The Eternal Ones (30 page)

Padma dismissed the idea with a jaded roll of her eyes. “Strickland was a sweet man, but he was also a terrible fool. The truth is, we keep coming back because we’re too attached to earthly things. It could be money or power or sex or drugs. Each lifetime we’re given the chance to overcome our addictions. Some of us do. Most of us don’t.

“Strickland thought we could conquer our weaknesses by serving others. He wanted us all to take vows of poverty and devote our lives to performing good deeds. But human beings are greedy by nature. And human nature is too powerful to overcome.”

“What does all this have to do with Ethan?” Haven asked.

“Of all the people in the Society, Ethan was the most talented. Strickland never had much time for those who weren’t born with gifts they’d brought from other lives. Even my skills never really impressed him. But Ethan remembered
everything
. He’d lived dozens of lives and he remembered them all. The old man treated Ethan like a son. Strickland never realized that it was all just a game. Ethan’s real gift was making people trust him and then using their trust to destroy them. He did it to Strickland. And he did the same thing to you.”

“To me?”

Judging by Padma’s smug expression when she settled back in her chair, Haven knew she was going in for the kill. “All Ethan ever wanted was your money. Everyone knew it but you. Even after he killed Strickland. Even after you caught him with me, you refused to believe the worst of him. You thought the two of you were going to run away together, but the whole time he was plotting to kill you. He was the one who set the fire downtown. It’s a shame he didn’t get out in time. We could have been so happy together.”

“You’re making this up,” Haven snarled. Padma seemed to be savoring the story a little too much.

“Am I?” Padma paused to moisten her lips. “Then here’s something to think about. Do you remember that you and Ethan were meant to leave for Rome the night you died?”

“Yes, but how do you know that? It was a secret.”

“How else would I know? Ethan
told
me. But then he postponed your trip at the very last minute. Don’t you see? It was all part of his plan. He used the promise of Rome to win you back and convince you to marry him. He never booked passage on any ship. He planned to kill you as soon as he was in a position to inherit your fortune.”

Padma’s version accounted for everything Haven had seen in her visions. “How could Constance have been so stupid?” she muttered.

“It has nothing to do with stupidity.” Padma gazed at Haven with something like pity. “Isn’t it obvious? Ethan Evans is
your
addiction. He’s the reason you keep coming back. He could sweet-talk Constance into believing just about anything. I saw him do it a million times.”

Haven held her tongue.

“You don’t think it’s possible to be addicted to another person?” Padma added. “Believe me, it’s not that uncommon. How else would you explain love at first sight?”

“I suppose it makes sense,” Haven admitted reluctantly. She thought of the previous night. Iain had lied to her, abused her trust, yet she still hadn’t been able to say no to him.

“I’m sorry,” Padma said, though her smile suggested otherwise. “This must all be terribly painful for you. But now you can go back to Kentucky or West Virginia or wherever it is that you’re from and move on with your life.”

But there was still one thing that Haven couldn’t figure out. “If everything you say is true, why did the Society allow him to become a member again?”

“Who?” Padma demanded, lurching forward and spilling her coffee on the pristine white rug. Haven instantly knew she had said too much. “Are you telling me that Ethan Evans is back?”

Haven watched the coffee seep into the rug’s fibers. How could Padma not know that Iain was Ethan?

“If you have any information about Ethan, I insist that you give it to me!” The woman was on her feet and moving toward Haven’s chair. “Has Adam heard about this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the girl insisted, leaping up before Padma had a chance to reach her.

“You do! I can see it. You’re lying! You know where he is!”

“Go to hell.” Haven was out of the snowy white office and on her way down the hall.

“You can’t leave!” Padma insisted. Her composure vanished as she chased Haven through the lobby and toward the exit, where she grabbed for the girl’s elbow. “Weren’t you listening to
a word
I just said?”

With her fists clenched, Haven wheeled around to face Padma. “You better take your hand off of me. I’d love an excuse to teach you a lesson. You sure you want to give me one?”

