Deceiver's Bond: Book Two of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (30 page)

“So that’s it. Red said he was the last one. We have no way of communicating with the Otherworld now.” I’m sure I sounded totally heartless, thinking only of my own problems when I should have at least expressed some sympathy over the man’s death. I decided to feel guilty about it later.

“No. There is one remaining emissary. Although Daniel and Michael have lost contact with her.” His neutral façade dropped, revealing clear condemnation for this oversight.

Since when was it the telepath’s job to babysit the emissaries?

“You said they all died recently. They were all murdered … weren’t they?”

“Yes.” He rested his soda can on his knee. When I tossed a couple coasters on to the coffee table, he nodded his thanks and set his soda on the nearest cork rectangle.

“How many? How many have died?”

“Two in the last week,” he replied. “Eleven since midwinter.”

“Eleven! Holy shit. Do the police know?”

“I have no idea what your authorities know.” His lack of concern was clear. It didn’t matter what the police thought because he knew more than they did. Leaning back, he crossed his right ankle over his left knee.

“How did they die?” The skin over my neck prickled in anticipation.

He didn’t answer at first, as if he was aware I already suspected but dreaded hearing it. “A demon disemboweled them.”

Oh hell.

“Did … did three of them live in or near Atlanta?” Belatedly, I added, “Georgia,” unsure how familiar he was with United States geography.

His gaze sharpened. “Yes.”

I was on my feet before I knew it. I stalked to the patio doors and threw them open. Cool air rushed to hit my face, jostling my hair from behind my ears and blowing the strands into my eyes.

I would
not
get sucked into another demon-related murder investigation. No way. Vince was my priority. Not the demon invasion. Not the emissaries’ murders. Not Invisius’ internal fucking struggles. But even as I reaffirmed this resolution, unease skittered up my spine and the distinct feeling that I was being manipulated by agencies I didn’t understand had me straining to catch my breath. I stumbled out the door and tilted my face up to the gray Seattle sky, eyes closed, allowing the brisk breeze to blow the hair out of my face and cool my nerves.

I had power. I had self-control. And I would make my own destiny. Maybe I’d reorder Invisius. Maybe I wouldn’t. Someday, maybe I’d even walk different worlds, but I’d do it my own way, in my own damned time.

I refused to be
herded
.

Anger and determination spurred my magic, demanding an outlet.

I had just the thing.

I ran toward the edge of my patio, bounded onto the centermost cement bench, and leapt off my building’s balcony. I savored the brief exhilaration of free fall before taking control of my body and propelling myself through the cool air as fast as I could stand. For ten glorious minutes, I soared around the high rises of downtown, indulging in what had in recent weeks become my go-to stress reliever. In the growing darkness, I was pretty confident nobody noticed. And if they did, I just didn’t care.

When I’d burned off most of my aggravations, I dropped back to my patio where Kieran had emerged to wait. Red stood in the open doorway.

“Nice evening for flying?” Kieran asked, not even batting an eye.

I shrugged, pinning my wind-blown hair behind my ears. “A little chilly.” Normally, after a flying jaunt, I’d take a hot bath, but I had to get dinner on the table. I’d settle for a big glass of wine instead.

Kieran didn’t push me for an explanation of how I knew about the Atlanta murders and I didn’t offer one. I strode into the kitchen, retrieved two of my largest wine goblets, and filled one to just under the rim with the Artesa pinot noir from my wine cooler.

When I turned from the counter holding my glass, Kieran was standing directly in front of me. Without a word, he gently pushed down the cuff of my tunic to reveal my right wrist. I was so stunned by this it didn’t occur to me to pull away. I blinked up at him, surprise suspending my breath.

His expression serious, he traced the tip of his index finger across the purple scar that encircled my wrist. If I hadn’t been holding my wineglass, I might have snatched my hand away. Instead, I stood speechless.

“I will not allow it to harm you again,” he told me, voice deep and resolute. “You have my word.”

Before I could come up with a reply, a brisk knock at my front door broke the spell and I remembered how to breathe. “That’s probably Claude,” I croaked, abandoning my wine on the counter and deftly skirting around him.

I hurried to my entryway, smoothing my hair and attempting to recover my composure, an act made easier when I opened my door to my friend’s handsome grin. A lock of blonde hair had slipped from behind his ear and obscured his left eye. He tossed his head, flipping it out of the way.

”
Mon amie
. As promised, I have for you all that we discussed.” He held up the three large shopping bags, clutched in both hands. “I am sure you will be
très heureuse
. Very happy. As will your
invité
.” He peered over my shoulder, looking for sign of this mysterious guest.

“I’m sure he will. Your taste is
exquis
.” I smiled and opened the door wide, allowing Claude full view, and slipped on a pair of gloves. “Kieran, come meet Claude.” I reached for the bags. “Here, let me take those.
Merci beaucoup
.
Tu m’as sauvé de l’embarras.
” No question, he was a lifesaver.

He waved me away. “It was my pleasure, as you know. If I do not shop for myself, shopping for someone else is the next best. No?”

I chuckled. “
Oui
.”

Claude straightened, his expression changing to one of intense interest. I knew Kieran stood behind me. I turned toward him, putting the bags on the floor. “Kieran, this is my friend Claude Lefevre.”

Kieran extended his hand. “I understand I have you to thank for ensuring that I am properly attired.”

“Think nothing of it,
monsieur
,” Claude replied, shaking Kieran’s hand. “I am happy to do it. If you need anything else, I am at your service, of course.” Claude caught my eye. “
Chérie
, I will exchange anything you need. You have just to call.”

