by Elle Cross
In one step, she closed the space between us, and grabbed hold of my arm. "Okay, that's enough. You've done enough. Bailey!" Corbin shouted. "Take Ms. Tallinn home."
I wanted to go home. I should go home. My shields were basically gone, I could barely feel the blessings on me. And, fighting against all that power left me weak and trembly. I hated that feeling. But here, now, Corbin's strength practically flowed into me. "No, seriously, I'm fine." I realized that as I said it, I meant it. So I repeated it for good measure. "I'm fine. Look, Detective, he's awake."
She pitched her voice low. "So how should I play this? Question wise?"
"We don't play," I responded as conspiratorially. "He...won't be able to speak."
"So how are we going to figure out what he knows?"
I looked at her meaningfully. I didn't like skimming for thoughts. They were often times unreliable anyway, because there was no consistent way to differentiate between actual events and fantasy unless you knew the person well. However, as an empath, it was like hearing a director's cut commentary played over a movie. When pieced together, I could discern between observed events and wishful thinking.
"Oh for crying out loud, you're telling me you'll be his voice box? With all the power you don’t have?”
I didn’t know what she saw on my face, but she relented. “Okay, okay. Fine. Your way." She waited a beat. "But you're going to stay on this side of the glass, and you'll be driven back home soon after."
I had no intention of going in there to touch him anyway, but I didn't need to feed Corbin's ego. She already knew how right she was all the time. Besides, she coddled me enough as it was.
I relented with a nod. Whether she ordered it or not, whether I wanted it or not, my shields would be tapped out, and that was a dangerous position for an empath to be in. I should really be going home already.
Please.
Lords Above give me strength.
Usually I had to touch someone to get the most accurate empathic read, but since I already had, I carried his emotional impressions within me. It was like an odd jingle that I couldn't get out of my head, but I'd been singing it all along without realizing I'd been singing it.
Like his name. Owen Sanderson. It was a little bit of a thing, like a piece of scrap paper in the street blown around by the wind gaining my attention. He had had it buried deep within him. Something he had clung to, like something sacred, and that he desperately wanted to give me inside that interrogation room. I had it now, repeated it in my head, and it felt right.
"Owen Sanderson."
The man previously known as John Doe immediately sat up, and swung his legs out so that he was seated on his cot facing us.
"Thanks for sharing you knew his name," Corbin muttered.
I ignored her. I wasn’t going to defend the fact that his name had just appeared in my mind. There was an unspoken agreement between us that some things were beyond explanation. Like, how could I share a fact that I hadn't realized I’d known until now? "You will show me where you were this night. You will do it now."
I might not have Voice like Corbin, but he'd been sucked dry of his will long before those police officers found him.
A flutter of images, like a flipbook, whirred before my eyes.
Faces, men and women, contorted in either ecstasy or pain. I didn't hear anything, just saw. I kept the tangle of his emotions that he'd given me nestled deep in my chest, contained for the moment. I swallowed hard to keep them down.
Without the chaotic emotions, his mental images were clearer, more straightforward, not as confusing.
I caught glimpses of lights and mirrors. Beds. Satin sheets.
Heat burned my cheeks when I realized that I'd stumbled upon the equivalent of a porn movie in his mind. No, rather he was the porn movie. Like, he was an actor.
Even as an actor, that was a lot of sex. He must have been in high demand. The images slowed until I watched something in real time. This must have been the memory I'd asked him for.
But instead of being an observer now, I saw it all through his eyes.
There was a bed on a raised dais. A girl lay panting on it. Her skin was impossibly pale, it glowed iridescent. She was centered perfectly amid the black sheets, like moonlight on a starless night sky.
I stumbled away from her, down the stairs. My legs quivered from my exertions.
But I wasn't done. Never done.
Strong hands gripped me.
They were strapping something around my hips, covering me. Leather. I couldn't see because there was something around my neck. A collar. And I had a full leather mask over my face, too.
I was pulled forward by the lead attached to my collar. I was made to kneel on the bed.
