“Go ahead and laugh,” Iain continued. “You're the suckers here. He brought you all to New York and tricked you into selling your souls for Society points. He's kept you from fulfilling your destinies. He's taken people who were sent back to improve the world and turned them all into desperate, greedy addicts.”
“Oh dear,” Adam deadpanned. “Is it really necessary to be so rude?” This time several people laughed.
A woman stepped forward, a glass of champagne in her hand. She was slim and immaculately attired, with a sleek helmet of silver hair and cold blue eyes that radiated power. Only someone with an army of underlings could manage to present such an image of perfection. Haven instantly recognized her as Catherine Mason, the editor of Beau's favorite fashion magazine. She was the host of the party, and she wasn't pleased to see it being crashed.
“What on
earth
are you talking about, Mr. Morrow? Are you implying that we've all made deals with the devil?”
“That's one way of putting it,” Iain confirmed.
“Then I think it's time you returned to the asylum. I assume that's where you've been hiding for the past year or so?”
“Call me crazy, Catherine, but you prove my point. You could use your magazine to help women, but you feed their insecurities instead. You hire perverted photographers who prey on your teenage models. You showcase designers whose overpriced clothes are sewn by children paid less than slave wages. Youâ”
“That's enough,” a man snipped in a high-pitched, nasal voice. Haven recognized his freckled, feminine face as well. He often appeared on television beside well-known organized crime figures. He was a mob lawyerâthe most successful in the city. “Do you honestly think we'll stand here and be insulted by someone who's wanted for the murder of one of our members? Unless you have some sort of proof, I don't think we need to hear any more of these ludicrous accusations.” He pulled a phone from his pocket. “Charles, get in here, and bring Martin with you.”
“No one touch him!” Adam ordered as the lawyer's two hulking bodyguards appeared at the edge of the crowd. “Mr. Morrow will leave this party on his own two feet. Good night, Iain.”
Before Adam could turn away from the scene, Iain grabbed Catherine Mason's champagne flute and broke it against the heel of one shoe. Left in his hand was a long, jagged dagger of glass, which he plunged into Adam's chest. The crowd gasped. Haven screamed. Until that moment, she had prayed that the scene might end peacefully.
“You want proof? There's your proof!” Iain shouted.
Adam grabbed the base of the flute and yanked the spike out of his chest. The glass was perfectly clean, and there wasn't a drop of blood on the white shirt of Adam's tuxedo.
“You see! He's not human!” Iain shouted as the bodyguards tackled him and threw him to the ground.
“Give Mr. Morrow a tour of the Meadowlands,” the lawyer instructed his men, referring to the dismal swamp just outside the city that served as the mob's favorite graveyard.
“No!” Adam's voice rippled over the crowd. “I forbid it. Iain Morrow is not to be harmed by any of you. Now or in the future.”
Before the goons had a chance to release their captive, a woman shoved her way into the center of the crowd and helped Iain to his feet.
“You heard him! Call off your thugs, Bruce, you despicable little turd.” The woman's cheeks were hollow, and there were dark circles under her feverish eyes. She looked ill, underfedâand oddly beautiful. It took Haven a moment to recognize Padma Singh.
“Everything Iain Morrow told you is true,” she informed Adam's guests. “But I'm sure it won't make a difference to most of you. So. Here's a fact that none of you can ignore. Adam Rosier may run this place, but I was president of the Ouroboros Society for five long years. I personally monitored your accounts. I know who all of you are, and I know what each one of you has done.”
Padma picked a plump, professorial man out of the crowd. He recoiled as she straightened his tie. “I know how
helpful
this gentleman is to all the young ladies here who need a few extra points. Is your wife aware of your philanthropy, Winthrop?” Padma moved along to the next guest, the host of a morning news show. “I know exactly how much cocaine it takes to get this upstanding citizen ready for work every morning.” She glided over to the mob lawyer. “And I know Bruce here started life as a female. Nothing to be ashamed of, but I bet his gangster friends might be a little surprised. As for the rest of you, I know each and every one of your dirtiest secrets. I know which of you have sold your bodies for points. I know which of you cheat the IRS. I know which of you have literally gotten away with murder. I kept very good records during my time as president of the Society. And I still have them all.”
