Pleasure's Fury

by Lila Dubois

  “Uh-oh,” Leila muttered.

  “We should have taken bets on how long it would take someone to yell at us,” Karl mused. “Though, I would have put money on us at least making it to our hotel.”

  Grigoris motioned for them to follow, and then turned on his heel. Antonio touched Leila’s back and, with a jerk of his head, motioned her to follow Grigoris. Karl went after her, then Nyx, then him. He watched and saw two other people, a man and a woman, stop their mundane activities and head for the exits in sync with their own departure.

  Grigoris had brought additional security.

  A large black SUV was parked at the curb. One of the airport police was standing by it, and he saluted Grigoris when he approached.

  The Greek nodded to the guard, then clicked the fob and opened the back door. Leila and Karl climbed in.

  Grigoris frowned at Nyx and put his arm out.

  “She’s with us,” Antonio said in English.

  “You chose to not only come here when I told you not to, but you brought a tourist?”

  “I’m not a tourist.” Nyx met Grigoris’s hard gaze. “I’m here to help you.”

  “Oh?” Grigoris asked with a smile.

  “Yes. You aren’t focusing on the right aspects, and without my help, you will continue to fail.”

  Antonio blinked. He wasn’t known for his diplomacy, but even he realized that was a deliberate insult. Grigoris’s smile vanished.

  “I am Nyx Kata.” With that, Nyx ducked nearly under Grigoris’s arm and climbed into the SUV.

  From inside the car, Karl said, “Anyone want to take bets on how long before Nyx and Grigoris kill each other?”

  Antonio had planned to get in the front seat, but one of the people he’d seen inside slid into the driver’s seat of the large vehicle. Grigoris took the passenger seat.

  Antonio climbed in and twisted to check on the other three. Nyx and Karl were in the back row of seats, Leila in the center. He squeezed her hand as the car pulled out.

  Antonio frowned as the SUV cut through the city. He had secured them all rooms in a five-star hotel near the city center. It was clear those rooms would go unused.

  “Where are you taking us?” Leila asked.

  “A safe house.” Grigoris was tapping on his phone; the man seemed to be constantly plugged in, researching, communicating. It was no wonder Leila had thought he was the IT guy.

  “Where?” Antonio demanded.

  Grigoris never looked up from his cell phone. “Not far now.” Considering how talkative he’d been in Rome, Antonio was guessing the other man’s brevity was a sign of exactly how pissed he was.

  “We’re on Calea Mosilor,” Nyx said from the back. “Not far from Old Town.”

  He, Leila, and Karl all turned to look at her.

  “I know this area,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  Antonio frowned, realizing he didn’t actually know what territory the odd woman was from.

  She leaned forward. “An Ottoman safe house, or one belonging to Hungary?”

  Grigoris twisted in his seat. He examined Nyx with a coldness that seemed at odds with his easygoing affect. Nyx met his gaze fearlessly.

  “Explain,” Antonio demanded.

  “Bucharest is on the territory border between Ottoman and Hungary. At various times, both have held dominance over the city.”

  “How do they decide?” Karl asked with interest.

  “Whichever territory controls the highest-ranking official in the city government has control.”

  “What territory do you belong to?” Grigoris asked.

  “Will that change how you interact with me?” Nyx sounded only mildly interested in the answer.

  Grigoris raised his fist in front of his chin, like a fencer raising his sword in acknowledgment before a bout.

  He shifted his attention to Karl and changed the subject—a strategic retreat, one Antonio couldn’t fault him for. “There are many buildings in this area that have been left to rot and decay, relics of the aftermath of communism. They were grand places in the late eighteen, early nineteen hundreds, but now they have been left to the elements. Nature has taken over. The admiral of the Ottoman territory purchased an old inn and renovated it. That is our destination. And,” he paused, then pointed, “we have arrived.”

  They pulled up in front of a large, two-story rectangular building with tall, narrow windows set closely together.

