by A. D. Winter
I pressed the home button on the front of his phone and was surprised to see that he hadn’t set a security passcode. Ha, lazy indeed. I scrolled through his photos, searching for pics of his body or images of past girlfriends. Nothing. I frowned.
After a while, I gave up and went to his music. It was filled with rock bands I’d never even heard of. One in particular caught my attention: Pink Floyd?
I clicked on the first song, “Comfortably Numb,” and nearly jumped as the sound of a bass belted out of a tiny speaker shoved in the corner.
The music was soft, though, interesting, and I let it play as I continued through his apartment.
On the wall of the hallway, I found a portrait of Elizabeth the Great hanging between a half-torn picture of Johnny Rotten, from the Sex Pistols, and an autographed photo of a young Elvis Presley.
Below that was a photograph of a young woman. The top half had been torn away in a fit of anger, so I couldn’t see her face. But whoever it was, they had clearly meant something to him.
“I see you like poking around.”
I turned around, sliding the photo out of view.
Dryden was standing behind me. His hair was wet and loose from a quick washing, and his slim face was shaded with morning stubble. Donning a new V-neck T-shirt, he was the perfect image of casual and confidence. To be honest, there’d only been a few times when I was speechless. This was one of them.
He leveled those piercing blue eyes at me, and I felt my heart begin to race. Rushing to form a sentence, I lowered my gaze to his lips. “Funny,” I breathed out. “I was about to tell you the same thing.”
He held out a cup of tea for me to take. It was sitting on a saucer, next to a tiny sandwich.
“For me?”
“It’s not as good as The Shunned Monkey,” he admitted. “But I manage.”
I took a bite. It was good. Freshly diced cucumbers with a creamy type of cheese. Thankfully, there was no garlic or dill, nothing that would make me self-conscious about my breath. I smiled.
“Try the tea,” he said. “The herbs are fresh. Just picked them yesterday.”
I did as he said, holding his gaze as I brought the rim of the cup to my lips. It was steaming hot and smooth. The rich scent of peppermint filled my senses, and I immediately felt a warm calmness wash over me. It was nice.
I was about to take another sip when I suddenly stopped to glare at him. “This isn’t more dragon’s weed, is it? The last thing I need is to be laughing deliriously while I’m on an investigation.”
“You still don’t trust me, do you?” he said.
“Should I?” I asked.
“If we’re going to be working together, I believe that a level of confidence would be a good idea. You know how the old saying goes: necessity makes strange bedfellows.”
“I’m not sure that’s exactly how the saying goes,” I replied.
“Well, if it isn’t, it should be.”
I took another sip, holding his gaze. When I was done, I motioned to the photo lying on the shelf. “Who is she?”
He craned his neck as he peeked over my shoulder.
“My past,” he said.
“Is that what women are to you?” I asked. “Memories you can dispose of like old photos?”
“You don’t know me,” he said.
“Maybe I don’t,” I admitted. “But I know your type.”
“My type?”
“Just look at this place,” I said. “An empty apartment. No furniture. No pets. Nothing to tie you down. You’re a bachelor, a certified scoundrel, up to no good.”
He laughed softly to himself. “I’m a bachelor because I like my space, and there are reasons why I like to move around.”
“I’m sure there are,” I replied. “They’re called angry ex-girlfriends.”
He snorted in amusement. “I tore the photo because she betrayed me.” He placed it back on the table. “And that’s incredibly important to me.”
“What is?” I asked. “Obedience?”
“Trust,” he answered.
My brows shot up in surprise. So he’d been hurt before, huh? Interesting. I would never have guessed that, especially with how devastatingly handsome he was. But I guessed no one was impregnable.
Still, it seemed like quite a feat, which meant that the girl was either beautiful or manipulative. Probably a bit of both. Regardless, she’d been able to get past his seductive shell and pierce that magical soul of his. I had to admit, that was pretty impressive.
“The world is a dangerous place,” he continued. “The last thing I need to worry about is being betrayed by someone close to me.”
He backed me into the dresser. The movement was quick and strong, and I nearly gasped from the shock of it.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Getting to know you,” he replied.
“Why?” I asked. “So you can add another notch to your staff?”
He slitted his eyes, confused. “I’m not like that.”
“Oh no?”
“No,” he replied.
He drew in a quick breath, and I saw the heat in his eyes. The natural scent of his skin filled my senses, and I was hit with the overwhelming desire to rip off his clothes.
Forget this. I might as well get this over with so I can concentrate on the matter at hand.
I gripped him by the hips, anchoring my thumbs into the neck of his black leather pants, and pulled him between my legs. “We don’t have time for this,” I complained in a heated whisper.
He glared at me, startled by my aggression. But he quickly gave in. He dug a hand into the back of my hair, matching my intensity, and gazed into my eyes. “You’re telling me. I have a comatose elf in my den who could shape-shift at any moment and tear us apart with its claws. Not the best of circumstances for a first date.”
“So this is a first date, then?”
“Perhaps,” he whispered, teasing my lips with his.
What was I doing? My life was at stake, and here I was, allowing myself to be seduced by a total scoundrel.
