Mind of the Phoenix, page 22
“What is so amusing to you?” He’s annoyed and thinks that I’m mocking him.
“I’m not laughing at you,” I reply, stifling my mirth.
“Then what are you laughing at?”
“I suppose it’s not really that funny,” I decide. “You’re right in thinking that he wants to have sex with me.” At those words, Keenan’s jaw clenches and I raise a brow in amusement. “Are you jealous, detective?”
“Why would I be jealous?”
My lips curve deviously. “Perhaps I might have been persuaded to accept his offer.”
“Has he offered you money?” His voice is completely void of emotion when he asks this, because he’s carefully restraining himself so that I don’t read his emotions. It’s amusing, but a rather futile attempt, especially since I’m touching him.
“No,” I answer, and my palms have begun to sweat. “He thinks that his charm and attentiveness in the bedroom will be enough to entice me.”
He raises a brow. “And is it?”
My heartbeat is pounding in my head so that I can barely hear my own voice when I say, “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued.”
“I see.” Has he forgotten that we’re still holding hands and that his emotions are trickling through our physical bond?
“Does that bother you, detective?” I ask, even though I know he is very much bothered by the idea.
“Yes,” he responds slowly. “Because you’re property of the Elite and falling into a sexual relationship with Mr. Hayes could interfere with our investigation.”
No, that’s not the reason you were thinking, detective. But if you don’t want to say it out loud, then I won’t tell you that the idea of falling into a sexual relationship with you is a lot more intriguing than Mr. Hayes, or any other man for that matter.
“Well, considering that Mr. Hayes is a member of the Elite I don’t really think there would be much of a problem,” I say instead, and immediately regret it.
17
Scott’s black eyes always have a way of finding me in the darkness, making me feel like prey in the wilderness. I feel them watching me as I follow the detective past cells whose contents are hidden in the shadows with only a shuffle or a moan to indicate that something is alive in there. I wonder if it is the darkness that makes my skin crawl, that if bright light were to shine and illuminate the deteriorating prisoners I wouldn’t be as afraid. Or would the clarity that the light provides only intensify the horrific state of the underground prison and its captives? Ignorance can be frightening, but sometimes being left in the dark is a kindness.
I keep close to the detective and swallow my fear, holding my lantern high. The prison is the second worst place after the pleasure house, and I’m already having second thoughts about trying to read Daniel’s mind. His mind is like this prison, filled with shadows and dark corners that hide horrific thoughts and memories. Last night I had hardly slept, my mind whirling with images of Rachel moaning beneath Daniel, who would then transform into Constable Evans. It would take one disturbed person to persuade another to kill someone they love, and I pity Rachel. She had found a sliver of happiness in a cloud of darkness, and Daniel had stolen everything from her—her loved one and her own life. My hate for him has surpassed what he’s done to me; I despise him now for what he’s done to Rachel.
We stop at a cell and a voice echoes in the darkness. “Oh Moira, you pretend to hate me yet you can’t seem to have enough of me.” The words send a shiver down my spine; they had voiced my thoughts as if he had been listening with his mind.
The detective raises his lantern to illuminate the cell and Daniel’s outline comes into focus. He’s removed his jacket and vest, and his shirt is unbuttoned. His ginger hair is no longer immaculately combed back, but sticking up at odd angles as if he had been pulling on the strands. He grabs onto the bars in front of him and leans his head against one, the picture of desolation. Yet he hasn’t been in the prison long enough to resemble Rachel’s state of distress, or my own when I had been in a similar cell. And, even though he’s a little rough around the edges, he looks too smug for someone who’s behind bars.
“What is it you wish to pry from me now, Moira?” he asks, those eyes never wavering from mine. “You already know I’m the one who persuaded Rachel.”
