Mind of the Phoenix (18 page)

I’m not surprised when the detective lights a cigarette the moment he sits behind his desk. “Mr. Anderson has agreed to bring Daniel to the police station for further questioning tomorrow,” he says, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“Do you really think reading the phrase will open the door?”

He shrugs. “It’s worth a try,” he answers, drumming the side of his chair. “April seventh is less than two weeks from now.”

I nod solemnly, knowing that if we don’t find the Phoenix before April seventh another person will die. I deduce that Mr. Anderson is most likely the next victim, and I wonder if I’m sorry about that. An image of the many women back at the pleasure house who were unfortunate enough to be chosen as one of his subjects flashes before my mind, and I decide that I don’t feel any sympathy toward him. Perhaps his impending doom is karma for the marks he left on the women’s bodies.

“So what happens when we solve the case?”

No one has exactly explained to me what will happen once the Phoenix is found. The Chief had said that my sentence would be eradicated, but there was no mention about whether or not I’d be placed back in the cell, or the pleasure house. If they intend to put me in either, I will attempt to escape.

He stops tapping his finger and looks at me. “The Phoenix will be executed.”

“I figured that,” I say impatiently. “I meant what will happen to me?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he says. “Mr. Harrison has said that he’s willing to halt your execution, but I haven’t been informed of his decision about what would happen next. To be honest, I’m not sure he knows himself, and I think the outcome has a lot to do with
you
.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I wouldn’t try to run away, Moira.”

I narrow my eyes. “Is that a threat, detective?”

He exhales a cloud of smoke and then says, “No, it’s a request.”

M
r. Anderson enters
the police station, followed by Daniel, and already I know that both men are angry at having to be here. The former nods curtly at Keenan and then glances at me with apparent dislike, while the latter stares at me with a possessive glint in his clear blue eyes, disregarding the detective entirely.

“I thought you had already interrogated my blocker, detective,” says Mr. Anderson, not bothering to hide his annoyance. He’s still upset with Keenan for raising his voice at him in his home when we had visited, and has every intention of asserting his dominance over him.

“We’ve recently come across new information that involves Daniel.”

“And
she’s
going to read his mind again?” asks Mr. Anderson, his black eyes examining me.

I want to laugh because, despite everything that has happened, this man still wants me. I’m a conquest. Perhaps if I behaved more submissively he wouldn’t desire me any longer. But defeat is not in my nature.

“Yes,” responds Keenan. “Now, if you would please wait out here while we question Daniel in private.”

“Fine,” he huffs, and turns away.

The detective gestures for Daniel to enter the interrogation room, and as the blocker walks by me he says, “I’ve been hoping I’d see you again, Moira.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of women at the pleasure house you could torment instead,” I suggest, walking into the room behind Keenan.

“No,” he says. “None of them are like
you
.”

Keenan turns to him and says, “We haven’t requested your presence here for you to talk to Moira–”

“Oh, believe me, detective,
talk
is the last thing I want to do when it comes to Moira,” interrupts Daniel, sitting down. “I’d much rather–”

“I suggest you think before you finish that sentence,” warns the detective quietly, those green eyes bright with fury.

“Now why would I do that?” asks the other man, smiling venomously at him.

Before he can respond, I interject. “Oh, do shut up, Daniel. I think you enjoy hearing the sound of your own voice way too much.” I smile, knowing that what I say next will infuriate the man. “I, for one, would much rather hear something pleasant—like the detective’s voice, for instance.”

“Is that right, Moira?” taunts Daniel, his eyes narrowing. “And how is the detective in bed?”

Okay. I have to admit I wasn’t expecting that, and I don’t know whether to laugh or stare at the man dumbfounded. “I didn’t realize you were interested in men, Daniel,” I say breezily, and his eyes flash with anger. “But I really don’t think the detective swings that way.”

“I–”

“I’ve had quite enough,” Keenan interrupts. “Moira, find the door.”

I nod and focus on penetrating Daniel’s barriers. He resists just like last time, not liking the idea of me being near that door again. He thinks I’m going to try to force my way in, and I relish his fear.

“What do you mean?” he asks, his face transforming into horror. “I
told
you that if she tries to break down the door she could ruin both my mind and whatever is locked behind it!”

I pierce through, and Daniel’s jaw clenches.

“We may have found a way to open the door,” Keenan informs him. “If it doesn’t work, then we won’t do any damage.”

I know that Daniel has consented before it’s apparent on his face. He’s just as curious to know what’s behind the door as we are. He’s intrigued and infuriated that someone has managed to enter his mind and place what seems to be a memory block. It would have to be someone who is stronger than Daniel, and talented with blocking memories.