"Get her positioned. I have a good shot."
The lead tightened again. Pulled me toward the girl, who was now strapped spread eagle on the bed. They didn't stop pulling until my mouth hovered over her sex. I knew what they expected. I slid my tongue over her, licking in slow deliberate strokes. She came fast and hard, rocking her hips as much as she was able to against me.
Whoever was observing outside of my vision liked what they saw.
I was pulled off her yet kept on my knees while they adjusted something. It was as if they attached something to me.
Whatever they did, it was heavy, like a weight that I needed to counterbalance.
That was when I glimpsed the mirror out of the corner of my eye.
I couldn't figure out what I was seeing, and I couldn't turn my head to get a better look.
There was a momentary slackness. I turned to the mirror and saw what I had strapped to me.
A phallus, but like nothing I'd ever seen before. It was more like a studded spike that jutted from the front of my pelvis.
I heard a scream, and a tug on my lead. They had taken the blindfold off the girl. And she had seen what was between my legs.
Regret and misery flowed over me, but was quickly washed away until I was nothing again. Just a vessel. Another quick pull on my lead, and I reared my hips back and thrust into her.
I broke contact with Owen's mind, gasping like I'd been held under water.
"You okay, V?"
"Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me!"
I crouched on the floor, hid inside my coat, hands over my ears, repeating the phrase over and over.
"No one's touching you. You're okay. No one's near you." Her Voice offered comfort, but even that felt too close to touch on my skin, which was the last thing I wanted.
"Stop it, fucking shut up right now. Just shut up."
"Vesper."
I knew it was just nerves, knew that Corbin was just trying to help. Knew that the memory I had seen was not mine. But my mind…my body believed that what I’d experienced was really happening to me.
Knowing and believing were sometimes worlds apart.
I swallowed the bile that burned up my throat. Dammit. What in the hell was that? What the fuck was this guy into?
I raked my hair back from my face. My skin crawled, like I could still feel those other hands on me. I focused on that vast empty space that I carried inside the landscape of my mind, that void of silent snowfall around the ice fortress that surrounded the seat of my power.
I felt an intruder inside my mental spaces like a vibration through a taut wire. Then, my connection to Owen snapped. Before I could utter a word, Owen screamed again. This time, behind Sylvan shielding, his screams and the rush of power that must have preceded it, didn't affect me at all. He clamped his hands on either side of his head. The bones and muscles moved again, stretched and contorted beyond what they were supposed to.
This time, no one was there to contain whatever power wanted to get out. Nothing to absorb any of that extra power roiling inside the impermeable cell.
I was herded back behind a few of Corbin's men.
There, I was shielded from the sight of Owen exploding into fleshy bits all over the cell.
I was back in the small
comfort of Corbin's office. I hadn't realized we were out of the Basement until the officer made me repeat that I would stay here. My head knew that I was supposed to be more disturbed by the things I saw, but my body felt nothing.
I slipped my coat off, and rolled my sleeves up. Just as I’d thought, my tattoos were gone. Only the scars remained.
Not exactly what I needed. I could feel the terror moving inside me. Contained. But I didn't know how much longer I could hold onto it without protection.
Corbin opened the door as I rolled down my sleeve. "You okay?" she asked. She had a huge stack of paper that looked comical in the manila folder that strained to wrap around it.
"Considering, I feel fine." I broke off a chunk of her emergency chocolate and washed it down with coffee.
"Look, I'm sorry—"
I waved my hand at her to shut her up. She didn't need to apologize for anything that wasn't her fault. She took on too much as it was.
"Stop it. I just hung around long enough to tell you that I was leaving, and that you should do the same." I looked meaningfully at the ridiculous wad of paper curled in her arm. "It still boggles my mind all the paperwork you do."
"I still got to file it..."
"Yeah, like tomorrow. It could all wait until then."