  Karl leaned forward for a better look, his eyes widening in appreciation. “Art Nouveau. It was the popular form of architecture at the time this inn was built.” He looked at Grigoris. “Mid-nineteenth century,” he observed.

  Grigoris nodded, as Karl continued, “This inn reflects the Little Paris era of Bucharest, and it appears to have survived the megalomaniac vision of Ceaușescu.”

  “Ceaușescu?” Leila asked.

  “Former dictator. He wanted to wipe any trace of the former monarchy off the face of Bucharest.”

  “You know your history, Mr. Klimek,” Grigoris said, opening the door to step out of the vehicle.

  “Dr. Klimek,” Antonio corrected.

  Karl shrugged as he joined Grigoris and the others on the sidewalk. “Actually, I only know the history as it applies to the architecture. The buildings in Bucharest have an interesting story to tell.”

  The driver opened the back of the SUV, handing them their small bags.

  “Rooms have been prepared for you.” Grigoris gestured to their guard and driver, as he spoke to Antonio. “Mihai will show you, Dr. Klimek, and Ms. Virtanen, to your suite. I assumed the three of you would prefer to remain together.”

  Antonio nodded.

  “I will figure out what to do with Ms. Kata.”

  “What you will do with me?” Nyx appeared at his elbow. “The implications of that statement could be taken several ways.” She looked Grigoris up and down, as if assessing a piece of livestock, then made a mildly appreciative noise.

  Antonio didn’t bother to hide his smile.

  Grigoris came close to sputtering, but locked down his response by taking a breath and then smiling. “It will take more than that, Ms. Kata.” He looked at Antonio. “Take a few moments to freshen up, then meet me in the parlor on the first floor. You can say whatever you came to say, then I will drive you back to the airport, and you will leave. Go to Rome. Go back to Ireland. But you will go.”

  Nyx smiled.

  Antonio crossed his arms. He wasn’t going anywhere. Leila needed to be here, and he’d move heaven and earth—and by that, he meant kill people—to make her happy.

  “Ms. Kata, if you will follow me, I will—” Grigoris stopped speaking when he realized Nyx was already standing at the door, impatiently looking over her shoulder as she waited for him to catch up.

  Grigoris scowled, but then hastened to join her. The two of them disappeared inside.

  Antonio glanced at Karl. “Where did you find Nyx?”

  Karl pursed his lips. “In a library.”

  “Is she the dragon who guards the books?” Leila asked.

  Antonio glanced around, spotted the security team on the street, and then nudged Karl and Leila inside.

  The inn was beautifully restored, and it took them nearly twenty minutes to make it from the lobby to their suite as Karl kept stopping to study the architecture, marveling at the fact it had survived, impressed by the skilled renovation.

  Their slow trek made something very apparent to Antonio. “We appear to be the only ones staying in this hotel.”

  Mihai confirmed that. “To the outside world, this appears to be a normal hotel, however, there are never any vacancies. It is used exclusively by the Ottoman territory as a safe house.”

  “The parlor?” Antonio asked.

  “First floor, on the north side of the hall. But I will be right here.” Mihai pointed to a spot on the wall across from their suite door. “To escort you.”

  Antonio snorted. To escort them. Right.

  He gave Mihai one la
st assessing look, then walked into the suite and closed the door.

  Karl took a seat at the table, got a pen and paper out of his bag and cleaned his glasses. Beside him, Leila smiled, then reached into her bag and took out the small laptop Antonio had gotten her back in Venice.

  There were times he thought they should never have left that place. Yes, they’d been recovering from something horrible, but they’d also been together and peaceful.

  Grigoris entered and scanned the room. He stopped to talk to the guard standing by the door. Based on the style of sword on the woman’s hip, the guard was actually one of the janissaries—a knight of Ottoman. Grigoris was from Ottoman, but the task force he led included knights from all the territories, and they were in Hungary—or at least on the border. Culturally, this city belonged more to Hungary than to Ottoman, but human history had proven that very rarely did culture dictate borders.

