Lynne Connolly

by The Chemistry Of Evil (Triskelion) (lit)

  Evan waited for it. Catching the arms, ignoring Archie’s howl of pain and rage he yelled, “Run, Sofie!”

  “I can’t,” she called back to him. “I hurt myself.”

  Swearing, Evan knew he had to finish this. No quick getaway. He brought his fist up past Archie’s flailing arms, ignoring the blow that landed on his biceps, and connected.

  Archie fell away, landing on the floor with a crash that caused several echoing thumps behind him.

  He turned. Sofie stood in the middle of a circle of African statues, some flat on the floor. He went to her but she stopped him. “Don’t touch them!”

  “Why not? Are they too precious?”

  Sofie glanced at them, and something changed in her eyes. Relief surged in to replace the terror he’d glimpsed before she looked away at the figures and then back at him. “They’re gone!”

  “What?”

  Unable to bear the separation he crossed the room and took her in his arms, holding her tight for a quick hug before releasing her. He kept hold of her hand. “Let’s go.”

  Archie was out cold, the knife clutched in his hand. “He wasn’t Archie until you came in,” she whispered, her voice quavering with emotion. “He didn’t even look like Archie.”

  Evan spared him a glance. He looked very much like Archie now. An unconscious Archie.

  Almost dragging her, he took her out of that room. Those masks and statues with their stylized faces and bodies gave him the creeps. “We have to get out of here.”

  “Yes.” When she stumbled he stopped. “What is it?”

  “Nothing. I turned my ankle.”

  “Can you manage, or should I carry you?”

  “I can manage. I want to go, and we won’t be very quick if you carry me.”

  They made it across the floor and down the staircase, Evan watching Sofie covertly in case her ankle was worse than she claimed. She managed, but he wanted to get her home where he could look at her ankle, apply an ice pack and just hold her.

  They didn’t stop until they were outside the building. Evan felt he could breathe again and stood for a moment, taking the cool night air deep into his lungs. He found his cell phone and dialed Cristos’s number, sending him a terse text message before he climbed on the bike. Sofie climbed behind him and gripped his waist tightly, much tighter than she had on the way here. He would stop if he felt her hold slacken.

  Evan took chances he wouldn’t normally have taken, too anxious to get her home to be concerned with mundanities like traffic. She was hurt, tired and frightened. Every primitive cell in his body wanted to get her to safety, and then ensure she was completely safe. When she leaned forward and rested her head on his bent back he wanted to roar in triumph.

  Parking the bike, watching Sofie slump while she waited for him, Evan wanted to pick her up and carry her the rest of the way but a warning spark in her eyes told him he was probably better letting her make her own way there. No wilting violet, his Sofie.

  Cristos waited for them outside his apartment. Evan had one arm around Sofie, supporting her, but managed to get the palm print and iris scan done without letting her go. When the door opened he motioned for Cristos to go through first, then swung Sofie up into his arms and carried her through.

  He didn’t understand at first why Sofie shuddered. Then he realized the small lights he always left on while he was out were too much like the lights in the museum. He flicked a switch on the wall and the room blazed into life.

  Cristos immediately went to the windows and closed the blinds while Evan deposited his burden on the sofa, taking care not to twist her foot. He went to the kitchen and switched on his coffee machine in passing, before opening the door to his freezer and grabbing an ice pack and cloth. When he returned to the living room he went straight to Sofie, and sat down on the sofa, lifting her feet gently onto his lap. He busied himself removing her tennis shoes and applying the ice pack, wrapped in the cloth, to her ankle while she told Cristos what had happened.

  At points in her narrative she stopped, but a quiet “Go on,” from Cristos seemed to reassure her, and she continued. Other than that neither man interrupted her. Some of her speech confused Evan, and when he exchanged a glance with Cristos he saw him frown. Her account was clear, and her voice only shook a couple of times. Evan felt proud that she could do this, face this living nightmare.

  “The figures – are they usually in the Museum?” Cristos asked, when she had concluded.

