The Collectors' Society 01 (24 page)

I’m tempted to tell her who I am. What I can do.

And just that thought is a slap in my face. I ask Gabe, “Can you help me get Mary home?”

“No!” Victor’s crying. “Mary, I swear, just . . . Let’s talk this out, let’s . . .”

Her fury knows no bounds. “YOU AND I ARE DONE.” And then, for good measure, she screeches, “AGAIN!”

Finn shoves an arm out, holding his brother at bay. “Alice, wait. I’ll get us a cab, and—”

I turn my back on him. Ask Gabe, “Can you?”

He glances briefly at Finn before showing me those blindingly white teeth of his. “Absolutely.”

M
ARY RAGES FOR THE rest of the night.

After we left the club, Gabe tried to accompany us in the cab he flagged down for us, but I wouldn’t let him. Mary was already ranting and less drunk than I previously thought she might be. I thanked him for his assistance, allowed him to press his lips against the corner of my mouth (and blessedly felt nothing), and then bid him farewell.

He protested. “I want to see you again.”

I patted his cheek and slipped into the waiting cab.

Mary didn’t want to go back to the Institute, though. Instead, she ordered the driver to take us downtown to a hotel. “I’ll break all his things,” she vowed. “Every last bloody fucking thing he owns.”

I believed her.

Her phone chirped and rang repeatedly, which only left her even more infuriated. I eventually took it from her to hide in my purse when she threatened to yank every last one of Victor’s pubic hairs out if he dared to call her again. As for my own, I only managed a quick text to Van Brunt, apprising him that Mary and I were to stay in a hotel nearby for the night before I had to hide mine from her, too.

The hotel we’re in is ultra-modern, with clean lines and precious few extraneous items to add flavor. I decided upon a two-bed room, just to keep an eye on her. She didn’t cry, though, nor did she follow through on any of her threats to destroy things. She yelled, she rationalized, she threatened, and finally lost her voice. And now she’s sleeping and I’m staring down at the three texts on my own phone, alongside notifications of several missed calls.

Answer your door. I just want to make sure you guys are okay.

And then, a half hour later:
Where are you? Security footage shows you didn’t come home.

Finally, just two minutes ago:
I
don’t know what the hell happened last night, but I really would like to know you and Mary are okay. Where are you?

As I sip the tea recently delivered via room service, I remember I’d left my phone on silent and never took it out of my purse. I type:
We’re fine. At a hotel, letting Mary sleep it off.

His answer is nearly instantaneous.
What hotel?
And then, before I can type a word, my phone rings.

I quickly step out onto the patio to answer it.

“What hotel?” he asks once more.

“You really need to work on your greetings,” I tell my partner. “I know this modern day and age is much more casual about manners, but I’d like to think we can still greet one another properly on the phone.”

“You disappeared last—”

I talk right over him. “I’ll start. Good morning, Finn.”

“Night, with that
guy
—”

“Which is typically followed up by: How are you?”

“And you never came home! And then you wouldn’t answer your phone—”

“You’d ask me how I am doing, and I would tell you that I’d had precious little rest over the course of the last five hours.”

“And, what was I to think?” He’s still going. “For all I knew, that asshole kidnapped you two and—”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Kidnapping? Finn, I’m twenty-five years old, not five. And I’m quite capable of staving off would-be attackers.”

“Fine. Abducted. Is that better?”

I’m shocked by the level of anger in his voice. “Am I the only one who remembers you could have pinpointed my location at any point? Don’t our phones have some kind of . . .” I search for Wendy’s description. “GSP that allows partners find one another?”

“GPS, and yes, they do. But we typically only turn on the function during an assignment. I didn’t think I’d need to activate yours on a Friday night in New York when I thought you’d be watching movies with Mary back in your apartment!”

I set my teacup down on the glass table. The view from the hotel room is a busy one, of bustling streets and honking cars. “I wasn’t aware that I was required to inform you of my every move, Finn. Did I miss that in all of the lectures I suffered through? Was there a rule that claims partners must inform one another of their locations at all times? Because if that’s the case, you’ve failed miserably at that the entire time I’ve known you.” I’m teasing, though.

He’s not when he bites out, “What hotel?”

“Didn’t your father tell you? I texted him on the cab ride over.”

“Why in the hell did you tell
him?”

I have to admit, I’m taken aback by his incredulousness. “As you were busy, it seemed the logical choice? But no matter. I’ll have Mary home later on today, when she wakes up. She’s terribly hurt, Finn. And I’ll be honest, I don’t think it would behoove anyone to have her around Victor or his things right now.”

“Just tell me the name of the hotel already.”

“I don’t actually remember.” I’m exasperated. “Mary chose it, and I was more focused on ensuring she didn’t smash apart the lobby. Besides, there’s something more important for us to discuss.”

I can practically feel his frustration through the phone against my ear. “What could possibly be more important than—”

“I saw Todd’s companion last night. At the club.”

A full four seconds tick by in silence. “What?”

“You had me look at some photographs of Todd and some woman, remember? Back when they were attempting to break into the Institute. I saw her last night at the club. Wild dark hair, with snow-white ends? Painfully thin. I wonder if she knows food is necessary for survival.”

“What?”

I hold the phone away from my ear. Am I using it correctly? I tell him more loudly, “I saw the woman—”

“No, I got that. You
saw
her? When? What was she doing? Was Todd there?”

Through the window, I watch Mary roll onto her side and curl into a tight ball. “No Todd, and it really was only a flash, but I’m positive it was her. She wasn’t really doing anything. I tried to follow her, but that’s when I ran into you.” And then I think to myself, because I am a bit petty:
and your lady friend
.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I’m telling you now.”

He says, clearly between gritted teeth, “Why didn’t you tell me
then?”