“Yes, Padma, the account system was abused while you were in charge,” Adam said. “But the Ouroboros Society will be a different place soon.”
“Save it for someone more gullible, Adam.” Padma stopped in front of Haven. “You and I both know how dirty things got around here. Quite a few of our members disappeared over the yearsâand I can tell the police where all the bodies are buried. There are still plenty of cops in New York who don't belong to your organization. And I doubt they'll be as forgiving your new girlfriend seems to be.”
“Get away from her,” Adam growled.
“Or what, Adam? If anything happens to meâif anything happens to Iainâor if I just decide I need some excitement in my life, all my files will be made public. And your little club will be over for good.”
“What is it you want?”
“How about I send you an invoice?” Padma said with a smirk. Then she grabbed Iain by the sleeve of his suit and led him out the front door.
Haven's relief didn't last long. Iain was safe, but Beau wasn't. She turned to the figure beside her. “I'm so sorry, Adam. I have to leave.”
“Now? With
Iain
?” Adam didn't seem to notice the high-ranking OS members gathering around him.
“Was Padma Singh telling the truth?” a man demanded. “Does she have files on all of us?”
“Why were she and Iain Morrow allowed to live?” a woman asked.
“What are you going to do about this, Adam?”
Adam wasn't listening. He was waiting for Haven's answer. “No, I'm not leaving with Iain. I found out who took Beau. I have to save him while I still have the chance.”
“I'll come with you.”
“You can't,” Haven insisted. “You need to stay here and handle things before it's too late.”
“Iain was wrong, Haven,” he said. “I don't care about the OS. You're what I love. Please, let me help you.”
“You need to stay here,” Haven repeated. “You can't let Padma Singh destroy the Society. I'll be back when I'm done.”
“You're disappearing now? After what Iain just did?” Phoebe caught up with Haven and tried to block her exit. “You'll ruin everything!”
“Go to hell, Phoebe,” Haven said, shoving her to the side.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Leah Frizzell was standing in a doorway on Centre Street across from the old police headquarters. Haven might not have recognized her if not for the sight of the girl's bare, knobby knees. The rest of Leah's body was wrapped up in one of Frances's coats, and a scarf covered all of her face except her pale green eyes.
“You okay?” Leah scanned Haven from head to toe. “You look like you've seen a haint.”
“I've seen worse than that. How did you get here so fast? I only called you ten minutes ago.”
“Taxi,” Leah said. “Maybe you should have taken one too. Some guy followed you.”
Haven turned to see two gray men lurking near the end of the block.
“The other one was already here,” Leah explained.
“Did he get a good look at you?” Haven asked.
“Naw, I think he figured I was homeless until you showed up. And I've kept my face hidden the whole time. But what about you?”
“I don't care if they've seen me,” Haven said. “I've found Beau. He's in there.” She pointed at the imposing structure across the street. Modeled after Europe's grand buildings, with a copper cupola and the statue of a goddess watching over its entrance, it was not the sort of edifice one expected to encounter in the shabby heart of Little Italy. And that was the point. When the police chose the site for their headquarters, the neighborhood had been little more than a slum. The magnificent palace sent a clear message to Manhattan's poor.
We have power,
it told them.
And you have none.
“Pretty fancy for a kidnapper's hideout,” the girl remarked. “You sure this is the right place?”
“You think I've lost it, don't you?” Haven asked.
“I think you waste too much time trying to read people's minds,” Leah said.
A doorman greeted the pair in the building's lobby. He wore a simple gray suit with white piping. As dull as the uniform might have been, it was by far the most memorable thing about the man. Haven smiled, hoping a little charm could convince him to let them upstairs without being announced. He didn't smile back.
