready to go forward.” She lifted their joined hands to her lips and pressed a kiss against his knuckles. “Then I am too.” Slowly he drew her close until her breasts grazed his chest through the thin robe she wore. “This will bind us more than any piece of paper, Sophie.” “Yes. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll take the pills.” “No!” Her words put him over the edge. She wouldn’t go there alone. Not again. He pulled her flat against him, crushing her close, and lowered his head to take her mouth. The kiss was fiery, devastating, all consuming, taking them into their own world, a world they would share closer than any other lovers since the world began. Evan didn’t know how they managed to get upstairs. They stood by the bed, stripping off each other’s robes. Sophie’s hair was a wild tangle around her head, and he pushed his hands into it, felt its beguiling silk, and drew her back. He took her mouth again. He’d never get enough of her sinful depths, the warmth luring him to try farther and deeper.


145

Knowing his passion was rising too fast to stop, Evan jerked his head up. They both panted hard, as though they’d just circled Central Park on an early morning run. “Sophie, one thing before we do this. One thing.” He took a few breaths, steadying himself. “I love you.” She gasped and then stared at him, searching his face, then she seemed to calm. “I love you too, Evan.” “Sophie!” He couldn’t wait another minute. Dragging her with him, he fell onto the bed, Sophie on top. Her warmth, her silky soft skin, drew him in, and he wanted to feel all of her, every bit, all at once. He kissed her again, driving his tongue into her mouth, meeting hers, thrusting against it blindly, needing more, needing everything. He caressed her, his hands roving her back, up and down the nubs of her spine, hearing her moan into his mouth. This was right. He was meant for this woman, his mate, his love, his world. Rolling her over so she lay on the bed, Evan kissed her. He pressed tiny kisses to her mouth, her cheeks, and her throat, moving down to savor her with his mouth as he touched her. She smelled of his soap and her sweet self, together with a trace of the perfume she must have applied earlier, something tangy. He wanted more. By the feel of her hands on his back, so did she. She was small, fine boned, indomitable, her spirit too great for such a delicate body. He kissed her stomach, laying kisses around her navel before delving with his tongue into the intriguing dimple. She gasped, the slight intake of air magnified by the stillness around them. Evan continued down. When he reached the base of her stomach, he kissed the tangle of black curls that met him and pushed his hands under her bottom, enjoying the scent and feel of her, waiting for her to open to him. She couldn’t do anything else. He heard her small sigh of surrender and bent his head. Her responsive cry warmed him as nothing else could. He opened her with his mouth, delved deep for the treasure within, the pearl in the oyster. Her erect clit was waited for him. He licked it in welcome, then took it into his mouth. She was scorching, the heat from her body rising like a heat wave. He used his hands to push her up, to take more of her, be part of her, make her want him the same way he wanted her, the torrent unstoppable now. His body ached for her. Now he’d made the decision, he had no doubt left. They would be one. He licked, teased, and then sucked hard, feeling her body in his, the luscious wetness bathing his tongue, a reversal of what was to come. Sophie screamed her climax, and her body convulsed. He pushed her back, determined to take her higher. This was too wonderful not to savor every moment and make it last. He pushed his tongue inside her, feeling her body tighten. He loved her responses to his invasion. He kissed his way up her lax body, feeling the trembling in her stomach, touching his lips to her skin. When he lay over her, his body covering hers, he paused. “Sophie, sweetheart, look at me, please.”

146

Lynne Connolly

She opened her eyes. He saw acceptance and a heat to match his. He slid the head of his cock inside her, not needing any guidance to find his way home. “I won’t let you down,” he promised, tenderness replacing the wildness of a moment before. He entered her almost reverently, sliding through the wetness they’d both created. Fully sheathed, he stopped. “I mean it. I’ve fallen deeply for you, Sophie. I can’t imagine being on my own anymore.” She smiled gently in response. “I don’t know how it happened, but I love you too, Evan. Truly. I hope you don’t mind.” He chuckled, and the laugh reverberated through their bodies, deliciously shifting flesh against flesh. “It makes me very happy,” he told her simply, and then he began to move. He was already a part of her. He would have been content with that for the rest of his life, but deep inside, he knew her acceptance of him, allowing him to do this was the ultimate step of intimacy, of love and trust. He rejoiced. No one had ever had that much trust in him before. It was too much to expect from anyone, but with Sophie, it felt right. She shuddered and arched her back when the first wave hit her. He slipped a hand under the curve of her waist and pulled her closer into his body, concentrating on her pleasure. Tonight that was all that mattered. Her needs, her desires, her pleasures. Her body felt wonderful. “I’m deep inside you,” he murmured to her. “Nothing between us, nothing to separate us. Feel that?” He drove hard into her, watched her eyes close and her mouth open. He kissed her, using his tongue to drive her up to ecstasy, caressing her mouth, holding her close. Her body clenched around him and drove Evan closer to nirvana. She cried out into his mouth. Then she drew away, gasping for breath. “Evan! Oh Evan, how do you do that?” “Just love, sweetheart.” He grinned. “And a little learning.” Breathlessly she joined in his laughter, her body flooding his with wet heat. He rolled over, so he lay on his back and she was on top, his arms holding her close, preventing their bodies from separating, even for a second. This was all he needed, all he wanted. Sophie planted her hands on either side of him and lifted her upper body. The sight of her breasts, dipping, the feel of her nipples caressing his chest, nearly made him orgasm. Everything about this woman drove him wild with desire, hard with need. Her wicked smile told him she didn’t need telepathy to know what he was thinking. “Shall we stay like this forever?” she asked. “It’s one solution.” Her soft laughter filled him with joy. She came back down to kiss him, using her elbows for support. He curved his hands around her waist and caressed her firm back, from shoulder blade to backside and back again. Shaping her with his hands, he allowed them to settle on her bottom. Then he pulled her onto him, none too gently, and sank deeper into


147

her. “Sophie, you feel so good!” Having her over him, warming him with love and body heat, was the best, the very best. The tingle low down in his abdomen told him his orgasm had begun. He took a breath. “Sophie, love.” She paused, her dark hair tickling his shoulders where it fell over her face. She shook it away. “Evan?” “I have to concentrate, sweetheart. I want this right, no mistakes.” “Yes.” She sounded uncertain, now the moment had come, but Evan was more certain he did the right thing. Selfish, he knew, but he wanted her in his life always. This would bind her beyond all other bindings. He thrust deep inside her welcoming body, feeling her spasms begin, and in a couple of thrusts, his started too. He knew that to come together enhanced and eased the transition. He slipped one hand between their bodies, pushed down to caress her and help her with her climax. He thrust again, and the tingle increased to a darting flash of lightning, arcing through his whole body. He went deep inside himself and concentrated on the link. He closed his eyes and visualized her face, her eyes, and her mind, saw the opening on her forehead, the chakra, and aimed all his thoughts at that point. Nothing could stop it now. With heightened awareness of his own body, he felt the sperm gather at the base of his penis and experienced the surge as the milky liquid shot up the narrow passage to gain its release, to fulfill its purpose in the body of the woman he loved. “Ah!” He was past anything but feeling now. Dragging her close, he kissed her, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth. The hot spurt was his body’s essence, everything he was, everything he had been, back before him, into time immemorial. With a crystallizing jagged edge, he gave everything he had, and it entered her. He felt his mind flooding hers, bathing it in hot need, in desire fulfilled, in simple love. He’d done it right. No accident this time. It was complete.

148

Lynne Connolly

Chapter Fifteen Sophie lay over Evan, her repletion a part of his. At the point of orgasm, when her body had clenched around his, she felt his mind enter hers. Sheer power, determination, and something else. He’d told her he loved her. Now she felt it, surrounding her, holding her. His arms were still around her, but lax now. Wondering if he’d fallen asleep, she raised herself on her elbows and looked down at his face. His dark eyes were open, waiting for her. “Did you do it?” “Can’t you feel it?” She nodded. “I think so.” “You’re not sure?” He turned with her in his arms so they lay on their sides, facing each other. Sophie moved in closer, snuggling into his warm body. His chuckle rumbled through them both. “Can you see what I’m thinking?” Sophie blushed. She “saw” only too well. Her face lost in bliss, her mouth slightly open, eyes half-shut. “Evan, I look dreadful!” “It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Think of something, love. Let me show you how close we are now.” Sophie closed her eyes and concentrated. Evan’s voice came amused and low. “A cat. No, a kitten. Tabby and white, one ear tabby, the other one white. Green eyes. A little pink tongue, creeping out to lick its nose.” “Amber. I had her when I was a child. She died just before my father did. A long-lived cat and well loved. A wicked animal at times, bringing my mother birds and mice. Mum used to chase her out with a broom and then get my father to remove the victim when he came home. She couldn’t abide feathers.” Remembering her cat made Sophie smile.


149

Evan made a sound of pleasure, a small hum at the back of his throat. “You like cats? Shall we get one?” “No. I think cats should be able to go outside.” “Then perhaps we should sell this place and move.” She lifted her chin, smiling. “We? You’re making plans?” He smoothed his hand over her hair, playing with her curls. “Certainly I am. I want us be happy together, Sophie, and since I’m be stupidly happy whenever I’m with you, I’ll do whatever it takes. Do you want a cat?” The comparison of the two, grand declaration to small furry animal, made Sophie laugh. “No, I can manage without one.” She caught a doubt in his mind and was surprised to find doubt had a color. A pale blue. If she’d thought about it, she wouldn’t have colored doubt blue. “You’ve made me very happy, Evan. These problems, they’ll pass. They’ll catch the murderer, and then we’ll be left to ourselves.” “Yes.” He projected calm, but Sophie saw fear. “What is it?” He relaxed his hold on her. “You’re very perceptive, love. I thought it would take you time to get to grips with the mind link. Of course I’m scared. We all have a bit of it, unless we’re completely insane. We’re starting something new here.” He chuckled, and she knew what he was going to say a moment before he said it. “I want it to last. I want this to count, but I don’t know if it will work. All that.” “All that.” “Are you ready to sleep?” Fear, sharp and incisive, spiked through her. “I’m here now, sweetheart. If you want me, awake or asleep, all you have to do now is call me. You can do that, can’t you?” “Yes. I called you when I dreamed before.” “But I didn’t come. I won’t let you down again, Sophie. I swear it.” He stroked her back in gentle caresses, holding her close. Sophie felt herself slipping into slumber but pulled herself clear. “Aren’t you tired?” He must know she was. “I can’t.” “Then don’t.” His caresses stopped, and he bent down, whispering to her. “There are other things we can do. All we are supposed to do is stay locked up safe here, so we can turn day into night if we want to. You can sleep when they’re not expecting it. Or I can stay awake and watch over you, and sleep in the day. I won’t have you hurt. I’ll do all in my power to help you.” He bent closer, capturing her lips in a ravishing kiss.

150

Lynne Connolly

Sophie gave herself up to him, opening every part of herself. There was no privacy anymore, nothing to prove, nothing to lose. The kiss turned wild. She opened her mouth wide, allowing him complete access, while she tried to enter him with her tongue, tasting him, trying to eat him alive, sensation coursing through her. Feelings seem to link them in an unending circle, from him to her and back again, increasing in intensity with each circuit. Without breaking the kiss, he found his way back inside her waiting body, the deep throb inside her eased only slightly by his invasion. He gave no quarter in this encounter, and she asked for none. Sophie arched up to bring every part of herself into contact with Evan, and he devoured her, drove ever deeper. Without his mouth leaving hers, she heard his voice in her head. “I’m not hurting

you?” “No.” “Good.” With a sudden jerk, he pulled out of her. When she whimpered and tried to take him back, bringing her body up to rub against his, he chuckled. “Turn over,” he ordered. She did so and felt his hands under her waist. “Up.” She lifted and let him pull her onto her knees. Her shoulders on the mattress, bottom in the air, she felt completely open to him, and opened her legs wide in invitation. “Darling, you look beautiful like this. Are you ready?” A teasing note entered his voice as his fingers caressed her, then he opened her and circled just inside. It felt sensational. “Are you sure you’re ready?” “Yes, damn you!” He laughed out loud as he fitted his body to hers and without foreplay, drove straight in. “Evan!” Her cry ended in a high-pitched wail when her body, impossibly hot, convulsed around him. He gave her no time to savor her light orgasm, but drove hard into her, up to the hilt. “Come with me, Sophie. Let me show you how I feel, how you make me feel.” Emotions, feelings, surged into her mind. She could feel him inside her, and she could feel what it felt like to him. Unbelievable, amazing responses curled through her, driving her up through the clouds of memory to clear, sharp excitation, sending red-hot needles of joy into her mind, into her body. She felt him examining her responses, and when he drove in hard, an edge of concern tinged the waves of powerful joy. “You’re not hurting me. I’m yours, Evan love.”