"Yeah, I guess it could." The way she looked, she didn't really consider it. We both knew that paperwork was not going to be the reason she wouldn't go home tonight. She had a dead girl to find and Owen Sanderson’s next of kin to notify, to name just a few of her priorities.
I did my best imitation of her eyebrow flick. "I can read you, you know?" I skimmed a hand down her arm. The clothes were a barrier, but it was enough. "Seriously. Rest. You'll be better for it."
"I will if you will." An inky black began to mist over the aqua in her eyes. A playful challenge that neither of us were really in the mood for.
I just sighed. I swung my coat back on. Her little office only had room for one desk and chair set up, and the sooner I left, the sooner she could get to her paperwork.
I opened the door to see one of her officers, McNab, in mid-knock.
He flushed when he saw me. "Oh, sorry." Then, realizing his hand was in a weird fist in the air, he awkwardly dropped it to his side.
"Did you want a coffee, too, McNab? Some chocolate?" Corbin drawled out.
He shook his head. The gesture reminded me of my dog. "Uhm, boss, you got some company coming. Says they're looking for John Doe, er, Owen Sanderson. Says they wanted to speak to you."
We both poked our head out into the hall. Officer Bailey had been outside in the hall, waiting to drive me home. He was now speaking to a short, barrel-chested man, with red tufts of hair styled like a flock of seagulls. If he hadn't been wearing a suit that was easily thousands of dollars, I would have thought Bailey was talking to a child. Of course, when I glimpsed his profile, he was far from being a child.
The man that Bailey was speaking to, and directing toward the “nice” lounge, was a Salaman, a Remnant God from a tribe as old as the Sylphs. I swallowed hard, and ducked back into Corbin's office so she could get around me.
"The man says he's Sanderson's lawyer."
"Lawyer?" Corbin snorted. "A little late to be needing a fucking lawyer. Keep him in the nice lounge, he can wait until I get Sanderson's paperwork done." Which meant that he could wait until all seven hells froze over. He would be kept on Corbin's timetable, not the other way around. Politics and kissing ass were bottom-rung priorities to Corbin, especially compared to finding justice for the dead.
I felt it then. Pressure, like a change in atmosphere. A beat too late, I recognized it as power. Instinctively, I took a step back, so I was back inside of Corbin's doorway. Standing in the line of sight of what felt like a juggernaut didn't seem wise. I'd had my fill of power plays today.
A man exited from the elevator, broad strokes of black and gray. Charcoal suit, matching vest, white shirt, black tie. His shields rumbled ahead of him and around him like storm clouds. Lightning clashed within them. Thunder clapped in his wake.
He was ready for war.
It's a wonder how no one else saw the blur of his power. But they felt it. That was sure. Other men stepped neatly out of the way, or found someplace else to be. It was as if he expected the world to part before him as a matter of course.
Corbin sighed, seemingly immune to the power that got the rest of her division on edge. "Great. What does this guy want?"
McNab sucked air through his teeth. "Isn't that Mr. Deimos? The head of Janus Holdings?"
Corbin groaned. "And what exactly is a corporate fancy pants doing in Major Cases?"
The man in question nodded to the funny little Salaman who had lingered in the doorway of the “nice” lounge, and welcomed him in. Corbin's face darkened when her question was inadvertently answered. "Well, fuck."
Deimos was celebrity famous—everyone seemed to know of him, but nothing really about him. No wonder paparazzi couldn't ever capture close up photos of him. Crowds of people likely gave him a wide berth without knowing why.
Even if I hadn't seen his picture or tuned in to the news, there wouldn’t have been a doubt in my mind that he was Deimos, head of Janus Holdings. That swagger alone, like he owned the world and everything on it was clue enough.
"No worries, boss. I got him." McNab left, wafting a trail of white pepper sunshine behind in his wake.
"That one is eager to please," I told Corbin, who settled into the sad little chair in her office. "They all are."
"They know their shit, that's for damn sure. Usually got a good head on them...when you're not around to distract them, that is." She took a huge bite of that gooey snack I’d left for her on the desk.