The waiting room went silent. Even the smallest pair of eyes was trained on them. Padma released her grip, straightened her posture, and smoothed her hair. “I’ll be watching you,” she whispered to Haven. “If Ethan’s somewhere on this planet, you can be sure that I’ll find him.” Then she spun on her heels and stormed down the hall.

 

HAVEN TOOK TWO TRAINS, a bus, and a cab just to make sure that she wasn’t being followed. All she wanted to do was grab her suitcase and get out of town. She had come to New York for answers, and she’d found them. Constance Whitman had fallen in love with the wrong man. And that man had killed her. Haven wondered if her visions would stop now that she’d learned the truth about Ethan. Or would she always be tormented by images of the person who’d betrayed Constance and broken her heart?

Haven already knew the answer. The attraction—the need to be with him—was as strong as it had ever been. She would have to fight the addiction for the rest of her life—maybe longer.

As she walked south on University Place, Haven’s dark thoughts were interrupted by the honking of horns and the murmur of a crowd in the distance. She soon found dozens of men with cameras swarming the entrance to the Washington Mews, some pressed against the gates and others spilling into the street. The crowd parted as a black Mercedes pushed through. Two daredevil photographers leaped in front of the moving car, snapping pictures through its windshield. It wasn’t Iain’s Mercedes, but they didn’t seem to know that.

“Did you do it, Iain?” a paparazzo shouted.

“Where’s Marta Vega?”

“Have you talked to the cops?”

“Did you murder her like you murdered her boyfriend?”

As the Mercedes drove away, the crowd began to thin. A portly man with a camera stomped past Haven, heading for a car he’d left double-parked down the street.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“If Iain Morrow keeps killing people, he’s going to make me a very rich man,” the man called back over his shoulder.

Haven snatched the ringing cell phone off the café table. A Snope City number appeared on the caller ID. Her mother had left three messages in a row, and her pleas had grown increasingly colorful. Haven needed to come home, Mae Moore insisted—before Imogene ended up doing something they’d all come to regret.

Each message tortured Haven a little more than the last, and she wished she could set her mother’s mind at ease. But such a feat would require a mammoth lie. And after all she’d been through, Haven preferred to be an outlaw rather than a liar.

“Anything else?” A waitress came to hover over Haven’s table. She was young, with Crayola-colored hair swept back into an elegant chignon. “Another cappuccino?”

“Sure,” Haven said, buying another half hour at the dingy café a few blocks from Washington Square Park. She didn’t dare move until Beau answered her calls. Something terrible had happened to Marta Vega.

“By the way,” the waitress said under her breath as she leaned in to clear away Haven’s old cup, “have you noticed you have an admirer?”

“A what?” Haven blurted.

“Shhh. He’s over by the espresso machine. No! Don’t look now,” the girl hissed when Haven craned her neck. “Wait until I’m gone if you want to see him.”

“Can you at least tell me what he looks like?” Haven pleaded.

“An accountant, maybe?” the girl suggested. “Or maybe an undertaker? Anyway, he came in right after you, and he’s been stealing looks at you all this time. At first I thought it might be a coincidence, but you’ve been here for a while now, and he still hasn’t left.”

“Crap!” Haven whispered.

The waitress nodded as if her sickest suspicions had been confirmed. “He’s stalking you, isn’t he?” she asked.

“Probably,” Haven admitted.

“Okay, don’t panic,” the girl said, keeping up appearances by wiping the table with a smelly rag. “Just go to the ladies’ room. There’s a window that opens up on the alley. People use it all the time when they want to skip out on the bill.”

“What about all the coffee I’ve had? How am I supposed to pay for it?”

“Coffee’s on me,” the girl said. “I know what it’s like to be some creepy dude’s fantasy girl. Believe me, with this hair you attract them like flies.”

“Thanks,” Haven told her. “I really appreciate this.” As she stood up and made her move toward the restroom, she caught sight of the man sitting by the espresso machine, dressed in the drab uniform of the gray men. When he glanced up at Haven, a jolt of terror left her shaking. She’d taken so many precautions, and still they’d managed to find her.

“Good luck,” the waitress whispered.