151

“And I intend to make the most of it.” The concern disappeared, replaced by desire and need. The need to push higher, to take her with him. Sophie let all mental processes fall away and gave herself up to pure feeling. He felt hard inside her, driving deep, touching and caressing her G-spot with every stroke. Knowing she could hide nothing from him, Sophie responded with sighs, moans, and murmured words of encouragement. This was right; this was exactly right. Their bodies joined with a slap of flesh, each thrust driving her impossibly higher. Sophie entered a world of her own, planes of feeling coming vaguely into view, areas she’d been unaware of before. “It’s the joining, sweetheart. It makes us one and links our emotions and senses together. I’ve never known anything like this before.” His words came out breathily and ended with a sharp gasp when he cried out wordlessly. Sophie was almost past words, past moving except in response to his thrusts, gentling now, becoming more rhythmic, as though they were moving to music. Mozart perhaps. Sophie smiled at her whimsy. “I’ll find some,” he promised. “We’ll see if it enhances this. Although I don’t think anything can.” He withdrew gently and turned her, his hands warm on her hips. The look on his face must mirror her own, dreamy satiation in his eyes, red lips, swollen with kissing. She reached up to kiss him as he entered her once more, gliding in as though they’d never been apart. “Can you get addicted to sex?” He drew back, gazing at her face. “I don’t know, but we’re getting pretty close.” He didn’t stop moving, sending a series of quivers through her body, preparing her for another shattering orgasm. Sophie surrendered and felt him open to her. Her climax grew, slowly this time, responding to his slow, steady thrusts, each inward drive stroking her in just the right place, sensation spiraling up. She tried to bring her mind to the encounter, analyze just why this was so special, but it was no good. All her senses seemed to be attuned to the one thing, the one person, and she felt herself go into overdrive once more. This time he joined her, exploding into her body. Their combined orgasm shattered them both. Sophie felt herself descending into sleep, and this time she didn’t resist. Cocooned by Evan’s body and his mind, she let go.

***** Sophie slept dreamlessly and woke up refreshed. It was late in the day, Evan still beside her, his chest rising and falling in sleep. His arm lay on the pillows above them, and Sophie guessed he’d held her for a long time before they had finally broken apart. She didn’t use her

152

Lynne Connolly

newfound powers to test him, afraid she might wake him. Instead she slipped out of bed and walked to the bathroom. After showering and brushing her teeth, Sophie dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, then crept past Evan to go down to the main floor. He stirred when she passed him, but settled again, his breathing deep and steady. It felt good to be here with him, as it never had with Archie. At least, not for a while. Going to the small kitchen, Sophie set a pan on the stove to boil, mentally adding a kettle to the shopping list. At least he had tea bags, proper tea, not the herbal stuff she’d been offered in other American houses in the past. Taking her tea, Sophie went to the windows and stared at the city outside. She enjoyed looking out, knowing no one could see her. This apartment was more luxurious than anything she’d ever known before. Miranda must be good with her investments. An agent’s salary wouldn’t stretch to this kind of place, in this area. Robert de Niro lived somewhere close. While his apartment would probably fit this one in a corner, it was some indication of the money needed to buy it. She loved it here. The apartment already seemed like home. This was the first opportunity she’d had to think about her long-term future, what she would do now, where she would go. It had to include Evan, if he wanted it too. He had filled a space she hadn’t even known was empty, and now it seemed as if he’d always been there. Inventive, funny, handsome, loving… He was the companion she’d always dreamed of but had given up on in favor of the reality of Archie. Before his recent transformation, Archie had been a good friend with a crazy sense of humor, and Sophie knew her yearnings for something else had been entirely selfish, as he’d always been happy with what he had in her. The guilt had stopped her making the break, persuading herself Archie was what she wanted. Now Archie had turned into someone she didn’t know. The humor had gone, the arrogance enhanced, and he had a cruelty the old Archie had never possessed. Sophie took a sip of tea and watched the people in the street. They were four stories up here, and each story was high in this building that had once been a warehouse. It didn’t have the dizzying effect she often felt at the top of the skyscrapers, but it was higher than she was used to. It meant she could see people going in and out of the buildings below, walking up the street, but she couldn’t make them out as individuals. It must be raining. Several pedestrians held umbrellas, and the covers on the convertibles driving along the street were up. She loved Evan, she wanted to be with him, but Sophie had a deep aversion to becoming his dependent in any way. She wanted to pay her way, be herself, but not be so foolish about it as to force them to live somewhere she could afford, but not enjoy as much as this marvelous place. Perhaps she should get her own place. Her old apartment had been rent controlled, and Elaine couldn’t officially sublet it, so that was gone because she wouldn’t be


153

able to afford the renegotiated rent. The apartment with Archie was too much for one person, and Archie had let it go, moving in with Mrs. Bull. Sighing, Sophie turned and went back into the kitchen for another cup of tea and to make toast.

***** Sometime later, Sophie heard stirring in her mind. She’d been sitting at the computer for an hour. It was delicious to feel Evan wake up and to know his thoughts turned to her first.

“Sophie?” “I’m at the computer, looking at the scan.” “Come back to bed.” The invitation was darkly seductive. Sophie chuckled. “You need to eat. I’ll go and put the coffee on and fix you something.” “I’d rather have you for breakfast.” Sophie laughed and went into the kitchen. She heard the bathroom door open, and the spray of water as the shower turned on. Then a different spray of water. Heat came to her cheeks when she realized exactly what Evan was doing, and then, as though he had felt her discomfort, a gentle mist seemed to descend over the scene in her mind. He could erect a barrier, then. Her new powers made Sophie feel completely vulnerable. She must develop something like that. She concentrated on the coffee and finding bacon in the cavernous refrigerator. When Evan came down, he wore black jeans and a white cotton shirt, with hair damp. He smelled deliciously of soap and citrus aftershave. The bacon was just crisping. Sophie broke two eggs into the pan. “One egg enough for you?” “Yes. Have to watch the cholesterol.” “Do you?” She turned. There was so much about him she didn’t know. “You know all the parts that matter.” “No, only in a general sense. But don’t let the yolk harden. I hate that.” She stared at him for a moment before picking up the spatula to get the eggs out of the pan. Sitting at the table by the window, books shoved aside to make way for the plates, Evan asked, “How are you getting on? I take it from these books you’ve been looking at the runes?” “Yes. I’ve made a little progress, but I’ll show you after you’ve eaten.” He waggled his brows at her comically. “Got to keep my strength up, have I?” He laughed when she looked down again at her plate. “We’re going to have to work on your

154

Lynne Connolly

shields, darling. While your thoughts are deeply flattering, I’m not sure you want me to know everything you’re thinking.”

He called me darling. “So you are.” She lifted her eyes and stared at him, seeing nothing but love and calm acceptance. She forced a grin. “Yes, I think I’ll have to practice with the shields. You’ll end up with such a swelled head you won’t be able to get out of here by the door.” They finished their meal quickly, and Sophie cleared up while Evan wandered to the computer and examined the scan of the aulos on the screen. “Have you turned the image?” “Yes. I think the mouthpiece of the aulos is the top of the text.” Sophie returned to the room and sat down, feeling Evan press a kiss on the top of her head. His arms went around her, resting on the chair arms. “What does it say?” “I don’t know. The symbol used on all the bodies is at the bottom of the engraving.” She pointed at it. “I think the positioning of the runes is a key, though they aren’t set out like a script. I’ve tried right to left, left to right, and top to bottom, and there isn’t a clear line. You see that one there?” There was a single rune in the center of the aulos. “Uh-huh.” “That looks to me like an old rune I’ve seen before. It’s a symbol for” -- she paused, getting her breath -- “Arthur.” “As in King Arthur?” “Yes.” She leaned back into his arms, and he rested his chin gently on her hair. “If it is, this item is immensely important. There are no contemporaneous references to Arthur, no proof that he ever existed. We have to get the aulos dated. It could still be a hoax.” “But the last symbol, the one we found on the Crowley card. What about that?” “It’s a puzzle. Crowley isn’t that old, but he mined several sources for his designs and ideas, so he could have come across the rune anywhere. He knew what it meant, though.” “Which is more than we do.” Sophie sighed. “I found no reference to it in any of the books you have. I could be wrong, Evan, and in any case, if the aulos is old, there’s a lot of research ahead. Years of it.” He chuckled. “You’re going to be a professor. That thing will take you way beyond my level.” “I can’t make a computer do much more than switch on and off,” she said. “We all have our specialist areas, and you don’t need qualifications to prove yours.” He lifted away suddenly, reaching across her to pick up his cup and hers. “Will you stay at the Bureau?”


155

The question was seemingly casual, but Sophie caught the concern in his mind before he hid it from her. “I don’t know. Not if it means going back to Virginia. I want to stay here with you.” He reached out and just touched the back of her hand where it lay on the mouse. “Thank you. I don’t want this to be long distance when this house arrest is over. I want you here with me too.” He paused, and Sophie saw his shadowy reflection in the unused monitor at the side of the one she was using. He bit his lip. “Do you mind?” “Mind? I love this apartment. But you must let me pay my way.” “Why?” He strolled to the kitchen. “It’s on a long lease, and the maintenance is all taken care of. The investments take care of that. I don’t pay anything more than the utility bills from my salary.” “Then I’ll pay my share of those.” “Done.” As he went through the door of the kitchen, Sophie realized she had just agreed to stay. It didn’t dismay her. She went back to studying the runes. The Arthur rune, or whatever it was, resembled a pair of eyes, owl’s eyes, so it was likely that the runes were pictograms of some kind. She searched her memory for the source of the rune. It had been on an old piece of pottery, one of a cache of clay tablets discovered in the region of Cadbury Castle, the reputed site of Camelot. For a while, the archaeological world had been in a fever of excitement, but the cache had been dated to the reign of King Alfred, too late to be contemporary with Arthur. Still, folk memory could have retained the rune. It was as near to Arthur as any archaeologist had ever got. “I wish I had the rest of my books,” she muttered, hardly aware she’d said it out loud. “Where are they?” Evan set a steaming cup of coffee on the table by the keyboard. “Some are with the FBI. I’d packed my things, ready to take them to the new apartment, but they’ve been kept back. I should petition for their release. The rest are still in storage.” She glanced around. All Evan’s bookshelves were full, except for the gaps she’d created earlier when she’d taken the Crowley books down. “You don’t have anywhere for them.” “How about we buy another bookcase?” he suggested. Sophie chuckled. This space was huge and hardly cluttered. “I suppose so.” “And you can have the guest room as your dressing room.” She turned the chair to face him. “Evan, do you really want me to move in on you like this? It’s not as though we’ve known each other very long. It might not last, you know.” He knelt down so his face was on the same level as hers. “Look into my mind, Sophie. You’re what I want. Try and find a doubt. I’ve seen into you, too, and there’s none there. Is there?”

156

Lynne Connolly

She shook her head. He leaned forward and kissed her, his lips a featherlight touch. “I think my mind needs a little time to catch up. I can’t believe all this is real.” His arms went around her. “Oh, it’s real, love. Shall I show you?” This time his kiss had nothing gentle about it. He tilted his head, opened his mouth on hers, and she followed his lead, felt him invade her mouth with a ravishing thrust of his tongue. No, there was no doubt. This was too good not to be real. The phone rang, but Evan ignored it until Sophie pushed at his chest. Then he grinned and reached for the receiver, not taking his gaze away from her. “Yes?” There was a pause before he sighed. “Cristos. Can I put you on the speaker so Sophie can hear?” He got to his feet and went to a cradle at the other end of the computer stack. He flicked on the speakers, which Sophie had turned off earlier, not wanting to wake him when she booted up the computer. Sophie felt her stomach tense, afraid there’d been another murder, another life lost. “Good morning, both of you. Stir crazy yet?” “Perhaps.” Evan gave nothing away. Cristos sounded about as breezy as Sophie had ever heard him. She relaxed a little. “I’m on a secure line, so put on your scrambler and we can talk.” Evan flicked a switch next on the cradle. The phone buzzed for a moment, and then Cristos’s voice came clear. “Better. There isn’t much news, but you might like to hear what we found. Your dream, Dr. Adams.” “You took it seriously?” “Sure. It had all the hallmarks of a sent experience. You didn’t want it, you saw someone you don’t know, the sequence was clear, and you were self-aware during it.” Sophie glanced at Evan, who nodded. “He’s right.” He came to stand by her chair, his hand on her shoulder in a comforting, linking gesture. “Cristos, I linked with her. For your ears only. She’s very strong.” Sophie flinched. She had thought it private.

“It will be private. He won’t break the confidence, love.” “How can you be so sure?” “I’m sure. He made me a personal pledge. He hasn’t broken it yet.” “I’m glad to hear it. She’ll need your help, Evan. A shame you won’t agree to link with anyone else.” Cristos didn’t sound surprised. “Why?” Evan’s voice sharpened. “These dreams can be dangerous. I’ve examined those photos, and the marks on Dr. Adams’s neck are finger marks. Some so clear I got enough points to run a check.” “And?”


157

A sigh. “Nothing. However, that rules out a number of people the FBI liked for the murderer, if we link the two. It means the perpetrator has no record. I have a contact at Scotland Yard.” Evan chuckled. “Why am I not surprised?” “I don’t know. They have no record, either. I suspect it might be Dr. Hamilton or the woman he’s living with.” Sophie was surprised. “The art gallery woman? Are they an item?” Relief flooded her at the thought that Archie might turn to someone else. “Hardly. She’s old enough to be his mother.” “It never stopped Oedipus and Jocasta.” Sophie’s comment was dry. “True, but Mrs. Bull has a daughter. More likely it’s her.” Evan’s hand tightened on Sophie’s shoulder, and she felt his thoughts. There might be an end to this confinement soon. She didn’t know whether she was happy or sad.

“While it’s wonderful to have you to myself, I want to do other things with you. Walk in the park, go to the theater, and take you for more lunches. Dinner, even.” She laughed for sheer happiness and immediately felt ashamed, in the midst of such unhappiness.