“It be easier if you touched me, Moira,” he says softly, and I realize then that he’s desperate to get inside my mind.

“Was I really that horrible to you?” When I don’t respond, he continues. “You always seemed to be enjoying it, especially when I–”

“I was
forced
to,” I growl, my cheeks heating with anger.

I find the door and trail a finger over the outline of a bird, his comment quickly forgotten, along with my annoyance. He shivers in response to my mental touch, and I can taste his fear once again.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to read something,” I respond, and get a befuddled look in response. The detective hands me a piece of paper that has the Phoenix’s phrase written on it. “One by one the stars shall crumble, and into the depths of despair they will fall.” I pause to see if anything has happened yet.

Nothing.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

I shrug and continue. “And amongst the ash…”

“Really, I hardly see how–”

A crack forms in the door. “The Phoenix…” The crack spreads along the length of the wood and Daniel winces. “…will rise and conquer them all.”

The door explodes open and Daniel rises to his feet in a horrendous shout. I’m violently pulled into the memory that has now been revealed, and find myself back at the pleasure house.

Daniel enters the concubine’s boudoir and begins to undress. He has a purpose, but he won’t leave without taking his pleasure first. I recognize the woman who approaches him in nothing but her chemise and corset, even though her face lacks the grime and desolation it had in her cell. I also recognize the look in her eyes because it was something I saw often in my own. It says, “I hope he finishes quickly.” Daniel doesn’t even bother to kiss her; he immediately exposes her breasts and pulls on her nipple with his teeth. Rachel inhales sharply, but doesn’t pull away. She can’t; she has to endure whatever he has planned for her. He’s immediately aroused and I feel his desire as if it is my own.

I don’t want to see this, but the memory floods my senses until it’s as if it is
my
fingers digging into Rachel’s hips, forcing her body to move to my erratic rhythm. She moans loudly into my ear and I know that the sighs lack the uninhibited pitch of someone who is truly lost in pleasure. Yet Daniel doesn’t notice, and I doubt he would even care. He’s close to his own climax, and his grunts of exertion increase until he cries out in a final moan and his body shudders to an explosive conclusion. Even though I’m repulsed by this memory, I can’t help but be fascinated by experiencing an orgasm from a male’s perspective. God, is there something wrong with me? Instead of pulling away, Daniel holds Rachel’s head between his hands. He’s had his pleasure, now he intends to do business.

“What are you–”

“Oh, Rachel,” he says, and she begins to struggle beneath him. “You have been chosen by the Phoenix.”

“Get off of me!”

He pierces through her mental barriers and says in a commanding voice, “Shut up, whore.”

Rachel immediately falls silent as the persuasion commands her will to Daniel’s, and he carefully plants another seed of persuasion in her mind—one that will make her kill Constable Evans. He cites the phrase that will activate the persuasion and then blocks the memory from her mind. Rachel’s face has relaxed beneath him, but she suddenly blinks and appears muddled. Daniel releases her and pulls away to lie beside her. He’s grinning and I can sense his euphoria. She abruptly sits up and wipes away the taint of his semen, oblivious that the man lounging on her bed has manipulated her into murdering the man she loves.

“That was well paid for,” says Daniel with a knowing smirk as he slaps her ass.

I’m unceremoniously pulled out of the memory and find myself crashing to the floor. I hear a snarl and a loud thud, and I confusedly try to right myself. Daniel is now only two feet away from me, lying on the floor with the detective’s knee pressed against his back, and one of his arms is restrained behind him at an odd angle. I don’t know how he had managed to rise from his seat without my awareness, or how the detective had reached him in time. Daniel starts to laugh, and that’s when I notice that his nose is bleeding. I glance at Keenan, surprised.

“You’ll never catch him,” Daniel taunts, and then laughs in a cruel mockery of mirth. “You’re all pawns.”

The door bursts open, and Constable Bradford and Constable Jamieson rush into the room. Daniel tries to fight off the constables, but he’s unsuccessful. They relieve the detective and restrain Daniel’s hands behind him in handcuffs.

“Put him in one of the cells,” Keenan instructs, smoothing back his dishevelled hair. Those green eyes are wide and luminous with barely contained adrenaline, and I notice that his hands are shaking slightly.

Before the policemen shove their now prisoner through the doorway, Daniel’s bright blue eyes fall on me. “Even you, Moira,” he whispers, and his lips curve into a conniving smile.

I stare at him, wondering what he could possibly mean. The words fill me with dread, sending an unpleasant shiver through me.

“Are you alright?” asks Keenan, once Daniel is gone.

