Blacker than Black (28 page)

I remain rooted where I am, studying the lintel. Following the swoops of grooves in the simulated wood grain. Delaying the inevitable for a few moments longer, letting the dregs of adrenaline bleed from my veins.
Calm, Black. You need to be very, very calm.

“Black. Would you be so kind as to join us?” When I glance at Jhez, she’s standing halfway between the doorway and the coffee table, her back carefully presented to the
lyche
as she glares at me with wide, expressive eyes.

Which are screaming
Get your ass in here, now.

“Certainly. Whatever was I thinking, standing in the corridor like that?” I key my voice a little loud and flavor it with that dismissive, absentminded tone my sister occasionally employs. Being twins, she finds me horrendously predictable. And I say the same thing about her.

Behind her, Leonard curls one corner of his mouth up in a twitch of a smile and watches me stride toward him.

“If we’re late at all, Monsieur, I assure you the blame is mine. Leather is so uncooperative when the skin is moist.” I give a shrug, feeling far from apologetic.

The
lyche
swallows visibly and turns his attention to straightening the paper, folding it back up. “As it happens, you’re both here in plenty of time. I wanted to review some details of the individuals you will be entertaining this evening. Also, considering recent events, I think there are a few cultural quirks I should take a moment to point out.” He motions to the couch across from him, and when I sit down, I get a better look at his face.

Lines of tension are everywhere—at the corners of his eyes and mouth, between his brows, and even a faint line horizontally along his forehead. Smudges of dark color shadow his eyes, highlighting the already prominent cheekbones and brow line.

He looks absolutely haggard.

Leather against silk makes a very strange sizzling sound as I shift my weight and lean back into the couch. In the process of lifting a foot to prop it on his black marble table, I catch myself at the last moment and cross my ankle over my knee instead. I’m quite certain that his patience does not extend as far as the martyred acceptance of the defacing of his property. Rearranging furniture and other design accoutrement, however, is another matter entirely. His butler’s compulsive obsession with precision just screams for abuse.

His golden gaze narrows as he watches me. I get the impression this whole drug-blocking situation is frustrating him to no end. I refuse to believe I’m the cause of that haggard expression, though. With all the stress this
lyche
murder business is putting on him, my ego is not so large to believe myself capable of that level of influence. It would be flattering if it were true, but come on. I’m just a Nightwalker, for crying out loud. No way.

“Any progress on the investigation?”

“None,” he answers, the word curt and flat. “Which is why this evening is so imperative. There are questions we desperately need answers to if we’re to piece this together. I’m hoping the individuals I’ve chosen for you to entertain will be able to provide some direction.”

I take a slow, deep breath and try to calm my racing pulse. “We can probably make some progress, though I hope you can make more of it than we’ve been able. Madame Desmonde has gained a great deal from Madame Noire’s demise.”

Leonard stiffens, all movement ceasing. “Has she. And how are you aware of this?”

“Because we took it upon ourselves to perform our assigned duties.” Jhez settles into the couch next to me, showing no sign of intimidation. Not sure why she’s suddenly so relaxed around him. It’s not like he suddenly stopped being
lyche
. Does she think I hold some sort of sway over him? Or is she coming to trust him a little? Witnessing the contrast between Leonard and his
alte Geld
counterparts continues to be . . . educational. Revealing.

He’s rather mild mannered compared to Desmonde.

“Did you.” He sets the paper off to one side and braces his forearms on his knees, his gaze wandering in the direction of the door. “Do tell.”

Something tells me the butler is in for one hell of a verbal chewing in the near future. The man strikes me as the sort who will enjoy it. And not give Garthelle an inch. “Not a lot to tell. It occurred to me that the best way to get Madame Desmonde to cooperate might be to . . .”

“Pop by unannounced,” Jhez finishes, smiling broadly at me. “And it worked like a charm.”

“Yes. It’s difficult to appear unavailable when in the throes of . . .”

“Highly engaging activities.” My sister nods, blushing slightly as she clears her throat. “At any rate, once we got her undivided attention, we discovered that Desmonde was one of nine
lyche
competing for the Premier succession.”

