The Eternal Ones (40 page)

“For the last few years, I’ve been trying to finish what Ethan started. I hid my identity and got close to Padma. I was hoping to find proof of some corruption so I could expose the OS, but they do a pretty good job of keeping it under wraps. Then I saw Marta’s paintings, and I knew I had the perfect opportunity. If Rosier saw her work, he’d want her to disappear. And I could offer myself for the job and get the proof I was after.

“That’s when you showed up. I almost chucked the whole plan. But then that picture of us made the papers, and I knew it was only a matter of time before someone at the OS saw it. So I had to come back and see my plan through to the end.”

“If that’s true, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t even tell Marta!” Iain protested. “I had her dragged kicking and screaming out of her apartment. That was the only way it would look real enough to convince Padma—and the only way Marta could escape from the OS for good.”

“But why didn’t you tell
me
, Iain?”

“Because Ethan told Constance who Rosier was and he killed them both. I couldn’t let that happen again. You were safer knowing as little as possible.”

“Rosier didn’t kill Constance and Ethan,” Haven said. “He told me he would never have hurt her. I believe him.”

“Then who killed them?” Iain asked with a convincing show of confusion. “Was the fire really just an accident?”

“No. It wasn’t an accident. And at this point there’s still only one suspect,” Haven said.

“Ethan?”

“Who else?”

Iain sighed. “I can’t prove Ethan’s innocence. But I can prove that I was trying to trap Padma. I recorded all of our conversations with my phone. Adam’s men took it when they grabbed me, but I have most of the files downloaded onto my computer. Unfortunately, it’s still at the mews house, and it’s too dangerous to go back to get it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Haven said. She didn’t care if it killed her. She had to know the truth. “We’re going.”

When they drove past in the taxi, Washington Mews was quiet. The rain had stopped, and nothing seemed to move. Even the flowers in the window boxes remained perfectly still. Something was wrong, but Haven couldn’t put a finger on it. It felt staged—like a movie set constructed from painted plywood with nothing behind the buildings’ facades but the scaffolding that held them in place.

“That place is exactly how you described it, Haven” Beau marveled. “It’s like something out of a fairy tale. Where are we going, anyway?”

“Here,” Iain said, and the driver pulled to the curb. They were now three blocks away from the mews. “There’s no telling who’s watching the house, so we’ll have to go in the back way.”

The first rays of light had already begun to slink down the streets. The three of them walked with their backs to the rising sun. When they reached the corner of Eighth Street and University Place, Iain pointed to the courtyard with the fire escape that led to the roof.

“This is where Haven and I part ways with you,” he told Beau. “Would you mind hanging out by the entrance to the mews and keeping an eye out for anyone unusual? At this time of day that includes pretty much everyone.”

“I’m thinking I should go with you guys,” Beau said. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to leave Haven alone with you yet.”

“He’s a little overprotective,” Haven explained to Iain. She looked up at Beau. “I’ll be fine,” she promised.

“He’s always been that way,” Iain remarked. “I wouldn’t expect it to change anytime soon.”

“How do you know what I’ve
always
been like?” Beau was annoyed. “We’ve known each other for half an hour.”

“We’ve known each other for at least five hundred years,” Iain corrected him. “You were her brother when we first met. It took you a while to warm up to me back then, too.”

“Beau was my
brother
?” Haven said.

“I’ve never heard anything that made more sense,” Beau drawled. “Nobody but family would treat me as badly as she does.”

“How do I treat you badly?” Haven started to argue.

“Perhaps you two could finish this later?” Iain broke in. “Beau, will you please watch the entrance for us?”

“What should I do if I see anyone suspicious?”

“Kick a car,” Iain said.

“Kick a car?”

“To set off the alarm.”

“Gotcha,” Beau said. “Good thinking.”

 

HAVEN AND IAIN were up the fire escape, over the roofs, and into the house in no time. On the first floor, they found Iain’s laptop sitting on the living room desk.

“This is it,” Iain said. “Let’s go.”

“No. I want to hear it.” Haven’s whole life depended on what Iain had recorded. She couldn’t wait any longer.

“Haven, it’s not safe,” Iain argued. “We can listen to it somewhere else.”

“Go ahead and leave,” she told him, cracking open the computer. “But I’m not going anywhere until I hear the files.”

An alarm went off in the distance. Then another and another. The sound of a motor grew louder. Haven ran to the windows and tore open the curtains. Outside in the lane were two men on a motorcycle, their faces hidden behind dark helmets. The one on the back took a bottle from his backpack, lit a wick made from a scrap of fabric, and tossed it. Haven heard glass shatter, and she fell to the ground.

 

 

Haven woke with arms wrapped around her. Iain had carried her to the bedroom upstairs. The smoke was getting thicker, and she heard the wail of a fire engine in the distance. “We have to get to the roof,” she said coughing.

“It’s too late,” Iain told her. “The stairs are on fire.”

“There has to be another way out,” Haven insisted.

“You need to jump,” Iain said. With smoke billowing around his head, he seemed to be disappearing. Haven had traveled ninety years and a thousand miles to die in the same spot as Constance Whitman.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I should have trusted you.”

“It’s okay, Haven.” Iain kissed her and pulled her to her feet.

“Whatever happens, we’ll be together again soon. I’ll find you. I promise.”