“Be happy. Please.” “If you are.” She received no answer except a brief extra pressure on her shoulder. Cristos continued as though he was oblivious to the exchange, but Sophie knew that at some level he knew. “Mrs. Bull has no alibi for any of the murders and neither does her daughter, apart from the British murder. The profilers aren’t convinced it’s the same perpetrator.” “Do they think they’re connected?” Evan’s voice came sharply, and Sophie knew without having to probe his mind that he was thinking the same thing as she. The link between Mrs. Bull and Gwyneth was Archie Hamilton. “It seems probable. The points are similar. The rune is the same, although by a different hand. The victim was drugged with belladonna. Unusual enough to connect them.” “Yes.” Evan drained the emotion from his voice. “They’re looking at you again, Evan, but you’re not on the list of potential victims anymore. The FBI thinks Dr. Adams is a target.” “What do you think?” “I don’t know. I don’t know what this person wants. I don’t think it’s a typical serial murder. This person has a purpose other than killing for kicks.” Sophie realized she had thought the same. She had courted CASKU, spent time learning the techniques of the department, and mixed with the lecturers in profiling at

158

Lynne Connolly

Quantico. She knew serial killers escalated the severity of their attacks, and the gaps between each murder, rather like an addiction. These murders were done with a precision, but no escalation. There was no frenzy there, no indication of any emotional involvement. “I agree. There is something beyond the murders. They are a means to an end, not an end in themselves.” Cristos sighed again, but this sigh was different. It was a happy, satisfied sound. “A woman of perception. One who can take the leap. Any time you want to join my department, ma’am, just let me know.” For the first time, Sophie considered the proposal. It seemed like the answer to her.

“Wait.” She didn’t need Evan’s terse reminder to know this wasn’t the time to hurl herself precipitately from one career to the next. “Send me a proposal.” “In the mail.” The answer was so prompt Sophie knew he meant it. Cristos got back to business. “I’m sending someone of my own to watch the business at Bull’s Art Gallery.” “An artist?” Evan sounded amused. “Expect to see an exhibition centered around the tarot in the near future.” Evan grinned. “Not me, then, though I daresay I could hack something on the computer.” “She’s good. She’d know. I’ve found a psychic who is an artist. Your sister was an artist, wasn’t she?” Evan stopped grinning. “Yes, she was.” The words were terse but informative. Sophie reached for Evan. He looked so bleak. He responded to her with a squeeze of her hand, and his next words had no humor to them. “Are they closing in?” “I’ll talk to Bent as soon as we’re done. Knowing them, the Feds will be there as soon as they have a sniff of a warrant.” Cristos sounded dryly amused. All Sophie could think was that this nightmare might be over soon, for her and for any other potential victims. “Do you think we’ll ever find the motive?” “The real reason, you mean?” Cristos’s voice brightened. “Some serial killers remain a mystery, and this more than most, but once they have the perpetrator in custody, I’ll apply for permission to interview him. Or her. For now, stay where you are. Bent has your number. I’ll let you know as soon as there are any developments.” Cristos cut the call. An image came to Sophie’s mind, deeply vivid. A woman with dark hair and eyes, a woman of presence. She knew without him telling her that she was seeing Meghan, Evan’s


159

dead sister. She examined the fine bones, the look of determination. A hardness about the face seemed to indicate a struggle of some kind. “She was lovely.” “Very beautiful,” Evan agreed. Sophie heard pain in his reply and wondered why. Then she saw it. His hand left her shoulder, and she saw Evan and Meghan. Naked, in bed together, kissing in a most unsibling-like way. “Oh God!” Her exclamation was involuntary. Was she seeing what had happened, or what he wanted to happen? She knew those strong shoulders, that look of dreamy repletion. It was in both their faces. She saw them as if she floated above the bed. She slammed a barrier down, one she didn’t know she could use, but it was as rigid as inch-thick steel. Evan walked away. “You weren’t supposed to see that. I only wanted to show you what Meghan looked like.” “Did you want to do that with her?” Sophie’s voice shook. She tried to think of a Freudian explanation and was almost succeeding in rationalizing the hateful image away when he said, “No. We did it. I went to bed with her. It’s how I could link with her when she died.” Sophie stood up and pivoted on one heel to face him. He had his back to her, staring out of the long windows. “Dear God!” The image was gone, but its echo remained, forever burned into her mind. Evan and Meghan, brother and sister, twin brother and sister. “No!” “Yes. You saw how beautiful she was.” His voice was flat, as though all emotion had been drained out of it. Sophie swallowed. He continued, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “I didn’t grow up with her. When we met, I fell for her hard, and we --” “How could you do such a thing? Evan, I can’t love a man who does that; you know it’s impossible!” They stared at each other. Where there had been intimacy yawned a cavern of regret and horror. Sophie couldn’t imagine going to bed with a man who had committed incest, and done it freely. There had been nothing but desire in both the faces in the image, no regret, no fear, nothing that indicated they shouldn’t be where they were, shouldn’t have done what they had. “Am I a poor second to your sister, then? You were looking at her in the same way. Do you tell everyone you sleep with that you love them?” Bitterness filled her soul. How could she have gotten so carried away? Even turned to face her, bleakness in his face, and he opened his mouth to speak. “I didn’t know --”

160

Lynne Connolly

The door behind them buzzed and opened noisily, allowing entrance to the only other person with free access, Miranda Howell. “Good morning, Miranda. Your timing, as always, is impeccable.” Furiously, Sophie realized Evan sounded normal. She marshaled her emotions and managed to steel herself against him. “I think we’re done here.” Sophie walked past Evan up the stairs toward the guest room, but before she opened the door she heard him. “Don’t bother. I’ll go. You have to stay here.” “I can’t throw you out of your own apartment.” “Think nothing of it.” He grabbed up his leather jacket from the back of a chair and went to the computer desk to locate his keys. His glance up to the gallery where she stood against the rail was bleak. “I’ll call you. Don’t leave; it’s not safe.” The heavy outer door slammed behind him. Sophie blinked away the tears that sprang to her eyes, knowing this wasn’t the time. It had been wonderful, and now it was ruined. At least, that was her first thought. She didn’t know if she could sleep with him again, knowing he’d slept with his sister. Right now, she was so confused her mind churned in turmoil. Her body yearned for him, ached with his possession, and knew he was the only one for her, but her mind revolted from the thought of him touching her again. She wanted him, but she couldn’t have him. Perhaps distance would help to rationalize her mind. Remembering she wasn’t alone, Sophie went downstairs. Miranda seemed busy at the computer. She’d logged onto her account and was scrolling down a long list of figures. Seemingly oblivious to Sophie’s presence, she didn’t look up as Sophie went past on her way to the kitchen. Not until Sophie had placed a steaming cup of black coffee at her elbow did she glance up and nod her thanks. Sophie reached for her mobile phone. Miranda paused and laid her hand gently over Sophie’s. Gray eyes met blue. “Who were you thinking of calling?” “Harry Bent. I need to get out of here.” “Will you let me talk to you first?” Miranda’s gaze was steady. Sophie faltered. “What good would it do?” Miranda took her hands off the keyboard and turned to face her properly. “You might get the whole story.” Sophie shrugged. “I don’t need it. I saw for myself.” Miranda’s eyes widened in understanding, and she didn’t resist when Sophie went upstairs. Only then did she remember that her mobile was still on the computer table. She packed quickly. She didn’t know how long it would take for the case to be cleared, but until then Harry Bent had ordered her to stay be at Evan’s or at a designated safe house with an


161

agent or two close by. Perhaps one of them would have dark hair, penetrating eyes, and a sexy body, but she doubted it. After this, Sophie thought she might prefer celibacy. She’d ring Harry, let him take her away somewhere safe. Taking her bag downstairs, Sophie took her last look out of the window, at the sight of the buildings opposite, and tried to sort out the confusion in her mind. It was impossible, just impossible for her to carry on here. It wasn’t the end of the world. It just felt like it. Sophie crossed the large living area to collect her mobile phone. There was nothing to keep her here anymore. Nothing could erase that terrible image; nothing could remove it. She blamed herself, rushing in. Evan had a searingly sexy body and a presence that commanded attention. He’d overwhelmed her with that presence, and when she’d discovered what she’d thought to be a caring, loving nature under the hard exterior, she’d imagined she was in love. She certainly felt tragic now, as though she’d lost her last hope. She gave herself a mental shake. Foolish. At thirty, she had plenty of time. Why then, did it feel like her last chance for love? The phone had gone. When she turned accusing eyes to Miranda, the older lady raised an eyebrow and revealed it in her left hand. “I’ll give it to you when you’ve listened to me. You know, don’t you? About Meghan?” Sophie didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Yes. I saw it.” She received a sharp, astonished look, gray eyes wide in the pale face. “He linked with you?” Sophie nodded, swallowing back her pain. “I thought he’d never do that again. Not after -- not after the last time.” “I don’t think we can go on.” The words were torn out of Sophie’s throat. Articulating it made it so much worse. “I can’t, knowing what he did, seeing it.” Miranda laid a hand on her forearm. Sophie barely restrained a violent reaction to her touch. “Listen first. I want you to know it all. The whole story. Will you do that?” The words were sharp, but the look was imploring. Unable to deny her, Sophie nodded. She could bear it just a little longer. Perhaps she owed it to Miranda, if not to Evan. “You must know he loves you.” Why did Miranda have to remind her? It wasn’t the kind of love she wanted, the love of a man who could do that with his sister. “After the last time, I didn’t think he would ever risk it again. You must mean a lot to him.” Miranda swallowed, but she didn’t look away, fixing Sophie with a frank stare. The lines around her mouth increased with tension. “If you leave him after hearing it all, it will confirm what he thinks about himself. I’d do a lot to prevent that. He hates what he did.” “I know that.” Hating it afterwards didn’t make it right. “Yes. Perhaps you do.” Miranda began, speaking quickly, as though she’d been sitting at the computer working out what she would say. “Evan always knew he was adopted, but not

162

Lynne Connolly

that he was a twin. My husband and I were told about the twin sister, and we felt very strongly that they shouldn’t have been separated. The girl went first, leaving Evan for us. We searched for her, but it was no use.” She looked away, then turned back, suspiciously bright eyed. “He was sixteen when we told him about his twin. He said he’d always known there was someone else. We started the search again, but we didn’t find her. That was when Evan tried to find her. It helped, but not enough. He went inside himself then. I thought I’d lost him in every way that counts. Evan was a sensitive boy, too sensitive, but he learned to put a shell over his feelings. When he slept with a girl for the first time, he did it without protection, and we discovered his gift. Neither he nor the girl could get any peace until he’d learned to build a shield, and it was Cristos, an old friend of my husband’s, who helped him do that. Without his help, Evan might have died. It was a bad year.” She bit her lip, and a single tear coursed down her dry cheek. Miranda made no effort to brush it away. Sophie watched its path, transfixed. “Then David -- my husband -- died. I married Cristos, but it was a mistake. I did it on the rebound from David, and the marriage didn’t last long, though we remained friends. Shortly after that, when he was twenty, Evan went to jail trying to help me make money. It was the most stupid thing he ever did, but he was an emotional mess then. I didn’t need his help; I was making more than enough. I think he wanted to show me how clever he was. Cristos helped reduce Evan’s sentence and gave him a choice.” Her voice became flat. “He wanted to use Evan’s gift for himself, for his precious Department Fifty-seven. Cristos employed Evan when he came out. He got him early release on the condition he worked for the department.” Miranda forced a slight smile. Sophie’s heart ached for her, but none of this would change her mind. Miranda carried on with her narrative, steadily telling her story, her voice devoid of the emotion Sophie saw in her eyes. “One day, Evan called me and told me he’d met someone. It was Meghan. She was an artist, a painter, and she had an exhibit at the Bull Gallery. Evan didn’t know she was his sister. But she knew. She’d come to New York to find him.” Horror gripped Sophie. She felt sick. “No!” She was beginning to see where this was leading. Evan knew he was a twin, but couldn’t find his sister. But she knew him and who he was. “Oh yes, I’m afraid so. She told me just before she died.” Sophie head spun. “Wh-what happened?” “When they linked, he knew. He went to bed with her and discovered it for himself.” Sophie felt sick. That moment of opening had been so intense, so raw that she knew it must have wrenched Evan too deeply for words. “Why would anyone want to do such a horrible thing?”


163

Miranda shook her head slowly. “She never said. I think it was a mixture. She really did love him, and it must have been intense. I don’t think she considered what it would do to him; she seemed so desperate to have him to herself. In her mind, it wasn’t wrong.” She paused and lifted eyes filled with tragedy to meet Sophie’s. “Evan tried to kill himself. He couldn’t close to her. She wouldn’t let him.” Sophie’s sharp gasp filled the large space with a breathless sound of horror. “He took pills. I don’t sleep well, and sometimes I take sleeping pills. I don’t take them all the time, only when I need them. If I hadn’t needed them that night, Evan would have been dead. He’d been to see me earlier in the day, and I knew how deep it went, though he didn’t tell me.” She began to weep, large tears rolling down her face, but when Sophie lifted her hands, she held up her own as if to ward her off. “No, I won’t be able to tell you more than one time. I found my pills had gone, and I called Cristos. We rushed over here, but it was almost too late. We got to him just in time to make him vomit most of the pills. He slept, and we waited. We sorted some things out then, Cristos and me. “Evan woke, but something was gone. His energy, the essence of him, was locked away. He hated himself, felt he should have known what she was doing. Then Meghan was murdered, and he felt it, though he didn’t see who did it. She was blindfolded before he -did what he did, and she didn’t know her murderer.” She gazed at Sophie, her eyes bleak in a face that suddenly seemed old. “I thought it would break him. He was determined to discover who did it, and when the FBI wouldn’t tell him, he went to find you.” “And then he met me.” Sophie realized several things. How unselfish Evan had been to take care of her when he’d been through such a traumatic experience. How brave he was to open himself up to her, after being used and hurt so badly. Miranda had recited her spare account with little emotion, but Sophie didn’t need histrionics to understand how much it had damaged him. She couldn’t leave him now. If he was brave enough to face such a terrible thing, then she would have to learn to live with it too. Her decision, which had seemed so irrevocable half an hour before, now struck her as unutterably selfish. She owed Miranda a great deal. “He met you. He seemed to come alive. I haven’t seen him so happy in years. But that’s not why I told you, my dear.” Miranda smiled, a half smile, the tears drying on her cheeks. Sophie got up, murmuring something about coffee. She would have preferred a strong drink, but coffee would do. Miranda’s voice floated to her. “I told you because I think Meghan was sent to him. I don’t think their meeting and sleeping together was an accident. She knew she was his twin, and she did it anyway.” Sophie stopped dead. She forced herself to reach for the glass jug and pour fresh coffee, just as if nothing had happened. But her hand shook, and she had to rest the jug against the granite counter for a moment before replacing it on its stand. Miranda spoke from just

164

Lynne Connolly

behind her. “Someone encouraged Meghan to do this. Someone wanted Evan, and they wanted him broken. With what has happened recently, I think it was Mrs. Bull.” “So do I.” Sophie’s hand was steady as she poured the coffee. “Archie -- or the creature Archie has become -- is living above the art gallery. Every thread leads back there.”