“Good evening, Miss Moore,” the man droned. “May I help you?”
Haven winced. “How do you know my name?”
“I work for the Ouroboros Society, Miss Moore.”
“Oh,” Haven said, trying to decide if it was good or bad news. “Well, we're here to see Owen Bell.”
“Mr. Bell isn't in at the moment. He left over an hour ago with Mr. Elliot. Would you like to wait upstairs in the penthouse for him?”
“You'll let us into Owen's apartment?” Haven asked warily.
“The penthouse belongs to the Ouroboros Society, Miss Moore. You've been granted unrestricted access. You may go wherever you like.”
“Thank you,” Haven replied, but as they made their way to the elevator, she couldn't stop checking over her shoulder to see if the doorman had changed his mind. Each time she looked, she found him in the same position, standing motionless in the lobby like a giant tin soldier.
“I'm really sorry if this turns out to be some sort of trap,” Haven told Leah as soon as they were alone in the elevator.
“We're gonna be fine,” Leah stated.
“You act like you just
know
these things,” Haven said with a touch of annoyance.
“Maybe I do.”
Before Haven could ask
how
, the elevator doors opened directly into Owen's penthouse.
“Not bad,” Leah said as they stepped into the dark apartment. “We must be inside the cupola.”
The massive windows that circled the room gave the impression that there weren't any walls. They could see the whole city. It was as if they were inside a bubble floating over Manhattan. One that might burst at any minute and send them plummeting down to earth. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Haven could make out the shapes of three modern chairs stationed around a coffee table, and a staircase that led to another floor. The living room was oddly empty, as though Owen didn't expect to stay for long. She could see no sign of Beau.
“You check around down here,” Haven whispered. “I'm going up to the second floor.”
She quietly made her way upstairs in the darkness. When she reached the top, she didn't need to turn on the lights to know there was nothing to see. Just a small chamber with an unmade bed. Stacks of books lined the walls. Haven got down on her knees and lifted the bedcovers, intending to have a peek under the box spring. She jerked her hand away and fell back on her butt. The sheets were still warm.
She scrambled to her feet and spun around. To her left was a closet, its door slightly ajar. The room on the right was the bathroom. She could see a sliver of white tiles. She lunged to the left and pushed the closet door open. Perfectly pressed suits were lined up in a row. There was nowhere to hide. She turned to face the bathroom. There had to be someone inside.
“Beau?” she whispered. “Are you in there? It's me!”
There was no answer. Haven gripped the doorknob. Then, with one quick twist of her wrist, she flung open the door. A bright light blinded her, and she stumbled backward. Then a thick arm caught her in a headlock.
“Who the hell are you?” Owen Bell growled. “What do you want?”
“Where is he?” Haven tried to demand, but only a few garbled sounds escaped from her throat.
The arm released her, and Haven fell to the floor with the bottom of her red dress puddled around her. She could hear Leah bounding up the stairs.
“Haven!” the girl yelled. “You okay?”
“Haven?” Owen asked. He was holding a shaving mirror in one hand. Its light cast a bright circle on the floor. “What's going on here? What are you doing? I could have hurt you just now!”
“Where is he?” Haven demanded once more, massaging her throat.
“
Who
?” Owen asked, turning on the overhead lights. He was wearing a pair of striped pajamas. The elevator's arrival must have woken him.
“Beau Decker! The guy you kidnapped. Where have you got him?”
Owen shook his head. “I have no idea what you're talking about, Haven. You're welcome to search the premises, but I swear I'm not hiding anyone. Would you mind telling me who this Beau is?”
“He's a friend of ours. I'm Leah Frizzell, by the way.” The girl reached out for Owen's hand and shook it with enthusiasm. “Nice to meet you. I love your house.”
“Owen Bell,” he replied, looking even more confused than Haven felt. “What makes you two think
I
kidnapped your friend?”