“I love you,” she told him.

“And that’s all that matters,” he said. “Stand back.” The smoke was growing so thick they could barely see. He took the chair from the vanity and used it to smash the bedroom window. Then Iain helped her out onto the windowsill. Beau was waiting below, trying to position himself to catch her. “Take this,” Iain told Haven, shoving a folded piece of paper into her pocket.

“You’ll jump next?” she asked.

“Of course,” Iain assured her with his crazy, lopsided grin.

For a moment, Haven hesitated. Then she heard a crash behind her. When she tried to look back into the house, she slipped and fell, not feet-first but on her side. A few seconds of excruciating pain followed. She heard the sound of a fire truck in the distance, and then the world went dark.

 

“OH GOOD. YOU’RE awake.”

Haven instantly knew something was wrong. Her hand brushed against her right leg. It felt rigid and rough. “Where am I?” she asked.

“Saint Vincent’s hospital. You’ve had an accident.”

As her eyes adjusted, Haven began to make out the silhouette of a nurse. The curtains were closed, and the room was lit by the flashing buttons and screens of a dozen machines. “Where’s Iain?” Haven demanded.

“I’m sorry?” The lights came on.

“My boyfriend. Iain Morrow.”

The nurse lost all color in her face, and Haven saw her press the intercom button and speak into the microphone. “Can I get the doctor in here, please?”

“What are you doing?” Haven asked, struggling to sit up before the dread could drown her. “What happened to Iain? Where are my clothes?”

“They’re in the closet, but you won’t be able to wear them,” the nurse warned her. “They had to cut them off you when you got to the hospital. Your leg was badly broken.”

“Where is my friend Beau?” Haven demanded. “I want to see him!”

“He’s just outside, Miss Moore.” The nurse was using a tone of voice usually reserved for children and the insane. “I’ll find him right after you have a talk with the doctor.”

“I don’t want to see the damn doctor!” Haven yelled. “Go get Beau!”

A young man in scrubs and a white lab coat appeared in the doorway.

“Good afternoon, Haven.” At the sound of the voice, goose bumps erupted on Haven’s flesh. Adam Rosier pulled a chair over to her bedside. With his carefully groomed appearance and shiny stethoscope, he looked like the star of a hospital-themed soap opera. His name tag read DR. DENTON.

“Don’t leave me here with him!” Haven screamed at the nurse. “Get Beau!”

“Please,” Adam said as the nurse left the room and closed the door behind her. “Don’t make me give you a sedative. I’m only here to apologize.”

“Your men nearly killed me!”

“I’m so sorry, Haven. They’ve both been punished. They can be a little reckless sometimes. But in their defense, they did think the house was empty.”

“I’m sure Rebecca thought the house was empty when you had
her
burn it down, too.”

“Rebecca?” Adam blinked.

“I had a vision. I saw her do it,” Haven said. “Rebecca killed Constance and Ethan.”

“You must be mistaken,” Adam insisted. “I assure you that I had nothing to do with your last death. And Rebecca would never have acted on her own.”

“Never? You’re so sure? She wanted to stop Constance and Ethan from leaving the city. So she convinced Ethan that she had evidence that you killed Strickland. But instead of delivering it, she set my house on fire. She only meant to kill me, of course, but she ended up getting two for the price of one.”

“That’s impossible,” Adam repeated. “Rebecca was specifically instructed not to hurt you.”

“I guess she’s not so good at obeying orders then,” Haven said, “because yesterday Padma was trying to hire Iain to kill me again.”

Rosier remained as calm as ever, but Haven knew Padma was as good as dead. “If what you say is true, I swear she’ll pay dearly for it.” He took Haven’s hand and her flesh crawled. “But you must believe that
I’ve
never tried to harm you. The only reason I destroyed your house was to get rid of the link to your past. Now there will be one less place to look for him when he’s back. Not that it should matter, of course. The cycle has finally been broken. But I do like to be careful.”

“When he’s back?” Haven asked.

“Hey!” someone bellowed. “Get the hell out of here.” Beau was standing at the door.

“Mr. Decker,” Adam greeted him. “You are quickly becoming the bane of my existence. Shall I call hospital security and have you thrown out on the street?”

“Be my guest.” The way Beau’s fists were clenched Haven could see he was itching for a fight. “But I’d think twice if I were you. See, I happen to be in possession of some recordings that my friend Iain Morrow made. I had a listen this morning, and it seems to me like your little club might be in a whole lot of trouble if the
New York Times
gets a hold of them. He’s got the president of your club ordering up a murder in no uncertain terms. And it seems she gave him a membership list, too. A lot of famous people are going to be
pretty
embarrassed if I decide to make trouble for you.”

“What do you want?” Rosier snarled.

“I want you to leave Haven alone,” Beau demanded. “And if I catch one of your creepy-looking friends snooping around, I promise you and he both’ll regret it. Now get the hell out of here.”

Rosier stood and smiled adoringly at Haven. He wasn’t giving up the war—he was merely conceding the battle.

“I hate to leave you, my darling, but perhaps it’s better this way. I’ll never win your heart in this life, but now that I no longer have a rival to lure you away, you’ll soon come to me of your own free will. We’ll be together for the rest of eternity. So until then,” he said, lifting Haven’s hand and planting a cold kiss on it. “I’ll be waiting for you as always.”