I leaned over to grab the basket of wrapped cookies I had placed on my nearby console. “For you.
Tes biscuits preferés.
”

Claude grinned. “Ah,
mon ange
. You know the way to a Frenchman’s heart.
Merci
. You must call me soon. We have much to discuss.” He raised his left eyebrow before glancing at Kieran. “But I will say a
u revoir,
for now. To meet you was a pleasure,
monsieur
Kieran. Enjoy your visit.”

”
Merci. Je pense le faire
,” Kieran assured him, his accent perfect.

Why was I not surprised? Everything about the man was perfect. Well, everything except his part in abducting Vince. Although even in that endeavor, he’d managed to help Maeve succeed.

I sighed, closing the door.

“Shall I get these?” he asked before I could take a step toward the bags.

“Sure. They’re for you. But I am curious to see everything he’s picked out. Claude’s not the only one who loves shopping.”

He looked at me askance before grasping the handles and carrying them to the family room couch. “Please,” he said, gesturing toward the bags.

I smiled, eager to reach inside and reveal each garment. I pulled out a pair of dark-washed jeans and ripped off the psi-free protective plastic for a better view. Dark ripples in the indigo, just below the front pockets, gave them an edgy, distressed look.

“Nice,” I commented before laying them on the couch in favor of retrieving the next item. “Do you have retail stores in the Otherworld?”

“Not the way you do here,” he replied and waved his hand, “and not with so much … flash. Although, perhaps things have changed. It’s been some years since I’ve spent any appreciable time here.”

“When were you here last?”

“I have accompanied Maeve many times over the years, but the last time I was free to explore for any significant length of time was in 1958.”

Before my time. I avoided doing the mental math to know precisely how
much
before.

“Then you’re in for a shock. Pretty sure things have gotten flashier.” I showed him the pair of khakis I was admiring, and he nodded his head in approval. “You have stores but not like ours. Is that because everyone in your world makes their own clothes, like you do?”

“No.” He leaned against the couch, folding his arms comfortably while watching me. “Like your society, there are individual craftspeople who make clothing and other necessary items, but we aren’t as materialistic and our population is much smaller. Most of our villages have just one retail district. Shops are owned or rented by individual crafters. Sometimes they even trade their wares out of their own homes.”

I tossed the khakis on top of the jeans and reached for the next item. The sides of the bag jostled at my elbow, issuing loud crinkled paper sounds. I glanced at him. “What about you? Are you a craftsman? Do you sell the clothes you make?”

He chuckled. “No. I have nowhere the skill.”

“That’s hard to believe.” I held up a short sleeve cobalt-blue button-down made from a fabric with a nubby texture and silky heft. After tearing away the protective plastic, I fingered the collar and examined its construction. “Your tunic probably puts these to shame. I hope you’re not too disappointed.”

“Nonsense. I trust your judgment. If these will allow me to blend into a crowd and not cause you undue hardship, I’ll gladly wear them.”

I scanned his face for any trace of resentment, but he seemed genuine. “Oh, well … good.”

The next item was another pair of jeans. Part of me thrilled at the prospect of seeing this elegant man wearing such modern human fashions, especially the low-slung jeans. I had a feeling he’d look exceptionally nice in them.

I suppressed a smile, and the action brought me up short.

I was enjoying this.

What the hell was wrong with me? Vince was gone. He’d been abducted. Nothing about this should be fun. And I sure as hell shouldn’t be looking forward to seeing Kieran wearing these sexy new clothes.

Biting my trembling lip, I promptly scooped up the few things I’d placed on the couch and plopped them back into the bag. Struggling to keep my voice even, I sent him upstairs to my bedroom to try everything on.

He stared at me, probably startled by my sudden change in demeanor, but acquiesced without comment.

When he’d disappeared upstairs, I huddled on the couch. Red scrambled up next to me and gave my leg a pat. “How are you faring? I know this has not been easy for you.”

“You heard him, Red. They can’t find the last emissary. Since the others have all been murdered, it’s a good bet the last one’s dead too. And then where does that leave me? Where does it leave Vince?”

I drew in my legs, my chin propped up on my bent knees. “If Kieran isn’t lying, Vince will eagerly bind himself to Miss Blonde-and-Perfect. He’s probably already done it. And what guy wouldn’t? She’s a six-foot-something goddess with a Victoria’s Secret body. And, even if he does come back, things will never be the same. He’ll be one of their emissaries, someone else’s soul mate. I’ll be his clumsy, red-haired, fat mistake of a previous girlfriend.” I closed my eyes, pulling my knees tighter against me. “What am I supposed to do?”

“For one thing, you can dispense with the self-pity. You are neither fat nor clumsy, and to say so is ridiculous. As to the rest, I believe it wise to continue on your path. Regardless of Kieran’s assertions, you must contact Vince. Until you do so, you will never be at peace.”

I rolled my head to the side to consider him. “You don’t believe Kieran is lying. Do you?”

“No, but that does not preclude the possibility that he is wrong. Until you speak with Vince, you will never know the truth.”

Biting my lip, I nodded. Red was right. Feeling sorry for myself would accomplish nothing.

I heaved myself up off the couch. Time to find out whether the Barefoot Contessa’s Asian grilled salmon recipe was as good as it sounded. Before bed, I’d give my treadmill the workout of its life. I was determined to get through the night without enduring another unsettling conversation with Paimon or equally disturbing visit from Kieran, even if it meant Red had to wake me every hour on the hour. I was done playing into the demon’s hands.

Putting one foot in front of the other, I wandered into the kitchen.

After scarfing down a pancake breakfast and then playing musical bathroom with Kieran, I managed to get both of us downtown in time for my morning appointment at the Seattle Art Museum. Thanks to Red’s nighttime waking efforts, I’d stumbled out of bed feeling like road-kill and could only hope my generous application of under-eye concealer, along with some other strategically applied makeup, kept me from looking it. On the positive side, I’d successfully managed to get through the night avoiding a visit from Paimon.