Gaslight (Crossbreed Series Book 4)

by Dannika Dark

  I chuckled. “Halle-fucking-llujah. You don’t just kidnap women and sell them to perverts, you’re a prophet.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table. In my peripheral vision, I noticed his bored look. “I wish we could fast-forward through your petulant phase and have a more meaningful conversation. This is why I could never keep a youngling of my own.”

  “I’m not a youngling. I’m independent.”

  “Yes,” he muttered. After a quiet beat, he reached down to the floor and unzipped a rectangular case. A laptop appeared on the table, and he took his time plugging in the cords. “Our talks are always better when you like me. Under these circumstances, you’re intentionally closing yourself off, so we might as well get down to business.”

  “Exactly how many times have we met?”

  He stood up. “I’m going to put on something comfortable since it’s going to be a long night. If you want to do the same, there’s a change of clothes in the bathroom.”

  I rose to my feet and approached the glass. “How long am I going to be staying here?”

  Houdini walked away.

  I pounded my hands on the glass. “How long!”

  I refused to get cozy in a pair of jammies while my kidnapper was probably videotaping me. How had this happened? I replayed the entire evening in my head in search of mistakes. Boomer had been my primary target, and nothing about Houdini—and I mean nothing—made me suspect he was Breed. Vampires didn’t have strong Breed energy, and he didn’t have any Vampire characteristics. I felt easy around him, and because we’d run into each other a few times, he was so far off my radar that I’d actually trusted him enough to sit inside his car. Everyone could have been a suspect, but Christian and I came to the conclusion that our trafficker wouldn’t bother hiding his black eyes since it added to the allure. After all, these women were meeting him in hopes of becoming something supernatural.

  Sneaky little fanghole.

  I kicked the door, but nothing would break it down short of a battering ram. There were no vents, so the only fresh air I got was coming through the holes in the glass and the opening he used to pass over food. Even if I could make a weapon, it would be useless with the divider between us. I pressed my ear to the wall and floor, listening for anything that might hint if I was aboveground or below. It could have been a regular apartment building with the windows boarded up, but we were definitely in the Breed district. Houdini wouldn’t take unnecessary risks by keeping his victims in a location with other humans.

  I searched for wire. My first thought was poking his eye out through one of the breathing holes, but maybe I could somehow pull his laptop close enough to peck out a message.

  I rolled my eyes. Who did I think I was, MacGyver? Sherlock Holmes?

  The bracelet continued to suppress my Mage powers. I couldn’t flash, draw energy to my fingertips, or even tell time. I couldn’t even get my fangs to punch out. What use would I be even if I could get the door open? Red marks covered my wrist from repeated attempts to remove or break the metal.

  “You really should change,” he said, making me jump. “Leather pants aren’t very comfortable for long periods of time if they’re not broken in. I thought you liked sweats and tank tops?” With a red thermos in hand, he put a pastry in his mouth while he sat down. Once seated, he set the pastry on the plate and chewed while he typed, ignoring my very existence.

  I sat in the oversized chair. “Can you at least turn off my light? I feel like jewelry beneath a display counter.”

  Houdini licked his thumb and got out of his seat. “I wish you would make these requests when I’m already up.”

  The light switched off, supplemented by the yellow lamp from inside his living room. Without all the harsh reflections, the glass melted away. He still hadn’t changed out of his leathers and tight tank top.

  Houdini stood before the desk and penetrated me with his gaze, but I continued avoiding direct eye contact. “Anything else? Coffee? How about a beignet? I make them myself.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  When he took his seat again, the monitor illuminated his pale face. I wondered if it was his black nail polish and ear studs that made him look young, because something had changed in his expression from the man I’d met at the club. Houdini had a straight nose and a regal look that placed him out of this century. A few tiny moles; thin, almond-shaped eyes; lips slightly parted—he was neither exceedingly handsome nor ugly. He didn’t look familiar, but something about his presence felt comfortable. One thing in recent memory that seemed off was a conversation with another customer at Claude’s salon. While everything else about that day stood out in vivid detail, I only had a vague recollection of that talk. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember a thing about that person, including if they were male or female. Thinking about it gave me a stabbing pain in my temple.