165

Chapter Sixteen The Bull Gallery was expensive and discreet. In the window sat a single painting, a pure abstract in shades of blue and yellow. Evan didn’t give it more than a cursory glance before he pushed open the glass door and stepped inside. An elegant, expensively dressed woman with short, dark bangs stepped forward to greet him, a professional smile on her red-lipsticked mouth. “Were you looking for anything in particular, sir?” The smile turned genuine. Evan guessed leathers and height had something to do with her interest. At another time, he might have returned her regard, but not today. Not now. He wanted to get this over with. “The proprietor would be a start,” he suggested. He rubbed his hand around the back of his neck in a weary gesture. “I don’t know if Mrs. Bull is available,” the woman said. “She was in a meeting earlier today. I will inquire. Who shall I say is here?” “Evan Howell.” The woman had turned to leave the gallery, but at the quietly spoken name, her taut backside paused, and she turned back to stare at him. “Evan Howell? Weren’t you connected with Meghan Leroux?” “I’m her brother.” Even the word made Evan’s throat tighten. Her perverted desire had turned his world inside out, and he wasn’t sure it would ever right itself again. Sophie had begun to heal him, but now he’d lost her too. “I’m Mrs. Bull’s daughter, Anna.” She offered a hand, the fingernails varnished bright red. Evan wondered fleetingly how anyone could present such a picture of perfection. He didn’t find it particularly alluring, preferring Sophie’s tousled beauty. The thought of Sophie, how she looked, tightened his groin even now. He pushed the mental image aside for later. It might be all that remained of her when he went back. If he went back.

166

Lynne Connolly

He touched the woman’s hand. “Mrs. Bull?” he suggested. “Ah, yes.” Anna Bull seemed transfixed, staring at him for a moment before she left. Evan looked around the large room, divided into smaller galleries by half walls. Several paintings hung there. All abstract. Pretty colors, he thought. Scattered around were sculptures. At least Evan thought they were sculptures, but he wasn’t entirely sure an old, half-opened tin can floating in an unidentifiable globular liquid could be called that. There was no sign of anything resembling a tarot card. Perhaps Cristos’s artist hadn’t made the grade, or even his influence hadn’t been enough to jump the queue of artists lining up for a prestigious gallery like this. He was just beginning to wonder what had happened when Anna returned. “She can’t see you right now, but she’s available in an hour or so. She suggests you and I go for lunch.” Evan lifted his hand and waved it vaguely. “What will you do here?” “I’ll lock up. We’re not particularly busy today.” She moved closer and lowered her voice. “I’d rather get out of here.” Evan agreed. She smelled good, of something floral and spicy. Most of the restaurants in this area were exclusive and costly, but he’d put it on his expense account. If it wasn’t Agency business, it was the Bureau’s, but he didn’t think Cristos would question the expense. “I’m on my bike, and you don’t look dressed for that.” Her long legs were encased in a tight, dark brown skirt. Her jacket was equally closely tailored. Evan doubted she could get her arms around his waist in that getup, much less her legs across the saddle. “We’ll go to Fiori’s. It’s not far. You like Italian?” Cautiously Evan agreed. Fiori’s proved to be a discreet little place where the Bulls were obviously well known. Evan allowed himself to be shepherded to a place at the rear of the restaurant and handed an oversized menu. Staring at the beautifully photographed images of Venetian cuisine on the menu, perversely reminded him of the pub lasagna they’d had in Tintagel. A different world. A world, if truth be told, that he preferred. The easy camaraderie of that evening had relaxed and interested him as this formal encounter did not. Would Anna Bull have appealed to him if he hadn’t met Sophie? Probably. She was his type, tall, slender, dark-haired, effortlessly elegant. Or at least it had been his type once. Meghan had been like that, except her dress was less rigidly formal. Anna might dress like this out of professionalism and not personal preference. It was nothing to him what she wore or how she looked, but he’d needed a moment to remind himself of that fact. They ordered. Evan, uninterested in the menu, asked Anna to order for him. The first course was fish accompanied by a light white wine, and when he brought the second course, the waiter took away the white and brought a red. Evan didn’t care what color it was, but


167

would have preferred to finish it off before it was removed from the table. He took the opportunity to visit the bathroom, and when he returned, he found Anna replacing a tube of lipstick in her bag, the golden gleam reflecting off the glasses of red wine. They kept the conversation light. Evan followed where she led. After the first course, he was mildly surprised to find he was hungry. His heart ached, but it seemed his stomach still functioned normally. He encouraged Anna to talk about artists, a subject he presumed interested her. It did, but she drew him in so he didn’t have enough peace to eat his meal. As soon as they got back to the gallery, Evan had every intention of finishing this, one way or another. They wouldn’t take Sophie, and they wouldn’t take him if he could help it. A direct confrontation seemed the right thing. Evan had no patience with the quiet maneuvering going on while people were being murdered, and the scene this morning with Sophie had been the last straw. His mind kept returning to one thing. The look on Sophie’s face when she’d seen the image he’d tried for so long to suppress. There had been a moment when he’d thought his love for Meghan had been complete. Thirty seconds later, he’d recoiled in horror from the knowledge she revealed to him, but he retained that perfect moment in his mind. He hated it. It mocked him, taunted him every waking moment. At least it had until he loved Sophie. Then he’d managed to shove it where it belonged, at the very back of his mind. Before this morning. Enough. It was over. No one would accept him after seeing that. Hell, he had difficulty accepting it himself. He’d resisted therapy, but he was beginning to think it wasn’t such a bad idea. Sometime during the main course, the conversation turned to more serious matters. He suspected Anna had imbibed a little too much, for she became positively gossipy. He leaned back in his chair, swirling the red wine around in his glass. He watched as Anna downed another drink and leaned forward to refill her glass and top off his own. Anna was talking about an artist. Muzzily, he realized it was Meghan. “She was a remarkable artist. A woman of real talent. Her death was a tragedy.” She paused. “Have they caught whoever did it?” Did she know? Was she pretending to be disingenuous, or was she as much a victim as the other young women? Would she be next? The thought gave him a pang of regret. She wasn’t his concern, but he liked her. She’d undone the buttons on her jacket, and her blouse wasn’t quite as carefully set in place as it had been when they’d entered the restaurant. Anna was a very attractive woman. The bill arrived, borne by a waiter who flicked a glance over him before turning away. Anna picked up the paper and scrawled her signature across the back. “Let the gallery pay for it.” “Shall we go back?”

168

Lynne Connolly

Anna twisted her arm to consult her wristwatch. “No. She won’t be finished yet. Take me for a drink. There’s a bar up the street.” Evan stood up and waited for her to get to her feet. The room swayed slightly, but he soon had it under control. A short walk would help. The thought crossed his mind that he hadn’t drunk enough for this effect, but he dismissed it. They adjourned to the bar, Anna leaning comfortably on Evan, his arm around her. It seemed quite natural. She had more height than Sophie, but Evan was taller still, so she fit. His thoughts seemed to be difficult to chase, but he remembered the most important thing. To find out what he could about the gallery and its owner, give the FBI some reason to search the place, and finish this nightmare. He still had to find the person who’d killed his sister. He was sure Mrs. Bull had some part in the murder. If she didn’t do it herself, she knew someone who did. The bar was unremarkable enough, its main feature a large, red neon sign advertising a long-dead brand of beer. An antique almost. They ordered beer at the bar. Evan was mildly surprised to find Anna drank it. An elegant female like Anna looked more like a wine drinker, or even vodka. They took a pitcher over to a table, and she drank the beer without complaint. “Has the gallery been there long?” Anna peered at him over her glass, dark eyes wide. She answered him in her own time, drinking half the glassful before putting it down on the table. “Yes, but we haven’t owned it long. It was the Metropolitan Gallery before we came two years ago. We decided to move here from the Bay Area.” She carried on, giving Evan facts to put away for later. They came from San Francisco, but Mrs. Bull was originally from New York. When her husband died, she came back east and brought Anna, her only child. Slowly it dawned on Evan that Anna wasn’t telling him anything the Agency didn’t already know. He could have learned all this by asking his boss for the dossier or asking Sophie to ask Harry Bent for the Bureau’s. He needed more. He needed to know what was under it all. He needed to know why. “What about you?” she asked eventually. He began to tell her the bare facts, just as she’d done for him. Then brought in something that made her sit up a little straighter. They were on their second pitcher of beer by then. “I studied everything, even the occult.” “Oh? What part of the occult?” “The Arthurian legends.” She laughed, a controlled tinkle of mirth. “Arthur? Is that the occult?” “Well, there was Merlin.” “There was, wasn’t there? And Niniane and Morgause and Morgaine, all those powerful women. They ran rings around the men.”


169

Evan grinned in response. “Women generally can run rings around men. They do it all the time.” “As it happens, I have an interest there as well. Do you believe in the Grail legend?” Evan considered. “I believe there was an artifact. A cup, maybe.” Was it his imagination, or did her gaze sharpen? “And Excalibur?” “The sword? Didn’t knights often call their swords a pet name?” “Oh, more than that. Excalibur had some remarkable properties. And it was never found. It disappeared. There are ways of calling it back.” Evan reached for the jug and poured two glasses of the foaming amber liquid. “Why would anyone want to?” “It conveyed immortality.” He put the pitcher down, pleased to see how steady he held it. “Immortality?” She shrugged and picked up her glass, tracing a sharp red fingernail over the dewed rim. “That’s what I read. The possessor of the sword is supposed to wield immense power. And the holder becomes immortal.” “How does one find this miracle?” Evan took a deep draught of his beer, but kept his eyes on her face. There was something here. Her attitude was too casual, too careless. “There’s only one way. An object that is linked psychically with the sword, one that calls it from wherever it is. A summoning, you might say.” Evan laughed, genuine amusement plus a little pretence. “What on earth could that be, and why hasn’t it been found by now?” “I read there had to be a ritual, something that summoned the artifact. Then it appeared for the right person.” Evan allowed his humor to remain. “And where did you read all this? I thought I’d studied most of the sources, but I can’t recall this one.” “Aleister Crowley’s books. You know of him?” Evan nodded “A little.” They were toying with each other. Evan was sure now that Anna knew about Sophie and the aulos. It must be that. She was lying about Crowley. He really knew Crowley, and he’d read nothing to that effect in any of his work. “The man was an enigma.” His mind raced, wondering if he could warn Cristos in time. The aulos had to be made safe, locked up tight. “A powerful man,” Anna murmured. “I’ve always wanted to try his theories out for myself.” She gave Evan an unmistakable come-on look, staring into his eyes. He could lose himself in those eyes. Dark and bewitching. “I don’t need to ask what theories, do I?” He lowered his voice to a seductive purr. “Oh no.” She paused. “Aren’t you going to ask me back to your place? It’s the least you can do, after making me play hooky all afternoon.”

170

Lynne Connolly

He chuckled. “That wasn’t my idea.” He paused, taking a long draught of beer. “I need to go somewhere first.” It was only when he got to the men’s room that he remembered Sophie. There was no way they could go back there. And why would he want to? Anna was a passing fancy, nothing more. How could he think like that? Swaying a little, he steadied himself on the side of the stall, blinking at the blinding white porcelain. He was drunk. There was nothing here for him. He wasn’t prepared to sleep with Anna, when he came to it, although he was feeling decidedly primed. He couldn’t pee. Surely, after all that beer, he should be able to pee. He waited for a moment, but he couldn’t do it. When he went to wash his hands, he stared at himself in the mirror, not really seeing for a moment. His eyes were dark, the pupils huge. Evan stared into his own eyes, wondering. He’d had half a bottle of wine with lunch, and perhaps a pitcher of beer. A lot for him, but this wasn’t the drink. He felt disoriented, floating in a different world. She’d drugged him.


171

Chapter Seventeen Sophie woke from a light doze when the front door crashed open, spilling Evan full length on the floor. The door slammed shut behind him. Jerking upright, Sophie was off the sofa and halfway across the room before he hit the floor. He wasn’t unconscious but lay groaning. Sophie smelled liquor. “You’re drunk!” “No.” he rolled over, but kept his eyes closed. “Not drunk. Drugged.” “What!” He breathed deeply, and held it for a moment before releasing it again. “Went to see Bull. Took daughter out for lunch.” He opened his eyes, and winced. “Lights too bright,” he mumbled. Sophie stood up and used the dimmer set by the front door. “They’re lower now.” She could still see fairly clearly. Evan opened his eyes again. Sophie gasped. There was almost no color to them; they were black holes in his skull, showing nothing. “Help.” “Let’s get you upstairs.” She tugged on his arm, but without his help, she would have no chance of moving him. Groaning, he sat up and then got to his feet. “Sophie,” he said, his voice low and unsteady. “Sorry. Call Cristos. Don’t expect you to stay.” “I’m staying.” Slowly they made their way upstairs, his arm around her waist. Once on the wide sleeping platform, he pulled off his jacket and slumped on to the bed. Sophie sat next to him. “Do you know what this is?” “Got to be belladonna. Go and use the ’net, find out what to do. I’ve made myself sick, so most of it is out.”