“And she’s managed to be the last one standing. Literally.”

“I was aware the Illium successorship was up for grabs. It wasn’t the only impetus for tension between her and Soiphe, though. The two of them have been oil and water for as long as I can recall.” He taps his fingertips together, mouth twisting downward.

“She was rather vocal, and proud, of the fact that she wouldn’t soil her hands with violence against a fellow . . .
lyche
.” I bark a sarcastic laugh. “That leaves innumerable avenues for attack, in my personal opinion.”

His eyes widen as he focuses on me. “You’d be correct in that assessment.”

“Sadly, she wasn’t as cooperative when we asked about her personal alliances.” Jhez actually sounds disappointed. I glance at her, wondering how much she’s actually coming to enjoy this whole Black & Red Detective Agency thing.

“No, I wouldn’t expect that she would be.” A flash of smile at one corner of Garthelle’s mouth.

“In fact, when I asked . . . all I got was assaulted.”

He straightens, gaze narrowing. “Clarify.” His voice is harsh, cold.

Jhez glances at me, her blue eyes wide in surprise. His reaction catches us both off guard, though, not just her. “Uh. Madame Desmonde appeared threatened—or offended, perhaps—by our intrusion.” She hesitates, chafes her palms against her thighs.

It’s difficult to know how he’s going to react to this. How it’s perceived from a
lyche’s
perspective. Is it even of any importance to them? We’re Nightwalkers, after all; we sell our chi. But we choose to whom we sell it. We control what we offer and how much. To have it taken without permission is a violation of our persons. I have serious doubts that a
lyche
would share that sentiment, though.

I clear my throat, drawing Garthelle’s attention in the ensuing silence, and pick up the thread of the story from Jhez. Her discomfort is obvious. She doesn’t have the same level of protection from harm that I do. I don’t know what to call it. A vow of restraint? It feels like more than that, now. “On what she clearly considers to be, uh, her personal territory beneath your roof. I got the impression that she felt the need to reassert her position.”

“How?” He glances between the two of us, a strain of tension visible in the cording of his neck. Poised, impatient.

“She . . .” Jhez trails off and lifts her hand, reaching over to mimic the
lyche’s
gestures on me. The twist and jerk, the languid act of tasting. “I don’t have enough exposure to your culture to understand what it is she did, exactly. But out on the boulevard? That sort of thing just isn’t done. A john doesn’t take a taste without paying for it.”

“You shouldn’t have attempted to question her without my presence.”

“I fail to see how it was any different than you having me question Mademoiselle Ferdinand yesterday.”

“Ferdinand has a personal alliance with me. Her standing is a great deal lower than Desmonde’s, as such things are measured. It doesn’t make her any less powerful or influential, but she is a
lyche
whom I trust implicitly. She has gained the intimate confidences of many, simply because they don’t perceive her as a threat. You weren’t sent to question her motives. The purpose of that interview was to acquire some guidance for the investigation. It was safe to question her alone because you weren’t in danger for even a second.” The Monsieur of York pushes to his feet and stalks off across the breadth of the office, stands staring in silence at the wall with his hands braced on his hips.

“So what you’re saying is that Desmonde ripped off a chunk of my energy as payment for the information she shared with us?”

He turns his head a fraction, his profile barely visible over his shoulder. Not looking at either of us, just ensuring his voice will carry across the room. “That’s precisely what I’m saying. I can make no retaliation against her, for that reason. She did not act with the purpose of offending.”

“Well, not offending
you
, perhaps.” I chew my lip, wishing I hadn’t said that, but the words just slip out. In a slightly acerbic tone. I’m more annoyed at our social ignorance than anything or anyone else, though. But Desmonde knew what we were, knew a Nightwalker would find her actions highly offensive, consider them assault. Her failure to clarify was an obvious manipulation.

“What guarantee do either of us have that this won’t happen again?” Jhez doesn’t bother to mask her irritation in the least. “You want us to entertain this evening. Are we not to speak to or question anyone for fear of the price of that information being extracted from our chi?”