  How could a man so seemingly normal be trading women as bloodslaves? Worst of all, he didn’t think he was doing anything wrong.

  “What do you do with all your money?” I asked, looking at his modest abode.

  “Give to the poor. Is that what you want to hear?” He continued typing, never removing his eyes from the screen.

  “The truth would be nice.”

  “Money is a tool, but it’s also a means of security. Those who squander their fortune are doomed. How much thought have you given to your immortality? Friends don’t last; jobs come and go. Will you be able to support yourself a thousand years from now when technology has surpassed your ability to keep up? Forever is a long time.”

  “You must have a lot squirreled away if you enjoy drinking from everyone’s bottles and eating off their plates.”

  “I only do that to eliminate the paper trail. Even with cash, human bars collect ID when you run a tab.”

  I crossed my ankle over my knee. “Do you normally get chummy with your hostages?”

  He took a bite of his pastry, white powder coating his upper lip. “It depends. Some are too busy screaming as if I were a deranged killer. Most enjoy captivity and are willing to give themselves up to any possibility.” He set down the beignet and wiped off his mouth. “I once admired you, but it’s disappointing to see you with Keystone.”

  A chill snaked up my spine.

  He shrugged and licked his lip. “There’s that look again. I miss your little pet name for me.”

  “Asshole?”

  He chuckled. “No. We once had a few interactions, and you called me Chaos. I called you Butterfly. It was our thing.”

  I rubbed my temple. Maybe this guy was full of it and liked playing mind games. “You’re so full of shit. You’ve got me here because you want a key. Now you’re trying to convince me that we’ve always been best pals. Well, I’m not buying it.”

  Houdini sipped from his red thermos and then finished typing something before he sat back. “I don’t like to meddle in people’s lives unless the opportunity invites it. A while ago, your drunk friend lost his keys at the club, so I took them. Nothing interesting happened, so I returned them the next day. That’s when I ran into you and gave you information to help your case. I warned you not to go to the Bricks in the daytime, but something told me you would anyhow. When you left behind the vehicle and went running around with your partner, I filled the tank with gas and made sure no one took it apart. I’m not the villain you desperately want me to be. I’m not entirely evil, and you’re not entirely good. Mostly I’m an observer.”

  How could he have known about that? Maybe he charmed the information out of me during the kidnapping, and this was what he did to all his victims. The more he talked, the more I began to question my own sanity.

  “Just an observer?” I asked. “When you’re meddling in people’s lives by kidnapping them and turning them into Vampires?”

  “Explain to me how that’s wrong when they come willingly? Willingly, Raven.”

  I leaned forward, tamping down my anger. “It doesn’t matter what they think before you bring them here. It’s what hap
pens after. Humans are naïve; you can’t expect them to fully understand the life they’re signing up for by posting a brief little message in a chat room. This isn’t the same as turning a trusted human who’s lived in our world for years.”

  He stood up and dragged an upholstered chair just like mine over to the glass so it was as if we were sitting next to each other. “You left a message that said you wanted to see what was possible.”

  “I was baiting you.”

  “I don’t believe that’s the whole truth.” He crossed one ankle over his knee and brushed dirt off the bottom of his bare foot. “I want to show people what’s possible. Don’t you want that for yourself? Deep down, Raven. No bullshit. If you could just put aside your verbal assaults so we can move past my being the villain in this situation. Do you think Keystone is all that you’re capable of doing in this world? You’re not living by your rules—by your motives. That was something you did when you lived on the streets. That’s freedom.”

  I rubbed my eye. “Freedom doesn’t pay the bills.”