172

Lynne Connolly

Sophie raced downstairs and booted up the computer, quickly hitting the browser and putting “deadly nightshade belladonna antidote” into the search engine. At the same time, she grabbed her mobile, ringing Cristos. “He’s come back, and he’s been given belladonna. At least that’s what we think.” “On my way. Ten minutes.” Sophie read the article quickly and realized Evan must not be allowed to sleep. If he died, it would be from a coma. No convulsions. No time to read more. She raced back upstairs. Evan lay flat on his back, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. Sophie leaned forward and shook him. “Evan, no!” It was too late.

***** The doorbell rang. Sophie rushed to answer it, only glancing briefly in the monitor. “Quick, please help, oh God, he won’t wake up!” Cristos took the stairs three at a time, Sophie following as quickly as she could. The bed was drenched with water; Sophie had thrown a jugful over Evan. Evan was now half propped up, pillows stuffed behind him. “The Web site said a sufferer would slip into a coma. I was too late.” Tears poured down Sophie’s face, unchecked, ignored. Cristos flicked a look at her and turned back to Evan. “Hitting him won’t do any good,” he said tersely and bent to the briefcase he’d brought with him. He drew out a vial. “What is that?” “I’m going to take some blood.” Cristos proved to be an efficient phlebotomist, wasting little time taking a couple of vials of blood. He spoke while he worked. “I can use these to get a search warrant for the gallery. And for evidence. I need to see Bent since it’s his case. I want you to sign the label on the vials to say you saw me take these.” “But what about Evan?” Cristos handed her the vials. Sophie held them loosely in her hand. Sighing Cristos met her gaze. “He’s down. I brought an antidote, but it won’t work unless he has some extra help.” He glanced at the vials. It was blackmail. Sophie wasn’t fool enough to fight, not when time meant so much. She took the pen he offered her and scrawled her initials on the labels. “Thank you, Dr. Adams. For a moment, think what this means. People are being killed, and if we are to prevent more deaths, we have to move quickly. I think this person will not stop until she is caught. Oh yes, I think it’s a female. It has to stop, and I will do whatever I


173

can to stop it.” He flicked a glance at Evan. “Even if it means the death of someone I’ve come to think of as my son.” A startling admission but Sophie didn’t flinch. “So what do we do now?” Cristos dropped the vials into a plastic bag and then into his briefcase. Reaching in, he drew out a syringe, already filled. “This is morphine. It should counteract the effects of the belladonna, but I’m not sure if it will work.” “Morphine? An opiate?” Cristos nodded grimly. “It works on different parts of the brain than the belladonna and has been shown to counteract the drug. But it’s dangerous. I want to try something else as well.” “Your gift?” He nodded briefly. “I’ll administer this. You can be my witness in case we need one.” Sophie knew what he meant. If Evan died. Neither said any more, but Sophie watched carefully as Cristos rolled up Evan’s shirtsleeve and injected some of the contents of the syringe into the vein that throbbed in the tender crease of his elbow, almost in the place where he’d taken Evan’s blood. He didn’t wait for a response, but put the syringe down by the bed and leaned forward. Sophie watched, the observer this time, as he touched Evan’s temples. Cristos closed his eyes. Sophie held her breath, careful to let it out again in a silent sigh. She could feel the tension, almost taste it on her tongue. Cristos and Evan had gone elsewhere, away from this world. After five minutes, Cristos let out a groan and drew back, pressing his hands to his forehead. “I can’t reach him. I think I have, and then he moves out of reach. Someone’s playing games. I think it’s Mrs. Bull or whatever she likes to call herself.” He regarded Sophie for a moment in silence while she absorbed what he was saying. Mrs. Bull -- and now there seemed little doubt of that -- was in Evan’s head, perhaps torturing him, leading him into places he didn’t want to inhabit. “You’re the only one who can reach him, Sophie.” And, with a jolt that shocked her to the core, Sophie realized what he meant. “I have to link with him, don’t I?” Cristos nodded, his eyes fixed on her face. She swallowed. “We had an argument earlier today, and he put a barrier up. I don’t know if I can.” “Those barriers have to be kept in place by the conscious mind,” said Cristos, speaking slowly. “He is unconscious. You won’t find it hard.” “Very well. But I won’t do it with anyone else here.”

174

Lynne Connolly

Cristos sighed. “It’s dangerous. You should have someone here to pull you out if you need it. I know some techniques. I can help you. Or I can send someone else to you, if you prefer that.” Sophie shook her head. “No. It’s both of us and no one else. If we die, then we die.” “No. I won’t allow that.” He looked down at Evan, obviously torn. “Let me try. You have to go see Harry Bent, don’t you?” “That can wait.” Sophie smiled slightly. “No, it can’t. And neither can this.” Cristos reached a hand out to Evan, and then drew it back sharply. “I’ll stay.” She stared at him. “You won’t give in, will you?” “Not in this.” The bed was on a low platform. Heedless of his tailored suit, Cristos squatted down and sat on the edge of the platform, near the bottom of the bed. “I don’t trust her. God knows what she’s planning, but I don’t want to be out of the loop when she takes her next step.” Trying to concentrate, Sophie sat down next to Evan and took his hand. She closed her eyes, and at once pain shot through her head like lightning striking. A voice, a female voice, strident and loud. “Get him out of here! He wasn’t welcome then, and he isn’t now! If you don’t get him out, I’ll kill you all, starting with Howell!” Sophie dropped Evan’s hand and opened her eyes to see Cristos standing over her. “I heard,” he said grimly. “And she means me.” “Who were you? Who are you?” He raised a brow. “Cristos. I’m who I’ve always been. She knows I have power.” Evan twisted in the bed, convulsively jerking his legs up to his chest and gasping. Marks appeared on his throat, marks that were terrifyingly familiar to Sophie. She shot a look at Cristos. “Go, now! She means it. I’ll do it myself.” “You could both die.” She didn’t need the flattened tones to know his emotions were getting out of hand. Like Evan, he suppressed his emotions when he could, put reason first. Reason wouldn’t help them now. “I’ll take that chance,” Sophie said just as Evan choked. “If you stay, he’s dead for sure. Go!” She paused, waited a brief couple of seconds for him to agree. When he jerked his head in a sharp nod, she continued. “Tell my mother the truth. She deserves to know. And tell her I love Evan, that it’s my choice.” “I promise.” He closed the briefcase and picked it up, turned to the stairs. “Only Miranda can get in this place without you two. If I don’t hear from you in twelve hours, I’ll call her.” It seemed fair. It would be over by then, one way or another.


175

Cristos ran down the stairs and left, the heavy door slamming behind him, echoing through the large, silent room. With a gasp, the figure on the bed lay still. He was breathing evenly again, and when Sophie straightened his legs he didn’t resist. Evan lay still but sweating. As Sophie watched, she saw his eyeballs move behind his lids, and a moan escaped him. She couldn’t resist anymore. It was probably some kind of trap, but she couldn’t stand by and watch, especially when she could, perhaps, help him. Sophie undressed quickly down to her underwear and lay next to Evan. The pillow under him was still damp, although she’d changed it, and the bed was definitely damp with water, but the heat from his body had warmed it. He was still dressed, in shirt and pants, one sleeve rolled up. Sophie had only managed to get his jacket and shoes off. It couldn’t be helped. Soon she’d be past worrying about that. She closed her eyes and concentrated, wondering how it was to be done, if she could do it at all. She tried. She visualized them making love until the tears seeped from under her lids. That was the source of his power, and she’d hoped to reconstruct the moment it happened in her head, and tap into that. She pictured his head and the chakra in the forehead, tried to persuade him to absorb her being. It didn’t work. Sophie opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, white and featureless except for a large metal beam running over her head, also painted white. She started to count the rivets in the beam, darker dimples in the surface, trying to concentrate. Tired and frantic with worry, she found it impossible. Sophie found Evan’s hand with her own and gripped it. His fingers curled slackly around hers. She had to do something; she had to! A voice spoke in her head. It was one she didn’t know, a deep bass-baritone speaking English with no trace of an American accent. “Let go.” The voice was enough to startle her into releasing all her thought processes for the moment it took. Without knowing exactly how she’d managed it, Sophie felt herself enter Evan’s head. And his dreams. Sophie stood in a room she didn’t know, a room furnished impersonally in natural woods and white. A hotel room. A coffeemaker stood on a desk just inside her line of vision, the heady aroma filling the air. It was an odor she would forever associate with Evan. To her left the door to a small white bathroom stood open. When she moved, she saw herself in the mirror, tousled hair tumbled over her shoulders. She still wore only her underwear. Her senses told her she wasn’t alone. She walked forward, steeling her mind for what she thought she would see. Evan lay naked in the big bed, covered with a sheet up to his waist. A dark-haired woman sprawled next to him, her upper body raised, supported by one elbow. Her free hand caressed Evan’s chest, smoothing the long fingers up to his nipples. She tweaked, and he

176

Lynne Connolly

closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them on her. “I still think we’re making a mistake. I don’t know why. I just have this feeling.” “Ignore it.” Her voice drawled in the unmistakable accent of the Deep South. “You’re still here, aren’t you? Who are we hurting?” “No one, I guess, Meghan.” “You want to do this as much as I do.” Her voice lowered to a seductive whisper. “What’s wrong with it?” Smiling, Evan reached up and hooked her around her neck. “Nothing.” He pulled her down to his waiting mouth. Sophie’s gasp attracted their attention. Meghan’s head jerked up, flinging long, straight hair back from her face. She glared straight at Sophie. Up until that point, Sophie hadn’t known if she would be visible or not. She was. Evan’s head whipped around, and he blinked. “I think you might be in the wrong room.” There was no recognition in his voice, in his eyes. “Evan? It’s me, Sophie.” “Sophie.” He said the word softly, rolling it around his mouth. “Sophie.” A new note came into his voice, and he stared at her, understanding slowly dawning on his face. “Evan!” Meghan’s voice came sharply, and Evan reacted, turning back to her. Meghan sat up, her hair falling over her full breasts. Then she looked over at Sophie, curving her arm protectively around Evan. “Come and join us,” she suggested, her tones honeyed. “The more the merrier. A duel, how about that?” “What?” “A duel. See which of us can get him first.” Sophie bit her lip. It was better than a trap, though she still suspected trickery. A duel. With Evan as the prize. It was her only chance. The seductress watched her, amusement lighting her dark eyes. “We’re out of time here. This is where Evan and I bonded, and this is the only place you can change what was done to him.” Then or now? “What do you mean?” Meghan gave her a sultry smile. “Do what you think you should. Put two wrongs right.” Meghan’s riddles didn’t make sense. Unless -- unless she meant that as well as bringing Evan back to her, she could stop his incestuous sex with his sister. Against her lay her own reserve. Living with one man for five years, devoting herself wholly to him, and before that, although she hadn’t been celibate, her life had been concentrated on her studies. It meant she wasn’t experienced and hadn’t learned the sensual skills she would need in this battle. On her side was one fact and only one. Evan loved her. That was all she had.


177

Evan wasn’t cogent, still behaving sluggishly, and Sophie wondered if Meghan had drugged him too, or if this was a reflection of his current state. He curled into Meghan, nuzzling her breasts where they swung in front of his face. Meghan pushed her body forward to give him better access. Sophie stripped off her bra and panties. There was no other way she could think of, but she knew she had to get him away from Meghan. Before he did it again. If it was again. She slid into bed next to Evan and received a welcome from her rival when Meghan lifted her head, her lips curved in a sensual smile. “Very nice,” she purred. Before Sophie could pull the sheet up to cover herself, Meghan dragged the meager covering down. “Sit up.” Sophie sat and faced Meghan, who reached out and traced her aureole with the tip of her red-painted finger. The slight scratch made Sophie shiver. “Good,” Meghan murmured, the word long and drawn out. “Touch her, Evan. Feel her.” Evan stretched out a hand and took Sophie’s other breast into his palm, caressing her with warmth. Sophie relaxed under his touch, felt the waves of desire course unsteadily through her. She let her eyes close. When she opened them, she saw Evan and Meghan caressing her body, the same concentrated look in both pairs of dark eyes. She shivered, not entirely with desire, but desire was there. Something she could use. This situation was not of her choosing, not of her making, but she had accepted the duel, and she could do nothing but her best. That included honesty. Her goal was to have Evan make love to her instead of to Meghan. Only then would she be able to take him away from this, back to the real world where she would share him with no one. Sophie allowed her responses to show, and reached out to touch Evan. Meghan reached out and touched her hand. “No. Touch me.” Sophie had never allowed a woman near her in that way. She had always been modest about her body, even in shared accommodation, one of the curses of student fieldwork. She had never undressed completely in front of others, men or women -- lovers not included. How much, she wondered, had that been due to a feeling of inadequacy? Evan had done a lot to counteract that feeling with his obvious delight in her body, but it was still there. Deliberately Sophie went inside herself and drew that feeling out, allowed herself to experience it. “I’ve never been like this before. I’ve never touched a woman like this.” If she pretended to be what she was not, then that deception could weaken her and prove her undoing. Meghan’s breast was larger than her own, heavy, the skin silky. The nipple was incredibly soft, until it puckered under her fingers and yielding flesh became hard and resistant. When she felt a hand on the back of her neck, she didn’t know if it was Meghan or Evan, but she gave in to the silent request and leaned forward to take Meghan’s nipple into her mouth.