Though the fact is staring back at me, I still don’t understand why, and had spent all night ruminating over my confusion. My initial thought was that maybe Daniel and the Phoenix just wanted to kill a constable of the law as a means to challenge the Elite’s authority, but then Rachel’s involvement suggests something more sinister. The Phoenix had specifically placed the note in Constable Evans’s coat, knowing that Rachel would have found it eventually. In a way, it’s as if the Phoenix was punishing Rachel for falling in love with someone other than an empath. The idea is a startling one that threatens to endanger several empaths. Even though it’s not openly accepted, I know that Rachel and Collin weren’t the only ones to think they were in love.
I find myself blurting, “Why, Daniel. Why?”
“The whore was a traitor.”
“How so?” I demand. “Because she believed she was in love with a constable?”
“No,” he replies, and then finally glances at the detective. “Because she chose them over her own kind.” He voices my fears, but it only makes me angrier.
I take a step closer even though my body resists. “You worked for the Elite as a blocker, Daniel. Most people would argue that you were the traitor.”
He laughs, an inhuman pitch to the cackle. “My master was never the Elite.” He tilts his head and smiles. “Haven’t you figured that out already? My master is and always has been the Phoenix.”
“Who is the Phoenix?” I demand, even though I know he won’t just tell me, especially with Keenan beside me. But I can’t help it. I’m driven by a need to know more, which is only intensified by the imperative need to solve the case before more people are murdered.
He laughs again. “Did you really think it would be that easy, Moira? Go ahead and try to read my memories.” His lips curve into a crafty smile. “I won’t bite. I won’t even try to reminisce over memories that you deem so disturbing.”
I hate that he’s baiting me, but I’m in no position to refuse the offer. I need answers, so it is with a heavy heart that I enter his mind. It’s the first time that there is absolutely no resistance from him, and within a second I’m wandering the empty streets of that abandoned city. The wind continues to howl, but doesn’t threaten to knock me off my feet. When I near the shop that contains the memories of me, my pace slows. Surprisingly, he keeps his word and doesn’t force the past on me. With renewed confidence, I continue perusing his abandoned landscape. I stop in front of the door that I had opened yesterday, in hopes that another memory involving the Phoenix will be nearby. Unfortunately, there is nothing.
“You’ll never find him, Moira,” he says softly, but I ignore him.
I refuse to succumb to failure, so I continue searching until finally I find another door with the outline of a bird—another memory block. I immediately recite the phrase like I did yesterday, but this time the words have no effect on the door. My anger intensifies when I notice that not even a crack has appeared. The sound of laughter breaks my concentration and the door along, with the deserted city, fades into the distance. When my eyes finally focus on Daniel, I see my own face staring back at me through the bars—the hysterical abandonment I had when the Chief of Police first came to visit me in the cell. Daniel wears a similar expression, and it chills my bones. It is the face of someone who has come to terms with their fate, yet still laughs at death.
“The Phoenix has blocked his identity from my mind, Moira,” he states. “Only he has the power to unlock it. You’re never getting past that door without damaging my mind and even then you risk damaging the memory in the process.” He then glances at Keenan and glares. “You might as well quit because you’ve already lost.”
“I’m not the one behind bars, Daniel,” counters the detective, and then it hits me—the main reason behind my confusion.
I can’t fathom why Daniel would risk his own life for the Phoenix. What does he gain by fulfilling the Phoenix’s orders? It doesn’t make sense. And I don’t understand why he would ever willingly subject himself to another master. He doesn’t look upset by the fact that he’s in jail, but rather has accepted his fate and laughs at us as if we’re the unfortunate ones. It aggravates me. He should be livid that he was caught, and should be cursing the Phoenix for leaving him in prison.
I say furiously, raising my voice, “You’re just going to die for the Phoenix?”
“I didn’t realize you cared whether or not I died, Moira.” His gaze travels to my lips, and a memory of them against mine flashes in my mind, forcing me to automatically step back. I don’t ever want to feel those lips on me again.
“I don’t,” I hiss. “I just don’t understand why you’d die for someone else. You’re going to be executed while the Phoenix continues to live.”
He shakes his head as if what I had said is wrong. “Some things are worth dying for, Moira.”