  “Doesn’t it?” He gestured toward his home. “How much does one person need to survive? You told me yourself that all you needed in this world was a dry place to sleep and a purpose.”

  Anger swelled as I realized this guy knew too much about me. “Give me back my memory.”

  He reclined his head and heaved a sigh. “What good will it do? I’ll just have to take it away again.”

  I stood up and rested my forehead against the glass. “I don’t care. It’s mine, and I want it back.”

  He quickly rose to his feet and gazed down at me with a familiarity that made me shudder. “Didn’t it feel good being the Shadow? There was nothing wrong with the life you were living. Viktor wants to convince you that there was, but it’s a lie. He only wants you for his own reasons—to make money.”

  “That’s not true. Viktor has integrity.”

  He pressed his forehead to the glass, a somber look in his eyes. “You don’t miss your old life? Not the struggle, but the absolute freedom?”

  Of course I missed it, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “Living by another’s rules defines your purpose, doesn’t it?” he pressed. “All rogues aren’t evil; you know that as well as I do. The higher authority is about control and fear—fear that they’ll lose control and humans will find out we exist. I don’t make decisions with malicious intent, and neither did you. Evil men crossed your path, and you did something about it.”

  “I still do.”

  “But now you have an agenda. You can’t select your victims anymore. Justice isn’t swift, and rules must be obeyed. Tell me that turning a blind eye each time you go out doesn’t bother you. Convince me that you don’t secretly miss the good old days when you could take matters into your own hands without asking permission. No meetings, no files, no planning.”

  I flattened my hands on the glass, my eyes trained on his neck. “Give me back my memory.”

  He pushed his finger through a hole and tilted my chin up. His eyes met mine, and I willingly fell into their hazel depths. When he spoke, it was a raspy lyric I’d heard many times. “I put a spell on you… because you’re mine.”

  Pieces moved around inside my head like blocks shifting in a puzzle. When I fell out of his gaze, everything flooded back from past to present day.

  Everything.

  He was Chaos, the man I’d met at Nine Circles of Hell on our last case. We’d had engaging conversations, and I actually liked him. He was the friendly guy sitting beside me at Claude’s salon, the messenger who showed up at our door and handed me a letter he wrote himself—letters he’d been sending to Viktor. He was the Phantom at Patrick Bane’s masquerade ball. At another party, I’d followed him outside, only to have him charm me for information about items we confiscated from Pawn of the Dead. His looks hadn’t changed much, his hair always styled the same. Sometimes the color was bleached blond with dark roots and other times closer to white. He always wore those black ear studs.

  My jaw slackened. It didn’t just start with Pawn of the Dead and a key. He was there when Viktor sent Christian to pick me up at the bakery. I remembered him eating a chocolate éclair and then speaking to me before dashing out into the rain. All those years living on the streets, he was there. Sometimes he’d wander into Ruby’s and ask me what was good on the menu. Other times he’d pass me on the street and smile. I always felt easy with him, as if we shared an indescribable connection. I also remembered each time he scrubbed my memory of him, and not always immediately after an encounter. He’d save them up and find just the right opportunity to catch me alone and wipe it all away.

  Going back even further, I remembered a dark time in my life when I stood at a crossroads. We met at a bar, and Houdini made me forget the emptiness of my life. Then we went to his car, talked some more, and he offered me immortality. I was drunk with hope.

  He drank my blood and then shared his own.

  A person never forgets the day they were made, but oddly, I’d never been able to remember my maker’s face. His pale skin with the tiniest moles I found attractive, his wild locks of hair, the lines etched in his face when he smiled, the way he’d sometimes bite his thumbnail, and even the details of our conversation—gone. It wasn’t trauma that made me forget his face and our chats; Houdini had scrubbed me. And he didn’t do it years later when we met again on the streets; he’d blurred himself from my memories just as soon as my Vampire heart took its first beat.

  Houdini was my maker.