Garthelle pivots to face us. “That is the whole of it, actually. So long as you do not ask direct questions for specific information, you are entirely safe from such reprisal. It will not occur again. I promise. You are, as my employees, members of my household. And as such, you gain the protection from other
lyche
that status affords.”

I elbow my sister in the ribs and laugh in an effort to break the tension. “Curb our curiosity. He doesn’t realize what he’s asking, does he?”

She gives me a smile; it’s weak, but it’s there at least. And that’s an improvement. “No, I don’t think he does.”

“Red, would you give us a moment?” He retrieves a manila envelope from the table in front of us, the selection seemingly random, and holds it out. “Here’s the file on the
lyche
I’d like you to . . . entertain . . . this evening. Take some time to plan out a few ways to indirectly influence her conversation with you so you can acquire information without making the same
faux pas.
You may take it into the study there and help yourself to the bottle of scotch, if you like.” He can be so very suave and polite when he wants, but he doesn’t fool Jhez. All the same, she takes the file and retreats without saying another word.

As soon as the connecting door clicks shut, his attention whips back on me like I’m a lightning rod in a thunderstorm.

“What?” I don’t have any difficulty holding his gaze despite the intensity radiating from him. Not sure why that is. It’s almost as if the
lyche
doesn’t intimidate me anymore. That yellow gaze has an effect, but the charge of adrenaline isn’t from fear.

Oh, would that it were. Things would be infinitely simpler.

He doesn’t say a word as he moves back to his previous perch on the couch across from me. The yowl of a feline draws my attention, and a rather large Manx, smoke-gray like a living shadow, leaps up onto the back of the furniture. It settles down behind Leonard’s shoulders and stares at me with green, slitted eyes.

They both stare at me. My palms are starting to sweat. I’m nervous, can’t feel a thing coming from him. Can’t read his mood in the energy traces of his aura. And I don’t feel that warm, relaxing sensation of relief that being in close proximity usually gives. I try to swallow, work some moisture back into my mouth, stumbling upon the realization of how addictive that sensation could be. How addicted I am already, just based on the brief instances where I’ve indulged, enjoyed it.

“You’ve not stopped taking it, have you.” Not a question. I don’t bother answering; he would know if I’d stopped. He leans forward over the coffee table, arms braced wide, palms flat against the smooth black surface. Knuckles and fingertips pale and bloodless from the pressure and tension his body is under.

“Have you,” he repeats, voice deeper. Sounds rusty, an old farming implement abandoned to the mercy of the elements.

“No.” I drag my attention away from the feline walking up Leonard’s back to glare at me over his shoulder. Smile as I meet his hard gaze. “You already know that.”

The lines between his brows furrow deeper. “Yes. Every time I look in the mirror, I know that.” My eyes widen slightly in disbelief. Surely he can’t be serious. “You must stop. I have tried ordering, without success, so now I appeal to your logic and sense of honor. It’s blocking sensations you find disturbing and uncomfortable. I sympathize. I will endeavor to minimize them
in some other way.
But not like this. It’s unnatural. And, as you can see,” he adds, motioning needlessly to his appearance, “it’s inflicting more harm than good.”

I force myself to continue holding his gaze. It’s disturbing. Not because I see something dark and dangerous and incomprehensible. No, quite the opposite, actually. He looks human, he feels human thanks to the drugs. Right now, Leonard is just a middle-aged man that looks the worse for wear. And apparently it’s my fault.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Blue’s worried about me; Gaia, at this point I’m worried about me too. Not that I have the first clue what’s going on between us, but my aural tie to a
lyche
is going to make it difficult to ever go back to the boulevard. If he’d even let me. My entire existence is tilting crazily on its axis. I know I have a choice—I always have a choice—

 “Black.” He utters my name, voice low and firm, not a command so much as an offered anchor. I press my lips together and bite my tongue, willing myself not to say anything. “Look at me.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, then relent and study his face. There’s a hint of a smile in the tension at the corners of his mouth. One long-fingered hand rubs absently at the line of his jaw, and my gaze wanders to the lobe of his ear, half hidden by his long hair. To the curve of muscle and tendon in his neck, twitching as he swallows.