I narrow my eyes in disgust. “Nothing is ever worth dying for, Daniel.”
“No?” he retorts, raising a brow. “Do you want to go back to the pleasure house? Do you want to continue being used? Do you want to continue being someone’s property, calling an inferior being your master?” His gaze shifts to the detective abruptly, and his lips curl in revulsion. “Perhaps you enjoy it. Perhaps you get wet when his kind touches you.”
“How dare you!” I snarl, dark tendrils curling around my mind and clouding my vision. “You visited the pleasure house. You paid to have sex with women.” I force a memory of when he had visited me at the pleasure house, the way he had carelessly used me as if I were his. “You used me.” I continue to bombard his mind with every memory of him using me, and the feelings I had during those visits. I think I hear him cry out in pain, but I ignore it. “You thought that you could own me.”
I step closer so that my face is an inch away from his and my voice is unrecognizable when I say, “In the end, Daniel, you’re just like every other master I’ve had.”
“Moira-”
“Don’t touch me!” I sneer, when he tries to reach for me through the bars.
“How can you cringe from my touch when I have tasted your mind and seen the darkness that taints your soul?” he asks quietly, but doesn’t try to reach for me again. “You say you hate me and that I’ve used you cruelly, but we’re the same, Moira.”
I take another step away from him. “You’re wrong. I’m nothing like you.”
“When will you stop fighting your nature?” His tone is exasperated, as if he is speaking to a wayward child. “You can pretend to be someone else, but eventually your true nature will win. And then where will you be?” His eyes dart toward Keenan. “By his side? He’s not like us. He will never understand you like I do.”
“I’ve had enough,” I say to the detective, annoyed that Daniel keeps referring to him as if we are romantically involved. “We’re not going to find out who the Phoenix is by talking to him.”
“Just one moment,” Keenan says. He turns to Daniel. “Are you the one who persuaded Mr. Darwitt or Madame Del Mar?”
Those glacial eyes stare at me when he replies, “No.”
The detective glances at me, seeking confirmation. “He’s telling the truth,” I say, and then turn away. At least now we know for certain that Daniel isn’t the only empath aiding the Phoenix in his sick game.
“Whose side are you on, Moira?” Daniel demands. “Theirs or ours?”
“I’m on no one’s side.”
“I suggest you choose,” he says calmly. “Or else you’ll soon find yourself without a choice.”
I’ve had enough of listening to his poisonous words and looking into that self-satisfied expression of his. The only side I’m on is my own. No one has ever cared about me, and, although I hate the Elite for how they’ve treated my kind, I’m not a fool. The Elite aren’t the only people responsible for the bruises and scars left on my mind. Daniel talks as if my other clients had no right to be with me, and that he did because he’s an empath. He used me just like everyone else, and forgets that other blockers had taken advantage of me as well, such as Jonathan Hayes. Or how about the fact that one of my kind had purchased me at nineteen and physically and mentally abused me, because I will never forget or forgive Scott for what he did to me. Those scars are not only etched into the landscape of my mind, but remain a testament to his abuse on my skin.
No, I choose no one but myself. I will do what I have to do in order to survive. I have no intention of playing the Phoenix’s game or deluding myself, like Daniel, into thinking that in order to buy my freedom I must sell my soul to the devil. I will solve this investigation with the detective and win my freedom, and then I won’t have to continuously look behind me in fear.
“We’re the same, Moira,” I hear Daniel shout as I head out of the underground prison. “We’re the same!”
I’m desperate to escape the prison as soon as possible. The darkness in my mind is more threatening than the shadows that surround me in the world, and an increasing pressure builds beneath my temples. I feel mysterious entities crawling all over my skin and I suddenly feel like I can’t breathe. I’m trapped, and the exit is so far away. Scott’s black eyes watch me from every corner, laughing at my weakness, and I’m close to breaking. She’s rising, defiant as ever, and prepared to slay anyone who crosses her path. No one will be able to stop her, and I will be lost forever. I’m going to scream; I’m going to run.