  Chapter 14

  The instant my memories returned, I hurled the small chair against the glass and then tried to pull the table apart. It was bolted down, so it only fueled my anger.

  That monster.

  When I heaved the mattress across the room, Houdini turned his back on me. I stalked into the bathroom and gripped the sink, staring up at my reflection. The old Raven appeared, and she looked back at me and said, “What are you gonna do about it?”

  I reached down and took off my boots. After gripping one firmly in my hand, I smashed the mirror with the heel. A crack formed, and after I hit it hard a few more times, shards dropped into the sink and onto the floor. I grabbed a sharp piece and held it to my wrist.

  “Raven, don’t hurt yourself!” Houdini pounded against the glass wall to get my attention, but it only made me more determined to do the opposite of what he wanted.

  Could I regenerate an entire hand? Was that possible? I’d come to find that anything was possible in the Breed world. Maybe the blood would be enough to help the bracelet slide off. I needed to try anything to regain my powers and have a fighting chance to escape. Eventually he’d have to come inside the room. My daddy taught me that sitting ducks end up on the dinner plate.

  Blood trickled down my hand, and I grimaced as my flesh sliced in two.

  The main door swung open, and Houdini moved in like a flash.

  Before he could tackle me, I lashed out and sliced the glass across his chest. Bright-red blood spread through the fibers of his white tank top. He gripped my hand and forcibly removed the shard, the glass tearing through my palm. I recoiled from the pain, and as I turned away to grab my boot off the floor, he yanked me back and held me from behind.

  “Stop this before it goes too far,” he snarled.

  I anchored my feet on the edge of the toilet and pushed, but he didn’t budge. Though Houdini wasn’t a man of brawn, his Vampire magic gave him irrefutable strength. I wanted to bite his arm but resisted the urge. It would be futile in breaking his hold, and I also didn’t want to ingest his blood.

  “Let me go! Get your hands off me!” I kept pulling on the bracelet, the blood helping it slide just a little bit lower than before.

  “Only if you stop this childishness.”

  When I snapped my head back, I struck him in the face. “If you think fighting for my life is childish, wait’ll you see my temper tantrum.”

  In a motion too fast to track, he spun me around and crad
led my head, his thumbs pushing up my eyelids and forcing me to look at him.

  “Stay still,” he said tersely, his voice drenched with so much power that it willed me into submission. He walked backward until we were out of the bathroom. After pushing me up to the glass wall, our eyes locked on each other like magnets. “Your body is stone. You won’t be able to move until I give you permission.”

  The world rippled in front of me like tiny waves in the water, and I became a spectator in my own body.

  Houdini turned away and disappeared from my line of vision. The pipe squeaked when the faucet turned on in the bathroom, and I heard him collecting all the broken glass before pulling the rest off the wall. He casually strode by with a bloodstained towel in one hand and a trash can in the other. Powerless to break his magic, I watched him leave the door wide open as he left the room. The air smelled different, and I imagined myself running through the door. But my feet remained glued to the floor and my body catatonic.

  Moments later, he returned and moved the mattress back to its original spot. He must have run his fingers through his hair, because there was blood smeared through his white locks. His nose had healed, and no more blood soaked through his tank top.

  Once Houdini cleaned the room to his satisfaction, he approached me and examined my wrist. The gash on my palm was deep and went all the way to the bone. Blood continually trickled off my fingertips, creating a puddle on the floor.

  When his fangs punched out, my heart thumped wildly against my chest—a cry of protest. He pierced his index finger with a fang, a drop of blood pooling from the puncture hole.

  Houdini held his finger to my lips, searching my eyes with an indiscernible look on his face. “I can’t read your mind, but just remember that my blood is already inside you. One more drop will hardly matter.”

  I couldn’t close my mouth when he pushed his finger between my teeth and fed me the falling drops. His finger swiping my tongue made me reflexively swallow, and the familiar taste made memories of our blood exchange resurface. I’d been so enamored by him back then that all things seemed possible.