  “I feel like I’m preparing for a meeting,” Leila whispered in his ear.

  Karl smiled. “A dangerous meeting. Like a faculty meeting, but less dramatic.”

  “My meetings are always boring.”

  “I would think meetings of snipers would be dramatic.”

  She let out a little huffing laugh. “No sniper meetings. I mean for my social media job at the tourism bureau.” She frowned. “I probably don’t have a job anymore.”

  Karl touched her leg under the table. “I’m sorry.”

  Antonio, who’d taken a position against the wall behind them, placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

  Karl knew what those two words meant: Tell me what’s wrong and I will kill it for you.

  “We’re telling war stories about meetings,” Karl answered.

  Antonio grunted. “Briefings. More efficient.”

  Nyx was seated across from them and had been staring around the room with the vaguely disconnected expression she sometimes got. It was actually less alarming than the dangerous laser focus she’d shown a few times during their librarians’ meetings. When she suddenly joined the conversation, it startled Karl enough that he squeezed Leila’s leg.

  “Briefings are an unequal one-way flow of information. An inefficient way to communicate.”

  Grigoris, done talking to the other Ottoman knight, walked over while she was speaking. He planted his hands on the edge of the table and leaned forward. “Briefings are very efficient, and that’s what we’re going to have.”

  “No,” Nyx said calmly. “If you want to impart information without discussion, the written word is far more effective.”

  “But the emotional satisfaction is lacking.”

  Nyx raised a brow. “Care to explain?”

  Grigoris smiled. “It’s harder to tell someone that they’re dangerously reckless and stupid, via email.”

  Antonio’s hand, where it still rested on Karl’s shoulder, flexed once.

  “Very well. Perform your masculine ritual of berating and shouting.” Nyx took a book out of her pocket. “Once you are done, we will begin the real work.”

  “I want to change my bet,” Leila whispered. “I’m putting my money on them fucking instead of killing each other.”

  Though Leila had spoken quietly, Nyx apparently heard. “Emotionally charged sex, assuming you are relatively certain to survive the experience, is incredibly dynamic.”

  “Hate-fucking,” Grigoris purred. “The term you’re looking for is hate-fucking.”

  Antonio sighed. “Enough. Talk. Plan.”

  Nyx tipped her head to the side. “Does he ever use complete sentences?”

  “Yes,” Leila said. “Occasionally.”

  Karl tried, and failed, to smother his laugh.

  Grigoris hung his head down between his arms, then dropped in the chair at the head of the table. He scrubbed his face with his hands, then looked up. “We’ll start again. I am not so arrogant that I won’t accept help. That’s not my objection. My objection is to you three, who are all targets, being here. We will find him and—”

  “If they’re not here in Bucharest, using them as bait won’t be as effective.”

  Karl whipped his attention to Nyx, who was smiling slightly.

  “That’s your plan?” Leila asked in a low, curious voice. “To use us as bait?”

  “I thought you were going to use the cult angle to help find him.” Karl felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Bait? “That’s why I came to you. Not so you could risk our lives.”

  “No.” Antonio squeezed his shoulder again. “We’re leaving.”

  “Good idea. Why didn’t I suggest that?” Grigoris threw his hands in the air.

  Antonio grabbed the back of Karl’s chair and started to pull it out, as Grigoris turned to the janissary by the door and said something in Turkish.

  Nyx didn’t move. When she spoke, she didn’t raise her voice, but she spoke with controlled authority and projected her voice so everyone could hear. “Ciril will hide, and hide well, and you will not find him. He doesn’t have the capacity to do otherwise. He is devoted to his cause.”

  You will not find him.

  Those words made Karl feel ill.

  Grigoris swiveled back to face Nyx. “I disagree.”

  “Your hubris is not worth risking their lives, and—”

  “My hubris is what puts them at risk? You want to use them as bait, which—”

  “The investigation you claim to be leading has ignored a critical aspect of his psychology.”