In fact, he was probably in hiding, concealing himself from half the women in the city, including a couple of the other magical races, who he’d cheated on.
But that was me, a total idiot who always ended up with the wrong guy. At least this time I knew ahead of time that it wasn’t going to work out.
We stayed like that for a moment, our eyes locked, our lips inches apart. We were just about to kiss when, from the den, we heard the scream.
18
Barton
Barton waded through the smoldering ruins of the orphanage, painfully aware of how close he’d been to catching her.
He checked the cat’s maw. It was an ancient artifact used to track the scent of inquisitors. He’d confiscated it from a warlock during the Dark Uprising and had never revealed its existence, for obvious reasons. It was illegal.
He held it out, hoping that it could give him some clue as to where she was. But it didn’t. The artifact’s magic was being dampened somehow, as if her magical signature had been eclipsed by a greater force. But how?
“Who made the complaint?” Barton asked. “And why did it take them so long to notify us?”
“It’s actually quite an interesting story, my lord,” Luis began in an amused tone.
Barton glanced back at him. “You find this funny?”
Luis realized his mistake and quickly cleared his throat. “Of course not, my lord. Forgive me.” He fumbled through his notes. “According to the nearby residents, the building had become somewhat of a problem.”
“How so?”
“Apparently, the home was a giant nest for whispering wasps.”
Barton frowned grimly. “I see.”
“Exterminators can be quite costly,” Luis said, “especially for residents in this part of the city.” He covered his nose as he gazed at the withering buildings on the horizon.
“Is there a problem?” Barton asked.
Luis glanced a
t him quizzically. “No, my lord. Why?”
Barton paused. He was too wound up, he realized. He needed to relax. Turning back to the house, he returned his focus to the crime scene. “Were there any survivors?”
“None so far, my lord, but we’re still looking.”
“And Ivy?” Barton asked. “Any sign of her?”
“None, my lord.”
“Very well.” Barton shoved part of the burnt frame and watched as it fell into the darkened void of the basement. “Keep looking. Don’t stop until you find something.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Luis replied. “But I doubt we’ll find anything. The entire building is scorched, and Ivy … she has the unnatural ability to disappear without a trace.”
Don’t I know it.
Barton took in the surrounding streets with narrowed eyes. This wasn’t the first time he’d come to this part of Salvation.
When he was younger, barely an initiate, he’d been ordered to investigate a huge fire at this same location. Apparently, it had been started by one of the orphans, a young girl.
The memory of it struck him like a wind, and he was suddenly transplanted back to that cold winter morning.
He’d barely walked up the steps of the orphanage when he saw it.
A small figure bursting out from one of the upper windows. It leaped from the roof and landed on the lawn, filling him with a feeling he rarely knew: fear.
He reached for the blade at his belt, ready to strike, only to stop when he saw a pair of feral eyes staring back at him. The girl was young, maybe twelve, and she quickly set off down the street, forcing him to chase after her.
She was fast, and ruthless.
He ducked as he saw a rock flying for his head, followed by a piece of sharp wood and some glass. He was just about to catch her when she turned at the last moment, leading him inside the home of absolute strangers.
The family erupted in surprise as the young girl raced through their living room. She knocked over a tray in a servant’s hands, then barged through the kitchen door like a bull, where she leaped onto the table and out another window.
“Official business,” Barton said, waving his credentials at an old man holding a drumstick.
Outside, the chase continued. She led him down streets, through back alleys, onto roofs and down again. She knew exactly when to turn, how to slide, where to duck, as if the neighborhood itself was her training ground.
It wasn’t until he backed her into a dead end that she finally stopped.
“You’ve nowhere to run,” he growled, surprised by how badly he was panting. “Time to come in.”
He held out a hand, warning her to stay. When it was only inches from her shoulder, she dug her teeth into his wrist. Wincing, he wrenched free of her mouth and held her back. “What in Salvation’s name are you doing?”
He studied her closely, her tattered clothes, the smudged face. She looked like a stray from the street, an animal that hadn’t been fed in weeks.
He brushed back her hair, turned her face to the side. Her skin was ghostly pale, and her eyes were sunken within dark circles. Yet as unhealthy as she looked, it wasn’t until he peeled back the sleeves of her shirt that he saw her true suffering.
Bruises. They were everywhere. Her wrists. Her arms. But no more so than on the backs of her hands. The bruises were dark and deep, caused by welts of some kind. Whoever had been hitting her clearly took pride in their craft.
“Who did this to you?” he asked.
When she didn’t speak, he pulled a piece of chocolate from his jacket and knelt before her. “Are you hungry?”
Her eyes filled with suspicion, but after a while, she nodded.
“Here,” he said. “Have the whole piece.”
He watched as she wolfed it down, her eyes never leaving his. Within seconds, it was gone.
How bad her life must’ve been in that orphanage, he thought to himself. And what type of creature could’ve done such evil?
It was shortly after this incident that he took her back to the Order, where he kept her by his side. She stayed with him at work for the next couple of days, always watching silently from a tiny chair by his desk, never speaking yet always willing to get him whatever he needed.