  “I believe so. I’ve always thought them a little disturbing, so I haven’t studied them, but they looked authentic. How would they get out of the cases?”

  Cristos shrugged. “I don’t know. This is new to me, completely beyond what I have studied. My field is telepathy, and enhancing natural abilities with electronic implants. Not this. There is one thing I can try.”

  “Yes?”

  Evan knew what was coming. “I can examine your mind, and see if you were under a compulsion. I have some abilities, I think you must have guessed that. They are not precise enough to form any kind of useful tool for the Government, but there are some things I can do with certainty. Will you give me your permission?”

  “Of course. This must end. I want it to end.”

  Evan stood up, putting her feet gently on the cushions, preparing to go and find another ice pack, but at her silent entreaty he stopped. “You want me to stay?”

  She reached out her hand. “Yes please. If you don’t mind.”

  What else could he do? He was warmed by the knowledge that she wanted him, trusted him even. He admired her courage in facing this, when so many other people would have run away. For everyone who could face these horrors there was someone who would claim it was only a dream. They didn’t know, and they couldn’t face something that turned their ordered world upside down. Sofie had faced it without a qualm, and wasn’t giving any excuses.

  He went to the other end of the sofa and took her hand, perching on the broad armrest. He watched Cristos reveal his gift.

  It took a great deal for Cristos to do this. If the Agency knew the research he undertook was so experimental, that all his interest sparked from the remarkable gift he possessed, Section Fifty-Seven would be closed down in a minute. The scientific basis of the research was far less important than he led outsiders to suppose. The department centered on several talented individuals who possessed gifts usually dismissed as non-existent, but Evan no longer doubted. He’d seen one person teleport a box across a room, someone else project a vision of a griffin into the minds of everyone in the room, including himself. And he had his own gift, one that could, if he allowed it to be researched, be lethal in the classic honey pot trap. That was why he had kept it secret. He had no wish to be employed as a seducer with a difference, or to compel others with the same gift he had to be used in the same way. But he believed the next development in science would accept these gifts as real.

  Cristos got to his feet and shed his close fitting suit jacket. In shirtsleeves he approached Sofie, leaned forward and put the tips of his fingers to her temples. “Physical contact isn’t necessary,” he explained, “but it helps.”

  Sofie stared up at Cristos’s pale eyes and Evan felt her grip on his hand increase. He returned the pressure, just to let her know he was here, and he wouldn’t allow anything more than Cristos had offered. Five minutes of silence followed. Tense, pulsating silence. His windows were soundproofed so there wasn’t even any noise from the streets outside.

  Evan concentrated on keeping his breaths deep and steady. He had never allowed Cristos to examine him like this. He might see too much. But his boss had examined him from a distance, and perhaps knew what he should not. Cristos’ marriage to his mother had occurred while Evan was living at home. It hadn’t lasted long, but Evan had learned much about Cristos that other people didn’t know. Nothing he could use against him, but useful, small pieces of information that added up to the whole person. He’d heard Cristos described as enigmatic and cold, but he had seen him first th
ing in the morning, yawning over tea and toast, and he had seen his devastation when his mother had decided she didn’t want him any more, and reverted to her previous name after the divorce. He had offered Evan friendship, but at that time Evan had rejected it. He felt differently now, but friendship was no longer on offer. Camaraderie, however, was in place.

  Cristos drew back, his face strained with effort. Evan bent over Sofie. “Are you all right?”

  She gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. I feel better, if anything.”

  Evan glanced at Cristos, now sitting in his chair, eyes closed, forehead resting on his cupped hand. He went to get coffee.

  When he returned Cristos had recovered, no trace of his recent efforts on his smooth features. He hadn’t put his jacket back on but his white shirt was spotless, and his tie exactly placed. Evan, who only wore a suit when he had to, could never understand Cristos’ obsession with beautifully tailored, conventional menswear. It didn’t disturb his sleep, though.