178

Lynne Connolly

A woman’s nipple was little different to a man’s, except larger. Sophie knew that leaning forward made the most of her breasts, and she shifted a little to bring them nearer to Evan’s face. She was rewarded when she felt hot, damp warmth enclose her left nipple when Evan sucked it. She groaned and heard Meghan’s soft words. “That’s it, that’s it. It feels good, Sophie, doesn’t it? Kiss me, Sophie.” She was pulled up by her hair, off the nipple that left her mouth with a soft pop as the suction broke. Her own nipple was yanked out of Evan’s mouth, but a hand followed, caressing the sensitive flesh. She just had time to open her eyes and see the dark eyes, ringed with eyeliner, smiling into her own when a mouth, soft and wet, closed over hers. A kiss is a kiss, but Meghan’s kiss was subtly different to any Sophie had ever received from a man. Meghan’s perfume, flowery and spicy at the same time, filled her nostrils as Meghan’s tongue filled her mouth, caressing and tempting, enticing her to go further, do more. A masculine groan told her how much Evan enjoyed the sight, and she jerked away, jealousy spiking through her. Jealousy. A negative emotion, one causing hurt and pain. It couldn’t be allowed. It weakened her. Sophie forced her mouth into a smile, concentrating on Meghan, knowing suddenly what she had to do. Meghan’s pink mouth curled into a smile. “There are pleasures men have no part of. We have as long as we need, Sophie, and I’m beginning to think I chose the wrong person. Come here.” Another devastating, mind-pummeling kiss, but Sophie kept her wits about her this time. She returned the kiss with darting forays into Meghan’s mouth, caressing and teasing, then took Meghan’s breast in her hand, pinching the nipple between her fingers, smoothing out the slight pain with a gentle caress. She cupped the breast, lifted it, and her eyes on Meghan’s, kissed around it. A hand crept between her slightly open thighs, too small to be Evan’s, the nails scraping against her skin. Sophie shivered and opened her legs wider, allowing Meghan’s caressing. “Oh God!” Evan murmured, and Sophie heard the besotted, sex-sodden quality to his voice, totally unlike the loving passion he’d shown to her. She was winning. Lust was the only way she would beat her rival, but she would win Evan with love. Fingers invaded her, and Sophie deliberately relaxed, allowed the invasion. It was getting harder to suppress her natural revulsion, not to break away, grab Evan’s hand, and plead with him to go with her, but she knew she would lose if she did that. And losing meant Evan’s death. A larger hand curved around her bottom, holding her steady, just as though at some level Evan understood and was helping her. She leaned against it slightly, took comfort from


179

him, and let Meghan explore her. Her tongue caressed the peak of Meghan’s full breast gently, and then she bit and heard Meghan’s gasp of appreciation. “Clever girl.” The fingers in her pussy thrust deeper, and Sophie couldn’t deny the sharp surge of pleasure that forced its way through her reluctant body. She arched forward, pressing herself into the hand working within her. It took her a moment to realize it was a hand, or at least, four fingers of it. She felt the individual spreading, the caresses, and she knew this was Meghan’s counteraction to the challenge. She meant to make Sophie mindless with need, so she would have the advantage. She had to reciprocate. Sophie kissed her way down Meghan’s body, closing her mind to all she’d been taught, all she’d believed in. The sharp scent of arousal attacked her nostrils. She kissed all around the area before taking a breath and diving into the wet, warm depths of her rival. The soft cry was all she needed to tell her she was on the right track. Meghan loved this. “Oh, you have magic in your mouth, Sophie!” she heard. “Don’t stop, don’t stop!” Lowering her body meant Meghan’s hand had been forced away from her, but Sophie felt another hand caressing between her thighs. No long fingernails, a larger hand. Evan. She concentrated on the actions that drew the most responses, twirling her tongue around Meghan’s clit, inserting it into the soft folds to tease and draw her rival into her domain. When Evan caressed her, Sophie responded, pushing her body into his hand, hoping Meghan wouldn’t see what he did. Then she felt another finger, this time next to her mouth. Evan was touching them both. Jealousy surged, immediately quelled. She mustn’t withdraw, or she would lose. She used her mouth, her chin to force his fingers away from his sister’s vagina and occupied it herself, thrusting her tongue into the saturated depths. Meghan arched her body into Sophie’s face, crying out, and Sophie shifted, just enough to bring her body closer to Evan’s. To Meghan it might seem as though she wanted to get closer to her. She felt Meghan’s hands curl around her head, fingers spiking into her unruly curls in an effort to keep her still, hold her steady. She mustn’t let Meghan come. She had to keep her on the brink, keep her waiting and wanting. Only then would she achieve her real aim. Evan moved, sliding his body slowly toward hers. Almost holding her breath, only allowing herself the shallowest of respiration, she opened her legs, allowing him to slide between them. She felt his penis, hard and straining, touch her labia. Nearly there. Agony. Curving her tongue, Sophie worked it around the clit, curling and teasing, before she took the hard bead into her mouth. Meghan screamed. “Oh God, Sophie, don’t stop. I’ll do anything, just don’t stop!”

180

Lynne Connolly

Evan touched Sophie’s body, slipping a finger briefly inside her before holding his penis up. She settled it into place and plunged, at the same time tearing her face away from Meghan. Meghan’s scream of release mingled with Evan’s sigh as he entered her. Nothing between them. Ignoring Meghan for the time being. Sophie used her hair to wipe her mouth and leaned down to kiss Evan. He ate at her, took everything away and gave her himself, cleansed her. Sophie opened to him, mind and body receptive to his touch, his invasion. At first, she thought she’d failed, but then she felt him in her mind, familiar. Awakening. His hands came around her body to clutch her bottom and hold her more securely in place as he invaded her. Her alone. She leaned back to see his eyes open, fully aware. “Sophie,” he breathed. He knew her. His love was intact, his mind whole. Meghan’s voice came from just to her right. “Very clever.” She sounded steadier than Sophie felt. “Very nice too. I knew, but I allowed it. You paid for him, Sophie; you earned him. Love him, for you’ll never be free of him now.” Sophie glanced to the side. Meghan was smiling. “I was never my sister’s creature,” she said, her eyes full of knowledge and wisdom. “It was the only way to keep him from becoming totally hers. I got in the way, and she killed me for it, but tell her I’ll see her soon.” Mouthing “thank you,” Meghan got off the bed. Sophie fell forward into Evan’s waiting arms and felt him surge within her, loving her, bringing her to a climax she welcomed with all her heart and soul. She closed her eyes and said the only words that mattered. “I love you, Evan. I’ll always love you.”


181

Chapter Eighteen Evan continued to move lazily in Sophie. It didn’t matter if he came or not. All he wanted to do was bring pleasure to this woman who had so quickly become his whole life. He couldn’t imagine living without her now. When he opened his eyes, they were in his apartment -- their apartment -- lying on his bed -- their bed. Somehow it didn’t surprise him. He rolled to one side, taking her with him, continuing to pleasure her, and confronted something most surprising. “This bed is wet! Really wet. And cold too. What have you been doing?” She opened her eyes and stared at him. “We’re back?” The slow smile that spread over her face filled his mind with joy. He shifted again, and while his mind rejoiced, his body seemed to be lying on cold, clammy bedclothes. She bit her lip. “I threw a jug of water over you when you wouldn’t wake up.” “Let’s move.” Reluctantly withdrawing from her, he braced himself, rolled over the soaking bedclothes, and stood up. His pants and shirt were screwed up together at the bottom of the bed, so he took them up and stripped the bedclothes off the mattress, putting the dry things over the wet spot to soak up the water. Sophie smiled at him, so he took her hand and led her into the guest room. “We’ll camp out here until it’s dry,” he murmured, and drew her back into his arms. “Now where were we?” It didn’t take him long to remember. Laying her down on the cool, but blessedly dry sheets, he mounted her and loved her, feeling the bliss eddy through his mind and his body. She moved, just a fraction, making his contact with her complete, arranging him so he was exactly where she wanted him. He thrust hard and rhythmically until she tightened, inside and out, clenching her muscles around him, taking him in.

182

Lynne Connolly

He felt his semen pour into her, hotly surging, and opened everything he had to her, feeling her warmth, her essence. When the final tremors had blended with the flow of their bodies, he rolled onto his back and felt her curl around him. He pulled up the covers, feeling the need to care for her. “Wow,” he murmured, staring up at the featureless ceiling. “Mmm,” she murmured in response. “You met Meghan.” “I did more than meet her.” “So you did.” He turned his head, gazing into her eyes. “You know what this means?” “Some of it.” “Some people think that time isn’t a straight line continuum, but it loops back on itself. I think Meghan used one of those loops and made it possible for you to change time. But Sophie, you could have died with me.” She shrugged. “Not a chance.” He kissed her. “I never slept with her. You stopped me doing it. You appeared at the moment I gave in, and you stopped me from sleeping with her. We never had sex, so we never linked. I can’t remember her death like I did before. I can’t feel it; I can’t experience it.” He touched her chin, stroking gently up to her ear. “Thank you.” He leaned forward and kissed her again. “Now I know why Meghan did it. I thought Mrs. Bull had corrupted her, but I think Meghan was playing her own game. She created a point at which she could save me, or you could.” Sophie had removed the darkest part of his soul, taken the frozen part of him away as though it had never been. He felt able to go on, to think of other things. To make a real life. “Marry me.” “What?” He was gratified to see that her eyes could get larger as her lids withdrew completely in shock for a brief second. “Marry me, Sophie. For real, and soon.” “But --” He smiled when she paused. “But what? You want to wait? What for?” When she continued to stare, he leaned forward and kissed her very gently. “Say yes.” She lifted her hand to his cheek, cupping it. “Yes.” The next few minutes contained few words and many kisses. Evan pulled Sophie on top of him, curled his arms around her. “When this is over, we’ll go choose a ring. Are you religious?” “See? You don’t know a thing about me! And I want my mother here.”


183

“Do you think she’ll get on with Miranda? There’ll be room at her place for guests. Do you want anyone else?” He wanted nothing but to make her happy. “I’ll think about it.” She propped herself up on her elbows, one on each side of his chest. “Cristos was going to see Harry Bent. I think they’re close to catching Mrs. Bull and the lovely Anna.” “They’d better be.” Evan’s thoughts turned grim, and Sophie picked them up from him. She caressed his chest, but said nothing. “It’s making more sense.” “I think so too.” She glanced down, then back at his face. “What do you know about the Arthur legend?” “Some stories.” “Let me tell you some more.” “I love your stories.” Evan opened his mind to her, and let her flood him with her knowledge. Some of it he knew; some of it he did not know, but after five minutes, he saw the pattern and understood. “Meghan spoke about her sister,” he said slowly. “If she was Morgan Le Fay, her sister was Morgause.” “Mordred’s mother.” He stroked her back, feeling the smooth skin under his hands. “There’s a parallel with all the victims. I don’t know about the Frenchman.” “He’ll fit.” “Do you believe all this?” Even when he saw the pattern, he found it hard to believe. Mrs. Bull and her daughter, Anna. Even Gwyneth could have been part of it. Guinevere, Elaine, Morgan. So who was he? And who was Sophie? “It doesn’t matter if I believe it, or if you do. They do, and they’re murdering people because of it.” “Why? What do they want?” “I don’t know. I think we need to talk to Cristos and Harry Bent.” Evan realized she was right. He heaved a sigh, then chuckled when he saw her rise and fall with his deep breath. “We do. I’d rather anticipate the honeymoon a little, but let’s get it done.” She pushed herself off him, and he enjoyed the view when she walked out the room. Shapely, beautiful, and his. He’d never known this kind of peace since before Meghan. No, he’d never known it. He was sure, couldn’t be more sure. He loved her and wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with her. There was nothing he couldn’t share with her now. He reached for his cell phone, but his clothes were all on the wet bed. He swung his feet over the side of the bed but caught something that fell to the floor. Something round. He bent to retrieve it and found it was Sophie’s nighttime moisturizer. Before he set it back on the bedside table, he changed his mind. He went into the bathroom where Sophie was just

184

Lynne Connolly

stepping out of the shower. Still holding the tub of cream, he found a towel for her. She must have felt it against her when he wrapped the towel around her. “Lost your moisturizer?” She looked up at him, smiling, but he didn’t smile. “Where did you get this?” “Boots the Chemist, I think. Why?” He clucked his tongue. “No, that’s not what I mean. Was this in the bag Archie brought you when he visited that time?” She glanced at the pot of cream, then at his face. “Yes.” He held her close. “Sophie, I was drugged, and my dreams were like yours. Not in content, but they went to my fears, and they were vivid and realistic. I think you were drugged too. With this.” “So I don’t have to dream?” “Never again, my darling. If you do, I’ll be there. But this would have enhanced them, perhaps made you more susceptible to them, taken you deeper.” She took the pot of cream off him and turned it in her hand. “You think it’s this?” “What else was in the bag?” “Some talcum powder, but I haven’t used that recently. Some cleanser. The things I left in the bathroom.” She gave him the pot back. “I’ll find them. They could all have been contaminated. More evidence.” Evan put the pot aside, very, very gently. “I’ll see the bastards fry for that.”