Something warm slides across my fingers and grabs hold of my hand. I immediately try to yank myself free, but the grip tightens.
“It’s me, Moira.”
His hand is not an invitation; it is an offering of comfort just like how I had touched his hand back at the café that day. I greedily accept it and clutch his hand tightly as if it is the only thing tethering me to my sanity. He doesn’t complain or try to fill the silence as we walk through the dark hallway of the prison and up the stairs to the police station. He doesn’t even try to break the contact once we’ve stepped into the light of day, but I do. I don’t want anyone else to know of my weakness. It’s bad enough that the detective knows, but I’m grateful that he doesn’t mock me or use it against me.
“Ah, Keenan,” says the Chief of Police. “I need to speak to you in my office.”
The detective begins to walk to the Chief’s office and I automatically follow. I consider the possibility that I have become submissive to him, and the thought unsettles me. Does he notice that I’ve mechanically attached myself to him, shadowing his every move? I hold my head high and convince myself that it’s only temporary, and that it’s my way of making him think that he has me subdued. Yes, that’s exactly it. I smile contentedly.
The Chief of Police glances at me. “Ah, Moira, I’ll have a constable escort you back to the hotel.”
“What?”
“What I have to say to Keenan is a private matter,” he replies, and my eyes immediately narrow in suspicion, wondering if that private matter includes talking about me. “Constable Bradford, come here. Escort Moira back to the hotel.”
“Yes, sir.” His mocking eyes dart to my face, and I begin to panic. No, I’ll gladly go to the hotel as long as it’s anyone but him escorting me.
“Perhaps I should escort her myself,” suggests the detective, his green eyes regarding Constable Bradford’s smile with suspicion.
“Nonsense,” retorts the Chief with a dismissive huff. “Constable Bradford will escort her.”
Keenan’s uneasiness pours into me until I can no longer differentiate between his anxiety and my own. Without being in that clock, I’m left wondering if his apprehension is a result of his fear and suspicion that I will attempt to run away and murder Constable Bradford in the process, or if it is from something else—like jealousy, or even concern for my safety. I try to give him a reassuring smile that says I’m capable of handling the man if he tries anything, but this only troubles him more. Was my smile one of a murderer?
After a moment, the detective reluctantly turns away, leaving me with Constable Bradford. He leers at me, and the effect has me feeling naked. I’m struggling between the desire to layer on clothing and the need to undress to prove my defiance. You can’t have my dignity, Constable Bradford, because it’s already been taken.
“Are you scared to be alone with me, Moira?” he asks, the moment we exit the police station.
I snort. “Hardly.” I glance at the scratch on his neck. “Were you fighting with your mother’s cat again?”
He glances at me sideways in confusion, but then a slow smile spreads across his face. “No, that cat won’t be bothering me anymore.”
The statement immediately arouses my suspicion. “You didn’t kill it, did you?”
His grin widens in response, but he doesn’t answer my question. Dammit, why does he look so smug? “The detective seems rather concerned with your safety. Are you two fucking?”
I abruptly stop walking and glower at him. He raises his hands as if in submission, but it’s all an act. This man isn’t like Rick or the detective.
“Clearly, you aren’t,” he says.
I need to remove myself from this man’s presence as soon as possible. The dark thoughts lurking behind his eyes beckon me to read them, as if they have a secret they wish to share. I don’t want to touch him; I don’t even want to be near him. I should have asked Keenan to escort me instead of feigning confidence.
But then I scowl at the idea. I’m not weak. It’s not as if I’m a damsel in distress and need the detective to rescue me. Constable Bradford is merely taunting me to rouse a reaction, and, being used to such behaviour, I decide that I can handle him. His desire smells like rancid body odour, and I think I might gag. Granted, I’m not physically strong, but that doesn’t mean I’m powerless. The thought breathes strength into my limbs and I continue to walk. Let him taunt me.