  Putting the tray of coffee down he met a grateful smile from Sofie. Returning it he returned to his seat on the sofa arm, putting a restraining hand on her shoulder when she tried to sit up to give him room.

  “There is no compulsion,” Cristos said. “No evidence of hypnotism, or another mind making you see what you should not. However, there is something there. I don’t know what it is, but it is as though there is something not quite right. I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said, when Evan frowned at him in warning. “Just a vague sensation. But you saw what you thought you saw. Which takes us to another conclusion.”

  When Sofie reached for her coffee Evan passed it to her, but kept his attention on Cristos. “What would that be?”

  “There is someone in New York, or nearby who has tremendous power. What is more, it seems this person is a power for evil.”

  “Archie Hamilton?”

  Cristos shook his head slowly, biting his lower lip in thought. “I don’t think so, though I might be wrong. It won’t be any surprise to you to know I’ve had him investigated. He’s given up the apartment he was to share with you, Dr. Adams, and found lodgings with Mrs. Bull, of the art gallery. He has struck quite a friendship up with her daughter, Anna. We know about the Bull Gallery. It seems to be on the level. Mrs. Bull makes good deals with good artists and is astute enough to know the right people to sell to. There’s no anomalies in her work, no financial irregularities, and nothing to say she isn’t what she claims to be.”

  Evan knew Cristos. “But…?” he prompted.

  “But,” Cristos replied, fixing Evan with a glare, “but, some of those customers are curious, to say the least. The usual retired company directors and corporate accounts, but a few oddballs. Recluses, people the Agency have been interested in, but found nothing about. No outright criminals, no mob or gang connections, nothing politically dubious, but people whose source of wealth can’t be traced, well placed people who connect a diverse collection of other people. Either they are just recluses, or they are exceptionally clever.”

  Sofie started, and Evan looked at her in concern. “Elaine worked there – at the Bull Gallery.”

  Cristos nodded. “Meghan Leroux was to have an exhibition there.”

  If he hadn’t said it, Evan would have done. “That makes them prime suspects in my book.”

  “And the Bureau’s. They’re being watched very closely. So far, nothing, but either the Bulls are involved, or someone is using the gallery for their own ends.”

  “What do you think?” Sofie was alert, her chin up and slightly tilted, listening to Cristos.

  “I think, Dr. Adams that we have to be very, very careful. If these people are causing disturbances, they are clever. They have access to resources easily equal to ours. It also means they want something.”

  “The whistle. I think I dropped it in the Museum.”

  “No, not just that. There has to be something else. Not something of monetary value, they have enough money.”

  “Something of power.” Evan spoke quietly, hardly aware he spoke aloud.

  “Indeed. I want you to do some searches, Howell. Online. Be careful, cover all your tracks, go in stealth and then more stealth. I can give you some names. We need a link, perhaps a website that looks innocuous, perhaps a financial link.” Evan nodded. “And I want you in this apartment.”

  “House arrest again?” Sofie frowned in annoyance.

  “Call it what you like. You have something they want, or they think you have. If you did drop the whistle somewhere in the Museum, you still know about it, and they might seek you out to hurt you.”

  Fear clutched Evan. Cristos was right. “I’ll go with her if she goes anywhere. If these people are using some telepathic means, the security on the doors isn’t going to keep them out.”

  Cristos sighed. “You’re right.” He shot Evan a sharp glance. “You know and I know that you have psychic abilities. I know how it’s done, Howell. I haven’t told anyone, and I don’t intend to, but in return I want you to take care of Dr. Adams. I would also like to test her.”

  At Sofie’s protest of alarm Evan reached out and touched her shoulder, trying to convey reassurance. “Only the standard tests for some psychic ability. You know, the cards with symbols, that kind of thing. But if you don’t want to do them, he can’t make you.”

  “Can’t I?” Cristos’s eyes glittered with menace.

  “No.” Evan faced him squarely. “You can’t.”

  An unspoken challenge passed between them, broken when Cristos shrugged. “It might help.”