  “That I claim to be leading?”

  “Cults appeal to those who want or need absolute authority and answers, but also instills a fervor, a need to proselytize. That is how you will catch him.”

  “He didn’t grow up in a cult. His father was a member of a right-wing political movement—”

  “That is a form of cult. I read about the Obraz party in Serbia and—”

  “The problem isn’t that he is, or was, a cult member. He’s a serial killer.” Grigoris grimaced, as if he hadn’t planned or wanted to say that much.

  “Ah.” Nyx smiled and leaned forward, her body posture telegraphing interest. “This may change things.”

  As much as Karl was enjoying watching them fight, he couldn’t not ask questions. “We already knew he was a serial killer. He killed three people. What does that change?”

  “His killings make him a multiple murderer, not necessarily a textbook serial killer,” Grigoris said.

  Nyx looked surprised. At least Karl thought that’s what the slight elevation of one pale eyebrow meant.

  “Maybe there’s a translation problem, because I don’t understand the difference,” Leila said.

  Grigoris looked at Nyx, who motioned graciously for him to speak.

  “Thank you,” he said though his grimace-like smile. “I only hold master’s degrees in both psychology and psychiatry.”

  “Let me know if you’d like a letter of recommendation for a PhD program,” Nyx said.

  Karl sucked in air. That was some serious academic shit-talking.

  Grigoris’s right arm twitched toward his sword. He very carefully put both hands flat on the table and took a breath before turning his head so he was speaking to Karl, Leila, and Antonio.

  “We have not, despite recent—very recent—accusations, been pursuing only a single thread in the investigation. There are a series of unsolved murders in the village where Ciril lived after his father was incarcerated.”

  “The village where the people were accused of being Satanists?” Karl clarified.

  “Yes. The accusations of Satanism were based on rumors and hearsay, possibly due to the presence of several young women—all in a single family—with a variety of severe physical and mental disabilities. The killings took place after the accusations, and I believe Ciril was the perpetrator.”

  Nyx leaned forward. “The killings happened after?”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Why?” Antonio asked.

  “Why is it inte
resting?” Nyx clarified.

  Antonio’s voice was flat and hard. “Why do I care?”

  Grigoris continued, “Assuming the village wasn’t actually Satanists, which is a safe assumption because it’s almost never Satanists—”

  “Satanists are lovely,” Nyx interjected.

  “—everyone in the community should have been operating at a state of heightened alert. When a community comes under attack, especially an emotionally charged attack like that would have been, the tendency is for everyone to be on their best behavior and police from within the community in order to show that they aren’t a threat.”

  “Hyper-obedience to all laws and social norms is a normal tribal response to accusations of deviant behavior.” Nyx spoke as if she had to clarify what Grigoris had just said, which probably wasn’t totally necessary, though it was much more precise.

  Karl nodded in understanding.

  Leila and Antonio shared a look.

  “He killed before. We knew that. The kills were complex. Sophisticated.” Antonio sounded less impatient than he had a moment ago.

  “Ah, well done,” Nyx said with an encouraging smile at Antonio. “At least one of those was a grammatically complete sentence in English.”

  As one, Karl and Leila shifted in their chairs and clamped their hands on Antonio.

  “What are you doing?” Antonio asked them.

  “Uh, stopping you from strangling her,” Karl said.

  “Oh. I was going to tell you to let me kill her.” Leila smiled. “I can do it from two hundred meters.”

  Grigoris got up from his spot at the head of the table and moved to a chair next to Nyx, across from where they sat.

  Was he protecting her?

  Nyx blinked, and her whole expression softened in surprise.

  Grigoris cleared his throat. “The point is, we are not just looking for someone who murdered and kidnapped our own, we’re hunting a serial killer. I have people checking unsolved murders that match his MO. What we need are connections—someone he knows, or has known, will help us find him.”

  Nyx turned in her chair so she was facing Grigoris. “Unless he has help from someone who isn’t part of his past, but his future.”