“Well, see, Mary discovered her paramour’s head upon some other woman’s bosom, and she took offense to it—quite loudly, I may add.”

“We’re partners.”

“A fact I am well aware of, Finn.”

He sighs. “What hotel are you at?”

“I don’t—”

“It’s not rocket science. Go back inside and look at the pads of paper they leave you. Or the pens. Or the sign on the back of the door. Or on the phone. Or on a thousand other places in the room!”

“I told you I’d bring Mary back later—”

“Alice! For the love of God, please just do this one thing, okay? Can we stop arguing long enough for you to just tell me what hotel you’re at?”

I eventually do, and the next thing I know, he’s telling me he’s on his way.

I meet Finn in the lobby twenty minutes later after leaving Mary a note. I don’t think she’ll wake up (it’s only been a few hours since I managed to get her into bed anyway), but I worried she would immediately charge the Institute and carry through on several of her threats.

When Finn arrives, I’m surprised to find him in the exact same outfit he was in at the club. The only difference is he looks exhausted, and it reminds me of the day we first met. A day not so long ago, just a couple months now, and somehow, it feels like forever and a week ago.

Have I really only known this man for such a short time?

I fight back the surge of sentimentality. Assume my game face. Prepare to inform him it was pointless to come all this way when we would have arrived before the day’s end when he strides right up to me and folds me in his arms.

I lose all of those words and more.

Goodness, does it feel good to be hugged by Finn Van Brunt. His arms are warm and strong, and his head resting against mine is enough to elicit a sigh of relief I didn’t even know I was holding in. But, as comforting as it may be, it’s the tingles that are weakening my knees. Every inch of skin he’s touching has suddenly decided to catch fire.

I murmur, “What is this for?”

A hand comes to cup the back of my head. “I was worried, okay?”

He was worried.

Part of me insists that I push him away, that I just walk away right now. I’m feeling things I vowed I would never allow myself to feel again. Never even thought was possible to feel. Last night, with Gabe . . . it was wonderful, because there wasn’t a spark with him. There was nothing there. Nothing that would hold me to him, no unbreakable strings that would connect our hearts. Men like Gabe are safe. Men like Gabe are all I promised myself I would ever allow again. Men like Gabe cannot demolish me.

Men like Huckleberry Finn are not like Gabe.

When we disentangle, I’m left exposed in a way that rocks me to my core.

“Mary’s still asleep?”

I nod. “It’s for the best. What about Victor?”

“Also asleep.”

We head over to some unoccupied couches in the lobby. “What was he thinking?”

When we sit, there isn’t much space between our legs. “I know you probably won’t believe it, but Victor wasn’t doing anything with Pippa last night. He was drunk, and ended up falling asleep on her shoulder. She’s been a friend of ours for a long time.”

I think of how Mary sat in Gabe’s friend’s lap, and of how I didn’t see one bit of meaningful flirting happening outside of that action.

“Victor and Mary . . .” Finn blows out a hard breath. “It’s like they’re permanently stuck on Drama Island.”

An eyebrow quirks up. “Drama Island?”

“A stupid reality show. I tried to warn you. This is par for the course. They fight, they make up, they fight some more. Honestly, I’ve always seen it as incredibly unhealthy, but there’s genuine love between them, so it’s difficult, you know?”

I do know. “Sometimes,” I say slowly, testing the waters between us, “love is not enough, though. Not when everything else is wrong. Sometimes you must move on, even when it hurts to do so.”

He scratches the back of his neck, head tilted in just a way to let me know he’s wondering if that’s merely an opinion I’ve just offered up or an experience. But letting him know this, even as guarded as it comes across, is oddly liberating and crushing all at once.

I tug at my hair, wishing I had a brush. “What are we going to do about Todd’s lady?”

“You’re sure it was her?”

I nod, but he looks unsure, and it’s not hard to guess why.

“Being drunk is . . .” I grip my knees as I stare straight forward. “It is a little like what life was like the first year or so in Wonderland. Things may have begun to blur and loosen, my inhibitions lowered, but one could argue in states like that, I’m a high-functioning lunatic.”

He doesn’t laugh, not like I thought he would. Instead he sighs. Shifts on the couch next to me. “Who was the guy?”

My heart stutters. How—

“The guy you were with last night.”

Is he truly interested? Oh.
Oh
. Is that . . .
jealousy?
“I suppose I could ask: who was the woman?”

There’s no pause. “Avery Lincoln. We went to both high school and the same college together. Outside of the Society, she’s one of my closest friends. In case you’re wondering, Pippa Kaliszewski was someone we hung out with in our college years, who happened to be in town for a few days and wanted to catch up with everyone.”

When I don’t say anything, he adds, “Although Victor went to university in England, he hung out with us during all his breaks.”

“That’s something he needs to tell Mary.”

A quiet sigh of frustration escapes him. “She knows Pippa—or at least, she’s met her. Pippa and Victor had a weekend fling, years before he and Mary got together, and I guess it’s always bothered her.”

And this Avery Lincoln?

But I don’t ask that, even though curiosity corrodes the insides of my chest. Instead, I say, “I think we ought to go back to Ex Libris. See what’s behind some of those locked doors. Maybe even find a certain lady or blade-loving man.”

He nods. “I’ll get Wendy on some ways for us to disable Jenkins’ security systems.”

And then, I realize something. He’d asked me a question, and I made him tell me something about himself instead. It’s a bad habit of mine when it comes to this man.

I clear my throat. Dig my fingers a little harder into my knee. “Gabe. His name was Gabe Lygari. He’s just some guy I met who happens to be a good dancer. I doubt I’ll ever see him again.”

“You like to dance?”

I find myself smiling. “I was at a dance club, after all.”