***** An hour later, the phone rang. Evan answered it, then went upstairs to tell Sophie the news. “My mother needs me. It’s not serious, but she’s locked herself out again.” “Why don’t you give her the kind of lock you have here?” Evan grinned. “She doesn’t trust them. She prefers keys, which she’s always losing. I’ve a spare set.” “Is it safe for you to go out?” He bent and kissed her. “I’ll take care. I’ll be back within the hour. Don’t let anyone in except me.” “What about Cristos?” “And Cristos,” he amended. He left her after one last kiss. Sophie felt the tension seep away from her. It would be all right, at least for her. For Gwynnie, for Elaine, for Meghan, and for the Frenchman who’d died in his hotel room it


185

would never be right, but she had been spared and so had Evan. Now all she and Evan needed to do was to tell Cristos and Harry Bent everything they knew and leave it to them. This was right. It felt right, as her affair with Archie never had, and now, at last, she knew what was missing from her previous relationship. Completion. Total understanding and total acceptance. The doorbell rang, and Sophie wasn’t surprised to see Cristos on the monitor, with the darker, taller shadow of Harry Bent behind him. She pressed the release to let them in and turned to greet them. The greeting froze on her lips. It wasn’t Cristos. Archie followed Mrs. Bull into the room. Before she could cry out, before her dazed mind had quite grasped what was going on, Archie raced across the room and stuck something in her arm. She looked down. A small syringe, quickly withdrawn. All she had time to do was to cry out in her mind the single word “Help!” before she sank into deep, dreamless unconsciousness.

***** Sophie awoke in a room she’d never seen before. Blinking at the bright, fluorescent light above her, she turned her head to the side. Archie sat in an office chair, watching her. “Hello, darling,” he drawled. “Archie.” “What’s left of him.” A movement in her peripheral vision made Sophie realize she wasn’t alone here with Archie. Her head throbbed. She felt raped, as though she’d been scraped inside out. “Welcome back, my dear.” The voice sounded like one she’d heard recently, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Not surprising, considering how she felt. She turned toward the voice. Her hands were bound in front of her, her ankles confined in the same way. Sophie came face to face with Mrs. Bull. Dark hair scraped back into a bun, reminding her of the photos of the late Duchess of Windsor on her wedding day. Small, dark eyes. A thin, red-lipsticked mouth. An elegant suit, careful posture. This woman reeked of money. Old money at that. “Where am I?” Sophie’s voice came out reedy and thin, but it came out. “Why have you done this?” Mrs. Bull tossed a shiny silver object in the air and caught it again, deftly. “For this.” The aulos. Sophie cursed. They should have locked it up as soon as they’d realized its value, but they’d intended to give it to Cristos today. “How did you trick me?”

186

Lynne Connolly

Mrs. Bull smiled wickedly, small, perfect teeth gleaming. “It used to be called glamour, creating a gloss that doesn’t last long. Easy when you know how. And I used another small spell to find the aulos.” Her accent was pure New York, but Sophie remembered who she reminded her of. Meghan. Meghan had been younger, her face slightly sharper, but it was there, something reminiscent. And she had spoken of her sister. “I have a message for you.” A frown briefly creased the smooth brow, quickly eased away. “From whom?” “From your sister. You and your daughter drugged Evan, but he survived. Your sister helped. Meghan. She said she would see you soon.” “Did she, by God?” The frown deepened. “She will not. Morgan is dead. As for Anna --” She waved her hand, dismissing the thought. “She drugged Evan on her own, and it was not with my permission. She has been chastised.” The last word was chilling, spoken with a relish Sophie found terrible. She didn’t want to know what “chastised” meant in this context. The pair watched her with an inflexibility and sense of purpose that made her shiver. She would die; she had no doubt about that. It was in their eyes. Unless… Archie moved around the blanket where she lay on the hard floor to join Mrs. Bull. “Do you know where you are?” “The gallery?” Archie’s small smile told her she was correct. She was hard put not to return his smile. She had a chance now.

“Evan?” His reply came in a gush of relief. “Sophie? Where are you, sweetheart? What

happened?” “Mrs. Bull and Archie fooled me into thinking they were someone else.” “Cristos.” “Yes. I let them in. They drugged me. I’m at the gallery, Evan.” “Stall them. I’m on my way.” Alarm spiked. “Don’t come alone!” “Don’t worry. Cristos and Bent are here. They’ll bring the cavalry. Hold on. Talk to them; keep them talking.” Sophie stared at the couple who watched her closely. Uneasiness crept through her mind, but she dismissed it. She had to keep herself alive for a while. “What are you planning to do?” “When the time is right, we’ll show you. Soon now.” Mrs. Bull exchanged a smile with Archie, a small, secretive smile, a parody of the broad grins he used to bestow on all and sundry.


187

“What happened, Archie?” she whispered. “Why are you doing this? You’re not the Archie I knew, are you?” Slowly Archie shook his head. “No, I’m not the Archie you knew. You called me, darling, you made me into this.” “How?” Sophie pulled against her bonds, trying to discover what they were. They felt silken, tight against her hands. She glanced down. Silk scarves bound her tightly, but she wasn’t secured to anything else. She couldn’t get out of the bonds without help or a weapon. They had taken her socks off to bind her, so she couldn’t slip out that way. She wore a Tshirt and jeans, the clothes she’d hastily donned that morning, wondering when Evan would help her to remove them again. Looking forward to it. “You called me with this.” He leaned forward and stroked the small, silver item Mrs. Bull held loosely between her fingers. “I should never have given it to you.” Sophie hazarded a guess. “Mordred?” “Why, how clever of you!” Mrs. Bull purred her approval, an edge of sarcasm coloring her voice. “Yes, my dear, you called him. Mordred, my son, my beloved. The person I’ve been searching for. You called him, and now he’s ready to take his place.” “As what? Ruler of England?” Sophie remembered the old legends, but hadn’t believed them until now. Until she looked into Archie’s blue eyes and saw something else there, something she could only describe as pure evil. Whatever, whoever he was, he had to be stopped. Now, today. “Better than that.” Mrs. Bull glanced at Archie, a glance full of adoration. A besotted mother to her child, lover to lover, ruler to ruler. “With this little instrument we can make him immortal. Just one more play, and we’re there.” “Play?” “Throw of the dice. Of the loaded dice.” Mrs. Bull laughed. “You have helped us put the last piece into play.” “What?” Sophie remembered something, something she badly wanted an answer to. “What does that symbol mean?” Mrs. Bull frowned, but Archie seemed to understand. “The one over their hearts?” “On their chests, yes.” Professional curiosity turned to avid desire to learn as much as she could. And to keep them talking. “It stops them rising again.” Mrs. Bull got to her feet, rolling the smooth end of the aulos against her lower lip as though she would blow on it. She drew it away. “We were all cursed when Arthur died. All of us, good and evil. We were to rise again, until one side learned how to defeat the other. To war for all time, to keep the balance of good and evil. Well, we’re close to an ending now. All we need is one more thing. One more person.” Sophie felt she was expected to ask, and she saw no reason not to. “Who?” Mrs. Bull’s grin became triumphant. “Arthur. Or Evan.”

188

Lynne Connolly

Sophie felt dizzy. Whether it was the aftereffects of the drug they’d given her or the information, she didn’t know. “How can he be? He knows nothing about all this, doesn’t even believe it!” “Somewhere inside that delicious body is Arthur. Mordred was imprisoned, to be released when someone blew on that aulos. Yes, that’s what these runes say.” She tapped the instrument against her lip. “Who else was there? Mordred was incorporeal, but he took the body of your fiancé. Archie died then. Only Mordred remains and the mechanical parts of the mind he needed to survive. Two spirits cannot exist inside one body.” “What?” Sophie concentrated hard. “You mean if you call Arthur, you’ll kill Evan?” “Precisely.” This was becoming more bizarre by the minute. “The aulos wouldn’t have worked had Arthur not been there. We’ve looked at the others, and none of them fit. But Evan Howell does. He has power too. Doesn’t he? Doesn’t he?” In an instant, Sophie realized what they were doing, why they didn’t just kill her and have done with it. Desperately she sent out a message. “Evan, it’s you. They want you. Don’t

come; stay away!” Mrs. Bull watched her, saw the words sink into unresisting space. “No, you won’t send any more messages. That is something we can stop, or at least I can. This room is secure. Lead lined, my dear. You only contacted him before because I allowed it, and left the door open for you. Lead defeats everything, and unless I allow it, won’t let anything through.” “No!” Mrs. Bull circled her, nudging her with her stilettoed shoe. “Did you think we wanted you? Dear me, you must think a great deal of yourself. No, you are merely bait. You have no part in this story, nothing to offer us, except the aulos, which we now have. You would have died, except Arthur will be able to sense it.” “I thought you said --” “He’s a being like us. He can sense that. He could reach you, if he tries. You cannot reach him, so don’t even try.” A trap. She was leading Evan into a trap. And neither of them would escape.


189

Chapter Nineteen The Bull Gallery was closed to the public. While Harry Bent used his cell phone, calling urgently for backup, Evan watched Cristos ply his skeleton keys, praying the locks were the old-fashioned, mechanical kind. They were. The door opened with a silent swing of well-oiled steel hinges, the hush inside a violent contrast to the busy streets. Cristos glanced at Bent, who put his hand over the receiver. “We’ll go in. You stay out here and wait for your guys.” Bent nodded. “Here.” He drew out his weapon, a serviceable nine-millimeter pistol and tossed it to Evan. “The clip’s full.” Evan wasn’t allowed to carry firearms as a condition of his parole, and Bent must know that. Not that Evan cared now. They’d work something out. He shoved it into his back waistband, grimacing at the unfamiliar feel of hard metal. Following Cristos into the gallery, he had to give his eyes a moment to get used to the murk. He saw his boss crouched over something at the back of the gallery. Hurrying to his side, he saw a tumble of glossy black hair and wide, sightless dark eyes. Anna. She’d killed her own daughter, or allowed Archie to kill her. There was none of the careful mutilation about her. Either they’d been in a hurry, or Anna was a pawn and worthless. He remembered the sophisticated, yet strangely vulnerable woman and allowed himself a moment to mourn. She hadn’t deserved this. Evan set his mind to the people who richly deserved to die. Anyone who laid hands on his Sophie deserved it, and if they’d hurt her, he would hurt them. He had the pistol and a couple of knives. One of them would do the job. Cristos straightened after smoothing the lids over Anna’s dead eyes. She lay on her side, in the kind of disarray she wouldn’t have appreciated in life. “We need to stay together, but we need to be quick. Can you sense anything?”

190

Lynne Connolly

Evan shook his head. Nothing. He couldn’t reach her past that first, frantic cry for help. It was as though she had stopped. He would have felt the void if she was dead. Sophie was so far entrenched into his heart, he’d know if she ceased to be. But she had just -- stopped. As though she’d never been there to start with. Perhaps they’d drugged her, sent her into a sleep so deep she wasn’t dreaming. He denied the panic that rose, unbidden, into his mind and kept himself open. The moment she stirred, he would know. Methodically they searched the gallery, looking for a secret opening where Sophie might be concealed. It wasn’t a large building. The gallery itself and an office on the ground floor, living accommodations above. Evan kept his hand on the pistol, but there was no opposition, nothing to impede their search. It was like the Mary Celeste, as though the place had been abandoned in midlife. Cases and bags resided, empty, on the top shelves of wardrobes, a pot of coffee in the machine, still warm. They went back downstairs and searched the gallery more thoroughly, taking the paintings down from their carefully arranged invisible hooks, kicking at the wood floor for a different sound. “Ah!” Under a painting, one of the gaudy abstracts Evan had noticed on his previous visit, a control panel lurked. A small one, with a keypad. Evan wished for his laptop, but after punching a few buttons, Cristos got lucky. By the side of the panel, hidden by the spare décor, a door swung silently open. “Shit!” Evan went forward, but Cristos stopped him by raising one arm to impede his progress. “We don’t want it slamming shut behind us.” Together they heaved the large reception desk across the floor, heedless of the scraping noise and the raw scratches it left on the expensive floor. Wedging the shorter side in the opening, Cristos leapt across it in a rare display of athleticism. Evan followed, and heard the unmistakable sounds of cracking wood. Cristos had been right. The door was primed to close behind them, perhaps after an interval of time. He wondered how long the desk would hold, and decided he didn’t care. Not at the moment, anyway, though it might become important later. Stairs led down. Stone steps, surprisingly old-looking. And another door. Cristos gripped the handle. It opened easily. “Do come in, gentlemen,” Mrs. Bull purred. Evan let out a sigh of relief when he saw Sophie, tied up with silk scarves but unhurt. Her mouth was covered by another scarf. Gucci, his mind chanted. He felt her now, felt her mind and her presence. In other circumstances, he would have bathed in it, just for the pleasure of her presence. Now there was no time.


191

“Your weapons, please, gentlemen.” Since Mrs. Bull held a gun to Sophie’s head, they had little choice. Evan had no doubt the woman would use it. After he’d seen the body of her daughter upstairs, Evan knew she wouldn’t hesitate in killing the woman he loved. He had no guarantee she wouldn’t do it anyway, but giving up their weapons bought them a little time. It appeared Cristos felt the same way because he handed his gun to Archie, standing silently by Mrs. Bull, holding another gun. The door closed with a boom he wouldn’t have expected from the look of it, and turning, he saw the reason why. The whole of the chamber was lined in metal, gleaming dully in the light of the overhead fluorescent light. Lead, most likely. Mrs. Bull took his weapon when he offered it and stepped back, allowing him access to Sophie. He’d expected a trap. He drew out his knife and slashed through the scarves, wondering wryly exactly how much in value he’d destroyed with that savage cut. He sliced through the gag and before she could ask, tossed the knife at Archie, who stepped aside and allowed it to fall to the floor behind him. “They didn’t want me to call out.” Sophie gasped. “They said lead would stop me communicating any other way.” Evan cursed viciously and pulled her into his arms. Only then did he feel a measure of relief. He turned to face the people who had undoubtedly murdered his sister. “Backup’s on its way.” He forced a smile of superiority. “What can you achieve? You can kill us all, but you’ll only die yourselves.” “No, we won’t. And we don’t want you dead. At least, not all of you. We want you back.” Archie gave him a cocky grin, a parody of the one Evan had seen him use when they’d first met. It was only then he realized. “You’re not Archie, are you?” Slowly, Archie shook his head. “No. I’m your son, reborn. I’m back, and this time I’ll take what is mine.” “And what is yours?” “Power.” “Enough!” Mrs. Bull stepped between them, holding something small and silver. “Let’s get on with it.” She put the aulos to her lips and blew two sharp blasts. They echoed through the small room, the shrill shrieks bouncing off the walls. Evan stood perfectly still, holding Sophie close. When he felt her stiffen against him, he knew something was happening.