After a while, he began to put her to work. She cleaned his desk, shined his boots. He even tried to get her to do paperwork, but she didn’t like to read.
Eventually, he’d collected enough evidence on the headmistress to arrest her. But there was still one thing he had to deal with.
“What to do with you?” he asked, staring at her from behind his desk. He was already turning around, about to write a letter to another orphanage, when, for the first time, he heard her voice.
“I want to be like you,” she said.
“Like me?”
“An inquisitor.”
He stared at her, dumbfounded. Was she being serious? Did she really want to be an inquisitor? She was strong; he gave her that. In fact, in all his time as an inquisitor, it had been rare for him to come across anyone who’d endured as much as she had and still held her sanity. Yes, she was strong, but more importantly, she was unbreakable. “And so you shall,” he said.
“My lord?”
Luis’s voice pulled the lord sergeant from his memories, and he spun around to face the young man. “What is it?”
“Over there.” Luis pointed to the street, and Barton felt his stomach turning as he saw a black carriage rolling up the road. It was lined with gold trim, and there was a large red circle on the front of it.
When it came to a stop, the door opened, and he saw the high inquisitor descending the foot iron.
“Who notified him?” Barton demanded.
“The complaint must’ve tipped him off.”
“A fire in the Forgotten Quarter?” Barton shook his head. “No. Someone must’ve told him.” But who?
High Inquisitor Nelson’s face twisted as he marched into the smoldering disaster, his eyes quickly darting to Barton. “You have much to answer for, Lord Sergeant.”
“High Inquisitor,” Barton said, his gaze shifting to the horizon. “It’s always a pleasure.”
“Do not patronize me, Barton. I’m not in the mood. Not today.”
Nor any day.
Luis quickly knelt, offering Nelson the traditional respect afforded a high inquisitor. But Nelson, as usual, took no notice of him.
“What’s the meaning of this?” demanded the high inquisitor.
“What does it look like?” replied Barton, motioning to the smoking ruins. “A building was burned down, and now we’re investigating it.”
“A dozen inquisitors and a lord sergeant?” Nelson snorted. “Do not test my patience, Barton. I might not be as young as you, but I still have my wits about me.”
Unfortunately.
Luis rushed to smooth things over, clearly trying to earn points with Barton. “Pardon me, my lord, but as you can see for yourself, the damage is quite extensive.”
Nelson shot the young inquisitor a stare. “And who are you again?”
Luis recoiled under the man’s gaze.
“The situation is well under control,” Barton assured his superior in a tired voice. “There’s no need to get upset.”
“It’s not the situation that I’m concerned about,” Nelson replied. “It’s your determination to continually cover your protégé’s tracks. Concealing her escape has come extremely close to insubordination.”
“My loyalty to the Order is undying,” Barton replied.
“Yet your ability to retain prisoners is apparently not,” said the High Inquisitor.
“Nothing but a minor setback,” Barton replied. “Soon I’ll have Ivy back in the cells, and we’ll finally get this all sorted out.”
“You know what she’s doing,” Nelson warned in a hushed voice.
“And what’s that?” Barton asked.
“She’s trying to save her life,” Nelson replied. “And solving this case is her ticket. Who knows?
She just might do it.”
Barton looked away, doing his best to conceal his reaction.
“I want her found,” Nelson said.
“I’ll do my best,” Barton said.
“Alive,” Nelson added.
Barton stared at the high inquisitor, noting the suspicion in his voice. He doesn’t believe me, he thought, and now I will have to be extra careful.
A moment passed before the high inquisitor turned to leave. He trekked down the burnt ruins of the orphanage and marched toward his carriage, where the silhouette of a figure was sitting inside.
Barton narrowed his eyes at the figure, trying to see who it was.
“What now, my lord?” Luis asked.
Barton glanced back at the young inquisitor, thinking. Now that Nelson was aware of Ivy’s escape, it was more important than ever that he find her, especially before she got too close to the truth.
He was torn by a storm of emotions. But he steeled himself against the winds, knowing that too much was at stake.
“Split up your men,” he ordered. “Search every quarter in the city. Interrogate everyone. Leave no stone unturned. If need be, use violence.”
19
Ivy
I pushed past Dryden as I hurried down the hallway.
The elf was awake, and I could finally get the answers I needed.
She stirred as she saw us. Yanking the curtain up to her chin, she glared at us in suspicion. “Où suis-je?” Where am I?
“Tu es dans mon appartement, et tu es en sécurité,” Dryden replied. You’re in my apartment, and you’re safe.
“Ton appartement?” The girl frowned, clearly disgusted by the quaint surroundings. Your apartment?
Uh-oh, I thought with raised brows. She’s going to be a fun one.
“Oui,” Dryden said. “Mon appartement.” Yes. My apartment.
“So,” I said, crossing my arms. “You speak French, huh?”
Dryden glanced over his shoulder at me with a grin. “Doesn’t everyone?”
I rolled my eyes, annoyingly impressed.
“I don’t understand what is happening,” said the elf, her voice heavily accented. “Are you kidnapping me?”