The state of the café bathroom made Haven happy she hadn’t ordered food. Even the EMPLOYEES MUST WASH HANDS sign was covered in a layer of grime and muck. But the window above the toilet opened just as the waitress had promised. Haven left a hunk of hair behind on a rusty nail sticking out of the sill, but she landed safely on her feet in the alley and took off running.

When she finally stopped to catch her breath, she found herself in the center of Greenwich Village, surrounded by tiny brick buildings that would have looked ancient even to Constance’s eyes. The narrow, winding streets were empty and the sidewalks deserted. It felt as if she’d wandered into a ghost town in the middle of Manhattan. For the twentieth time in two hours, Haven dialed Beau’s number.

This time he answered with a lazy “Yup?”

“It’s three P.M.! Where have you been? Didn’t you get all my messages?” She could hear the hysteria in her own voice.

“Excuse me? I’ve been
working
. Dad decided we needed to plant a crop of corn in the backyard. I’m really starting to wonder if the old man might be losing his mind—”

“I’ve been trying to reach you for
hours
.” Haven cut him off.

“I didn’t realize I was on call,” Beau snapped. “What’s going on with you, anyway?”

“Aside from running away from all the weird men who’ve been following me? I’m trying to figure out why there are paparazzi swarming the mews house,” Haven said. “I went back to get my suitcase, and there were fifty guys with cameras lurking outside. I can’t go home, and I don’t have Internet access, and I have no idea what’s happening.”

“D’you ever consider going to a library? Or a computer store? Or a copy shop? There must be about forty places within a block of you that have Internet access.”

Haven wasn’t amused. “I don’t have time to hunt down a computer right now. I just had to climb out a bathroom window and run halfway across town to escape from some creep who was watching me. So do you think you could take a teensy peek at the Internet and tell me what’s going on?”

“Since you asked so sweetly. Let’s see what I can find.” She heard the sound of the computer starting and Beau scratching himself. “Hmmm.”

“What?”

“Hold on, I’m reading!” The minute-long pause was excruciating. “Marta Vega is missing.”

“That’s what I thought! But how? I talked to her this morning.”

“You talked to her
this
morning?” Beau asked.

“I told you I was going to see her.”

“Well, you must have been one of the last people who
did
see her. They say she’s been kidnapped. A neighbor saw Marta being dragged out of her apartment around nine thirty and called the police.”

“Oh my God,” Haven whispered. She listened to the clicking of Beau’s mouse in the background and tried to remember what time she’d left Marta’s house.

“Damn . . .” Beau murmured.

“What?”

“Haven?” Beau asked cautiously. “I got something important to ask you. I want you to think real careful.”

“Okay.”

“Do you know where your boyfriend was today?”

“Why?” Haven asked, already bracing for the answer she knew was on the way.

“Marta’s neighbor described the kidnapper, and he sounds just like Iain. Haven?” Beau asked when he heard the gasp on the other end of the line.

“I knew it! He was there,” Haven whispered in horror. “He took her.”

“Don’t joke like that.”

“I was at Marta’s house when Iain showed up. I had to leave through the fire escape. I think he’s going to kill her.”

“
What
?”

“I’m serious, Beau. Iain’s dangerous. There’s no doubt now. Padma Singh told me that Ethan really did kill Constance and August Strickland for their money—”

“Wait. You talked to Padma Singh?”

“It’s a long story,” Haven said, “but I found out that she used to be Rebecca Underwood. She said that Ethan set the fire in the mews house.”

“You gotta tell the police!”

“Tell them what? That my boyfriend killed two people in his last life? They’ll lock
me
away.”

“Tell them about Jeremy Johns, then,” Beau urged her.

“Tell them what? I don’t know anything about what happened to Jeremy Johns! And from what you just told me, I don’t know any more about the Marta Vega case than the tabloids!”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Beau tried to calm her. “I just don’t get it. Why would Iain want to kill Marta Vega? I thought they were having an affair.”

“I was wrong. Marta swore they’re just friends. She also told me people disappear from the OS all the time. They’ve got some system where people do favors for each other. If you can’t repay all the favors you’ve received, then they have someone take you out. Marta’s account was getting low. So maybe the Society had Iain deal with her.”