192

Lynne Connolly

A stirring in his mind, becoming louder. He turned to Sophie, seeing her face through a mist of blue. “What’s this?” he managed. A wind rushed through the room, stirring not clothes but minds. “They say you’re Arthur. They want to call the sword Excalibur back, and the only one that can do that is Arthur.” It was as though she was shouting down a tunnel at him, her voice came from such a distance. “Excalibur?” “It’s the only thing that can kill Mordred and keep him dead. They want it destroyed.” “And Arthur has it?” He felt stupid, as though his mind was trying to understand something just beyond its reach. The wind abruptly stilled, and Cristos’s voice echoed sharply in the sudden silence. “Fools!” It was so unexpected, Evan turned to him and saw Mrs. Bull, eyes wide, staring at him. Her gaze was avid, expectant. Cristos gestured to Evan. “This isn’t Arthur. It never was. Evan has some characteristics because Arthur was his ancestor.” Evan and Sophie stared at Cristos, dumbstruck. What the fuck was going on here? Then a crack of sound, like thunder, and one wall just wasn’t there anymore. It seemed dissolved into mist, the lead a dull sheen like a sheer curtain. It rent in two and something -someone -- Evan couldn’t believe stepped through. A knight. A knight of old, straight out of Malory. Beardless, with a breastplate dull with dust, but a tall man, nearly seven feet as far as Evan could tell. He bore a sword, an ordinary-looking sword until he twisted it in his hand and the gleam of gold showed through the dust of ages. A vision? Some sort of mass illusion? The mists clearing from his head, Evan saw the knight was staring straight at him, the dark eyes as amazed as his must appear. Because under the air of antiquity and power he saw what was almost a mirror image of himself. “I thought never to see you this day,” the man said in perfect English. “It’s good to see you.” Evan bowed his head and glanced at Cristos. Still as a rock, Cristos stared at the man, before breathing, “Arthur.” “Maybe,” the knight replied. “Or maybe the spirit of him. Someone called me?” His question was almost mild, until he swung around the room and saw Mrs. Bull, her son standing by her side. Even Archie was dwarfed by this man, his sheer presence too much for this small room. “Well? You thought to get this?” He swung the sword in a long arc, sweeping through the hypnotized air with a glittering stirring of dust motes. “How is it possible?” she muttered. “Still plotting, Morgause?” The man seemed amused. “I hope no one’s come to harm this time, but knowing you, I much fear evil has been done.” He lowered his weapon until it


193

came to rest, point down, on the floor. “You called me. You should have known better. Where is Merlin? Did you call him too?” His attention left the woman to roam the room, resting thoughtfully on Cristos before returning to her. “Ah.” Evan felt frozen. The visions, the pictures running through his head couldn’t possibly be real. He saw battles, blood, and many men, all weary and ready to rest. A hall full of them, swords by their sides. Were the visions his or a projection of the powerful presence now in the room? “Enough.” Arthur seemed impatient now. “This is not the time. You called me for your own ends, did you not, not because I was needed? What?” He stood as if listening, great head cocked slightly. “You thought to kill me?” “Dear Lord,” Sophie said. “No, not so,” he said instantly. “Child, you should not be here.” Evan felt warmed when he swung his gaze to him once more. He paused, and if Evan had not seen him move, he would have mistaken him for a statue. “That thing must be destroyed. Mordred will sleep without it, disembodied, as he was before. Morgause will be destroyed with the aulos. I sent Morgan to you, and you killed the vessel that held her, but you did not kill her spirit. You killed others, friends, and tried to prevent their resurrection. You will do this no more. No more, I say.” Lifting the sword, he swung it with both hands. Evan ducked as the blade swept over his head, and with no lessening of the power of the swing, took Mrs. Bull’s head clean off. The angle steepened and powered upwards, catching Archie in the same way. Dull thumps sounded when the heads fell to the floor. Evan dragged Sophie into the shelter of his body, his only instinct to protect her, to prevent her seeing this terrible thing. He saw Arthur address Cristos, who stood calmly waiting. “It is done. Destroy the aulos. They will not rise again.” Cristos nodded and then did a remarkable thing. Going down on one knee, he bowed his head, the silver hairs glinting in the harsh light. “It was good to see you, my lord. Rest well, until you are called.” There was no other sound. Evan tucked Sophie into the shelter of his arms, taking deep, dragging breaths. The only sound was the steady, glutinous drip of rapidly congealing blood.

194

Lynne Connolly

Chapter Twenty There were times better forgotten, and this was one of them. The FBI surged into the tiny room and took charge. Evan and Sophie did what they were told to do, going to the office to make statements. Sophie lied, and said she’d been drugged into unconsciousness. They took some of her blood and confirmed she’d been drugged, and left her alone. Evan and Cristos were subjected to more rigorous examination. For the hundredth time that day, Evan recited his story. Eventually the FBI gave up and led them to the featureless office where Sophie waited for them. “What do we do now?” Cristos shrugged. “They’ll hush this up as they have many other incidents. You needn’t worry, none of it will come out, and you won’t be locked up as mad. Best to let them do what they’ve done before.”

***** Sophie hadn’t believed it, but when she saw the news bulletin the next day, she had to. “The bodies of three people were taken out of this fashionable art gallery today,” the commentator said. This was another sharply suited, beautifully coiffured New York professional, one that reminded her poignantly of Anna. She sat next to Evan on the large sofa, holding onto his hand like grim death. “They were discovered yesterday, after a siege that nearly cost an FBI agent her life, and the life of her CIA boyfriend who went in to negotiate her release.” The commentator paused for effect as two agents came out of the open door of the Bull Gallery. “The first body was the daughter of the owner, Anna Bull, who seems to have been strangled by Dr. Archibald Hamilton, a curator from the Metropolitan Museum. Dr. Hamilton lodged here. The bodies of Mrs. Bull and Dr. Hamilton were in a small cellar below the main floor. There has not yet been a statement, but it appears these


195

bodies are connected with the recent series of murders that has shocked the previously unshockable New York.” She paused and spoke to someone off camera, then came back, her eyes sparkling with barely suppressed excitement. “We believe the agent in charge of the case, Assistant Director Bent of the FBI, is about to make a statement.” She stood aside, and Sophie saw her erstwhile boss, standing by the door of the gallery. Newsmen jostled to gain a place at the front of the queue, and the camera abruptly switched to one who had managed to get a focus on Harry Bent’s careworn, cynical face. He waited until there was a relative hush. Sophie felt Evan move closer to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “It is with regret that I have to announce the death of Dr. Archibald Hamilton after a siege in which he took hostage one of my agents.” Sophie had never been an agent, but it warmed her to hear Harry describe her so. “Her fiancé, CIA agent Evan Howell, and his boss, Assistant Director Florenz Cristos, called for backup and came to rescue her. They, too, were taken hostage. We were left with no alternative but to attempt a rescue.” He paused while Sophie pondered the new snippet of knowledge she’d just been handed. Bent continued, flatly describing the horrors of the previous day, or those the Bureau felt the public should know. “All three captives were rescued unharmed, but Mrs. Bull, her daughter, and Dr. Hamilton were killed in the assault.” He turned as if to go back in the gallery, but was prevented by the expected barrage of questions from the assembled pressmen. “Did this have anything to do with the Rune Murders?” Bent turned back, his expression giving nothing away. “We have discovered certain items that appear to link Dr. Hamilton to the murders, but it is too early to come to any definite conclusions. When our investigation has ended, we’ll let you know.” With that tantalizing snippet, he did turn and enter the gallery, leaving another agent to close the door firmly behind him. Sophie drew breath, pulling it deep into her lungs. “What now?” Evan held her firmly in his arms, the only place she felt completely safe. “They’ll find the evidence they need to put the case to bed. We’ll be called to give the minimum of evidence.” “What happened yesterday?” She stared up at him. How had he become so dear to her? He smiled as though he could hear her words. Of course, he could. That ability hadn’t deserted them. “What do you think happened?” “Arthur returned and destroyed his enemies.” Her lips quirked. “Stuff happens.” His fond smile melted her heart. “They thought you were Arthur.” “They were wrong, weren’t they? Thank God. I’m not sure holding the spirit of Arthur inside me would be a comfortable thing to do.” He bent to kiss the tip of her nose. “He seemed to know me though, didn’t he?”

196

Lynne Connolly

Sophie chuckled. “It means you have powerful connections. If I were still working in mainstream archeology, I’d be pretty sick right now. We’ve worked for years to show that the Arthur of legend never existed.” He laughed. “Sure he did. Will you spend your life proving it?” “Not a chance. Do you think I was anybody else in a previous life? Guinevere, maybe?” She reached up to kiss him. He returned the kiss, gently caressing her with lips and tongue before he replied. “I don’t think so. You’re Sophie, and I can’t imagine you being anyone else.” They lost several moments then, lost in their own world of bliss. Evan was the first to draw back. “We’ll be under siege for real if we stay here.” She knew he was right. The press would have a field day. “What do you suggest?” “How about a honeymoon? Somewhere hot, perhaps?” “Lying on the beach?” Sophie grimaced. “I don’t tan well.” “I wasn’t thinking of leaving the hotel room long enough to let you tan,” he murmured, feathering kisses along her jaw. “Soon, Sophie. As soon as your mother gets here.” As if on cue, Sophie’s mobile rang. Disentangling herself from Evan’s arms, Sophie found it buried in her purse, the battery nearly dead. She hit the reply button and heard her mother’s familiar voice. “Sophie? What’s going on? I’ve just seen the news. They say Archie’s dead.” “He is.” Her mother went on as though Sophie had said nothing. “And who’s this Evan person? What do they mean ‘your boyfriend’?” Sophie went back to the arms of “this Evan person,” holding her mobile against her ear. Evan kissed her forehead and tried to nudge the mobile aside in an attempt to reach her mouth. Eventually, after a full three minutes of uninterrupted diatribe, he took the phone from Sophie. “This is Evan Howell, Mrs. Adams. Your daughter has agreed to marry me, and we would love to have you at our wedding, but you’d better be quick. I’ll book you a flight and send you word. But Sophie is very tired after her ordeal, and she needs to go to bed now.” He handed the phone back to Sophie, who listened to her subdued mother telling her to take care. She sent her love and waited for her mother to end the call before putting the mobile on the table. She felt Evan’s hands on her shoulders, turning her around to face him. His face was tranquil. This was the face she wanted to see every morning, every night for the rest of her life. “Me too,” he murmured. “Only you, Sophie. Only you.” All she could see was love, but as she continued to stare at him, his expression subtly changed to something earthier. “And I meant what I said about bed. You need to rest.” “So do you.”


197

He bent down and swept her up into his arms. “Then we’d better rest.” Striding up the stairs with her in his arms, he paused by the bed and then passed on to the guest room. “And I’d better make a call for a new mattress,” he added, closing the door behind them.

Lynne Connolly Winner of two EPPIEs, for Romantic Suspense and Paranormal Romance, Lynne Connolly is the best-selling author of dark and edgy paranormal romance. She describes her Dept 57 series as “James Bond with claws and fangs,” and it's received five star reviews and recommended reads from major review sites and blogs all over the net. Lynne lives in England with her family and her Muse, a cat called Jack. She writes surrounded by the doll's houses she enjoys making and filling. She also writes sensuous, historical romance and finds writing in two different genres keeps her writing fresh. Her website can be found at http://www.lynneconnolly.com, and you can find her blog at http://www.lynneconnolly.blogspot.com. She'd love to hear from you! Write to her at [email protected]

Chemistry of Evil

The Chemistry Of Evil

EVIL

Evil

Evil

Evil

Evil

Evil

Evil for Evil

Evil for Evil

Evil for Evil

Naming Evil, Judging Evil

Evil for Evil

Naming Evil, Judging Evil

Evil

Evil

Evil for Evil

Evil for Evil

Evil for Evil

Touch of Evil

Whisper of Evil

Taint of Evil

Winds of Evil

Touch of Evil

The Birth Of Evil

Heart of Evil

Whispers of evil

Kant's Anatomy of Evil

The Garden of Evil

The Mind of Evil

Touch of Evil

Chemistry of Evil

The Chemistry Of Evil

EVIL

Evil

Evil

Evil

Evil

Evil

Evil for Evil

Evil for Evil

Evil for Evil

Naming Evil, Judging Evil

Evil for Evil

Naming Evil, Judging Evil

Evil

Evil

Evil for Evil

Evil for Evil

Evil for Evil

Touch of Evil

Whisper of Evil

Taint of Evil

Winds of Evil

Touch of Evil

The Birth Of Evil

Heart of Evil

Whispers of evil

Kant's Anatomy of Evil

The Garden of Evil

The Mind of Evil

Touch of Evil

Recommend Documents