  “I’ll do them. I don’t mind.”

  Evan increased the pressure on Sofie’s shoulder for a moment before lifting it away and leaning over to pick up his rapidly cooling coffee.

  Cristos got to his feet. “I’ll e-mail you those names, but in separate mails to separate addresses. All encrypted.”

  “Of course.” Cristos shot Evan a quizzical look, but he refused to respond. He saw Cristos to the door, careful to ensure the door was properly secured behind him.

  Then he went back to Sofie. “He’s right you know.”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “I enjoyed our lunch.”

  “We’ll do it again, when this is over. I promise.” His heart warmed when he remembered the lunch, and positive heat took over when he looked forward to the ones to come. “I enjoyed it, too.”

  He went over to the computers, but had no enthusiasm for it. He wanted something else. He smiled. If anyone had told him that at eighteen he wouldn’t have believed them.

  “I’m tired. Would you mind if I had an early night?”

  He turned. “Of course not. Would you mind if I joined you?” He asked half in jest, afraid she might not want it as much as he did, giving her the option of giving him a light response.

  She got his meaning immediately. “No. I want you to.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sofie hadn’t realized the true meaning of the phrase “burning eyes.” She did now. Hardly had she got to her feet when she found herself swept up into his arms. Holding her close Evan moved rapidly across the large living space in the direction of the staircase. She kept her gaze on his face, and saw the hunger there, reflecting the hunger she knew was deep in her own eyes.

  He laid her on the bed and Sofie had a fleeting thought that it was as well no one had moved it, for he didn’t take his attention from her for a moment. Only then did he follow her down and take her in a deep kiss that robbed her of all reason. He propped himself on his elbows and stared down at her. “You want this? Really?”

  “Oh yes,” she said.

  “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you. A fairy covered in dirt, fresh from uncovering secrets hidden for centuries. I wanted to take you into the shower and wash every beautiful inch of you, and then to bed to keep you warm. Now I know you better I want a little more than that. Do you mind?”

  She saw the question in his eyes and knew it was reflected in her own. “Can we take it one step at a time?”

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nbsp; He kissed her and caressed her body, long sweeps of his hands from her hips to her underarms and back again, curving his hands around to fill them with the curves of her bottom. She reciprocated, touching his back, feeling his muscles move and flex under her hands. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it free of his pants, and heard his chuckle. “In a hurry, are we?” he teased, lifting himself on one elbow.

  She replied with a smile. “You might say that.”

  “Well, we’re stuck here until Cristos tells us otherwise. We might as well make the most of it.” He glanced at her and she smiled to show him she knew he wasn’t serious. He ran his hand along the buttons of her shirt, undoing them as he went.

  She busied herself with his shirt. “Do you always do what Cristos tells you?”

  “No.” his voice had lowered to a dark purr. “But I don’t buck his authority just for the hell of it. The decision made sense.”

  “Shouldn’t we be apart, in separate safe houses?”

  He had undone her shirt. She sat up so he could take it off her. “Probably. But it won’t happen if I can help it. Would you want that?”

  “No.”

  She leaned forward, slipped his shirt down his arms so she could touch his chest. It was strong, with well-defined muscle, hot to her touch and lightly furred. “You feel good.” His indrawn gasp told her he enjoyed her caresses.

  “So do you.” He opened her shirt, put his hands on her. She responded with shivering recognition. He felt right, his touch a welcome thing.

  Sofie flinched with the extra sensitivity, as though her experiences that night had opened something new inside her. She needed this intimacy, with this man, as she had needed no one quite that way before.

  She smiled up at him when he reached around to unclip her bra, and kept her eyes on his face, watching his reaction. Her response seemed new. The intent was new, the need was new.

  When she undid the button on his pants he gave her a grin more redolent of a cheeky boy than a haunted man, and stood for a moment to slip off what was left of his clothes and kick them on to the floor. Sofie would have done the same, but he stopped her with a hand flat on her stomach. “Let me.”