"Well, I'll leave you alone to finish your paperwork." I knew that Corbin would do more than paperwork. The sooner I left her, the sooner she could investigate the things I’d told her. I sent a silent prayer to the Lady Below that Corbin would find the girl soon, and give her the peace she needed. "Call me if anything comes up."
I walked down the hallway toward the elevator where Officer Bailey waited for me. The man that McNab called Mr. Deimos paced in the “nice” lounge, the storm clouds around him had dissipated to a wispy fog that draped off him like a cloak. The funny little man's words didn't carry into the hallway, but I picked up the tones to his sibilant speech, could tell he was calming the other one down by the gentle cadence.
Officer McNab looked very, very uncomfortable fielding these men. He hadn't had much practice in the field. And, though he nearly matched his size, Deimos had a barely contained savagery that rippled beneath the storm clouds that rolled off of him. Power that palpable spoke to a vast strength I wouldn't want as my enemy.
I swallowed the terror that I carried inside of me, made room for it beside my own, and paused in the doorway. My heart fluttered, knowing that I caught their attention. "Excuse me, gentlemen." I avoided their gazes, my attention focused solely on Officer McNab. "Officer McNab, Detective Troy mentioned something about some paperwork she was missing in that file you gave her."
Confusion warred on his face. He would never be a good poker player. I smiled more brightly. "Perhaps you should ask her what she needed. I may have gotten confused about what she had mentioned."
"Oh. Of course. Thank you Ms. Ve—I mean Ms. Tallinn, I mean—”
I smiled again, silently telling him to shut up and leave. He hustled past me. Then I turned to the men in the “nice” lounge. "I apologize for keeping Detective Troy. I'm afraid I'm the reason she's been delayed."
"No need to apologize," said the lawyer.
"Indeed," said the other.
That voice. It demanded attention. Automatically, I looked to him, and was rendered speechless. His face was arresting, like it was carved out of lust and daydreams. Black hair, black eyes, sculpted bone structure, and decadent lips that parted into a wry half smile.
Lords Above, I had meant to be distracting, and here I was being distracted. What in the
world did I plan to say?
Thankfully, the lawyer asked, "I don't mean to pry, but was that young man about to call you Vesper Tallinn? The artist?"
I nodded.
Fire danced along his body then. "It's such a pleasure to meet you. Please call me Rigel. And my associate, Deimos. Where have you been hiding?"
He said it so casually, but I sensed an undercurrent there, one I'd rather avoid. I just dropped my gaze and shrugged. "I don't really like to talk about my work." I added a smile to soften the blow, and keep memories tamped down. Deep down.
He was a little disappointed, but said, "I'm an admirer of your work."
"As am I," Deimos said quietly.
"Thank you." I heard the ding of the elevator. Officer Bailey signaled to me. "Well, I'll leave you to your business."
"Ms. Tallinn." Then Deimos withdrew an all-too familiar nondescript black card. No demarcations. "Please take this. If you need anything, I will be more than happy to provide it for you."
It looked identical to the card I had in my pocket. The one that Owen Sanderson had somehow smuggled to me. I bit my lip to keep from mentioning that. I didn't know what kind of information would be privileged, so would run it through Corbin first.
"Thank you." Then, I extended my hand, and he took it. Instead of merely clasping it, he gently turned it and kissed the back of my hand that was exposed by my demi-gloves. The physical contact against my bare skin made me shiver.
I also didn't miss that he scented my skin. I'd need to swing by the tattooist to reapply some blessings.
I didn't need to attract attention from the Remnant Gods, regardless of their tribes. Especially, those whose power was so concentrated it was near palpable. At least the blessings had worked all this time and had kept me hidden from anyone who intended to find me.
I felt the weight of Deimos’s gaze after I left his presence. Even when Officer Bailey led me out to the waiting squad car, it was almost like I could feel it like a wrap I would wear around my shoulders. It was with me until we pulled away from the precinct and merged into traffic.
Officer Bailey drove me home.