I nod. “What happened?”

“You tell me,” he says. “One minute you were reading the phrase, and the next minute Daniel was screaming and lunging at you. I had to push you out of the way in order to get to him before he could do whatever it was he planned.” He pauses. “He looked as if he was going to strangle you.”

“Oh, so
you’re
the reason why I was on the floor,” I say disdainfully.

He stares at me for a moment, and I wonder if he knows that I resort to sarcasm in terrifying situations. “Would you rather have had me sit back and let him suffocate you? Perhaps I should call for the constables to bring him back.”

“That’s hardly necessary.”

“Or perhaps I should strangle you myself,” the infuriating man continues, taking a step toward me.

“Well, you
have
tried to drown me,” I blurt, annoyed with the way in which he said that so calmly.

His eyes narrow and he raises his left hand. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t been trying to seduce Constable Bradford…”

“Oh please!” I interject, swatting his hand away and taking a step back.

“Then I wouldn’t have lost my temper,” he finishes softly, raising his hand once again and grabbing the back of my neck. “Besides, I was under the impression that you were a murderer who would use everything at her disposal to escape, even if that meant killing more people.”

“Really?” I hiss. “And what do you think
now?
”

He wraps his fingers around my wrist with his other hand and pulls me toward him. I crane my neck up to meet his gaze and find him regarding me with a mixture of annoyance and desire. If it wasn’t for his grip holding me against him, I would have stepped back in complete shock from the emotions rolling off of him. It feels like concern mingled with fear.

Before he can answer me though, someone steps into the room behind us.

“Detective Edwards?” says a voice, and I can sense their uneasiness in interrupting us.

“What is it?” Keenan asks in a calm voice, his gaze never leaving mine.

“Move aside, constable,” demands another voice, one I recognize as belonging to Mr. Anderson. “I demand to know what you have done to my blocker, Mr. Edwards.”

Keenan releases me and turns to face the Memory House Instigator. “Daniel has proven to be involved in the murders and has been locked away in the underground prison, Mr. Anderson.”

“Proven to be
involved
?” the other man echoes, and I can tell that he’s infuriated. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It
means
,” I explain acerbically, “that Daniel is the one responsible for the murder of Constable Evans.”

The detective looks at me sharply and then clarifies, “It also means that you are not permitted to know the full details, and that I advise you to hire another blocker. If you have any complaints I suggest you take them up with Mr. Harrison.”

Mr. Anderson’s black eyes regard Keenan with unbridled animosity, but he remains silent as he places his bowler hat on his head. He hates that the detective has once again defied his authority. He turns away swiftly and walks out of the police station.

“Tell the Chief that I’ll be with him shortly,” Keenan instructs the constable, and then closes the door so that we’re alone.

“Now,” he says quietly, “tell me what happened, Moira.”

I relax slightly, knowing that he’ll keep his distance for now. “You were right.” I sit down on the chair, because I’m not sure if I can stand anymore. “The phrase worked. It opened the door.”

He silently grabs the chair that Daniel had been sitting in and places it in front of me. “What was behind the door?”

“A memory.” I try to suppress a shiver as I recall the unpleasant details. “Daniel’s the one who persuaded Rachel to kill Constable Evans.” I look at him intently. “The outline of the bird wasn’t on fire because there wasn’t persuasion involved. Daniel had
chosen
to persuade Rachel.”

“Which means that the Phoenix isn’t working alone,” he says, rapping the table in that way of his.

“And that we don’t know how many other empaths may be involved.”

We’re silent for a moment, each lost in our own thoughts. An idea has entered my mind, confounding me with its possibilities. I need to bounce the idea off of the detective to see what he thinks. “Keenan,” I say hesitantly, and his eyes focus on me. “What if the Phoenix has other empaths persuading the victims because he’s not an empath himself?”

“My thoughts exactly, Moira,” he says softly, his frown deepening. “It’s a logical possibility, and one that I really want to rule out.”

“Maybe the Phoenix is Mr. Anderson,” I suggest. “I mean, Daniel
was
his personal blocker.”

“Again, that could be a possibility,” he says. “But what would he have to gain by eliminating Mr. Darwitt, Madame Del Mar, and Constable Evans?”

“I don’t know,” I respond. “The man seriously has something wrong with him.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But it doesn’t mean that he’s the Phoenix.”

He sighs, the adrenaline of the earlier events fading away. He suddenly looks as fatigued as he had back in the café, and I find myself struck once again with the desire to comfort him. Instead, I wrap my arms around my chest so that my hands won’t be tempted to touch him. His eyes focus on my movement and narrow in suspicion.